My process is like sifting through sand. The spaces move, empty, and fill; first an abscess and then a tower. How is something made from it’s own material? Then the tide comes in, and the landscape is no longer the same.
The elasticity of time is visible within our own perceptual framework.
Eventually, a moment will make you so aware it is happening, that it forces you to remember. It will take up space. What I want to remember are those moments when I recognize the value in sustaining the life of the memory. Not the event or the act, which occurred, but the feeling; that intuitive indicator, which triggers the need for reflection.
What are the limits to the encapsulated privacy of the mind? What is the inertia that propels the movement of a thought through the mind and into space? How does keeping a record both aid and injure one’s sense of place?
My work is concerned with the natural and manufactured mechanisms involved in the transferral of information through space and time. I use intermediary devices such as video cameras, projectors, and audio recorders to capture, mediate, filter and display distillations of psychological phenomena extracted from dreams, journals, video archives, and writing.