7 August 2018


Natalie-birthday 2018

It is now officially my birthday and I am about to reveal a number that you, my tiny, cherished audience, have been waiting for.
My actual, chronological age is 3524. Do the maths: from 7th August 1507 BC to 7th August 2018 AD is precisely 3524 years, 42,288 months, 1 million 287 thousand 128 days. Let me explain.

In my previous life, the one before this one, I was born as Hatshepsut in Egypt,18th dynasty, in the year 1507 BC. If you studied ancient history you will have heard of me. If you haven't, you can Google me. Yes I know! When people believe in past lives they always imagine they were celebrities. But that's not my case because I actually WAS Hatshepsut. Tina Turner also says she was Hatshepsut. We were probably friends back then and Tina is terrific but she was not Hatshepsut, obviously, because I was. As Hatshepsut, I died in 1458 BC but my mummy was only discovered in 2007 AD. In 1992 I made a bookwork called NATSHEPSUT

NATSHEPSUT 1992. One-of-a-kind bookwork. Mixed media.
Book: 40 x 15cm. Box: 25 X 50.5 X 9.5cm.
A 'sarcophagus 'made from a mahogany drawer is painted with Egyptian and personal symbols and contains the book, wrapped in stained linen cloth, on one side of which I wrote a poem (see below) which is repeated on the pages. On the reverse of the wrapper are transfers of newspaper cuttings about the discovery of Hatshepsut's tomb and extracts from an old passport of mine. The book has wooden covers, carved and decorated with sand and sequins. It is attached to concertina-folded Arches pages and supported by a central wooden pillar. The images, printed on both sides of the paper from stencils, are a mixture of Egyptian and personal scenes including part of a landscape near the Rio Paraguay where I once lived, resembling the Nile.

Natshepsut group

Natshepsut poem

Natshepsut box

2 August 2018


A significant matter looms on the horizon. Five days from now, the 7th of August, will be my birth day. Why this matter should be significant is a mystery equivalent to the mystery of why there is matter at all and whether we exist. The more digits are added to the number of years I've been on this planet, the more questions I have. The question I have at this precise moment is: should I reveal the exact number my day of birth signifies? If I do reveal this secret I have closely guarded, will I get the tilt of the head, the indulgent expression reserved for babies, kittens and the very old, accompanied by exclamations of  Awww!Amazin!g Well done! and so on? Because that possibility looms on the horizon, here is an advance warning to be taken seriously.

Birthday Warning