Now We Wait For the Flood, 2019, carpet, unfired porcelain, collected dust, dead mayfly, ceramic shard, burnt wood, rosemary, blood-stained cloth, nest of hair, fossil, fluorite, Ventra ticket, fired porcelain, sterling silver ring, lit candle, 32” x 32” x 8”
And now we wait for the flood,
The basement flooded four times in eight years. The neighbor’s was six in nine. Each time was easier than the previous because the puddles grew larger, falling higher above the boxes and the outlets. More and more was purged, with little left behind. The carpet became cheap and ubiquitous like all the other neighbors’.
There are flood myths in almost every culture; ours just comes nearly every other year – very Midwestern I suppose. Spring arrives, the basement floods, and all our possessions are put out to the curb.
Bed of Six Thousand Worry Stones, 2018, wood, handmade ceramic stones, 81” x 63” x 34”
Think about how much worry you carry.
You hate that your grandma has tons of worry stones around her house and you hate that your mom does too, yet while you were out walking at night without your phone or wallet or keys or anything, you first thought to pick up a small rock to defend yourself. Then even when you got back to the safety of your home, you still kept the rock and put it in line next to the six others already on your bookshelf next to your bed.
The Cabinet, 2019, birch, ceramic, hand towel, carpet, personal taser, limb from a dead lime tree, interrupted birth control pack, iPhone with broken LED display, houseplant grown from seed, charcoal bath salts, dead lime tree leaf, worry stone, lucky rabbit's foot, three day old cut lemon, lavender essential oil, torn cotton shirt
