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    Floor standing sculpture made of found materials such as a tire, clothing and fabric and a triangular shaped piece of wood.
    Caption
    it glitters and it disappears, Julia Mowbray, 2023, mixed media sculpture, 80 x 88 x 102 cm

    ©the artist

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    Small sculpture placed on the edge of a brown pipe. It is made of an asymmetrical piece of white ceramic with rubber bands, pieces of painted plastic, jewellery clasps and a Peppa Pig hairclip attached to it.
    Caption
    what are you doing delicately?, Julia Mowbray, 2021, mixed media sculpture. 15.4 x 15.2 x 2.7 cm

    ©the artist

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    Floor standing sculpture where a black and white cabinet are stacked up, with a brown jacket strewn across a metal box at the top.
    Caption
    It was like washing powder, Julia Mowbray, 2023, mixed media sculpture, 73 x 170 x 68 cm

    ©the artist

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    A sculpture sitting atop a wooden stool. The sculpture is wooden and metal, with red fabric strewn across and a painted paper panel sticking down.
    Caption
    Whistling, swinging, Julia Mowbray, 2023, mixed media sculpture sitting on a stool. 43 x 92 x 40 cm

    ©the artist

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    A floor standing sculpture made of found materials such as a wooden piece of furniture, fabric, a lamp shade, tin can, coffee cup and gloves.
    Caption
    An Offering, Julia Mowbray, 2023, mixed media sculpture, 128 x 85 x 55 cm

    ©the artist

Julia Mowbray – BA/BFA

Before the work, there is the collecting. I’m a magpie for fragments: eyes to the floor, looking for potential. My sculptures are made from what is around our feet, what falls out of pockets, what we walk past or throw away. I take them because they are there and keep me guessing. I don’t want to know what the outcome will be: I am the opposite of a factory. A production line for nothing. I make things unpristine, precarious, like you’ve caught them in a moment. I want my work to be seen out of the corner of your eye, a slight disruption. I think about the offcuts of life: the sections of a cinema screen blocked by someone’s head in front, the moments you miss from blinking, the times you look away. These small invisibilities show how what we see is always incomplete. There’s always a puzzle piece missing.