https://images.prismic.io/wellcomecollection/f6f59a06-44aa-4d36-a4fd-625301f41381_008-BTG240312103616-Edit-3.jpg?auto=format%2Ccompress&rect=0%2C176%2C4000%2C2250&w=3200&h=1800

Jason and the Adventure of 254, an exhibition by Jason Wilsher-Mills at Wellcome Collection. Gallery Photo: Benjamin Gilbert

Stop 01 Introduction to access resources to Jason and the Adventure of 254 QR Code_SS.mp3

Stop 01 Introduction to access resources to Jason and the Adventure of 254

Hello and welcome to the first stop of this guide to ‘Jason and the Adventure of 254.’ This is Jason Wilsher-Mills’ most monumental and personal exhibition to date. My name is Shamita Sharmacharja, I am the curator of the show and I am going to explain how this guide works.  

There are ten stops, each three to five minutes long. 

This first stop provides some useful practical information. To skip to information about the exhibition go to stop 2, which is an introduction to the show and the artist Jason Wilsher-Mills.  

In stops 3 to 10 Jason talks about his life and the inspirations behind some of his work. This is combined with some visual description of the artworks.  Everything in the gallery – including the artworks – can be touched.  

A white tactile floor line is designed to support wayfinding between the stops. It takes you round the gallery in a clockwise direction. When you arrive at an artwork which has a stop, this is indicated on the floor by a white square with raised dots.  

You will find a tactile QR code and stop number within arm's reach of the white square. The QR code is roughly the size of a side plate, and numbers are tactile and located either on the wall, on a dark orange metal stand next to the work or on the work itself.  

If you need any assistance, there is a member of the Visitor Experience team in the gallery, wearing a Wellcome Collection t-shirt.  

The large brightly coloured gallery is 32 metres long and nine metres wide, with walls four metres high. The floor line from the main entrance brings you in halfway along a soft pink wall. This first stop is at the dark orange pick-up station, which is to your left as you enter. You can also pick up a large-print guide here.  

There is a long yellow wall opposite the entrance, covered with large drawings and texts. The flooring is smooth light wood. 

At the left end of this pick-up station you will find a screen with BSL interpretation and pale pink large-print guides at the right end. The large-print guides include a map of the floor line, as well as a list of all the digital guide stops. You will also find a dark blue Visual Story booklet. This provides pre-visit information about the exhibition, using images, symbols and short written explanations. 

With your back to the pick-up station, there are three benches in the middle of the gallery. These have arms and backs.  

The tactile floor line will finish at Stop 10, close to the main entrance where we started. This is also an exit, so there will be visitors moving in both directions. You are of course free to stay and explore.  

This is the end of Stop 1. Stop 2 is an introduction to the exhibition and gives information about the artist. With the pick-up station on your left, follow the tactile floor line to the tactile square for Stop 2, which is a couple of metres further on. 

Stop 02 An Introduction to Jason and the Adventure of 254 and a description of the gallery space_SS.mp3

Stop 02 An Introduction to Jason and the Adventure of 254

Hi, my name is Shamita, I’m the curator of this exhibition. In this stop I’m going to tell you a bit more about the artist and what you’ll find in the show.

Jason Wilsher-Mills is an artist from Wakefield, in West Yorkshire in the UK. 

On the 1st August 1980, at 2.54pm at Pinderfields Hospital, Wakefield, Wilsher-Mills witnessed his parents being told of his diagnosis of the autoimmune condition which paralysed him from the neck down between the ages of 11 and 16. 

Unable to move, Jason’s interior world became inhabited by characters from comic strips and TV shows, entwined with his experiences of life both before and during his hospitalisation. Rather than remembering it as a time of trauma or loss, he sees it as the awakening of his creative life as an artist. 

The installation in this colourful gallery is a dream-like distillation of Jason’s childhood memories of what was happening inside and outside of his body and within his imagination during this transformative time. 

The long wall opposite the entrance is covered in a bright yellow wallpaper, bordered top and bottom in orange. The wallpaper features ten two-metre-high characters. 

They’re hybrid creatures in a bold cartoonish style, part human, part medical machine or Dalek. Some have huge feet, multiple limbs, or they’re just a head with one bulging eye. They wear steampunk-style superhero masks, and have speech and thought bubbles. Lettering indicates sounds – for example a line of Zs for snoring.

Wilsher-Mills is the youngest of eight children from a working-class family. Family occupies a central importance in his life and was a key connection to the outside world while he was in hospital. Through the hospital school he also gained new educational experiences which he credits as being instrumental in his path to becoming an artist.

In his work Jason explores narratives of disability, health and identity, using playful humour and colourful magic realism. Taking inspiration from sources as diverse as The Beano and Charles Dickens, and making reference to the ancient Greek hero after who he was named, Wilsher-Mills creates new ways of storytelling that reflect the social model of disability – that people are disabled by social, economic and physical barriers.

The gallery is a riot of colour, packed with an array of playful and sometimes irreverent characters and objects. 

Red and purple inflatable ‘viruses’ hang over our heads. They’re beach-ball sized and covered with sucker-like appendages. 

Three sculptures occupy the central floor space – an enormous pair of lavishly decorated calliper boots over two metres high, an athlete with a giant telly for a head, and a huge figure lying in a four-metre-long hospital bed. Jason talks about these sculptures in stops 3, 4 and 5. 

There are coloured fairground lights on the figure which light up when you press a button.  

Placed on the floor in between are ten models of green toy soldiers, about 60cm high. Like everything else in the gallery, these can be touched. They’re mid stride, wearing helmets and each carries a virus under their arm. 

Against the gallery walls are nine two-metre-high, brightly coloured cabinets. The cabinets are reminiscent of the penny arcade machines Wilsher-Mills remembers from family holidays at the seaside resort of Withernsea in Yorkshire and Humber. They’re made of a smooth material, etched with patterns in a contrasting colour, on the top and bottom panels. They have a window in the top half which contains a diorama, a three-dimensional scene constructed of cut-outs, spaced out from front to back, like a miniature toy theatre. 

The softly lit diorama scenes are richly decorated with colour, complex patterns, and packed with detail.  Jason talks about some of these dioramas in stops 6 to 10. They act as windows into Jason’s childhood memories before and during his hospitalisation. They are not straightforward depictions but are infused with a dream-like magic realism where myth and memory become merged. 

They are rich in symbolism and denote stages of transformation in his life, from childhood, through puberty, to changes in his health, and his creative journey. 

Each diorama has a lit-up coloured button just under the window, which you can press to brighten the lights on the scene inside, illuminating these glimpses into Jason’s inner world.  

Everything in the gallery can be touched, so feel free to explore and enjoy.

Stop 3 is the calliper boots. Follow the tactile floor line to arrive there.

Stop 03 Calliper Boots.mp3

Stop 03 Calliper Boots

These giant calliper boots are over two metres high, and reference the humour of Monty Python and the many cartoons and children’s TV shows which I loved as a child in the 1970s. They’re both left-footed, to demonstrate my neurological condition, and that feeling that something isn’t quite right. They stand side by side, one slightly forward of the other, with a narrow space between them.  

The boots are painted with 1970s psychedelic cellular shapes, with bursts of pinks, greens, oranges and purples, and star motifs on the heels and toes. They’ve got thick soles and laces up the front. A Union Jack is on the sides of the boots, a connection with the 1980 Olympic Games, which was an important time for me, when Seb Coe ran in the Moscow Olympics – more about that when we get to the next sculpture.  

I had to wear calliper boots to stop my legs and ankles from turning in, but they were the implements of torture. They were made of the finest Italian leather, and were absolutely made to measure, so they fitted my feet perfectly. But they had no decoration and were purely functional. They came in two colours – black or brown. They were large and unwieldy. I used to call them my Frankenstein boots, as they were so big and ugly. I fantasised about wearing Doc Martens, 21-holed “bad boy” boots, as they were cool. I thought it would be wonderful to have decorated boots.

My calliper boots had slots in the outer soles where the iron callipers were inserted. These ran up either side of my legs, to just under my knees, where a leather strap was attached to keep them in place. The straps would rub and cause sores. 

On my sculpture I’ve decorated the callipers and the strap with cheerful bright patterns in purple, turquoise, yellow and green. The bit of bare leg showing between the top of the boot and the strap is flesh-pink, with a pattern of blobs and bubbles in soft pinks and yellows.

I associated the callipers with the negative depictions of disability which surrounded me, such as the charity boxes that were outside shops, showing young children wearing callipers. So through this sculpture I decided to reclaim the boots as my own avatar, as a reclamation of these instruments of torture. I’ve claimed them as a positive depiction of how I feel about my disability. The boots are now bright, beautiful and full of colour.

Stop 04 Seb Coe.mp3

Stop 04 Seb Coe

This sculpture depicts the athlete Seb Coe, about to run the men’s 1500-metre race on 1st August 1980 – at the Moscow Olympics. 

The life-sized figure is crouched on a vermilion rectangular plinth, about the height of a low step. He wears a sports vest, shorts, long socks and running shoes. The kit is white, with red and blue stripes – which depicts the Great Britain Olympics kit.

Seb Coe is pointing to my bed sculpture, which is directly in front of him, and the figure in the bed is pointing back at him. Virus soldiers occupy the space between them. Seb Coe’s outstretched arm is urging the virus soldiers on to ‘attack’ the figure in the bed.

Seb Coe’s vest, front and back, has his race number of 254 – in large, darkly coloured numbers; this number is very important. His body is highly decorated and painted with psychedelic cellular patterns in flesh pink and other soft colours. He also has sharp defining lines of cross-hatching over the whole surface of the sculpture. These are the lines of shading from the original pen drawings.

I’ve replaced Seb Coe’s head with a large 1970s television set, which back then were big box shapes, not flat like now. Inside the television there’s a diorama of the 1980 Olympic race, frozen in time, and this is how I experienced it myself, via a TV set which was directly in front of my hospital bed. The TV was always on.

The 1st August 1980 is such an important date, as it was when the consultant told my mum and dad that I would be in a wheelchair for life and that I would be lucky to live beyond the age of 16. I remember this dramatic news so well, as it coincided with this huge race, which was the men’s 1500-metre final. There had been a huge media focus on the two favourites, Seb Coe and Steve Ovett. It was on all the newspaper front pages and was the headline of the TV news.

Whilst all that drama was going on around my bed, I watched the race, but overheard the doctor talking to Mum and Dad, who were obviously very upset.

The importance of the shirt number is that it corresponds with the time I was diagnosed. I know this, as visiting times were 2.30 to 3.30pm – which was the same time my consultant was doing his ward rounds. The race started at 2.50pm and I was watching it as the consultant was giving Mum and Dad the news. I was more interested in the race than the life-changing news which was unfolding around me. So the number 254 is an important number to me, as it’s the time when my life changed. But it was the drama off-screen that makes the time, date and shirt number so important.

Stop 05 Figure in the Bed.mp3

Stop 05 Figure in the Bed

This huge 4.5-metre-long sculpture shows a stylised version of 11-year-old me, at the point on 1st August 1980, at 2.54pm, when I was diagnosed by my consultant. The figure is in a hospital bed, ‘dressed’ in medical paraphernalia such as a surgical collar, which I wore because I couldn’t hold my head up, a spinal brace and hand splints. There’s a small bedside table with a bowl of fruit on it.

The figure proudly wears 1970s purple-and-yellow Y-front underpants. I didn’t have any body privacy in hospital, so this is my way of taking this back and owning it. I see it as an act of rebellion, with me finally deciding that I can share this intimate aspect of myself, and see the humour of the situation I found myself in.

He’s pointing with both hands straight ahead at the sculpture of Seb Coe. Seb Coe is pointing back at him, urging on the virus soldiers in the space between them, towards the figure in the bed. His feet are oversized because my neurological condition caused me to experience heightened sensations – so sometimes I would get a sense that my feet were on fire, or they might have been the only part of my body I could feel. His toenails and fingernails are bright red. He wears a mask, like a superhero would wear, on the top part of his head. This is a tribute to Mum, who used to paint and decorate my face, as this was the only part of my body which I could feel. I see this as a total act of love and portray this in all my work.

As a tribute to the ‘Operation Game’ from the 1970s, in which the player had to remove bones and organs with tweezers, I’ve included windows into the inside of my body, so aspects of the internal battle can be seen and touched. You can feel the ribs and the colon, a shin bone, an elbow joint, and some of his skull and brain.

The surface of the body is littered with other details, such as fairground lights, which are used to demonstrate how the messages from my brain to my body were disrupted, because of the polyneuropathy, to the point where I could only move my head. The lights move up and down the body and initially light up in order to illustrate that messages are being sent from my brain successfully, but then this is disrupted, as the lights don’t come on in order and randomly light up to demonstrate my neurological condition. You can make the lights come on by pressing the button on the side of the bed.

There are virus soldiers all over my body, who are trying to get in and deliver the virus. The body is highly decorated with psychedelic patterns, which reflect the war which was going on inside my body at the time. He’s also got tattoos, which represent aspects of my life as an 11-year-old boy experiencing puberty without having any body sensations. 

Stop 06 the Fruit & the Pee.mp3

Stop 06 The Fruit & the Pee

‘The Fruit and the Pee’ diorama depicts my life in hospital in 1980 as an 11-year-old boy. It’s in a blue cabinet with green details. At the top and bottom it has a carved green pattern in a kind of half-wheel shape. These are like the giant viruses that are all around the gallery. The scene inside the cabinet shows a hospital room and a figure in a bed. Around the front edges are broken-off blue bricks. It’s like we’re looking through a hole which has been punched in a wall. Behind the bricks there’s a narrow bed, the end of it closest to us. Big bare feet are sticking up. The bed at Pinderfields Hospital in Wakefield became my home for a year. 

The figure in the bed has a large head wrapped in a bandage, and he’s looking to the right, towards the bedside table. It has a fruit bowl on it, and a urine bottle half full of pee. I saw the world go by from that bed.

Because I couldn’t move, I yearned for any opportunity to carry out small acts of rebellion. I was a cheeky chappie, and the new disability and lack of mobility had done nothing to stop that. In fact, it had somewhat enhanced my spirit of rebellion.

The twice-daily visits from family was the only thing that stopped me from being bored. These visiting times were wonderful, because I laughed and was able to be part of my family. They never treated me any differently. So, on one such visit, it was the turn of my sister Linda and her husband Ernest to come and visit me. Ernest was a bit of a cheeky chap himself and had a habit of helping himself to the fruit in the bowl beside my bed. On this occasion he made his move for the greenest apple at the top. But what he didn’t know was that an hour before visiting time, my urine bottle had been spilt all over it. So I watched Ernest whilst he tucked into the apple. He was loving it.

I waited until he finished and then very quietly said, “The nurse spilt my bottle of urine over that apple.” 

That tiny incident is still spoken about and has become part of family folklore. It proved that I was still able to be mischievous and it was a small act of rebellion against my ‘internment’ in the hospital bed.

I’ve added a big colourful hand on the top-right corner, which is pointing down at the urine bottle. It’s got “This way” written on it. There’s another hand in the bottom left, pointing up at me in the bed. It says “Welcome”. 

There’s a lot going on in that room. Pink and green jellyfish and blobby green viruses are floating around, and a green soldier is standing on the bricks in the bottom right-hand corner. He’s giving us a salute.

Stop 07 Mum the Mermaid.mp3

Stop 07 Mum the Mermaid

This diorama is in a green casing with contrasting blue details. The scene inside is a rich dark blue, filled with glowing pink, purple and green jellyfish, wavy green grasses, and jagged blue stars. In the centre is a mermaid. There’s a large fish next to her on the left, floating upright. 

As a child who grew up on a council estate, in a Northern, industrial, working-class city, I dreamed and yearned for the times when we went away for a week’s holiday. Because money was very tight, we would all go to a small seaside town on the east coast of Yorkshire called Withernsea. Withernsea was on the North Sea, so was usually cold, wet, with little to do other than play on the beach and visit the arcades. We stayed in a tiny chalet which had three rooms. This slept at least six of us and wasn’t much bigger than a large garden shed. 

To me it was the most magical place. This was somewhat emphasised by our nocturnal visits to the beach. Mum was a shy lady who loved to swim but didn’t like anybody watching her. So we would all go down to the beach when it was dark. We had to go down a steep, rickety set of metal stairs which had been built on the cliff face. Once on the beach, we would be greeted by hundreds of jellyfish which were glowing in the dark. Their luminosity was like magic, and Mum became a mermaid in this scene, as she swam amongst the jellyfish and they lit up the night just for her. The sand glistened by the moonlight and the whole scene was alive and vivid. 

My Mum the mermaid has short brown hair, a swimsuit in a cheerful blue pattern, and from the waist down she’s got a shimmering green-and-red fish’s tail. She’s got one arm lifted, the other arm swinging across her body, her forefingers pointed like a disco-dancing queen. In my vivid imagination I like to think of the whole sea coming to life and the North Sea cod wanting to dance in the water with Mum – the mermaid – so for that one moment we were part of the greatest celebration of this extraordinary working-class woman, who just happened to be my mum. On those nights Mum was truly beautiful, and the jellyfish were like angels, welcoming her to the sea. 

Of course, as the years went by, I’ve enhanced my memories, so the North Sea cod became a magical creature, much like Mum and the jellyfish. The fish’s body is covered in multicoloured patterns in purples, blues and turquoise. He’s got bright red lips, neat white teeth, and as he’s on his side; only one heavily lidded eye is shown. But because he came out of my imagination, he’s disabled, because in a way he’s foreshadowing what was to come. A crutch is wedged under his fin, and a tracheotomy tube sticks out from the front of his chest, with “tracky” written on it. He has a scar near his tail, sewn up with bright red stitches. Even the magical, psychedelic jellyfish have come to represent the virus which would ultimately lead to my disability.

Stop 08 Uncle Dennis & the Inseminoids.mp3

Stop 08 Uncle Dennis & the Inseminoids

The idea for this diorama came from a story that my uncle Dennis used to tell me when he came to visit me in hospital.

My hospital bed was my world for one year. It was boring and drab in that bed, but I lived via my vivid imagination and the family visits, which were for an hour, twice a day. It was difficult for Mum and Dad, so other members of the extended family would take turns to visit, such as brothers, sisters and uncles and aunts. One family member that I particularly loved to see was my uncle Dennis and auntie Nora.

Not only was Uncle Dennis funny and very entertaining, he was the first person in the family to have a video recorder, so he could watch films at home that I had never heard of. Uncle Dennis was able to have this expensive piece of equipment because he had an insurance job for a London company, which, as he said, meant, “A London job with a London wage.” So I used to ask Uncle Dennis about these films he’d seen – which was always exciting, as he was a great storyteller, and he would take time to paint a picture for me with words. I would ask him, “What films have you seen lately, Uncle Dennis?” And it would start off with mainstream films like ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’, which was all well and good, but eventually he would start telling me about other films he had seen, such as ‘The Inseminoid’. As an 11-year-old lad with an active imagination, the title of this unknown film really captured my attention. 

“What’s ‘The Inseminoid’, Uncle Dennis?” I asked. 

Uncle Dennis was a great storyteller, so he laid out the story in all of its gory details, which basically came down to alien monsters getting bikini-clad women pregnant. Now, I was a young lad who was entering puberty, so this film really played on my mind. 

In the intervening years I revisited the story and decided to create my tribute to Uncle Dennis and Auntie Nora, and all those who visited me in hospital. I decided to make my own Inseminoid – even though I’ve never actually seen the film. 

The diorama’s in a green cabinet with a yellow pattern carved on the panel at the bottom. Inside there are two figures looking at each other.

The monster on the left, a kind of exotic, one-eyed cactus creature, is not threatening. It’s got two thick spiky branches, one like the body, with a big eye on top. The other branch sticks out stiffly, curving up. The whole thing is like an 11-year-old lad in a costume – his red calliper boots sticking out at the bottom. My Inseminoid is on the right, and represents what my illness was doing to me. The Inseminoid is literally see-through, with translucent pink skin. All the colourful things going on inside are visible. It’s got green bones, pink viruses and tiny red soldiers climbing around. The Inseminoid is grinning, showing all its teeth. It’s reaching out to the prickly cactus, touching its stiff, curving branch with a forefinger. There are pink jellyfish and green stars all around them, and the whole scene has a cheerful jagged red frame.

Stop 09 Hippo Scare.mp3

Stop 09 Hippo Scare

This diorama is in a blue cabinet, with red vertical bars on the bottom and top panels. Inside is a hippo with wings in a cage.

In the early 1970s I have a very vivid memory of visiting Belle Vue Zoo, which was just outside Manchester. I must have been about five years old, as the zoo closed in 1976. Because money was so tight, we didn’t go on many day trips, so when we did, it was a huge event. It was a Victorian zoo, so it was very dark and imposing, with Gothic architecture and huge enclosures.

The diorama is colourful, but it’s also quite dark. There are red bricks around the edges, and they’re covered in dark brown patterns. The bricks are uneven, as if a hole’s been made in the wall of the zoo, so we can look into the hippo’s cage.

I remember going into a very dark and ominous building, which had lots of animal enclosures. One of the enclosures was basically a huge tank of very dark brown water. I could see a dark shape moving inside, and its size was beyond anything I could ever imagine. The dark shape moved, until its head was above water and all I saw was this giant, gaping mouth with teeth like tombstones sticking out. It was a hippopotamus. It terrified me, at that moment, in that space. My reaction to the hippo was extreme, and on reflection I can now see that this was because it represented something so big and extraordinary.

It was an extreme reaction of both fear and the sublime, as I now know that this experience was linked directly to my creativity being stimulated, and these feelings [were] like those I’ve subsequently felt when I’m being creative, or have an idea for a new piece of work. I can reconnect with my younger self and access that feeling once more.

The hippo is no longer scary, but it’s now beautiful and angelic. So in this diorama it has a pair of white wings sprouting from its back. Its big brown body is covered in black ink patterns. It’s looking to the right, with one chunky tooth poking up between its smiling lips. The grey bars of the cage are behind it. I depict my younger self with my sister looking through the bars at the hippo. We’re both wearing swimming costumes as if we’re on the beach. 

There’s another character which the children gaze upon, and that’s a mysterious figure on the right. Its face is covered by the head of a hippo. The figure represents my illness, which is trying to disguise itself. He serves as a metaphor for what is to come. There are windows cut in the arms and legs, showing the bones inside. One of its arms has a wrist brace, decorated with a small pink heart. He’s got four legs and two of his large bare feet are sticking out in front, taking a step nearer to the angelic hippo, and he’s pointing at it. The hippo is my creativity, which is ready to fly.

As timelines merge and interact, the green jellyfish illuminate the scene. They’re floating in front of the red bricks at the edges, and there are more of them behind the children looking through the bars. The future is the past and the past is the future.

Stop 10 Painting with my Mouth.mp3

Stop 10 Painting with my Mouth

This is a very brightly coloured diorama. It’s in an orange cabinet with a blue pattern at the bottom that looks like paintbrushes. It shows a figure painting a picture on an easel, holding a paintbrush in his mouth. Lots of small figures are floating around him.

Whilst in hospital I started to attend Pinderfields Hospital Special School in Wakefield. The classroom was just at the end of D Ward. This was to prove a huge moment for me, as education was made available and a new world of possibilities opened up. I was just like my favourite fictional character, Pip from ‘Great Expectations’, who came from lowly beginnings but wanted to be a gentleman.

It was at school that I was taught to paint with my mouth. This was such a huge, momentous thing, as my energies now went into creating new worlds. I wasn’t limited to just living in my head; I could externalise my imagination in a very real way. I filled up many sketchbooks and started to create characters. It was the start of my journey as an artist.

To ensure that I could paint, my whole body had to have external adaptations added. I had a surgical collar, which was made from thick leather and covered most of my neck, chest and head. I had a spinal brace to keep me upright, and a series of straps to keep me straight in the wheelchair. On my legs I had callipers and huge boots. I had arm callipers which kept my arms straight and were meant to move on a pivot on the wheelchair, but I was unable to do this, as I had no movement in my arms. 

The paintbrush and pencil were attached to a device which looked like a surgical tooth brace. It was all wire and plastic with a tube attached, through which the paintbrush or pencils could be placed. My wheelchair had a high back so my head wouldn’t fall back. I felt almost robotic, as there was not a part of my body which did not have some kind of attachment to it. This is why I’ve depicted my bottom half as a Dalek from ‘Doctor Who’. (I love Tom Baker – he was my favourite Doctor.) 

I’ve given myself one big eye, which is bulging out towards the canvas. I’m surrounded by characters from my other artworks. They include things like a hippo with wings, which is high up on the left. A cockerel with a man’s head, which is in the top-right corner, and there’s a mermaid lower down. A face with red lips and a beard is grinning from the bottom-right corner. This is an influence from an illustration of Charles Dickens, where he’s sitting surrounded by all of his creations. 

This is a bright, celebratory scene, as I’m finding my true vocation as an artist. And my imagination can’t be contained. It’s been set free, and my characters are real, and a source of comfort to me in that difficult time.

On the canvas I’m working on, there’s a ‘pin-up’ of a scantily clad young woman in high heels. She’s sitting on the closed lid of a toilet, kicking out a leg with a calliper. This ties in with those feelings I had as a young lad, trying to deal with both my disability and the onset of puberty. It was such a complete mystery to me, as it was happening to a body which I couldn’t feel or experience.

This is the end of the last stop of the audio guide. You are now close to the main entrance where we started. Please note that this is also an exit, so there will be visitors moving in both directions. You are of course free to stay and explore. There is an alternative exit via the lobby in the corner, which takes you down a spiral staircase. In the lobby there is a filmed interview with Jason and replicas of his sketchbooks which can be touched.

Jason and the Adventure of 254

A highlights tour is available here, with audio description (AD) and British Sign Language (BSL). 

The tour has ten stops, each around four minutes long, and features Jason’s voice. 

BSL and AD can be accessed via QR code, along with all exhibition texts in screen-readable formats. 

AD can also be accessed using the touch-button players below. For instructions on how to use the player, key in 700.  

Use your phone to scan the QR code, or pick up a player below and follow the track numbers. 

You can use our WiFi for free. Turn your device’s WiFi on and select Wellcome WiFi. 

Please speak to a member of staff if you need help.

‘Jason and the Adventure of 254’ (2024) is Jason Wilsher-Mills’ most monumental and personal artwork to date. It transports us back in time to Pinderfields Hospital, Wakefield on 1 August 1980 at 2.54pm. This was when Wilsher-Mills witnessed his parents being told of the autoimmune condition that paralysed him from the neck down from the age of 11 to 16. This moment coincided exactly with British athlete Sebastian Coe, wearing the number 254, winning the 1500-metre race at the Moscow Olympics, which was being shown on the ward’s TV.  

While he was unable to move, Jason’s interior world was inhabited by characters from comic strips and TV shows, intertwined with memories of his experiences of life both before and during his hospitalisation. Rather than remembering it as a time of trauma or loss, he sees it as the awakening of his creative life as an artist. The installation is a dreamlike distillation of his childhood memories of what was happening inside and outside his body, and within his imagination during this transformative period. 

The artist talks about the significance of the objects in the room on the digital guide, available in audio and BSL formats.

Everything in this gallery can be touched.

Calliper boots are a type of orthopaedic device. They were one of many painful adaptive technologies that Wilsher-Mills was given to wear as a child. He has since reclaimed them as a symbol of pride by reinventing them as boots that he would choose to wear, transforming them into an expression of identity, which he frequently includes in his work.

Jason can pinpoint the exact time of his diagnosis to 2.54pm, as it coincided with Sebastian Coe winning the 1500-metre race in the 1980 Moscow Olympics, which was being shown on the ward’s ever-present TV. 254 also happened to be Coe’s racing number. Wilsher-Mills talks about the significance of this number and the moment that his life altered for ever, directing him towards his path as an artist.

Jason remained bedbound for most of the year he spent in Pinderfields Hospital. His doctor explained Jason’s autoimmune condition as an army of white blood cells in his body that were attacking him instead of defending him. This figure represents Jason’s memory of what was happening to his body, his feet swollen to massive proportions to symbolise pain, and light signals depicting the neurological pathways from his brain to his body gone awry.

Wilsher-Mills is the youngest of eight children from a working-class family who grew up in Wakefield, West Yorkshire. Family occupies a central position in Wilsher-Mills’ life and was a crucial connection to the outside world while he was in hospital. Through the hospital school he gained new educational experiences, which he credits as being instrumental in his path to becoming an artist. 

Dotted around the gallery are push-button-operated dioramas, reminiscent of the penny-arcade machines Wilsher-Mills remembers from family holidays at the seaside resort of Withernsea in Yorkshire and the Humber. These vignettes act as windows into his childhood memories of the time preceding and during his hospitalisation. They are not straightforward depictions, but are infused with a dreamlike magic realism where myth and memory merge. Rich in symbolism, they denote stages of transformation in his life, from childhood through puberty to changes in his health and his creative journey. They also provide clues about the sources of Wilsher-Mills’ inspiration. 

Press the buttons to activate Jason’s inner life.

Withernsea, a seaside town in Yorkshire and the Humber, was the site of annual family holidays and Jason remembers it as a magical place. It is also the place where he first became ill after contracting chickenpox. He is pictured here playing with his sister on the beach, viruses looming on the horizon as a sign of what was to come.

Ward D was a hospital ward for teenage boys and men in Pinderfields Hospital, where Jason spent the first year of his paralysis. The boy in the bed opposite had a brain injury following a serious car crash. He used to call out bizarre phrases, like, “You look like my dad with hen’s legs,” which formed vivid images in Jason’s imagination.

Wilsher-Mills is proud of his working-class roots and culture. This is epitomised by his uncle Jimmy, who had a ferret that he claimed was so tame that he could kiss it. His demonstration ended, inevitably, in bloodshed. Here the ferret becomes enlarged to human size to depict this comedic episode.

This scene tells the story of Jason’s brother-in-law, who used to annoy Jason by eating the fruit left at his bedside without asking. One day, he ate one of Jason’s apples, which, unbeknown to him, had accidently been covered in urine earlier – a fact that Jason gleefully relayed after his brother-in-law had eaten it.

Wilsher-Mills’ mother was a key figure in his life and his principal carer, who fought for Jason to retain his independence during his confinement. He recalls childhood memories of her swimming in the North Sea at night during family holidays at Withernsea, illuminated by jellyfish. Here, she has been transformed into a mermaid, dancing with a disabled North Sea cod.

Before his illness, Jason was a skilled rugby-league player and was captain of his team. In ‘Trinity’, he explores themes of puberty, adolescence and the loss of his physical ability. He imagines what his life might have been like in a parallel universe.

Wilsher-Mills’ uncle Dennis was the first person in his family to own a VHS player. He used to visit Jason and tell him about the films he had been watching. This represents Jason’s imagining of ‘Inseminoid’, a 1981 sci-fi horror film that Wilsher-Mills has never seen, which becomes a metaphor for his experience of puberty.

When Jason was five years old, his sister took him to Belle Vue Zoological Gardens, a dilapidated Victorian zoo in Manchester. He was terrified by a hippo emerging from the murky waters. He now thinks of this as the moment he realised there was a world much bigger than him. The hippo has grown wings as a metaphor for Jason’s creativity.

Hospital school provided Jason with a personalised education that would have been otherwise unavailable to him. He learned about the work of artists and authors, and how to paint using his mouth. This vignette is inspired by a portrait of Charles Dickens, author of Wilsher-Mills’ favourite novel, ‘Great Expectations’ (1861), whose main character Pip’s life and social status is transformed through education.

This timeline charts the year that Jason spent in Pinderfields Hospital. Inspired by the annual bumper editions of his favourite comic, The Beano, it maps the progression of his illness alongside events in the wider world. Popular culture, TV in particular, became the main way Jason kept track of time while he was in hospital. He remembers when he got his first wheelchair by recalling who was playing Doctor Who at the time, and portrays himself as a Dalek undergoing medical treatment.

Jason gets chickenpox and he is ill. At the same time, his dad has a very bad back, so he takes the living-room door off its hinges and lies on top of it on the living-room floor. He takes the handle off first. 

Pac-Man, one of the most popular arcade video games of all time, is released and becomes a pop-culture sensation. 

After he has recovered from chickenpox, Jason goes to Knaresborough with his sister Ang and her husband Ron. He goes to visit the cave of Old Mother Shipton, England’s most famous prophetess. He starts to feel a bit ill and struggles to walk. On his return he finds out that Cliff Thorburn has won the World Snooker Championship. 

BBC2 launches a computer-generated clock, which is probably the first in the world. 

The sixpence coin is withdrawn from circulation. 

Jason continues to feel unwell. His mother takes him to the doctor. The doctors say: “You are being hysterical.” The GP says: “It’s just growing pains.” He’s unable to walk and spends most days on the settee. He watches the telly and the world outside the window. 

Jason is admitted to hospital. He has been unwell for weeks now. A GP comes to visit him at home and calls for an ambulance. Blue lights flash and all the children at the school that Jason attended line the fence and ask, “Where are you going, Wilsh?” They wave as the ambulance drives away, with sirens blaring. He is ‘enjoying’ the excitement. 

The best-selling single of 1980 was ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ by the Police (this was played on the ward all of the time!). 

Unemployment hits a 44-year high of nearly 1.9 million. 

Every week Jason has to have a lumbar puncture. He curls up in a ball and has a needle inserted into his spine. It is very painful, but the doctors are trying to find out the cause of the weakness in his legs and arms. It is a difficult time, but life on D Ward is hectic and exciting. 

Telly: All of Jason’s time in hospital is measured by what he watches on telly.

Great Britain competes at the Olympics in Moscow and wins five gold, seven silver and nine bronze medals. 

Seb Coe and Steve Ovett are about to start an incredibly exciting race, the 1500-metre men’s final at the Moscow Olympics. Jason is in bed. The TV is opposite him and he is watching it avidly. The consultant pediatrician is doing his rounds and Jason’s mum and dad are being told that Jason will not survive and will be lucky to reach the age of 16. His mum and dad are very upset, but Jason is more interested in the result of the race… Seb Coe won! 

The number Seb Coe wears for the race is 254, which corresponds strangely with the time that Jason is diagnosed. Surely this is just a coincidence? 

The top film of 1980 was ’Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back’. 

As Jason continues to get weaker, there is a threat that he has to go into an iron lung. This is a terrible thing and he is so scared. Every hour he has to blow into a peak-flow meter to ensure that he has enough breath to keep breathing unaided. He manages to do this, as the fear of an iron lung is so great – he would miss some quality telly. 

Iron Lung: The threat of the iron lung continues, but Jason fights to keep breathing. He is frightened of the thought of his head sticking out of the metal tube. Of being locked in. Of having to leave D Ward, which has now become a familiar home. 

The US science-fiction series ‘Battlestar Galactica’ makes its debut on ITV. 

Throughout all this time he is in bed and sees young people and children passing him who are in wheelchairs. They are attending the hospital special school, which is in a classroom at the end of the ward. Jason is desperate to have a wheelchair so that he can get out and about. He dreams of a vehicle that will get him out of bed. 

In 1980 Tom Baker, who played Jason’s favourite Doctor, was in his last season of ‘Doctor Who’. 

Jason’s time in hospital is scary but visiting times make things bearable. His days are marked by the TV, which is always on. He watches the world go by but feels very distant from it. The ward is split into men and boys and the men tell Jason stories about their adventures in World War II. The men tell rude jokes and Jason laughs. 

Jason tries his first wheelchair. The nurses get him out of bed with the physios. He starts to pass out because he hasn’t been out of bed in months, but it is an exciting day. He dreams of wheels and freedom. 

Jason has lots of visitors. His extended family, all seven brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts come to see and entertain him with wonderful stories. They always bring him lovely sweets and gifts. He feels sorry for his sister Tracey, as he now gets all the attention. 

Jason is losing control of his hands. He has a bed cradle over his legs because he cannot bear for the bedclothes to touch his skin. He is getting severe sensory signals, like pulses from his feet, and sometimes feels like his feet are huge. 

Super Hands: Jason loses sensation in his arms and hands. He imagines that he is an arm tree because he no longer feels that they belong to him. 

The Rubik’s Cube puzzle becomes an international sensation and a pop-culture fad of the early 1980s. 

The news headlines are that John Lennon has been shot. Jason hears ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ for the first time. It changes his life. He realises that there are other people like him, because the song represents creativity and self-expression… he has never been so excited. He doesn’t really know what an artist is, but thinks he might be one. 

Leg End: Jason’s fear of being in hospital and never going home increases, but he starts to attend Pinderfields Hospital Special School and they teach him to paint with his mouth. All the ideas that he’s had, which have been locked up while he was in bed, are set free and he can put paint to paper and experience life again, a life that he is missing. He decides he wants to become an artist.

Jason finally goes home after a year in hospital. He has his wheelchair now and is on his journey to becoming an artist.

Jason Wilsher-Mills is an artist from Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK. In his work he explores narratives of disability, health and identity, using playful humour and colourful magic realism. His inspiration ranges from sources as diverse as The Beano and the works of Charles Dickens, as well as making reference to the ancient Greek hero after whom he was named. 

Wilsher-Mills creates new ways of storytelling that reflect the social model of disability – the idea that it is society that is disabling by not accommodating the full range of human needs.  

Wilsher-Mills’ new work, ‘Jason and the Adventure of 254’ (2024), was inspired by looking at objects from Wellcome Collection’s anatomical collections, which triggered memories of his own hospitalisation as a child. The sketchbooks on display show the drawings Wilsher-Mills produced daily in preparation for the new work. Sketching by hand is a new process for Wilsher-Mills – in the filmed interview he reveals how sketching has become a therapeutic way for him to process his memories.  

The artist talks about different elements of the commission on our digital guide, available in audio and BSL formats. Access them using the handsets provided or QR codes on your phone.

In this short film, Wilsher-Mills discusses some of the inspirations behind his new commission for Wellcome Collection. He also talks about his artistic process and shares behind-the-scenes footage that reveals how the works were made. 

2024
7min 24sec
Film by Ollie Isaac, Ricardo Barbosa and Jeremy Bryans
Filmed at Wellcome Collection, London, MDM Props, London, and the artist’s studio, Sleaford, UK
© Wellcome Collection

These copies of sketchbooks show a selection of the 400 drawings that Wilsher-Mills made as preparation for his exhibition. They show the development of the artwork, from his initial ideas to the refining of the individual details. These copies have been enlarged and are designed to be handled. Wilsher-Mills’ original A5 sketchbooks will be acquired by Wellcome Collection at the end of the exhibition.

Replicas of sketches, June to December 2023

The ‘Jason and the Adventure of 254’ booklet

The printed booklet that accompanies the exhibition contains an essay by curator Shamita Sharmacharja, which you can read via the link below:
 ‘The Adventures of Jason Wilsher-Mills’.

Tuesday 21 May 2024, 18:30–20:00
Wednesday 22 May 2024, 18:30–20:00

In-gallery conversations with artist Jason Wilsher-Mills and curator Shamita Sharmacharja.

Free, in-person event, booking required.
British Sign Language. Relaxed.

Saturday 15 June 2024, 11:00–16:00
Sunday 16 June 2024, 11:00–16:00

A drop-in participatory craft workshop exploring our memories of childhood, health and joyful creativity. Share your story and contribute to a growing collective display.

Thursday 9 May 2024, 18:30–20:30
Sunday 21 July 2024, 18:30–20:30
Friday 23 August 2024, 10:00–12:00
Thursday 7 November 2024, 10:00–12:00
Saturday 4 January 2025, 18:30–20:30

If you need additional support to enjoy this exhibition, join us for a Relaxed Opening. There will be fewer people and extra staff to help you. We will provide a visual story in advance. There will also be sensory equipment and a chill-out room available.

Visit wellcomecollection.org/events for details and for further events.

Touring Exhibitions Manager
Rachel Sturgis  

Audio-Visual
Ollie Isaacs, Ricardo Barbosa, Jeremy Bryans  

Exhibition Design
Martin McGrath Studio  

Artwork Fabrication
MDM Props, Kevin Harlow, Megaflatables  

Install Technicians
Exhibition Site Management, Lawrence Corby, Lucy Woodhouse  

BSL Guide
Samuel Dore, Alexandra Shaw, Marcel Hirshman 

We would like to thank 
Jason Wilsher-Mills, Hannah Moulds, Kate Watson, Michelle Lally, John Cairns, Ross MacFarlane, Verity Parkin, Stefania Signorello, Alice Evans, Honor Beddard and our colleagues who have generously lent their expertise and ideas to this exhibition and contributed to its planning and delivery.

https://images.prismic.io/wellcomecollection/ZpE2lh5LeNNTxG3k_WELL-11213-00066_05913_023.jpg?auto=format,compress&rect=0,194,3888,2187&w=3200&h=1800

Jason and the Adventure of 254 digital guides

Highlights tour

Listen to audio

Watch British Sign Language videos

Exhibition text

Exhibition text

Other exhibition guides available

Hard Graft: Work, Health and Rights