New Work by Lois Blackburn for UNmaking

Ahead of the TSG Unmaking exhibition, artist Lois Blackburn shares the story behind her unflinching, deeply reflective new work, Under Repair: what it means to be unmade. In this post, Lois shares how her work has turned inward, shaping her new textiles and what visitors can expect at the upcoming Stroud exhibition.

 Under Repair: what it means to be unmade

In August 2025 I had major surgery for bowel cancer, followed by three weeks in hospital. Chemotherapy came next, then the long, slow work of recovery, still going on now. Under Repair was made across all of that time. A snapshot diary of being unmade, and slowly, steadily, remade.

I have spent decades making work that holds other people's experiences of ageing, memory, illness, loss. This time the practice turned inward. When my body felt unrecognisable and beyond my control, making gave me a way back to myself. Quiet and tender and mine.

The series takes the form of stoma bag covers, cyanotype on fabric, worked at the kitchen table, on the sofa, wherever I happened to be well enough to sit, which for much of the time was not for long. Onto each one I've reworked fragments of WhatsApp messages sent to my family from that hospital ward: unguarded, unpolished, holding the pain and the fear, but also the dark humour and the flashes of joy that found their way in anyway. I chose to write these out in calligraphy drawn from medieval letterforms, surrounded by celtic knots, references to bowels and hospital wards, and flowers. I was drawn to illuminated manuscripts for their preciousness: beautiful, handmade objects, made and treasured over a lifetime. A Book of Hours is a diary in its own way, marking the days and their small rituals. My stoma bags became my own diary form, one entry for each day I had the strength to make one.

I think of these covers as concealment and celebration in the same object. A stoma bag is something most people never see and rarely talk about, even though 55 people a day in the UK have this surgery. I wanted to meet that experience with the same craft and openness I'd bring to anyone else's story, and to make something that could be looked at rather than looked away from.

Where this meets UNmaking

So much of the thinking behind UNmaking speaks directly to what this body of work has been for me. Deconstruction as a route to discovery, rather than simply an undoing. A piece existing somewhere between made and unmade. My own unmaking began on an operating table: a body cut open and changed, agency handed over to someone else's hands. Recovery is the remaking that follows, uneven and still ongoing.

I'm glad this work is finding an audience through UNmaking. It feels like the right room for it: one where taking apart, unravelling and sitting inside the unfinished aren't treated as failures of the work, but as where the work actually happens.

More on the series, and further images, at loisblackburnartist.co.uk.

In Conversation with Lois Blackburn

You mentioned turning your practice inward after decades of holding space for other people's experiences. Was it difficult to apply that same tenderness and openness to your own story?

This project explores my own personal story, but many of the themes—the highs and lows of recovery, the boredom, the frustrations—are universal. Seeing my story as something others could relate to, and possibly even find comfort in (those glimmers of recognition: “it’s not just me”), made it much easier to share.

The way the work evolved directly reflected my physical and mental state. When you go from being able to create for hours at a time to only being able to sit, create, and concentrate for minutes, being kind to yourself becomes essential. I started with calligraphy practice—which I highly recommend trying if you haven’t already. The repetition, the focus on a single letter, the patterns a word makes, and the delight of ink moving across the page were an absolute joy. The same was true for the Celtic knotwork, which brought a huge sense of satisfaction as the knots came together. This kind of practice, often called mindfulness, gave me a focus away from pain and discomfort; it kept me going on difficult days. My story and artwork evolved slowly and naturally from that space.

The combination of cyanotype, medieval calligraphy, and Celtic knotwork is visually rich. How did you choose that specific blend of historic letterforms and textile techniques for such a contemporary personal subject?

In 2021, I completed a project called A Book of Ours alongside poet Philip Davenport and people with lived experience of homelessness. Together, we created “an ancient manuscript for our time,” sharing first-hand accounts of contemporary homelessness. The initial inspiration for using illuminated manuscripts came from a book about the Book of Kells that my dad gave me as a child. It’s funny how certain memories stick with you. I loved working on that project—our participants created such rich, vibrant work—and I always knew I would revisit those methods and ideas.

It felt fitting to translate my daily WhatsApp messages into a diary format, echoing the tradition of a Book of Hours. The Celtic knots were new to me, but they became a poignant visual echo of intestines, and of my own damaged and repaired insides.

You describe these covers as both "concealment and celebration." How does transforming an everyday medical item into an illuminated, treasured object change how people engage with a topic that is so often hidden?

For some, the fear of having a stoma can feel worse than the cancer diagnosis itself. Personally, I have always viewed a stoma as part of a life-saving treatment, though the reality of waking up in a hospital with such a fundamentally changed body took time to process. I cried every time I saw it for the first two weeks.

There is no right or wrong way to come to terms with, or live well with, a stoma. Some people prefer to keep their stoma and bag hidden at all times, while others display their stoma bag with pride. Stoma bags are inherently medical in appearance. I wanted to create something beautiful, tender, and personal to cover the bag—one-off pieces carrying messages of hope, frustration, fear, anger, and joy. The medieval illuminated manuscript form, with its interplay of text and imagery to create a precious object, fitted this intention perfectly.

The WhatsApp messages you included hold dark humour and flashes of joy alongside fear and pain. Why was it important to you to retain those unpolished, raw emotions rather than editing them into something more formal?

Over the years, my participant-led projects have always centered on finding ways to share people’s authentic words and phrasing—a celebration of real voices. It felt natural to extend that same approach to myself, subtracting content where necessary, but never adding or altering words. You might even spot a few spelling mistakes! That rawness—the laughter, pain, and fear—is what it means to be human. If someone reading this is preparing for a hospital stay, or sitting beside a friend or relative who is, I hope this work offers a quiet reassurance: you will find your own way through this, in your own time, and there is no wrong way to do it. Be gentle with yourself, and with them. One hour, one day at a time.

Exhibition Details

Experience the full Unmaking exhibition at Stroud's Museum in the Park, featuring a series of workshops led by our featured artists.

• Exhibition: UNmaking
• Dates: 12 September – 8 November 2026
• Location: Museum in the Park, Stroud
• Admission: Free