Memory is an elusive and notoriously faulty concept—and yet, I set aside hours for myself, to remember. To me, Remembering is a verb, a performance, something to actively engage in. While the term refers to the past, Remembering, as a performance, includes the present, and sparks deep introspection for anyone engaged in it. I am most moved by personal or intimate instances of Remembering. Engraved park benches might memorialize lost loved ones, painstakingly kept journals can record the most secret of emotions, and a shoebox full of baseball cards can be a reminder of fatherly affection. Encountering these instances of memory suspends past and present into the same point in time; a time where reflection, comparison, anticipation, and longing all overlap in a hopscotch of emotion and experience. Remembering like this, quietly, independently, and in a form that requires assembly or composition are personal performances which engage the present from a position in the past.
I think of my artistic process as two distinct, yet related, performances: the first allows me to become more aware of my personal self and emotions, the second, allows others to engage with the personal bits of self that I feel ready to share. Both are integral parts of active Remembering. When I perform for myself, I make drawings. I draw to begin to Remember. I draw to continue to Remember. When the drawing and active Remembering begins to slow, I compose. I compose to pause my reflections, and to share a little more of myself with others.
My drawings borrow materials, techniques, and mentalities from printmaking, and my compositions involve the use of multiple layers of imagery. Two of the most prevalent, and important, materials I use are: frosted drawing film, and a blue drafting pencil. In combination, these two materials access the aesthetic history of schematics or architectural blueprints, in a way that is evocative of construction, or in my case, re-construction. When layered, the drawn marks and translucent substrate also make for an airy ethereal visual quality which looks the way my memories feel to me when I am actively remembering.
Layering is important to my work because, to me, it is reflective of the skipping ebb and flow of my thoughts while remembering. The layered final aesthetic is demonstrative of the way that personal emotions, memories, and images fit together in my own mind. Because the act of drawing is a performance for myself, each individual layer is really meant to be just for me. Once, however, I begin to combine individual layers—often by literally overlapping the drawings—I leave my personal performance behind, and instead begin composing something that I intend to share with other people. During this final compositional stage, I make the decisions about how much of myself I will visually share with my audience.
The particular imagery I include in my work is heavily object based. In things like furniture or appliances, I see the people who use them, and so, objects become a stand in for specific people and my interpersonal dynamic with them. I am interested in visually rendering everyday spaces and objects from my childhood, as well as similar objects and spaces from my adult life. I do this in response to seeing my own children as they interact with their own versions of these places and objects. From time-out chairs, to laundry rooms, I see myself in my children and I can’t help but think things like:
“When I was that age, our laundry room was unfinished too.”