Dreams From The Pandemic: Searching For Power Amongst One’s Wounds
Acrylics, Flasche, Molotow markers, water soluble crayon, and colored pencil on wood panel
48 x 48 in
2021
Acrylics, Flasche, glass, Hydrocal, 22k gold on canvas
24 x 36 in
2020 december/jan 2021
This painting is about the impact of 2020 on my mind, body and spirit. The whisperers are physicalizations of the lies and disinformation we were bombarded with. Like a virus, ithe susurrations gets inside your head, amplify, and scramble your mind, rot your lungs, break your heart.
Yet, the bone hangs golden. It is the One thought, an innermost belief, a goal, the ring on the carousel, reincarnation and a carrot leading me on through the travesties of 2020.
Acrylics, Flasche, Molotow markers, water soluble crayon, colored pencil, paper, ribbon, hydrocal, glass beads, 22k gold and rhinestones on canvas on wood panel
36 x 48 in
2021
This piece is about the impact of 2020 and sadness at seeing people fall for propaganda. People you thought you knew and loved revealed other more sinister selves. The masks slipped and i witnessed the emptiness inside consume them.
The gold ring signifies the remnants of joy, of hope. The figure’s hand is detached - even though it is cut off, it grasps for the ring.
In the clouds, citadels and factories housing the guardians of our personal data, information, and memories breaking truths built from lies.
Acrylic, Flasche, Molotow marker, colored pencil, water soluble crayon, 22k gold, hydrocal, paper, screws rhinestones and ribbon on wood panel
24 x 30 in
2021
So many things were lost.
Even hope for some.
The events of the 4 years leading up to and including the Covid-19 global pandemic had a strong impact on both the personal and collective mind, body, spirit and soul.
Evisceration, exposure of the inner settings of ourselves, transformation, phantom limbs, paresthesias, loss of feeling, loss of foundation, loss of family, perceptions of time, how we frame our recollections and the surreal.
The physicalization of and upon what we hang our hopes, the golden bony rings, although tarnished from exposure in caustic environs and insults remain corporeal. Effigies of my broken bones become symbols of hope, the beauty in the setting of the bad, the joys paralleling trauma, the meaning in the marrow.
