The people at InLiquid were kind enough to let me display this chair, entitled Supersymmetry III, amongst countless works by formidable artists at Benefit v. Thirteen a few Fridays ago. I was shocked to learn that muralist Meg Saligman had purchased the piece, with the intent of making arrangements to have it installed in her home. The installation occurred just this week; I'm still coming to terms with the idea that someone would enjoy my work enough to put it in their home.
The area where the piece is situated, its resting place after being installed in two other spaces, is a beautiful transitional area embellished with crown molding. The network of strings in which the chair is suspended appears to dissolve into the bone-colored walls, and multiple light sources cause the object to bear a peculiar shadow that stretches and distorts itself in the space defined by the planes of the corner.
It also has other chairs with varying properties to converse with.
{This object is a replica of the last thing my grandfather worked on in his wood shop prior to his death. It is the molted skin of a memory that I forced myself to create, an imagined vision of the actions that took place in my absence as the chair was given new life. Perhaps the chair is also an enlarged representation of the tissue one might examine under a microscope if loss were an organism, which had just been subjected to a biopsy.}
This construction of this piece was tumultuous endeavor, and I feel as though the resentment that I had towards the piece (or myself, for making bad decisions and refusing to sleep), sort of distorted its significance after a while. Now that it has exited my life, the desire to reflect upon its origins has a rejuvenated appeal.
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