Artist Statements

Only a select few of my pieces have thoroughly written artist statements accompanying them, which is why I created a separate section to highlight each one. I want to provide the opportunity to look into the thought process that went behind creating my work for anyone who would like to see.

Impermanence

Loss is a part of life. Change is inevitable, everything gets destroyed and redone and time always moves on. I'd rather embrace the change and evolve from it in a
productive way. I want to learn from what I lose. My father used to be a practicing Buddhist and he liked to teach me about Buddhism while I was growing up. I can still remember him showing me videos of Tibetan Buddhist monks spending weeks creating intricate sand mandalas and then ritualistically brushing it away. "They do it because they can't be attached to anything material," he'd say to me, "it's about impermanence." This was a total over-simplification of the ritual, but the idea stuck with me. This piece is not an attempt at recreation of these mandalas, the form it has taken is a tribute to mv dad. To all of the ideas and beliefs he taught me, and to all of the ones he wasn't able to.
Each segment of this painting represents a part of me I want to let go of, embracing the change and making room in my life for improvement. The following are the
prompts I gave to each sliver moving clockwise starting with the peacock.
1. Blinding pride
2. Fear of what's not real
3. Attachment to material possessions
4. Giving up easily
5. Grudges and anger
6. Disconnection from relationships
7. Prioritizing others' perceptions
8. Excessive guilt
The inevitably of loss isn't something I want to fear, dread, or avoid, but rather use as a means to grow from. Negative things aren't permanent, and when they go they leave room to invite advancement and positivity; when those go as well the best I can try is to continue to progress however I think is best. Impermanence often hurts, this performative piece is a reminder to myself and a hope that through the change it will still be okay.

Tea Party

Growing up, I had lots of unmanageable obsessive tendencies. These mostly manifested in an irrational fear of the inevitable decay of my surroundings. I knew all the food would eventually rot. I knew my toys would deteriorate with time. I just never let myself believe decay would take its time to consume the things I held dear.

I couldn't touch food that had been left out for over an hour. I was convinced my beloved stuffed animals were always out to get me. If so much as a drop of liquid touched on of my plushies, it was permanently contaminated. I felt faces behind me in the dark when I was alone. I never put my hand into a bowl I couldn't see the bottom of, fearing infestations of maggots and mold brewing below the surface of any opaque container.

Despite all this, I still tried to enjoy my playtime as normal. I had a play tea set for toddlers that I adored and would use constantly. With overuse, however, I believed that that too eventually became tainted. No matter how much my mother washed it again and again with boiling water, I was convinced that there was bacteria fermenting inside, and any liquid that poured out of the tea pot was poison.

Inner Child

Time brings age. Age brings change. Change brings loss.

As one grows up, they lose fundamental parts of themselves. For better or worse, the decay of one's inner child is as inevitable as time itself.

Blue birds represent childhood innocence, its blood running out and depleting it of the life that ran through it. The life of this bird and the life as a child. Time stops to mourn for none, but I still would like to pay respects to the part of me that is gone.