In Appalachian folklore, there is a belief that through witchcraft one can shapeshift, changing one’s physical form … The photographs in this project, which also shapeshift, are evidence of my sorcery.
“My book would have him there simply because he should have been there all along.”
Everywhere the surface was changing, crumbling to dust, washing away … Gradients of color, broken edges quickly softened. Never straight lines, only gravity pulling water on paths of least resistance.
Wabi-sabi embraces the natural cycle of growth and decay. The life of an object and its impermanence are evidenced in patina and wear, including rips, any visible repairs (scotch tape or glue) or additions: pen, ink, stains, pencil marks.
My work is born out of my need and desire to simplify and/or reduce each moment to its absolute essential, by removing details from life that tend to obscure what is truly being experienced.
“Once I saw a barge with a small very happy dog patrolling the deck, he seemed to have a good life travelling the canals and rivers.”
So what remains after you lose everything? When water or fire or clumsiness or meanness or a pandemic or cancer or war or ignorance and obsolescence changes everything–breaks everything, what do we do with what remains? We make art.
Light, space, scale, shifting light, and a new way to look at buildings you pass every day: A discussion with artist Mark Oliver.
“That was Messing’s Horse at the water trough. Elijah recognized the blue pack roll on the back like the agent had described. Finally, he thought. The man moves fast for someone with nowhere to go.”
Although I work with the feelings of loss, mortality, and the power and delicate nature of memory, my work is a reflection of my attempt to live my life in fragile exultation.
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