I observe, I capture, I edit. I love expressing my ability to observe ordinary scenarios through the median of social media, it allows me to mix reality with art in a social way - ‘social art’ is what I call it!
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In February 2021, Tumblr had 518.6 million blog accounts.
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This is the music video for my new song 'Cool’ (directed & co-edited with me) which is now available on Spotify, iTunes & Apple Music. It is a song I wrote and recorded back in May 2017, I was really eager to direct/edit the music video so I would feel like this was a completed project. I really enjoyed the whole process of this journey, I learnt so much and am very excited to create more music/film to share with the world.
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PINEAPPLE - This is the piece of art work I created for my new single ‘Cool’. Not only did I want to create something visually pleasing but I also wanted to explore the idea of contrasting prominent objects with simplistic surroundings as I feel like both of these elements I juxtapose a lot with within my current work.
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MAN IN A SUIT - This is a photo I captured in New York while I was waiting to cross the road. In my opinion this photo explores our first impressions. Class division? Or simply just crossing the road?
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G.R.E.E.N. I come from a place that is very green. Dream catchers swinging up on wooden walls, along with rugs full of dust and aztec prints of shapes you’ve never seen before. Surrounded with water bottles of cloudy water, almost like gas? Mummy would always shut the door when taking a sip. She would say “you’re not to see when I’m eating my greens” What does that even mean? Greens? The clouds in the water bottle are white, not green? Big bulky jackets, like skiers coats, padded with pockets and secret compartments. Maybe Dad’s a spy, or an undercover agent? We are only allowed some crips a day Mum doesn’t get hungry anymore and dad says we are saving the money, even though he comes back with hundreds of ten pound notes every day. They confuse me sometimes! I think our campervan always has a funny smell, slightly bitter but plant-ey at the same time, Well I know mum likes flowers… so it’s probably that! That’s probably where she is all day. Buying plants – roses I think, or daisy’s perhaps. She likes a daisy. It All Makes Sense! She’s out buying plants, that’s why she always comes back smelling of them. “Billy don’t watch me while I’m eating my greens!” But she is outside again, in the middle of October Who eats dinner outside in the cold anyway? She slams the door and puts the cigarette back in her mouth, A cigarette with vegetables must be yucky!! One morning I woke up and Dad was gone. He’s probably on a trip, I thought to myself. Then Mum came in. “Can you sell these Billy please” I looked at her - and she handed me the bag of greens
Phoebe Ruia
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SATURDAY AT 3 - A photo capturing an ordinary lunch time. However this lunch was not ordinary, this lunch was filled with laughter and secrets and talking of plans for the future. Sometimes the most normal scenarios are the the ones jam-packed with personality and art.
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SCRABBLE-STEREOTYPES - Stereotypes all on one page but what goes with what? All linked to one another but the continuous circle sits alone.
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AVOCADO GIRL
Your glasses are bigger than your face, Your hair is shorter than your brain, Your nose ring hangs out so far from the middle of your nose that you look like a piece of meat. But of course you cant be, because u r a vegan. And you only eat avocado. Won’t touch a glass of milk but will pay small children to dye your Aztec silk, that hangs loosely on your untanned back - why don’t you henna around your birth mark. Oh sorry are you a feminist too? How classic. Lesbian too? “Oh no, just experimenting” Well that’s just fantastic!
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A song I wrote about the difficulty of being able to replace someone’s personality within a relationship.
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TRAIN STATION - Once here soon gone.
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Keeping on Track There are so many feet, wondering the winter streets, Of London Camden town but it's so quite, no sound To be heard, no frown to be seen. But blank expressions everywhere, no frown but hers That’s slapped across her Bittersweet face, her narrow cold shaped. Jaw. A sour taste She must have tasted in her Down Pointed Mouth Because she brings b I t t e r n e s s to This happy T o w n. There are so many E p I p h a n I e s occurring all in D i f f e r e n t brains, but it's so D I f f I cult To pin-point any because people are silent With Blank expressions on their faces. Is anyone else awake or am I the only one, not blind to her bitter face, this M u u t i c o l o red Muted place. The silence The buildings hold, Those Stale Tears Behind those e y e s . Her b r o k e n Unfixed Suitcase. I can't help but follow her. Around the bends of the station, she continues to trek with her broken suitcase over Starbucks’ coffee cups and occasional shoes of those who don't move fast enough. What is she in such a rush for? Through the barrier she begins to pelt slightly faster towards the Northern line, so I chase her, minding my own way of those going the opposite direction. "Sorry sorry excuse me sir'’. I'm losing sight of that little red suitcase. Her feet are coming into sight in flashes, through each person they have scurried moments away. The underground sign starts to become much more vivid but she is becoming more unfamiliar, as her strides shadow the charcoal platform and her little red suitcase trails behind. I think people have just gotten off the train, as I'm being unexpectedly bombarded with men in beige jackets, and women and oversized bags.’’ Argh where has she gone now’’, I question. Turning my body on my side I attempt to slot past people, like a two pence coin in the arcade. "Ooh sorry sorry, excuse me sir," is something that is now just apart of my vocabulary in this bloody station. "Bollocks! I've lost her". I awkwardly force a sided smile at the lady walking past, to hide the fact I have no bloody clue what I'm going to do now. She looks like a Debbie – A Debbie who "would like to speak to the manager please". Blonde, seeped over, short hair and frameless sunglasses (in the middle of winter) and long floppy purple boots that, believe me do her NO favors at all. I'm sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a judgmental prick, but it's just. That.. This girl seemed extraordinary and all I wanted was to ask her name and now I've lost her. Hopping on the train, I realize that everyone is looking at me. The small black girl clinging onto her mum's pram, the old Bill Nigh(y) looking man places down his Guardian Broadsheet to have a glance, and the hipster guy too, peering between two of his dreads. Have I pissed myself or something? I take a subtle look down at myself to check if there's anything drastic going on, however my eyes struggle to see past my belly, so for all I know I have actually pissed myself. Oh God, what is my life. But when I look up, everyone is back in their own little worlds again: iPhone, tablets, newspaper for Bill over there fully indulged and unaware of shoulders pressing against them or someone like me staring at every single one of them and studying them. 'Change here for the circle line'. A man gets off, a man gets on but I remain still. I always hated getting the tube this time of morning, the work run, of those so inconsiderate of others that the idea of ramming bags and burning coffees into the already crammed carriage just doesn't phase them. Luckily I only had to get the tube to work twice a week, thanks to Sally for lifting me to work, but this morning I hadn't much to lose apart from a little red suitcase. I'm watching three people on this tube: the man in the navy jumper, first year student Darcy and an afro Caribbean dude. All three looking down at their iPhone 6s, they sit there like dolls, rag dolls in a dusty bedroom, untouched and hunched over, until Darcy becomes shifted. She crosses her legs; right one over left and then untangles her headphones by stretching out her arm drastically with the earphone intertwined between her fingers. She is a puppet. To then uncross her right leg to then cross over her left again. "Please mind the gap". The man in the navy jumper yawns, and at this exact moment I experience a magical sight. All those in the carriage awaken and although most - excluding me- were looking down at their devices, for some reason they all saw the yawn. They must have invisible eyes on their hairline. Because now the man in the red T–shirt is yawning, and looking like an ostrich; the Bill Nighy is stretching out his polished claws into the space having had a good fat yawn; the blonde 17 year old is groping her petite mouth while yawning but doesn't quite touch it. Everyone's yawning. I wonder if people cover their mouths in private? Well I say that but I bet blooming Margaret Thatcher over there in the beige suit and pearls does, you got manners hanging off that lady left right and center. It must be contagious or something. Sitting opposite me there is a girl. She is a mermaid in deep blue water, with long blonde locks just sitting gracefully on her chest and nails so long that she properly struggles to type on her phone messages to her 36 year old boyfriend who's probably taking her on a trip to Paris on Tuesday. More than I can afford anyway. Perching on her £300 Whistles jacket she slots her phone under her bum, as if she's blanketing it and protecting it from the creepy English man next to her. We share a glance, it makes me feel awkward as I have been studying her for a while, but she doesn't know so I guess I'm just a 'lad' to her.She wouldn't have studied me like I have her. Bill Nighy isn't there anymore, but I'm sure some other tosser will come and nab his seat in a minute, neither is my little red suitcase or the guy with dreads. "We will soon be arriving at bank". That’s my stop, uncrossing my skinny legs, I bunch my satchel together and start to fidget. I wonder if people are watching me? Watching my behavior, how I'm holding my posture? The 'woosh' of the door overwhelms me, and my hair is swept back like I'm in the movies, I hop off. Surrounded by a new bunch of people, I begin to clench the bottom of my sleeves with my grubby fingernails, while looking for new people to observe. Nobody. These people aren’t half as interesting as the people on the train who I've just spent the last hour with; no blue mermaids or Bill Nighys, no Margaret Thatchers or men with dreads. But just people. Men in coats and women in heels, kids with smiley faces and grannies and their trollies... There, sitting on the metal bench with crossed arms and swinging legs, sits the girl. Her. Timid, petite and full of ambiguity. She brushes her brightly painted first finger over her thumb and breaths calmly, as if she is waiting for something, a train perhaps? Considering we are in Bank Underground, I'm pretty sure. Or maybe a man? Who knows.. She has something about her, something special and extraordinary, and that smile of hers. And those eyes. And hands. And nails and the ring.. I know that ring, I've seen that ring, I've held it. But I wonder if she still has that mirror hanging above her bed? But one thing I know for sure is that the red suitcase is new. Anna.The girl I met when I was seven. Beautiful beautiful Anna, she holds the same frown. But I know her less than the people I watched on the train because I knew her once a very long time ago, and then I walked away. Sometimes it's easier to predict someone's life when you don’t know them.Because you don't know them, you can make up stories and scenarios, situations based on their appearance and you can tell yourself it's true. But when you’ve once known them, you know it isn't. I wonder what her life is now: family background, relationship status, wardrobe, favorite food, favorite drink, bank statement, current location, current emotion. Don't you find that weird? That we are all living in the same world in the same carriage but in our own heads and in our own bedrooms, but we only know ours, not his or hers nor even the person's you have been studying. Just ours. It's me in the mirror. The mirror carries my secrets. But shows me my gender. I am not what I seem.
Phoebe Ruia
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SURROUNDED BY WHITE EMPIRE - A photo of a photo. I was sure I wanted to edit this photo after I had taken it to emphasise the ideas represented in the original photo. I wanted to highlight the white surrounding of this photo to explore further ideas of colonialism through the technique of editing.
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BRAINWASH Sociology why are you here? What purpose do you bring other than unnecessary fear? And statistics from 2009, about how Chinese girls are more likely. to be more successful than black boys or poor boys, Or how divorced parents may lead to. Deprived life. Why are you reinforcing stereotypes? And why, Are you orchestrating children to write In their exams that black boys between the ages of 14 and 25 are more criminalized Than someone like me. Force-fed minds. Because when they leave that exam And close that book And think about that party next week at Brookes'; It'll still be in their minds - That black boys are thieves. But who cares? "We are moving onto the education system this week."
Phoebe Ruia
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LOOK AROUND - This is some of my earlier work. I put this in to show the development of some of my key themes and mise-en-scene shifts. I used to be much more into nature photography than now, however I still see my old work as a very important part of my creative journey.
I like how this photo captures nature and society walking hand in hand.
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MR GOGH Fragments of injustice cradle around the page of pigment. Pigment that people see as colour YELLOW, RED, BLUE, green. The pigment Mr Gogh has never seen. The brightness of the field The darkness of the sky perches in stubbornness. He asks himself why, he's trapped again, And why he'd never been able to shout or able to scream about the real pictures in his head, or the real captured emotions, instead. So he stands there with paintbrush and paper Swirling up his trauma with oil pastels in vigorous motions poisonous potions around n' around again until he forms . what the world calls.. the 'Starry Starry Night' So Mr Gogh said Goodnight.
Phoebe Ruia
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