Disappearing down a rabbit hole

At its best, a rabbit hole is a wonderful loss of sense of time, engrossed in the world of art-making.  Like Alice in Wonderland waking from an outrageous dream, sometimes the return is disconcerting, the work uncertain.  That’s why I write.  When that too is a bust, I resort to Q&A as if being interviewed.

What are you trying to accomplish with this piece?

As you know, I’m testing THIS IDEA and within it is a framework of tensions inherent in working with light, space, and color.

Can you provide an example?  A simple one, please.

Sure. If I take a leaf — found on its lonesome in the backyard snow — what happens when I insert into a different, unexpected setting.  Encased in organza, it’s a silhouette surrounded by light coming through color.


IMG_0809What makes you pick up that leaf?

Good question.  Its shape, for sure, but definitely its decay — its disappearing.  (Oh,  another tension:  existence vs. disappearance!)  Color too, but shades of brown are as beautiful as autumn reds and golds. The more you look, the more you see.  On a practical level, it helps if it is relatively flat and thin — better for pressing.



IMG_0805Tell me more about these tensions.  I mean, why bother? It seems like way too much thinking!

Well, in the spirit of Mingyur Rinpoche, I’m giving my monkey mind something to do.  Each morning, I write about what I see and that leads to questions.  For example, I have two burlap pieces – one soft, one stiff.  What if I mix hard objects into the soft piece or soft objects into the stiff piece?



Speaking of the stiff piece, what’s up with that?  

I’m living with it at the moment.  I keep hanging objects off the protruding wires to see what they do — how they catch the light (or not), how they work with each other.  I’m also thinking about how to incorporate glass, mirrors, and metal.

But that’s a rabbit hole for another day.