A friend told me I don’t play enough. Play seemed totally unproductive, but she was certain it was something I needed. This body of work comes largely out of my attempt to play more. I’ve been trying to act like a kid in the studio. I use the colors and materials that excite me in the moment. Bright red overalls. Soft pink socks. I often think I wonder what it will look like if I do this? And then I try it out— cutting, stitching, gluing.
I’m interested in everyday objects, the worn in feeling of certain things like grease stains on a grocery bag and threadbare towels. I’m exploring ordinariness. What does it look like to cherish the simple joy of the ordinary? There’s a freedom that I find in these commonplace materials. I approach them with no expectations of their utility. They hold an opportunity to rediscover what is around me that I’ve already related to in a different way. As we use things, they seem to absorb some of who we are. Certain items make me think of people I love and that remembering becomes part of the piece. As I create with these materials I want to uncover the humanity within them. I also incorporate other items that capture the playfulness I’m looking for. In my work, there is a push and pull between the materials that call to mind the mundane and those that generate a sense of curiosity and whimsy.
In my attempt to bring new life to these materials, I’m forced to offer myself that same thing. When I play, I feel closer to who God created me to be. I want to experience the ordinary surprise of being alive. This work is a part of that exploration and challenges me not to lose sight of it.