When I was little my mom used to put me in really small dresses.
She later became a dress designer.
I was her form for which she would try things on.
I remember feeling trapped in a dress.
Like it was not me.
Like it was a shell of other things I could be.
My father fabricated pipe.
I used to climb in large hollow metal tubes.
I would sit in them in the fetal position.
I remember the acoustics
And how it felt against my back.
It smelled like machines and motor oil.
Lots of stray cats found their homes in them.
My mother decorated and redecorated the house.
For the den she choose a brown and white fern pattern.
She upholstered the couches with the same fabric as the wallpaper.
A mirrored coffee table camouflaged itself.
Even the light plates were wrapped in wallpaper.
I remember feeling the wall to find the switch to turn on the light.
I am interested in how surface can make something disappear or
appear in another place contrary to its own.
My current work of large figures plays with archetype,
fashion and memory to create beings that are both present and absent.
The form is both an armor of protection and a trap.
This is the body in its metaphorical state of being and non being.