Precious.
One of the greatest weaknesses I have always had is my desire to save everything. From as young as I can remember I’ve formed incredibly strong attachments to objects, people, animals - anything that I found dear, I coveted. Throughout my childhood, I spent my time enraptured in my own fantasy worlds, completely fabricated in my imagination. I gilded my bedroom, backyard, and environment with my imaginary realities of magic and wonder. I was enthralled by small spaces - corners of rooms, closets, drawers, hollow tree trunks, and caves. These places seemed to vibrate with their own magical energy and the possibilities. I felt safe and comfortable in these parts, like the villains and evils of both the real and imaginary world couldn’t penetrate them. I would hide my precious collections of objects - stones, flowers, and feathers - in the tiny crevices and crannies present in these special places. I thought that if I could protect all of the things I loved, that nothing could touch them, nothing could harm them.
As I grew up, my understanding of the world changed, as it does. I realized that I couldn’t protect the things that I loved from the world. Delicate treasures break and decay, beloved people die. Understanding and dealing with death has been quite influential in shaping how I see the world and consequently, how I make my work. When I was a child, death seemed like such an abstract concept, something that happened to other people. I didn’t understand the permanence of it. I couldn’t comprehend how a living, breathing person could cease to physically exist. The hardest reality for me to grasp however was that there was literally nothing I could do to protect anyone or anything. As much as I tried to cradle, or coddle, or conceal, or covet, or shelter the people and things that I loved, it was a fruitless pursuit. There are sicknesses that you can’t cure, accidents that just happen. The world is seemingly chaotic, unfair, and violent. Life is fleeting, our bodies are ephemeral forms, and I feel completely helpless.
In trying to cope with these losses and anxieties, I realized that the world was maybe random, often cruel, and certainly unfair, but it was balanced. The planet cannot thrive unless it constantly replenishes itself. Life has to end for new life to begin. Things must rot in order for others to grow. Life is a cyclical process of decay and regeneration; everything recycles into itself to make room for new growth.
These desires and anxieties are embodied in my work. Life and beauty is so fleeting and delicate that it must be savored; it must be protected, held, and appreciated. Their fleetingness begs to be treasured while there is time. My pieces are an expression of myself as an artist and a maker, and this concept is so central to my reality.
As I grew up, my understanding of the world changed, as it does. I realized that I couldn’t protect the things that I loved from the world. Delicate treasures break and decay, beloved people die. Understanding and dealing with death has been quite influential in shaping how I see the world and consequently, how I make my work. When I was a child, death seemed like such an abstract concept, something that happened to other people. I didn’t understand the permanence of it. I couldn’t comprehend how a living, breathing person could cease to physically exist. The hardest reality for me to grasp however was that there was literally nothing I could do to protect anyone or anything. As much as I tried to cradle, or coddle, or conceal, or covet, or shelter the people and things that I loved, it was a fruitless pursuit. There are sicknesses that you can’t cure, accidents that just happen. The world is seemingly chaotic, unfair, and violent. Life is fleeting, our bodies are ephemeral forms, and I feel completely helpless.
In trying to cope with these losses and anxieties, I realized that the world was maybe random, often cruel, and certainly unfair, but it was balanced. The planet cannot thrive unless it constantly replenishes itself. Life has to end for new life to begin. Things must rot in order for others to grow. Life is a cyclical process of decay and regeneration; everything recycles into itself to make room for new growth.
These desires and anxieties are embodied in my work. Life and beauty is so fleeting and delicate that it must be savored; it must be protected, held, and appreciated. Their fleetingness begs to be treasured while there is time. My pieces are an expression of myself as an artist and a maker, and this concept is so central to my reality.
My work is heavily inspired by forms that I feel illustrate beauty, growth, and life, as well as more skeletal forms that signify decay. I draw design elements from botanical and biological forms that signify life in all of its beautiful complexity. Interaction and how the pieces relate to the body is also very important to how they work conceptually. The pieces must be held and engaged with, evoking in the viewer feelings of preciousness and contemplation. I often create rings that are intended to be worn inside the hand, so as to beg the wearer to cup it delicately in their palms. I like the idea of the piece needing to be held close and delicately, as we naturally feel the need to pull our precious things near to us, coveting them and protecting them from damage and hurt. Interaction with the hands is one of the most important aspects of my pieces because our hands are the forms through which we perceive our world and how we psychically interact with it. One of our first and most visceral instincts when it comes to protect something is to reach out and grab it and pull it in towards our body, shielding it. We try to cover it, save it in our hands.
Material and its handling is also central to my work and my process. I work in fine metals like silver and gold both for their aesthetic but also for their connotations of value and preciousness. Bright white silver looks so fragile and delicate and deep yellow gold glows with and almost electric luster. Enamel is used in my work for its color and opulence. It brings a glowing, gemmy color that invites viewers to touch and value it. However it is also extremely delicate, and if handled too coarsely can shatter giving it fragility similar to life. Pearls also make an appearance in my work because of their precious connotations as well, but also for their symbolism. From antiquity to modernity, pearls have been prized for their beauty, rarity and luxuriousness. They are the result of an immune response, a defense. When an irritant invades the animal’s shell, the pearl is formed as a protective barrier against it. What was initially an unwanted irritant in the animal’s shell becomes an incredibly prized gem. However, in order to remove the pearl, you must kill the mollusk. In the pursuit of collecting the beautiful gem, you destroy the life that created it.
In all, my work is an outlet of my expressions, my hopes, desires, and anxieties. I am not a writer, nor am I an eloquent speaker. My work serves as my tongue, saying the things that I cannot. I don’t have the words to truly describe my feelings about loss, helplessness and love. My work however, I see as small capsules of myself, existing as a definition for something that cannot be defined.
