Rituals, layers and time 

WEEK 2

Everyday as I walk to my studio, I pass a particular abandoned lot. The first time I saw it, something about it stopped my heart. It had a certain abject energy that captivated me. It was barren, polluted, yet somehow charged. I visualized a dance performance occurring in it (note: I do not ever do this sort of thing!) and even spoke about this to a dancer/choreographer in my MFA program. Something about this space was calling to me. In the last few days, the lot has changed. Construction equipment has moved in. Blue fencing has gone up. Piles of materials have appeared. The lot is changing. But how? Into what? I feel a loss.

 

I recognize similarities between this lot, its changes, and my studio practice. Changes. Transformations. Layers. Deliberacy that is also opaque. I collect materials. I break them down. I change them. I combine them. I change them. I repeat these processes, over and over, restlessly, relentlessly, until a piece is done. There are forced stops or resting points, to let materials dry. Moments of reflection. A time to check the compass, try to peer into the future. What might this be? What does this want to be? Lately I’ve been thinking about the steps, the sequence. What does this mean? How does one stage affect the others? I’m particularly interested in the semi-accidental marks left on the dropcloths. They suggest archeological remains, excavations, blueprints, the outlines around bodies at a crime scene. I think of Rosalind Krauss’ Index (“the marks or traces of…the thing to which they refer, the object they signify.”)

 

I find myself returning, over and over, to certain elements. A slow dance, a purposeful progression with an unknown endpoint. Here is an example: I had a thought about making an oozing sort of shape out of poured paint. Would it hold its shape when dry? I made a few to see. It worked! I put them up under a few pieces, taping them to the wall. Nothing permanent. I liked them. I made more. At this moment I am worried about their durability. They seem too fragile, and also too wrinkled. I am experimenting with applying other materials to them, to strengthen and perhaps smooth them. I am wondering if other materials are the answer: resin perhaps? Something else? I am wondering who I can consult with about this. But I am in love with the idea of oozing paintings.

 

Individual pieces evolve in a similar way. Step by step, an unfolding narrative of change. Here is an example, and I use this piece because I hate it. I’ve hated it every step of the way. It is never good. It is always irritating. Because of this, I am happy to change it. Perhaps, I think, the next transformation will make it work? It began as a quick sketch to pass the time, at small scale because I didn’t have access to my studio yet. The mark was an attempt at a fingerprint motif (that I’ve been using lately) but it failed, and looked like a spiral. The spray painted text (that I’ve been using lately) ended up totally illegible, to the point that I don’t even know what I was trying to write. I added goop and dangling threads, which helped to a certain extent. A studio visitor suggested that I layer my work on the wall, and I thought I would try that out on this piece, because (a) it’s small and (b) I don’t care about it at all. So I made a backing layer and added the onesie (that I’ve been playing around with as materials) to bulk it up. But then I thought: Is this onesie piece interesting? Are these actually separate pieces? Do I really want to hide the onesie piece under this first, totally unsuccessful and failing piece? I hung them separately. I hung them together. I attached them at the top only, but left the 3 other sides open (a secret book). And then, finally, I sewed this shut (a secret pregnancy?) In the final shot, as you can see, I’m seeing what it looks like if I add the oozing element. I wonder: is this starting to fail less? Is it going somewhere interesting, finally? Will I end up loving it more because of the journey we have been on together? It is my problem child. Maybe we will find redemption together.