The root of my aesthetic interests lie in the streets. A covered up sign, questioning it’s own existence. Fragmented objects. Failed attempts. Suspended signification. Questionable origin. Where did it all begin?
It started long before I wrote this. Before “this” was.
(What is “this”? What is “is? What is “what”?)
My work derives from the intrinsically human struggle of understanding ‘self.’ I attempt to understand ‘self’ by first understanding the world around me. I walk along the streets to find traces of humanity: strangely familiar objects with history-infused backgrounds. Like me, they have stories to tell. Once abandoned, they have found recovery through my empathetic fascination. The objects become sublimated, re-defined in a different context, and energized through a multitude of possibilities.
Every mark holds cultural baggage, only understood through repetition and context. What happens when a familiar signifier is displaced? How does context change the signification? Where do the signifiers miscommunicate? Where is the signification lost?
Somewhere within the subconscious of humanity is an inherent desire. A desire to understand. A desire to succeed. A desire to “know.”
Through recovery, we find that possibilities can stem from the impending failure. Although I admit to “not knowing,” I can begin to find connections through context, and pleasure through possibility. This next to that. Or this next to this. Hmmm, strange. Oh, that looks familiar! What’s their story?
In the end, I don’t claim to provide any answers: only questions.