Whatever it is it must have
A stomach that can digest
Rubber, coal, uranium, moons, poems.
Like the shark it contains a shoe.
It must swim for miles through the desert
Uttering cries that are almost human.
– Louis Simpson, American Poetry
I try to reference objects and materials that are commonly encountered in daily life. These range from household items, like books, bedside clocks, and bed sheets to more industrial features associated with public space such as, traffic signals, and automotive lacquers. I’m especially drawn to things that move or direct us from one place to another—both spatially and psychologically. Sometimes, this duality might be emphasized by a subject that functions as a partage or mediator between these two spaces, like window blinds or a gate. At the right moment, these common objects can make me viscerally aware of the present in my daily inside-outside journey. The way this occurrence might register to me is not unlike notes within a chord or musical composition.
The awareness of the passage of time as part of an artwork, especially in subtle ways, has become important to me. I want the presence of electric light, or slight movement (as in the Days bed sheet sculptures, or in the Loops gifs) to emphasize the passage of time for the viewer, without making an explicitly time-based work. This decision is made in direct contrast to the phenomenon sometimes observed when looking at paintings as time “freezing”. I think that when Dan Flavin made his monuments to Vladimir Tatlin, he was alluding to the notion that even at its most transcendent, art still operates within the societal constraints of its home culture—it’s all still “on the grid”. My goal in focusing on the public and the private as two distinct spaces, is to invoke the inevitable process of having to navigate between them and the dynamic experiences that result from this movement.