• treatise

    What am I avoiding?

    There are few clear answers to justify my process or give reason for my choices in my artistic practice. Yet when the work is in the midst of its conception, to me, there are no questions. Perhaps this is because I aggressively try to not question or rationalize an idea before it has a chance to come to fruition. After a piece is completed, oftentimes the work‘s existence substantiates its reason for being. Fearing that words will constrict the realm of my art, I hesitate to assign my work certain language to communicate with the viewer. Oftentimes, I do not want to decide for myself what, if anything, the work is conveying - avoiding usual language, the art is already a language in itself. In a sense, by deciphering art, something is lost in translation. The art is the only acceptable explanation for itself. This is not to assume, by any stretch of the imagination, that the voice in which the work is speaking is completely somber. Perhaps that is part of the struggle with language. Nothing that is being communicated is of any real matter in a conventional sense. At its core, the work is conveying nothing more than its ridiculous existence. The work is meant to give off a frivolity that a sober explanation will only diminish. Through the lines of predictable communication, viable options are on the brink of their limitations. By assigning the art an absolute voice, its possibilities are being squelched . Anything is an option when there is no standard in which the work must fit. There is no taboo: art can say anything and nothing at once. Perhaps it is responsibility that I am adamantly eluding with my work. I don’t want my work to become hypocrisy. Art shouldn’t have a sweeping message just for the sake of having one. It is more honest to create for creation’s sake than to attempt validation of the work with false vision.

    Q: What is the reason behind your action?

    A: To give attention to, with great scrutiny, something that most people wouldn’t even bother with.

    Q: Why do you feel that this has to be done?

    A: It doesn’t have to be done. That is why I am doing it.

    Q: What?

    A: This art is just as simultaneously valid and pointless as all other art, except it isn’t hiding under the guise of sensibility.

    Q: OK?

    A: OK.

    Q: How do you know when to start?

    A: When I have a form that is largely forgotten, and a material that is inconsequential.

    Q: How do you know when to finish?

    A: When I reach a place where the form and the materials are absurd.

    Q: Why do you want things to be absurd?

    A: The absurdity makes things worth doing. I don’t want my art to be weighed down. Art is meant to be enjoyed, and I enjoy the ridiculousness of my subject matter and media. It turns something banal into something interesting.

    Q: Is craft absurd?

    A: Absolutely not. Craft, and its numerous constructs, should be part of all art. It is the lack of craft that is absurd. Even that which is pointless and silly deserves craft.

    Q: So, do you create this art solely for yourself?

    A: In a way, I suppose I do. If you were to strip my artistic endeavors down to their essence, I create these works because I want to see them happen. Art is selfish. I believe that it is all created for self-gratification. I also, in turn, want to share it with viewers. It wouldn’t be enough if I were the only one to see it.

    Q: Do you just want to make sure that someone is appreciating the amount of labor you put into the work?

    A: Of course, I don’t want that to go unnoticed. It is more the finished work that I want the viewer to appreciate, not just the steps it took to get there.

    Q: Why is your process so tedious?

    A: I want the viewer to feel my commitment to the work, and to consider why someone would relinquish so much of his or her time and abilities to something so seemingly inane.

    Q: Why would you relinquish so much of your time and abilities to something so seemingly… inane?

    A: From my point of view, the absurdity of that decision purifies its reality. I had the time and ability to create almost anything that I wanted, and this is what I produced.

    Q: Where are you going with all of this?

    A: I’m not sure. I venture to say that the not knowing is part of the process... not knowing why something needs to be done or how it fits in with the last work.

    Q: Are you searching for something?

    A: I am searching for the next object to alter and the means of alteration. I don’t want to get stuck with a rigid formula. Or, perhaps that is exactly what I am searching for. I am searching for the formula that allows me to create anything, by any means, and have it all fit together.

    Q: What is it all about?

    A: It is about not having answers.

    Q: Where are you going?

    A: The kittens in the coliseum.

    Why kittens are in the coliseum:

    There really is no reason, other than that they shouldn’t be there. The Roman Coliseum is turned into a basket because it's not one. I can’t claim more method to my madness than that. Perhaps because it's the last place that one would expect to find six fuzzy white kittens, so that is why they should be there. It is absurd. Not so absurd that it couldn’t even be rendered in visual form, but just absurd enough that you look at it and try to answer the questions that you are not even quite sure are being raised. Why are they there? How did they get there? What is going to happen to them now? There are no answers because there is no point of asking silly questions about fictional kittens. Kittens are banal, and yet now they are larger than life and perhaps about to eat Roman children. This needed to happen, because it is never going to happen. Everything deserves to be done, or at least, to be considered. It is absurd to think that kittens have no place there, when they obviously do. How can new consideration be brought to the coliseum and kittens alike? Are there better ways to go about this discussion? Certainly. But then, kittens wouldn’t have ended up in the coliseum.