I grew up in a house stuffed with things that didn’t work and gave no one pleasure - things that displaced kindness and hoarded attention that might have been given - in an empty house - to revealing and healing a continuing legacy of familiar crimes. In reaction - no virtue assumed -
I live leanly and purge frequently. And, as a consequence, I fail to gather my consumer share and I collect almost nothing except for seeds and leaves, flowers, bones, images and text - things that have wondrous beauty and precision, that have almost no mass. I intended to show some
of the flora but changed my mind.
Two things I have in the spirit of collecting. I have kept intact a box of 2000 chopsticks used in a performance almost ten years ago - as if I might someday add water and spawn an Asian horde. And I have kept pencil stubs in a bucket imagining that one day I would string them into
a necklace for a child with a bright light - but now I see them in a bowl as a crude manifest of work like sweat or smoke.
