MU (無) Part I: final body of work, reflection and evaluation

Figure 1. Installation view of Mu (無) Part 1, 2026, photograph by artist

MELANIE MEGGS

Mu (無) Part 1 (2026-ongoing)

safety barrier mesh, cyanotype, rice paper, pink thread

80H x 700Wcm

mu (無) — a space where meaning remains open, unresolved, and continually shifting. It holds uncertainty without attempting to solve it.

Mu (無) Part 1 begins an evolving installation that will continue to unfold across the full 45 metres of safety barrier mesh. Photographed over a month in Japan, the work draws from the Japanese Zen concept of mu. Through street photography, cyanotype, hand stitching, gluing, and installation, the project examines what happens when chronic illness and neurological change affect memory and mobility. Photography shifts from a tool of observation to one of preservation.

The installation unfolds through interconnected cyanotypes on Japanese rice paper embedded within a 4-metre span of orange safety barrier mesh. The smaller cyanotypes become a visual diary of memory, movement, and place. The larger stitched image centres on a woman who becomes a shifting trace: part stranger, part memory, part reflection of the self. The barrier mesh functions as a structure of restriction. Against it, the cyanotypes reveal a form of material resilience. They appear fragile yet retain cohesion despite pressure. The holes in the safety barrier speak to memory fading, creating gaps where information slips away and cannot always be recovered.

Rather than presenting illness as defeat, the work becomes an act of defiance, a way of holding onto memory and self while they are under threat.

Figure 2. Installation view of Mu - Part I in lower gallery at Hunter Art School, 2026, photograph by artist.

Figure 3. View of Mu - Part I in studio, 2026, photograph by artist

Figures 4-7. Melanie Meggs, details of the smaller cyanotypes for Mu - Part I, 2026, photograph by artist

Figure 8. Overhead shot of the large cyanotype image, 2026, photograph by artist.

REFLECTION & EVALUATION

My body of work, Mu (無) Part 1, reflects my research question by exploring the space between movement and stillness through street photography, cyanotype, gluing, hand stitching, rice paper, and installation. The work responds to the changing relationship between my body, memory, and mobility by turning walking, photographing, pausing, remembering, forgetting, and making into the artwork itself. It does not try to resolve illness or present memory as complete. Instead, it holds uncertainty open. This connects strongly to the meaning of mu, because the work exists in a space where meaning remains unresolved, shifting, and incomplete.

The use of safety barrier mesh became an important part of answering this question. The orange mesh represents restriction, control, warning, and containment. In relation to my illness, it reflects the way physical movement can feel limited by pain, fatigue, neurological change, and uncertainty about future mobility. At the same time, the holes in the mesh speak to memory loss and the gaps that appear when information slips away and cannot always be recovered. By placing cyanotypes within this barrier structure, the work creates tension between confinement and preservation. The photographs become attempts to hold onto movement, place, and lived experience while they are under threat.

The new materials and processes I incorporated were cyanotype, Japanese rice paper, safety barrier mesh, hand stitching, gluing, and installation. These materials extended my photographic practice beyond the traditional print and allowed the work to become more tactile, spatial, and physically connected to my research question. Cyanotype became central because it relies on light, timing, exposure, water, and environmental conditions. This made it conceptually suitable for a project about uncertainty and change. The process cannot be completely controlled, allowing uneven tones, blurred edges, and imperfections to contribute to the work's meaning. Japanese rice paper also became significant because of its cultural and material connection to Japan, where Part 1 of the project originated. The material is translucent and visually fragile, yet possesses an unexpected strength. This tension between fragility and resilience reflects the experience of living with an invisible illness, where vulnerability and endurance coexist.

One of the biggest technical challenges was the delicacy of the rice paper. During the cyanotype washing process, it became very fragile and could easily tear. To resolve this, I developed a method of washing the rice paper on glass so that it remained supported during development. This allowed it to be rinsed without too much handling. Another challenge was that paper painted with light-sensitive emulsion could still begin to expose even when stored in a light-proof black bag. To manage this, I developed a more controlled system. I painted the paper in the morning, allowed it to dry for approximately one hour, then exposed and developed it within a structured timeframe. This reduced unwanted exposure and gave me a more reliable process.

Preparing the digital negatives, coating the paper, drying, exposing, developing, washing, drying again, and then stitching or gluing each section was time-consuming. There was no simple way to avoid this because the method itself requires time. The work became less about rushing toward an outcome and more about understanding the labour required by the material.

The physical demands also had to be managed carefully. At times, this was frustrating because the project required sustained attention and repeated physical actions. I addressed this by slowing the process down, working in smaller stages, and accepting that the pace of the work needed to follow my physical capacity. Although this created pressure with deadlines, it became conceptually connected to the project. Because the work examines changing movement and cognition, the slower pace became embedded in its conceptual structure.

The aspects of the final artwork that I consider most effective are the relationship between the cyanotypes and the safety barrier mesh. Visually, the blue cyanotypes against the orange barrier create a strong contrast. Conceptually, the barrier mesh successfully communicates restriction, while the cyanotypes hold traces of memory and place. The smaller cyanotypes operate like a visual diary, while the larger stitched image of the woman creates a more ambiguous presence. She appears as a stranger, a memory, and a reflection of myself. This ambiguity is effective because it connects back to mu, where meaning is not fixed or fully resolved.

The hand stitching is also effective because it adds a bodily and repetitive process to the work. Stitching the rice paper together is not only a formal decision but also a physical act that connects the hand and brain through concentration and repeated movement. This means the act of making becomes inseparable from the content. The stitches suggest repair, connection, and persistence, but they also reveal fragility. They do not hide the joins or pretend the image is whole. Instead, they show that the work is made from fragments being held together.

There are also elements that could be improved. The installation is the first part of a much larger evolving work. As the project continues across the full 45 metres of safety barrier mesh, it will gain greater physical impact and a stronger sense of accumulation. I could also experiment further with spacing, layering, and lighting so that the translucency of the rice paper becomes more active within the installation. Another important consideration is how the work is ultimately displayed. The installation method used for assessment was not ideal and was not the location originally proposed for the work. Moving forward, I would like to explore ways for the installation to exist more fully in space. This could involve developing a free-standing structure that allows viewers to move around both the front and back of the work, or suspending it from the ceiling so that the barrier mesh forms a more organic shape. Introducing light through the translucent rice paper could also create projected shadows on surrounding surfaces, extending the work beyond the physical installation itself and reinforcing themes of presence, absence, and impermanence.

Another area for improvement is time planning. A significant amount of time was spent during the trialling stage, especially while testing different materials and learning how cyanotype behaved on each surface. Now that I understand the process more clearly, I can begin the next stage with a stronger technical foundation. I will not need to spend as much time testing basic material options, which will allow more time for refinement, installation decisions, and conceptual development.

The main lesson I have learnt is that material testing is essential, but it needs to be built into the timeline more realistically. Cyanotype is a slow and sensitive process, and the time required should not be underestimated. I have also learnt that limitations can become part of the work. My physical restrictions, slower pace, and need to adapt were not separate from the artwork. They informed the final outcome and deepened the connection between concept and material.

The project also required me to think more carefully about the sustainability of my creative practice. I used accessible and relatively low-cost materials such as safety barrier mesh, Japanese rice paper, stitching thread, and cyanotype chemistry, which allowed the work to grow without becoming financially impossible. The 45-metre roll of safety barrier mesh means the project can continue over time rather than being completed all at once. This supports a more sustainable way of working, where the installation can evolve in stages according to my capacity, budget, and available studio time.

Sustainability also relates directly to my body. Living with chronic illness means I cannot always work in long, intense periods, so I need methods that allow for pacing and rest. Through this project, I learnt that a sustainable practice must take my physical limitations seriously rather than treating them as obstacles to overcome.

This project has also taught me that photography can move beyond the traditional framed image. By working with cyanotype, rice paper, PVA glue, stitch, and installation, the photograph becomes tangible and spatial. It is no longer only an image to be looked at, but something that holds time, labour, touch, and memory. Moving forward, I want to keep extending this approach by pushing photographic images into more experimental and sculptural forms, where process, material, and lived experience continue to shape the final work.