I'll be starting an 11-month studio residency program at Studio Place Arts in Barre, Vt., from December 1, 2017-October 31, 2018.Read More
My questions for the month are: what is political? What is personal? This month’s election (well, and the campaign leading up to it ) blurred everything. Political because personal and vice versa. And now everything is piled up in a big junk heap, awaiting for that lit match tossed in nonchalantly. I am still reeling. But I’m not static which leads to the questions burning holes in my mental pockets: how can I channel energy outward? How can I used my words and pictures to say something that matters? Make big head masks and get out into the streets?
I didn't realize it at the time but this installation, Communal Fire, is a tribute to the idea of descent, of moving from higher to lower ground, and ultimately, to meeting up in a place where it's all about sharing. So it's a fitting statement for how I feel, post-election, and perhaps for how things have to move in order to get better.
Birds-eye-view, aerial, and panoramic views…why do I love it so? I’m working on a picture of Montpelier, VT, currently my hometown, and in doing so, I’m seeing what the wide world of Google has to offer me for references. So much overhead view! Is landscape a character? If attachment to a landscape supersedes other things like job opportunities, cost of living, diversity, are you crazy to remain attached? I find myself in that boat, tied up to a particular harbor. In my case, the boat is a canoe, and the harbor is a green bank on a Vermont lake. It’s frightening, committing to a place. My limitless view of the world (”I could go ANYWHERE…except maybe Afghanistan”) has tightened, the aperture dialed down, and gone is a periphery. Through my pinhole view, I gaze at the details. All of this is by choice - or is it? Is there a thread that keeps us tethered to a place, because the landscape matches up with our own shape? Like a giant hand moving puzzle pieces, slotting me in to this one little open space.