Digital Guide: Sarah Sproule: A Restless Spectre

Sarah Sproule, All of my clothes come in the mail 

2023. Raw clay, foam, found object, latex paint. Photo courtesy of Tangled Art + Disability (2025) and Lisa East Studio.

A linen cabinet is used for bed linens and towels, often found in hallways and laundry rooms: “I can picture it, perfectly, my aunt has [a linen closet] at the very end of her hallway that is overflowing with beautiful linens” says Sproule.  
 
In this version, the material components have shifted: the cabinet is filled with foam, and where the glass panel should be – commonly found in the center of a linen cabinet – a form emerges; built out with raw clay and sculpted. This sculptural element is a reimagined collage of the artists body, reminiscent of fat and fat folds, bursting out of the cabinet: 
 
“I would describe it as a collage of my own body, parts of myself that I see at different angles, and as your body moves – things look differently and [this work] sort of pieces them together…these little pictures that I catch in the mirror.”  
 
All My Clothes Come in the Mail is a tongue-in-cheek title, “a bit of a joke, but also serious” as the artist would put it – where, for plus size bodies, most shopping options are limited to e-commerce stores. As a result, plus-size bodies are relegated to at-home spaces, signaling that they are not welcome in the world.  
 
Sproule links this feeling, of isolation and difference, with their favorite gothic novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1818); a feeling of being too big for the world, a lack of belonging, and in this way (not fitting-in the world) the body becomes monstrous or feels monstrous. In the context of disability art, the work speaks to being seen and yet dismissed. There is a push and pull, a tension, of being shoved into a closet where you do not fit, while bursting out of the closet all at the same time.    
 
Similar to contemporary considerations of The Monster (ie. Dr. Frankenstein’s creation) and the characters’ proliferation in popular media – is colour, and more specifically, the colour green:  
 
“The colour green is a sort of reflection of that, a Boris Karloff style of monster, you’re lumbering and tall and everyone is scared of you and you’re trying to just…be a normal nice person who plays a part in society, while constantly feeling rejected and feeling very monstrous” 
 
Green is also Sproule’s favourite colour. The shade of green used in the exhibition is Secret Meadow; a lovely pastoral green that becomes bodily (like a growth) and also elemental (like a field of grass). However, it is all about perspective! Tension emerges between the work and the world when it is placed with or without its accompanying colour; when we consider a Heterotopia, a placeless place, the green is an anchor point for accessing the world of All My Clothes Come in the Mail.

Sarah Sproule, I must have answered in a dream

2025. Plaster, ceramics, found object, latex paint.

I must have answered in a dream features a rotary phone as something emerges from the speaker rendering it useless – the growth blocks the device and impacts the ability to communicate. What is a phone without its function? 

The work captures tension; in both avoiding conversation and experiencing a breakdown in communication: “It is the realisation of, wow, this is somebody that I thought I knew, and I can’t relate to them anymore. This is what the sludginess comes to represent – a visualisation of the block between you and somebody you love.” 

Originally, this piece was about COVID, and specifically considering the global (and interpersonal) conversations surrounding anti-vaccination beliefs and anti-science rhetoric. Sproule speaks to this divide, “during the pandemic, we physically lived with distance between us, while emotionally that space filled with sludge. There was a sense of, ‘I can’t cross this bridge anymore,’ or ‘No, you can’t come over and kiss my baby.’ It raises the question of how to navigate relationships as we experience the world and as the world experiences us.” In contemporary politics, disagreements can lead to the end of communication pathways. I must have answered in a dream reflects on the breakdown of relationships and the temptation to avoid conflict by preserving a memory of someone as they were; “maybe, it can feel easier to leave things unsaid?” 

In terms of colour, this is the first time I must have answered in a dream will be exhibited in green, in lieu of pink. Sproule is excited about this shift, as the colour swap reimagines these central concepts of tension alongside a transformed ooze.  
 
This work is about the challenge of showing up for people and doing the hard work of communicating. In reflection, of these communication pathways, Sproule offers a step forward when considering their own lived experience:  
 
“At the same time, sometimes people feel too far gone, and for your own health it is necessary to create space and distance. In the context of spirituality and faith, leaving a strong religious community can mean losing a deep sense of belonging. You may miss the care, like when you are sick and someone brings food with no questions asked. But what do you find for yourself? And how do you move forward? It points to how challenging it is to maintain relationships as an adult when your life changes and becomes different from the people that are around you.” 

Sarah Sproule, I swallow what I want to say

2026. Plaster, ceramics, found object, latex paint.

I swallow what I want to say is a traditional tea set: a teapot, teacups, saucers, a sugar bowl, and a creamer, where each item serves a specific purpose (in the act of drinking tea). As a unit, the tea set also presents tension, between an ideal ‘slice of life’ scene and the machinations of identity, queerness, and power.

These objects are associated with a traditional gender norm; all things decorative craft, and ornamentation. Sproule has also included a fruit bowl, reminiscent of Baroque Still Life paintings – reinforcing this sense of beauty and domestic perfection.

However, an ooze appears, and plaster flows inexplicably out of the objects – “as if a pipe has burst somewhere, though the source is unclear” says Sproule. Like the hunt of finding an unknown leak, there is an act of trying to contain it and the inability to do so (a lid on a teapot for example). The gloop, in this respect, functions as a haunting, like ectoplasm. The work speaks to the desire to appeal to femininity, domestic tasks, and propriety:

“I think that’s a big one, this appeal to propriety, of wanting to be proper, wanting to get the fancy china out…and maybe you’re trying to impress somebody; maybe you’re trying to have this image of a perfect home, and this sort of substance (that you don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from) is in direct conflict to a facade that you’re trying to put up. It’s demanding that it be broken, and there is no stopping it.”

Through Sproule’s use of monochrome, there is a strong desire to conceal and suppress the feeling, action, or event unfolding within the tea set; yet the space and determination to let the ooze flow. Sproule outlines that for many queer people who grow up in organized religion, this experience is universal, the tension, between longing to fit the mold, even while recognizing a difference within yourself.

Sproule states “there is the question of whether you can live the life that has been planned for you, and the realization that even if you want it, you cannot do it.” This creates a tension between wanting to follow what you have been told and being unable to do so; a feeling that is restless.

The colour pink plays an important role in this work. Pink is contemporarily known as a feminine colour, and this specific shade is called Punky Pink: “It is not pale, muted, or soft in the way women are often expected to be. Instead, it is loud and garish.” This reflects a desperate attempt at conformity that still does not get it right, like masking in neurodivergence or masking one’s true self.

I swallow what I want to say is alike to a high tea a tradition associated with a specific set of behaviours, a dominant culture, and a strict set of social rules – when completely drenched in Punky Pink, the work speaks to the act of trying and still failing to meet expectations. Sproule offers an insightful and personal reflection on the tension in this work:

“I think to myself, what is it that I want? Is it just what someone has told me? And that is a conflict that a lot of queer folks have; growing up Christian, I really miss being in those spaces because there is a sense of identity and a sense of belonging. Am I glad to be out of them? Yes, ultimately there is that need for self-discovery and that sense of…you can’t stop who you are. It’s a push and pull, between a deep desire to remain what you’re told to be, just because you don’t want to ruin ‘lunch’, versus who you want to be. You know what I mean?”

The work holds the tension: nothing is working, and there is a continued effort to make it work anyway.