Quiet Moments. Precious Memories.

Prologue

As I have been preparing for an upcoming show, I have tried to allow myself to reflect on my work and articulate my thoughts behind it. Recently some dear new friends provided me with a listening ear as I articulated thoughts behind pieces in my current body of work. Seeking to answer their questions out loud allowed all of it to click. Just like that. It all made sense. I thought it all made sense 2 years ago. 12 years of working under my belt and the stimulants, thoughts, and motivations that fuel my work continue to become clearer with each passing year. Each time I think I have it all figured out, something new is discovered! This is the joy and beauty of art making! I can't wait til I'm 70! 

Artist Statement - An ever-changing document.

Tension. It is present within our world. We desire comfort, peace, and rest, but are often met with pain, confusion, and toil. Often, to overcome the burdens that we face, we reflect on moments of tenderness, tranquility, and ease that come from our past. Reflecting on memories of yore, we long to go back. Some call this nostalgia, but I identify it as faith for we cannot go backwards. We can only go forward. It has been said, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”  The precious memories from our past are sweet glimpses of what is to come. It is through faith that I have this hope.

I explore the concept above through the creation of objects, forms, and materials drawn from architectural and domestic spaces.  Preconceived ideas of comfort and stability are questioned through opposing form and material juxtaposition. The raw materiality of aged and reclaimed wood in union with raw and unrefined ceramics and concrete hearken back to days of old; memories of childhood.  The multiple and repetitive processes displayed, communicate a sense of order and expectancy that tempt a feeling of comfort.  Yet, upon closer inspection, situations that seem to have gone awry are apparent.  Ceramic doors, depicted as bricks, are unable to be opened, grid-like scaffolding is constructed in a temporary and tenuous fashion, and pillows are cast in concrete. Noise. Noise. Noise!

Be still. Listen. Observe pearls and well-crafted wooden structures nestled in harsh concrete pillows, fragile eggs in a tattered quilt, and a small seed-like pod perched in chaotic structures made from remnants of dilapidated homes. Faith grows. Quiet and still moments. That is where hope is found.

Grandmommy's Feather Pillows

The soft clean sheets engulfed my smooth 9 year old legs as they entered my Grandmommy’s bed after my nighttime bath with pink Dove soap on a warm summer’s night in July.  My head hit the soft feather pillow and I scooted in as close to Grandmommy as I possibly could.  I felt safe to be near her in her silky night gown.  After we were settled, she began to tell me her stories.  “These are feather pillows she would say.  They were made from the feathers in Momma’s feather bed. I wouldn’t have any other pillow but a feather pillow,” she would say.  “Whoo, there ain’t nothing like them.  When I was a little girl we didn’t have anything but feather pillows and my Momma got them from our geese.”  She would raise her head up and down and move it around as she spoke as if she had some sort of nervous habit – the pillow conforming back and forth to her head. I didn’t really think anything about it because that’s just what Grandmommy did when she was talking.  I just laid there and listened to her stories that she would tell.  It was our nightly ritual. I learned about the camp meetings that she would go to at the church when she was a little girl.  I learned about the time she burned 2 chocolate pies during the WWII sugar ration; and how she dumped them out in the woods to hide the fact that she had wasted the sugar by burning the pies.  I learned about a side of Frog Jump that I couldn’t experience, but one that I could imagine.  I could imagine it because I was familiar with the place myself.

The comfort of Grandmommy’s pillow next to my side, with her head in it is gone.  A transient moment in my life, defines a memory that remains permanently etched in my mind.  Yet, while the memory remains, the trust that was put into my Grandmommy’s presence in my life slowly begins to fade away as Grandmommy, 87, now suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.  She is no longer near me and I learn that the trust that was placed in my Grandmommy’s company will soon be gone.  The pillows in The Weight of Glory, symbolize a moment of rest; a moment of no fear and complete trust.  The pillow; cast in concrete though freezes a moment in time and captures it permanent.  I trust that the pillow will not change.  It is captured just the way it is.  To last forever.

Cast Concrete Pillows from the Installation, The Weight of Glory, 2017