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I’m interested in the ways we come to know and express our bodies from within: the voices we give our ecstasies, pains and in-betweens.
As a painter, I explore visceral sensation, hoping to locate and translate the invisible—my invisible.
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I paint a sunflower stem found dry in mamma’s garden. As I handle its stiff body and knobby head, my stem becomes a stick, magician’s staff, human heart, and bone: my bone.
Experience and memory dictate what the body sees. My body sees a bone.
Bone is stem is mine.
Two surgeries saw my femur cleaved: cut, twisted, reunited and grown whole again—a stem regrown.
I’m interested in the space surrounding translation—where language and meaning are lost and found and my stem- stick- staff- heart- bone are one and the same.
Languages of the body and spirit burrow deep: sometimes inarticulate, simply felt and known.
Language haunts my body haunts language.
My word-bank comes up short as I move between the flat smiles and frowns found on doctors’ charts and the deeper shades of ecstasy and agony faced by saints and icons.
Sometimes, language does not work.
Confused, I leave my body and return through painting. Here, pain becomes a knot tied tight; muscles become tangled silk; flesh is pink, yellow, blue, brown. Breath and the subtle body find themselves embodied in the folds of a nappa cabbage—ruffled as the Virgin’s robe.
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