When I was a little girl, I used to feel that found objects were conscious, and if they could speak, they would. If I stepped on a toy, I would feel guilty that I’d hurt it. I pitied clothing strewn on the floor of a department store rendered undesirable simply because of a shopper’s careless act.
In some ways I still experience these strange emotions towards inanimate objects ~ I feel a tingle in my skin when I hold an interesting thing, and perceive wisdom in a worn rusty or threadbare object.
This piece features an old chair I found at a thrift shop. I’ve only had it for a few years, yet in that time it has eroded from a solid thing to a rotting corpse. The material tears at a touch and the seat has collapsed. Like an old woman, it has aged beyond use.
The younger pipes are more alive in this scene, taking over the chair and what’s left of it into the walls, the floors and the underground and eventually back to the earth. It is a work in progress that I would eventually like to realize as an installation where the pipes take over an entire living space, eating it, ripping it apart and digesting.