Paint samples are commonly titled with the evocative names of places we will never go or that simply don’t exist. Purchasing “Maine Shore” or “Polar Bear” in a gallon of paint is a subtle reminder of our collective disconnect with each other and nature. I see this act as a quiet repression, the kind that is disguised in the rationality of the desire to repaint your living room and the acceptance that blue green liquid equivocates the smell of the ocean.
My practice is a parody of contemporary human ecologies that are increasingly engineered and deterministic. For me it is not about touting the evils of computers or communication networks, but about revealing the aspects of each step of the process by which social spaces are reorganized and ingenuity is assimilated. The language of my work lies purposefully outside of the realm of technology, manifested in decorative, archaic forms. Using this vocabulary engages the viewer on an emotional, visceral level, as I prefer to avoid didactic exchanges. Encountering my work will become, if successful, a catalyst for the destruction of complacency.
Recurring forms in my work are taken from an architectural landscape template. These shapes are then traced onto rice paper or paint samples and pinned to Styrofoam spheres like an entomological collection, although isolated from the drafted plans for someone’s yard, the shapes could be anything-clouds, for example. Even the most ephemeral objects and technologies are made of matter.
My process for this work is mechanistic and rudimentary: draw, cut, pin. I purposefully suppress the inherent potential for my material to establish intelligent, sensitive systems and visual solutions. Instead, I reduce or eliminate said potential in favor of repetitious systems where the indeterminacy of material intelligence is lost. The viewer completes the work by assessing the superficiality of the process and misuse of materials. Therein in lies the goal of my work: Learn the plans and variables, use your intellect to dismantle, rearrange and refurbish. I am an advocate of the potential suspense of form in favor of free play in relation to viewer subjectivity.
My practice is a parody of contemporary human ecologies that are increasingly engineered and deterministic. For me it is not about touting the evils of computers or communication networks, but about revealing the aspects of each step of the process by which social spaces are reorganized and ingenuity is assimilated. The language of my work lies purposefully outside of the realm of technology, manifested in decorative, archaic forms. Using this vocabulary engages the viewer on an emotional, visceral level, as I prefer to avoid didactic exchanges. Encountering my work will become, if successful, a catalyst for the destruction of complacency.
Recurring forms in my work are taken from an architectural landscape template. These shapes are then traced onto rice paper or paint samples and pinned to Styrofoam spheres like an entomological collection, although isolated from the drafted plans for someone’s yard, the shapes could be anything-clouds, for example. Even the most ephemeral objects and technologies are made of matter.
My process for this work is mechanistic and rudimentary: draw, cut, pin. I purposefully suppress the inherent potential for my material to establish intelligent, sensitive systems and visual solutions. Instead, I reduce or eliminate said potential in favor of repetitious systems where the indeterminacy of material intelligence is lost. The viewer completes the work by assessing the superficiality of the process and misuse of materials. Therein in lies the goal of my work: Learn the plans and variables, use your intellect to dismantle, rearrange and refurbish. I am an advocate of the potential suspense of form in favor of free play in relation to viewer subjectivity.
