below are selections from my “spatial portrait” series that went from 2022-onward.
these are commission-based.
the work consists of conceptual drawings (wax pastel)/paintings (acrylic) of individuals’ spatial memories. To access these memories, I ask only of language to describe: physical descriptions, narrative storylines and emotional states. I see no images. Each piece is ideally displayed with either its recorded interview or manipulated dialogue that I write based off of the original verbiage. The results are unseen versions of personal stories, relationships, hate, love, mental associations–all of which are attached to color, pieces of furniture, objects, walls, etc.
portrait of V. T. reflected on her childhood bedroom in the Bay/Huichin Area of California, where she developed her activist and artist identity while in conflict with her brother. She discussed how he would slip notes under her door that she ignored at the time. that she regretfully ignored at the time.
portrait of V. T. reflected on her childhood bedroom in the Bay/Huichin Area of California, where she developed her activist and artist identity while in conflict with her brother. She discussed how he would slip notes under her door that she ignored at the time. that she regretfully ignored at the time.
T. W. is a psychoanalytically trained therapist who, as a child was force-fed a violin and Virginia Slim Menthols. She always preferred the nook underneath her parents’ stairs next to the fireplace. Thus, she is tangled within an understanding of others and sees no need to escape.
T. W. is a psychoanalytically trained therapist who, as a child was force-fed a violin and Virginia Slim Menthols. She always preferred the nook underneath her parents’ stairs next to the fireplace. Thus, she is tangled within an understanding of others and sees no need to escape.
B. Tomash, a poet, grew up in a 1950’s tract house in California. Her memory of her yellow room; hiding underneath tables; her parents’ unmarked door; the lights that kept her awake at night; and a Bougainville vine are recollected from the archives in her brain that are over 60 years old. “These spaces don’t fade much, do they?”
B. Tomash, a poet, grew up in a 1950’s tract house in California. Her memory of her yellow room; hiding underneath tables; her parents’ unmarked door; the lights that kept her awake at night; and a Bougainville vine are recollected from the archives in her brain that are over 60 years old. “These spaces don’t fade much, do they?”
Here we see K. G. 's anti-queer childhood and the Iowa farmland. K.G. now works in the field of land manipulation, who, after growing up in a household of hoarders, committed himself to plant advocacy. K.G. sees the Earth as the most important piece of technology we will ever know.
Here we see K. G. 's anti-queer childhood and the Iowa farmland. K.G. now works in the field of land manipulation, who, after growing up in a household of hoarders, committed himself to plant advocacy. K.G. sees the Earth as the most important piece of technology we will ever know.
The following is language translated from E. M.’s interview:
Know this. So she spoke and I translated into this text:
How do you transplant a brownstone from the South?
Ummh. Paint chipped the mask of shocking pink and blue. Tulips barred on the windows to keep people out.
To understand America,
my father says, unseal the bricks.
Let the chunks fall on the stairs and “hire Black help.”
He said this while in Boerum Hill in the 90s?
Yes. And he never degreased the antelope’s head.
jaundiced on the wall. like a dead baby birthed on the red couch.
Coma-ed the kitchen floor and whispered Triple sec. My dinner seat—a garden stool tipping over on a leaf. I was alone, always with someone in pain on that
beacon. that stoned red couch.