Gatherings: wind & seeds
The exhibition Gatherings: wind & seeds is born from self-induced mysticism, pre-nostalgia, and indulgent play. It’s about finding value in what you have, what you’ve had all along, what you could have: scraps, shards, tests, trials, bits, and bobs. It’s making something from nothing, nothing from everything, the beauty in what’s always been there. Everything for the exhibition has been gathered, in acts of love and searching, stubborn stinginess and creative frugality. Pieces have been literally brought out from the attic, from storage boxes, saved from recycling, given third lives, stripped back, and cuted-up.
How could I make something really new after giving birth? How could I not?
A moment of clarity or lucidity hasn’t come postpartum. My mind hasn’t been all my own and my focus is constantly drawn back to someone who needs me.
Realizations come in conceptions, in immediate feelings and reactions to seeing materials in volume, in composition, in relation to each other.
I know it when I see it. I know what I’ve wanted to do, but not exactly why. Slowly I can gather clues and some probable reasons, spying on myself in reverse. I can ask questions of myself which I might not elude, but maybe the answers only always come in time and with space - and in space.
The installation is my hope for perspective and understanding - away from the home, away from the studio, all my pieces gathered together to have a conversation. I’ve planned the layout, the aesthetic, the concept, but not what they’ll talk about.
The works relate to each other in being essentially flat - everything could fit neatly in a pile - except the bulbs and the bell. Is it a survivalist method? It feels like a circus or stage trick. Now you see it, now you don’t.
I’ve been collecting, gleaning, scraping, sorting, archiving; bringing it all together. Works were pulled together from different corners of my life to tell you a story - about how ideas begin, how they linger, they continue, and when you least expect it, set sail and take flight.
How could I make something really new after giving birth? How could I not?
A moment of clarity or lucidity hasn’t come postpartum. My mind hasn’t been all my own and my focus is constantly drawn back to someone who needs me.
Realizations come in conceptions, in immediate feelings and reactions to seeing materials in volume, in composition, in relation to each other.
I know it when I see it. I know what I’ve wanted to do, but not exactly why. Slowly I can gather clues and some probable reasons, spying on myself in reverse. I can ask questions of myself which I might not elude, but maybe the answers only always come in time and with space - and in space.
The installation is my hope for perspective and understanding - away from the home, away from the studio, all my pieces gathered together to have a conversation. I’ve planned the layout, the aesthetic, the concept, but not what they’ll talk about.
The works relate to each other in being essentially flat - everything could fit neatly in a pile - except the bulbs and the bell. Is it a survivalist method? It feels like a circus or stage trick. Now you see it, now you don’t.
I’ve been collecting, gleaning, scraping, sorting, archiving; bringing it all together. Works were pulled together from different corners of my life to tell you a story - about how ideas begin, how they linger, they continue, and when you least expect it, set sail and take flight.
