In my first solo exhibition, Natural Deviations, I reinterpreted the experience of a trip to Iceland through a spatial installation. Stratified landmasses made of cut fabric and plants wrapped in technicolor thread represent an otherworldly landscape pieced together from memories like snapshots of a dream.
Memory seems to have more significance to those who struggle with it. For me, memory is something that I feel I chase and run away from: a game where one is both predator and prey. In pursuit of memory, one tries to reassemble the fragments. Recollections end up dodgy, disfigured: missing parts; others duplicated innumerably or wrong in scale; upside down and backwards. We exist as an amalgamation of our past, what we choose to remember and those that we forget.
It is said that when we dream, everything occurs in real time. But what if time does not abide by the hands of a clock, rather it flows erratically out of our grasp?
Confronting the difficulties of human interaction, I try to expose the oblique beauty in vulnerability, loss, and communicational breakdown. Playing on temporal and spatial perceptions, I aim at destabilizing the familiarity of habitual interaction. A single moment may be suspended to form the basis of an entire body of work, or, in shifting the scale of everyday objects, a forced perspective places the viewer at a perceived distance from the work.