The gesture here is the giving and taking of clothes, in the strange environment of an art gallery, but in a neighborhood where the second-hand clothes store is a staple.
Josh Friedman, perhaps best known locally for his ceramics, switches from being an artist to a social worker. The gesture here is the giving and taking of clothes, in the strange environment of an art gallery, but in a neighborhood where the second-hand clothes store is a staple. The work invokes issues of value and need. The clothes, anonymously given, rank with the highest charity.
Looking to the past as a means to move forward, fragmented recollections often initiate my dialogue with materials. The crack in my driveway. Cytoxan slowly dripping into my arm. Hair on my pillow. A burnt hole through paper. The overlooked. Insignificant.
Nature acts and we embed those actions with meaning. Residual accumulations of my small, repeated gestures that once gave thoughts form and recorded my journey of becoming cancer free, now give the fleeting commodity of time palpability.
Opening a door. Scratching my nose. An elevator ride. A sneeze. The overlooked cough. Insignificant rituals we took for granted are now deliberated over as monumental decisions of life and death. Small, simple, repeated gestures everywhere must be exercised with great care.
Working with fire and paper in my ritual practice, the thousands of individual residual marks draw as much attention to absence, as to what is present.
We have been awakened to see our interconnectedness, our hand in this moment. We are acutely aware of consequences our immediate, individual actions have as they accumulate and profoundly affect humanity.
Employing the simple gesture of burning holes through the surface of the picture plane challenges the physical integrity of the paper, and heightens the tension and awareness of the delicate edge between form and emptiness. Making the fragile more fragile, and evident, the accumulative impact small subtle incremental change may have on the whole.