january 2020 | HOP Galerii

After longing, as in death, comes a silence. It is in the surrender to this quiet that I most feel my unwanted solitude, in which I have come to understand defines my sense of mortality.  My body, desperately absolute, fights death; but every year I spend alone my heart gets smaller and my fear of dying alone becomes ever-present and inescapable.  This resignation wills me to seek the means to be remembered, cherished, loved after I stop breathing – to create a legacy of and from loneliness, to leave eternal evidence of my presence in my absence. 

When love has been denied and refused, the only truth left to hold on to is found in our remains: they are the identifiers of our very existence and the fidelities of what we leave behind. I wantonly submit parts of myself indiscriminately to the other, any other, because I have nothing left to give. I cast remnants of my living body – immortalized in bronze, silver, and cast iron – to place around the neck of another in hopes of erasing my inevitable disappearance and thus, becoming manifestly and intimately immortal.