I think a lot about a Daoist philosopher named Zhuangzi. While other philosophers gave sermons, Zhuangzi cracked weird jokes and told tall tales. About talking trees, wistful millipedes, and that time he dreamed he was a butterfly. Or maybe he was actually a butterfly, dreaming he was a human, dreaming he was a butterfly? He wasn’t sure.
What’s the point of all this whatthefuckery, written over 2,000 years ago? Zhuangzi wants to invert our perspective, so we embrace the slippery, unresolved aspects of a world in constant transformation. Things don’t stay as they seem. He wants us to smile and to doubt.
That’s also what I think about in the studio, in a few ways.
Watercolors. In 2019, I spent a lot of time in a hospice visiting my aunt. It was an uncertain, unresolved place where everyone was passing through — the visitors, the staff coming to and from shifts, and the residents. The light was yellowy. The patterns were floral. The grounds had gates. These watercolors are some of my observations.
Poem paintings. What’s the point of an illegible text? I memorized a poem and copied it by hand hundreds of times, one version on top of the other, for a year. The poem is a secret.
Ink paintings and studies explore the hidden value of mundane things. They are imprints of household stuff like fruit rinds, paper towels, and kitchen scraps, which I have used as tools to apply handmade ink. The title of each work is my translation of Classical Chinese poetry.
Momentary sculptures explore the ambiguity of use and uselessness. They are temporary arrangements of objects from my home and studio: used clothing, clothes from former careers, and paintings that I abandoned. These sculptures live for minutes or days, until their parts are rearranged or returned to practical use.
Installations. The installation called $148,475.59 is about the worth (and worthlessness) of education. It’s made of the paper documentation of my student debt, including the promissory note, bank correspondence, and debt management materials. The title is the amount that I have to repay.
The installation called Deed of Gift questions the value of objects, especially art. I donated an object to an arts organization and drafted a legal agreement between me and the organization. The agreement forbids activities that typically give cultural value to art (like photography, publicity, and access). What value, if any, is left?
The oil studies are portraits of pork and chicken drumsticks I bought at a market.