You seek to make art as event, not product. What happens, you wonder, when you open clay with found objects? Here is a sweater between God and your mother, and here, another mouth. Open, your hands whisper, open. Now an old bus shelter, fused glass. Look.
What is it? someone wants to know, in an unintended effort to avoid the long look, the absorption into the blobby forms that melt and lean into one another, a gathering of materials in various stages of becoming.
And what else are we, but these bubbling amoebas, opening and melting and falling endlessly into each other, in defiance of the neatly angled forms we keep meaning to hold?
Inspired by the work of Jessica Jackson Hutchins.
2 thoughts on “Field of Possibility”
That last paragraph is tight, in defiance of the neatly angled forms…good sound to that. I’m a sucker for any “what the hell are we anyways” essay as we all have the same question and so many different answers, most likely true.
Cheers to that, Bill. Thank you!