Sinking
One in five people suffer from mental illness in America. It's a chronic condition, like diabetes or hypertension, but as a society, we do not treat mental illness in the same way. We do not talk about it. Aside from seeking support among those that also suffer, the expression of its existence is at the very least, discomfiting. Expression of mental illness is taboo.
In a series of vignettes, I document the experience of “sinking”: emotional devastation that reduces a person into shapeless despair. The act of sinking, although painful, has also been a source of inspiration; the inverse is buoyancy, in which life’s subtleties and purpose are magnified.
“You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.”
Artist's Book: Modified flag book
The book evokes a sense of becoming unhinged, in effect, sinking into a pool of black water. I use water as a metaphor to tell the story: to sink or swim, to jump or to turn away. The choice that the protagonist takes isn't quite obvious.
4" x 6"; Fabriano Tiziano paper, vellum, acrylic matte paint, gloss medium, vellum, HB pencil, Tyvek, copy paper, waxed linen thread, laser prints; Arial Rounded
Series of decay
Photographs of flowers as an observation of decay. At the onset, decay is rapid. As time passes, the decay is almost imperceivable.
During a summer workshop, I photographed a set of flowers that were placed on the dresser in each room. While the rooms were occupied, the dressers were cluttered with items indicating presence: deodorant, a hairdryer, sunscreen. When the occupants left, a shadow of their presence remained; their spirit had yet to depart. Each room was reminiscent of its former occupant. A scent, a tussled bedspread, circles of dust on each dresser. The flowers became an artifact of their presence; the flowers once placed prior to arrival, remained on each dresser for three weeks, eventually wilting, and drying up. These flowers were briefly allowed to exist as they were before the room was cleaned for the next guest.
Faces
2" x 3", black mountain clay
