My studio is a philosophical space and the asset I possess is energy. Energy is capital. And my capital is waning. My mortality plays a pivotal role in the way I think about my studio practice.
Sweat equity is defined by a contribution toward a project using physical labor/mental effort, and time. If my capital as an artist is my mortality, then the refuse produced from my studio endeavors are considered legitimate forms of production. A former gallerist of mine once stated that artists are martyrs; Artists should not have expectations for any result outside of the artworks produced. At the time I did not agree, and I still do not subscribe to the above statement, however I am able to intellectually apply it to my output. If I spend my life (and granted I understand it is an extraordinary privilege) in my workshop with the intention of producing art, then remnants, offcuts, and broken tools are a valuable resource. I cannot regain time spent; however, waste material does provide a recouping of energy expenditure. The resin sculptures accrue value in 2 ways. Time spent. Energy spent. I collect the dust of production and wait. I scan my studio for conversations between objects. The subject matter of my artistic practice has (in many ways) become this room, a conversation between effort and chance. My work is labor intensive. My past work more so. Occasionally I turn toward eBay as a resource to address the ‘readymade’ but mostly to alleviate physical stress on my body. Technological waste is omnipresent. Integrating technology into my work is a practical choice, given its significant influence on my efforts.
Failure is useful. I consistently work, destroy, rework, rebuild and recontextualize. Completed pieces are dug from their storage graves and caged together facing inwards permanently erasing my previous efforts. This body of work also serves 2 purposes: recycling of things I dislike and training myself with the craft of steel work. At times I come up against the limitations of my own creativity. Working with metal keeps me working. Investigating a craft that I respect and admire coupled with problem solving tends to lead me back to my art practice. Metal has expanded the potential of my studio within all applications.
To be a student is vulnerable, and to be an artist is permanent vulnerability. My vulnerability has been without a mentor and nullified guidance. A stereotype of solitude. Toward the end of my undergraduate degree, I began painting. Painting was not one of my gifts. As the internet became ubiquitous in the early 2000’s, I embarked on my formative art-educational journey, mediated, ever since, by a screen. The wall-based glass works took many years to develop, however, once I understood the material connection to computer technology, the body of work expanded. Nearly 20 years of experimentation have passed using layers of Plexiglas to sandwich my understanding of the varied historical trajectories of painting. At this point, I rarely use paint at all aside from the occasional spray can. The material has been replaced with glass, mirror, silicone, adhesives, tape, photos, and other industrial materials. The success rate of these objects is low. Once glued, Plexiglas cannot be removed from itself. This limitation feeds my predilection toward destruction and recycling. Limitations can lead one to succeed or fail. But failure is useful for me, and all my artistic successes rely on failure.