Contagion is a piece that started with wrapping pink, bulk yarn around aluminum wire. The abstract form takes on an early childhood science class approach with bright and vibrant colors. The softness and saturation of the yarn also represents my own personal psyche as the piece was made in a time of extreme healing and need for inner peace. The veins mingle and interconnect, using each other to stay in place, hang on, and expand. In this sense, I see this work reflecting as not just an abstraction of blood vessels and intersecting tendons and ligaments, but that of the human condition and our need to interweave and connect with others in order to thrive and grow.
“My Mother’s Daughter”
A metal wire brush precariously dragged upon thin rusted tin.
Each head cock, each inflation of the chest, the prongs bury deeper.
Above is my personal description of how I felt as a child living with a heightened sense of anxiety. To better understand myself now, as an adult, I desperately braid, weave, and wrap safe, soft, forgiving, and comforting textiles either together or around light metal frames. Through such a methodology of healing and meditating, I continue to uncover truths about myself and my desires, and how those may or may not relate to others.
“My Mother’s Daughter,” the hammock like open cube, came into being out of the desire to recycle and add more intimacy to the work I was making. It is composed of leftover scraps of yarn, old blankets, along with the clothing, and purses belonging to me and my mother. The choice of materiality comes from the desire to provide comfort to those struggling with panic related illnesses, along with a preservation of the memories held within the garments. The shape itself comes as a reflection and comparison of that of my mother’s and my own personality. The cube is more representative of my mother. Though we are all given an effective dose of stress and hardships, my mother has stood as a beacon, able to compartmentalize her emotions and maintain relative composure, in sharp contrast with a sensitive and unconfined daughter. I continue to observe, copy, and learn her ways for maintaining a structural sound form, while embracing what makes us different.
“Like a Wet Fish,” is a physical body of work that explores the preservation, emotional attachment, and eventual deterioration of memories. Three eight foot tall and sixteen by sixteen inch wide rectangular structures are oriented vertically and placed in an outdoor setting allowing them to be altered by nature, or acted upon by spectators. Each pillar is composed of a strong wooden frame embellished coarsely by broken chair legs, furniture, sticks, and firewood. Roughly carved and quickly fading upon the chair legs, exists a series of phrases and poetry. These have been collected over the years and evaluate my own important memories and relationships within life. Throughout the process of making, certain words and sayings such as, “Like a Wet Fish,” are repeated, exploring my own inability to let go and deep desire to hold on to something that only exists within the past. The creation of the strong structures is an attempt to save and share the potent memories. In contrast, some words are scratched out or left unfinished altogether. These bits serve as an unwillingness to let certain memories continue to take up space or prominence within my psyche. Ultimately, it is the odd assemblage of form and it’s towering height that demands the most attention. Though sturdy in structure, these pieces are placed outside in an attempt to emphasize the idea that eventually, they too will wither, like that of my own body. As time goes on both phrases and form become more and more obscure, until the memories altogether disappear.
“Cut, Paste. Slap, Tear, “ is a performance piece done as a response to being verbally harassed by a customer at my place of work. The comments made in regards to my body and his further expression of distaste, when I politely rejected a date, left me stirred. I struggled with anxiety, in future interactions with the repeat customer, and it ultimately led to the creation of this work.
In the piece, I begin by blindly cutting my hair and pasting it in places men generally grow hair. I try, unsuccessfully, to cover up my womanhood. I then proceed to stand on a stool, grasping two raw steaks. I vigorously beat myself until a thin film of blood and tissue coat my flushed body. Slowly, I descend back to my seated position. Becoming hyper-aware of the layers of hair sticking to my body, I desperately begin to tear away and remove any bit resembling the notion of “man.”
Radish is a 20 minute performance piece done in one sitting. During the work I sit in a white dress and attempt to consume a family size lasagna, that sits on my dress over my thighs. The endurance based piece plays on the ideas of the entrance into womanhood, as my dress becomes a sticky red hue. The minutes go on and I move slower, and slower, as my body fills and I ultimately give up on the task, after gagging between bites. I take what still remains and begin to drench my already soiled body. I end by standing up and removing the ruined garment.
