For Stuff, I took everything of mine from my mother’s attic and brought it to an upstairs corner of Articulate project space, just across Parramatta Road from a massive orange storage facility, and spent three weeks sorting through it, chatting to visitors, giving things away. I had imagined that after giving and chucking decades worth of stuff thrown in boxes and shoved up in the roof—time capsules of hasty exits from houses or the city or the country—I’d end up with an empty corner on the last weekend. I did get close. Most people said they had enough stuff already; and then took something away anyway, with a little bit of persuasion.