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.
I’ve lived in at least twenty different structures that include: a log home, a 150 year-old country house, reclaimed barns (yes plural), five+ story apartments, rowhomes, and trailers. A large number of these have been under construction at the time of residence. I spend a lot of time walking through neighborhoods and marveling at the facades of architecture. I’ve accumulated a backlog of doors in my subconscious, not to mention all of those that live in our collective consciousness.
The door—a portal, a gate, a barrier, an opening—is loaded with possibilities and signifiers. If the ocean was to cover the world and decide what to keep and what to discard, I imagine it would collect and make a pile of all the doors. This might be a memorial, a junkyard, or a functioning building that houses any number of species. Doors seem uniquely human and potentially born of colonization or out of the violence that humans have inflicted upon one another. They both welcome and shut out. How do we make decisions about who we open the door for? What species aside from humans needs doors? What do they say about us?
- Collections: Recent Paintings & Layered Works