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"ARTIST STATEMENTS" |
Artist
Statement 1
As a means to heal the phantom pain, the limb is shortened, again – as if the limb was at fault. What I can’t say isn’t apparent in the painting, but for me, the desire to escape genre could be likened to the desire to transcend gender. How many times do I have to say it? “It isn’t futile; it’s about futility.” Things that arrive on a conveyor belt, that you eat, half-dead by the machinery alone. “Run your potatoes through a metal sieve, for more iron.” The sun is over-exposed, and as a result, so is everything in its way. Light should be measured by volume, so it can be turned down, to just the right temperature. Editing, erasure, and the paradox of things coming into being. The edges were wet from premature decay, weather damaged. There had been too much handling, you could tell, so we just had to leave it alone. The miracles of progress, of puberty. Industrial suits, protective rubber shoes, insulation powder. Camouflage as therapy. What did you say about contamination? It had a metallic taste to it. Can we shoot a close-up of that? The border was wide, like water, but I can’t remember how it felt when my ear drum collapsed. To stand in the middle of a room, everyone else looking in; it was like being folded into an envelope and never waking up until I arrived. The stillness of travel, the sleepiness of a letter; sealed within a pocket of time. Shopping for the right fit, I extended myself. Please, leave me unattended. An accumulation of earnestness, of vulnerability, apprehensive of the laughs to come. Granted, my pupils can’t physically get any smaller, though I try. |
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