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Picking Up the Pieces Installation

The truth is often stranger than fiction.  Appropriating and altering materials I create domestic scenes where nothing is as it seems.  Appearing normal from afar, I use personal and found objects to communicate issues around mental illness, family, gender, and social taboos.  Dining room chairs with objects embedded below the surface of their Saran wrapped cushions.  Tea and coffee cups lie about, lipstick and coffee ring stained, with glass from the sidewalks of Boston’s Mission Hill neighborhood fired within.  Under the stairs lies a pile of orange glitter, a broom, and a laundry basket filled with my own baby clothes.  The labels that once read OshKosh B’gosh now read: white trash, slut, easy, crazy, and worthless.  Catholic iconography is scattered throughout.  The windowsill is flooded with frames of altered family photos and found images.   The window against the wall glows with neon orange, the color of warning.  The white lace JC Penney curtains are coffee stained and tied back with locks of blonde hair.   Through observations in the everyday, I find the bizarre and absurd in the familiar.  Photographing, documenting and labeling out of place objects found in daily life.  Playing with materials, I find interesting and odd juxtapositions, […]
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Clap Patterns and Lullabies

Statement for Purple with White Polka Dots with Red and Closer  Both of these pieces are based on an experience I had at age 6.   I was playing Wiffle ball with the kids in my apartment complex and a boy we soon discovered was a sociopath was up to bat.  The batter told the group he wanted to go upstairs to get his brand new aluminum bat, instead of having to use the thin traditional one made of yellow plastic.  Batter Up! I was pitching. “Closer…closer”, he said.  Whack!!!  He had hit me in the head with the bat.    I fell down and blacked out.  When I came to I didn’t know what had hit me.  I saw the look on my younger brother’s face, he was ghostly white and crying.  I looked down to the hot black tar and there was a pool of blood.  I looked down at myself; my favorite jersey shirt and short set, once covered in a pattern of purple with white polka dots was now drenched in glossy red blood.
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