Statements
The Distance Between (2011)
For people who see the world in black and white, in absolutes, the distance between is irrelevant. You either are or you aren’t. You either do or do not. A white lie is just as bad as life in prison. They can’t appreciate the gradual descent, the slow, silent slide into a different state of being.
For those of us who can see the grays, the distance between is viewed as a continuum where one can shift left or right, up or down. We may not realize our movement along the line, between the planes, until we reach a different spot.
These works in acrylic and charcoal on wood panels represent my personal distances between two or more concepts fixed in time. Using rope to tether paintings closely together or to force a large space between other pairings creates a concrete, physical measurement of the emotional distances between each word in my life and invites viewers to consider where these intersections occur in their own.
For people who see the world in black and white, in absolutes, the distance between is irrelevant. You either are or you aren’t. You either do or do not. A white lie is just as bad as life in prison. They can’t appreciate the gradual descent, the slow, silent slide into a different state of being.
For those of us who can see the grays, the distance between is viewed as a continuum where one can shift left or right, up or down. We may not realize our movement along the line, between the planes, until we reach a different spot.
These works in acrylic and charcoal on wood panels represent my personal distances between two or more concepts fixed in time. Using rope to tether paintings closely together or to force a large space between other pairings creates a concrete, physical measurement of the emotional distances between each word in my life and invites viewers to consider where these intersections occur in their own.
Self-Edit, 2010
small boxes... some on fire (2010)
I am the keeper of stories. My family’s stories. Those told to me by friends or people I barely know. Some I know are true. Others, I’m not so sure. But I use the words, rehash and rework them and strip them down to the bone, then build the sentences up again, layers upon layers representing the feeling of a story I know.
The hidden story fragment embedded in the painting influences the palette and mark-making to capture small slices of time, like journal entries exposed in a visual format. Acrylic washes are added then partially removed in areas using my hands or cloth. The process is physical, moving pieces repeatedly from wall to floor and back, and often using both hands. My works on Italian cotton-wool blend paper also involve layered washes and their partial removal.
The act of remembering and sharing stories is a powerful thing to me. Just as the passage of time creates layers of experiencing — the remembering of an event, the misremembering of it, the distancing, the forgetting — these coats of color and texture become a lens through which I share my cache of stories, and invite viewers to reflect upon their own.
I am the keeper of stories. My family’s stories. Those told to me by friends or people I barely know. Some I know are true. Others, I’m not so sure. But I use the words, rehash and rework them and strip them down to the bone, then build the sentences up again, layers upon layers representing the feeling of a story I know.
The hidden story fragment embedded in the painting influences the palette and mark-making to capture small slices of time, like journal entries exposed in a visual format. Acrylic washes are added then partially removed in areas using my hands or cloth. The process is physical, moving pieces repeatedly from wall to floor and back, and often using both hands. My works on Italian cotton-wool blend paper also involve layered washes and their partial removal.
The act of remembering and sharing stories is a powerful thing to me. Just as the passage of time creates layers of experiencing — the remembering of an event, the misremembering of it, the distancing, the forgetting — these coats of color and texture become a lens through which I share my cache of stories, and invite viewers to reflect upon their own.
