Everything is a work in process. Here is a look at graduate school semester two, a sneak peek of what has been happening in my studio.

How do you document a place you no longer have access to, a place that is two thousand miles away?

Before I left Ohio and drove thirty hours across America to Arizona, I went out into the field behind my parent’s house and dug a hole. The dirt from this hole filled buckets that accompanied me to the desert. This dirt I have used to create precious objects, my own mementos from the Midwest. Each object is carefully crafted in a manner indicative of my blue-collar roots: a manual, assembly line like process, similar to that which employees my father. Bricks are functional objects, security blankets of sorts, a last futile effort to save oneself from the inevitable storm. I have built my own fragile cellar out of wax and the mud from my parent’s field. It is a laborious process of mixing earth with water to create a familiar space in which to inhabit. Through this assemblage of found and natural materials, I am able to cope with the loss brought about through change by regaining control over the land from which I came. With this dirt I have built objects of ritual, comfort and familiarity. I am at home amongst the wax, the metal and the earth.

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