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I want to make work in which conventional hierarchies of value--the concrete over the imaginary, fact over fiction, efficiency over pleasure--are dismantled, their parts rearranged to form objects through which desire, pathos, and obsession are encouraged, and the translation of event into imagination is made physical: form follows fetish. In material form, the imaginative act becomes a way to help shorten the distance between what happens inside our heads and outside our bodies. It is an activity with real, often dangerous consequences. Clay is utilized in this activity as a covert material. A wilderness in which animals of association may hide. A co-operative contradiction both molecularly and metaphorically. There are some certainties in the work: that beliefs can be substantiated, that complexity is necessary, that matter matters. Inevitably, I am overwhelmed. Looking for answers, our minds are sometimes thrust into the objects around us. Upon penetration, we lose track of where ourselves end and others begin. It is here, in the threshold between the factual and the natural, that discrete objects can transform and be transformed. ***** I believe in the power and potential for objects to transform us. Are they everyday? Maybe, depending on how often we use them. Things don't make us who we are, but change the way we want ourselves and others to see us, or rather, to understand us. (If we don't actually want to be understood, we like to think we want it, don't we?) Function, or reference to function, is just another clue to who we are and how we move. Being brained bodies in the world provokes questions; some are split second, some rattle around in us for ages. My questions sometimes have to do with fragility, sometimes beauty, sometimes nature, but almost always space, the body, the brain, the hand, the object, and the charged distance between them all. Maybe this is too much for a cup or a covered jar. But more than ration tells me otherwise.
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