This work is part of a larger series titled “never/ever”, which explores a world of psychologically-informed landscapes and waterscapes that express intersections of death, change and wonder.
When I stopped breastfeeding my child at the two-year mark, my body underwent new transformations. Again. Within the month, the beginnings of this strange creature had made it onto the pages of my sketchbook. It took a little while to understand that it was a self-portrait of myself as both child and mother, as human and non-human, and a whole host of other dichotomies I felt caught among.
The origin story of this creature was as clear as it was strange— there was an earth covered by magenta waters, then a tumultuous whirlpool, and then the ocean was suddenly drained down to a trickle. This being, made of kelp, telescopes, wire, and branches, was left alone on a strange beach/earth, and there was a re-made world to discover and a birth ocean to find.
The hybrid-being sees the world through a variety of literal telescoping lenses. They have a bulging empty belly, slow awkward legs, and a tail of flowing, living kelp. Their head is a nest of vines and twigs. They have been separated from their creator, the ocean. Since they came into being, my task has been to figure out where they might go, what they might see, and how they might come to terms with their identity and history.
- Framed: 34 x 42 x 6 in
- Collections: Recent Paintings & Layered Works