As sculptors, we are constantly negotiating the physical space, materials, and labor that go into creating, displaying, and storing our work. During quarantine, the scarcity of materials has reinforced the practice of resourcefulness – making something out of what is readily available to us: rocks, sticks, found objects, post-consumer packaging, and ephemera salvaged from the 100-year-old farm at which we are self-isolating (including old metal hardware, segments of plumbing pipes, odd knobs, et cetera). This collection of objects is the foundation of sculptural assemblages that are glued together and covered with paper pulp, itself made from discarded phone books found on the farm and processed into sculpting material. Through the process of building, pulping, and painting, we charge each object with a new and curious life, excavated from what may otherwise be overlooked or abandoned.

The act of constructing – of carefully stacking odd items atop other odd items, of tenuously balancing, of stepping back and tilting the head to consider the form, shape, and composition of a thing – has felt akin to the work of a tinkerer, who attempts to mend, repair, or improve something, sometimes with little “useful” effect. This exploration, unburdened by the pressure of efficiency, helps loosen what we think we know and makes space for experimentation, discovery, and empowerment.

Monuments to the Tinkerer pays tribute to those who fiddle, doodle, diddle, and muck about; who find joy through working with their hands; who allow themselves to keep their minds elastic and their curiosities shining; who are filled with the gumption to overturn systems that are broken and build them anew.