The Studio: it is a mood, a mode – a means through media. Weaving and printing and binding and painting and sewing and writing and pouring and stacking and breaking, photographing; finding and keeping things, using, re-using them. Chairs, old pants, and stuff left next to the trash; coffee makers, torn canvases, and old tools, convenient or sentimental jewels – the objects which find themselves in my studio, imbued, and probably shocked I can hear them too. As I see their beauty in the bright and shifting mirage…the cheap, dirty collage…of quality camouflaged, skill messaged beyond the surface… covered in its entourage of messy creation:
The Studio.
Or the craft of.
Stories and maps.
Connections and happenstance.
The art, the fun.
The Getting Shit Done.
I make a lot of stuff, it all comes/goes together in The Studio, and that’s the point: I work with and within the environment of the work itself. We might call that Studio Art. This is where I find the beauty in the practicality of making. And making well. We might call that Craft. There is beauty, too, in the translating of great ideas into small realities. As something to share. We might call that Art. So my weavings are colorful. Because the fabric of life is not so bland. And the backgrounds – patterns, prints, paintings – are surround-sound. Because even silence is not so void of flavor. And my sculptures are characters. As if objects can tell their own tasteful stories. Humor is sweet but so is blood, and both tears and sweat are salty.
The Studio: reflections of my existence, concentrated in material and vision –
Repetition thrives on patience, on focus and fascination.
Impulse rests on intuition, on decisions and visions.
Repetition rests on decisions and visions, on intuition.
Impulse thrives on focus and fascination, on patience.
The Studio runs on coffee, on repetitive impulse,
on patient intuition. On focused visions and
fascinating decisions. And coffee.
