Making art is experimentation. Without preconceptions of the result, I’m drawn to humble, functional, inexpensive materials that we ignore and take for granted. I see if I can elevate their “status”. Take paperclips, zip ties or plastic dog poop bags: I find that if I craftily combine myriads of them, they can achieve a surprising beauty and power through the tedious, comforting, repetitive linking or weaving processes with constant aesthetic evaluations along the way. The best experiments may result in a “fancy” chandelier like pendant or a tapestry or strange undersea creatures that float in space or lie on the floor, or Medusa-like dreadlocks–all with a life of their own.
I also experiment with emotionally or symbolically charged objects that I have collected and can’t seem to throw or give away. When I combine these objects, the results are sometimes like dreams that I have to ponder for days or months without ever coming up with a definitive explanation of why they go together so inextricably. For example, I found that the pink, fleece “bunny” snowsuit that I wore as an infant fit perfectly stretched across the large square pink chenille pillow sham from my teens. I tucked one of my mother’s frosted, pink, plastic breast measurement cups into the head of the snow suit and attached them all to a square canvas that I dyed pink and stretched. In spite of all the soft pink shapes colors and textures, the result is nightmarishly eerie. Is it a commentary on a woman’s bondage to society’s stereotypes—that we’re coddled, protected, and packaged in hopes that we ultimately achieve a size 36 C cup?