51±¬ÁϹÙÍø

Your work exists across mediums, with a through-line of an interest in tactile intimacy and repeated failure. How does failure play a role in your creative process?

I use failure to describe instances where my expectations for a material collide with the reality of how it exists in the world. In my practice I never invest time to bring about a known result, rather it’s the work itself, the trial and error, the hands-on material connection that allows the project to find its form. For example in my current body of work with aluminum roasting tins I expected these objects to be endlessly malleable. What I’ve found is that they can crack, tear and resist my attempts to shape to a much greater degree that I originally anticipated. I love it when materials push back against my actions, when they do the unexpected and assert their own presence in the finished piece. It’s this push and pull, these failed attempts that necessitates working in conversation, not dictation.

The blurring of constructive and destructive motion is an important aspect of your sculptures. Can you elaborate on how this creates empathy towards the "leftovers" in your art?

I’ll be the first to admit that finding shared feelings with a plastic tarp is a paradox. Empathy is an imperfect word to describe what I’m trying to do as I try to avoid anthropomorphizing the objects I work with. What I really mean when I say empathy is my attempt to find an understanding of the object or material on its own terms. What drives me to pull things apart and put them back together again is trying to know a thing based on its physical presence in this world. It’s a frustrating exercise at times, but again it’s the attempt that matters. If you try, and fail at building empathy with a plastic tarp, it should at the very least become easier to maintain curiosity and care for the rest of one’s surroundings.

Your work takes stock of mundane objects and materials in the home. Can you discuss the significance of using these everyday items as subject matter in your art?

It takes me a long time to see and understand things and so it’s necessary for my practice to draw on materials or objects that I’m confronted with every day. A large part of the work is staying aware in order to put myself in the path of the next material obsession. I find scum accumulating under an electric toothbrush, hair collecting in a drain, or treads wearing down on shoes endlessly fascinating. Throughout time things that we see and use every day become quite personal. I have an incredibly strong memory of using a blue tarp to save pear blossoms from a late spring sleet storm with my father that surfaces whenever I revisit that project. In my current work with aluminum tins, each one is collected from moments of my life where people have gathered, which of course often happens around a shared meal. Whether it’s a friend’s wedding, or a memorial service for the passing of a loved one, I see these pans as catalysts for those shared, deeply personal moments.

How has your work evolved over time, and what do you see as the future of your practice?

I’ve always had an obsessive approach to making art and when I first started I was primarily driven to create objects as a formal, aesthetic experience. At this time there was an incredible outpouring of work that I don’t think I’ll ever find again in regards to quantity and pure visual excitement. There’s a part of me that is still driven by a desire to bring beautiful objects into the world but I think I’ve also been able to step back and consider this obsession as coming from a place of deep curiosity and care for my surrounding environment. This distance has allowed me to work slower and sustain longer term projects that are increasingly ephemeral. Whether using raw unfired clay or making projects that might simply be put into the recycling bin at the end of an exhibition, I’m becoming more interested in work that is based in impermanence. Part of this is practical, I’ve always been prolific and I’m running out of space in my studio and basement. More and more I’d like to find a practice in which the work cleans up after itself. I don’t know what this looks like exactly but I’m eager to find out.

How has winning the Jerome Fellowship affected how you approach your work?

The exhibition opportunity from the Jerome Fellowship has allowed me to be more intentional about the viewer’s experience with the work. I’ve always grappled with how much to reveal or conceal from behind the scenes and increasingly I’m interested in making work where the task or process is more legible in the piece itself. Having the exposure of an exhibition within the 51±¬ÁϹÙÍø gallery is an incredible opportunity to test out these ideas of legibility and labor within the work.

Additionally, in regards to the labor aspect of the practice, I feel like I’ve reached a reckoning point with how I treat my own body in the studio as I don’t always extend the same consideration to myself as I do to my materials. It’s significant to be able to pay yourself for your time and the funding the Jerome Fellowship provides has allowed me to work more slowly and carefully on a practice that can be quite hard on the hands, shoulders, and patience. This can be as simple as changing the way I hold a pair of pliers, switching tasks every few minutes to avoid strain, or trying to become ambidextrous to share the load between my right and left hands. Funding from the Jerome allows me to more fully consider what it means to make the work in a physically healthy and sustainable way.

If you could describe your work in one word, what would it be?

Deliberate