Shampoo for both Horses and Humans



And now – what a bustle, what hard-riding hustle!

When thrusters the strong way, the cunning their long way

(The gossips the wrong way) have galloped and gone,

Perchance, the day ended, the lilt of a song may

Coax Memory’s pleasure to tread an old measure –

So fill up a glass, and again ‘Forrard-on!’



Helena Hunter

“Displacements is a unique performative exhibition that presents Helena Hunter’s previous works: The Other Room, Tracing Shadows and dis-locate. Hunter dedicates a specific exhibition area to each work including film, photographic images, and performance excerpts from each piece. The artist interacts with each section, moving through the exhibition establishing overlaps and coherences, combining the three separate works into one.

In The Other Room a half horse half human figure attempts to stand and perform a tap dance. Tracing Shadows presents an interaction with the female body and a small blue dress, and dis-locate explores the idea of ‘dis-location’ as an empowered and disruptive state. The performances were originally conceived for a black box theatre space and have been presented at theatres across the UK and Europe. For the exhibition the artist reworks sections of the performances for presentation in a gallery space including photographic images and filmed excerpts from past work. The exhibition features sound work by Mark Peter Wright (Sonic Arts, British Composer of the Year 2009).”

Hymn to Diana

Dian! Hear us when we pray,

Send us foxes fleet and strong,

Grass to speed them on their way,

Hounds to hustle them along!

Hunters that can do no wrong,

Fences stout and ditches deep,

That our place among the throng

May be worth our while to keep!


Be the blood of which we came,

Make us sportsmen unafraid;

Grant us that we play the game

Straightly as it should be played,

Giving place and giving aid

As a comrade may require,

Bringing pride but to be laid

On they glowing altar-fire.


Dian! Goddess of the Chase,

Ride with us across the wold,

Grant that we may take our place

With the boldest of the bold;

But if Chance her best withhold

And a fence our fate supply,

Let us, low amid the mould,

Cheer the chase as it goes by!


Will Ogilvie