pres-ent adj. being, existing, or occurring at this time or now
pres-ent adj. being before the mind
pres-ent n. the present time
pres-ent n. something given or received as a gift
pres-ent v. to give as a gift or award, to offer for acceptance
pres-ent v. to show, to reveal
Pyrometric cones play an important role in the process of making my ceramic sculpture. Although there are sophisticated instruments to measure temperature in a kiln, the cones are a more reliable indicator of the effect of TIME and HEAT on ceramic materials. The simple cone-shaped forms, each calibrated to melt at a specific temperature, can be observed through a peephole in the kiln door during a firing. As the cones bend, their reaction to the advancing temperature indicates how my sculpture is reacting.
My box represents my kiln, surrounded by previously fired “cone-pats”. It is mounted on a porcelain doily that symbolizes the interaction between my life as an artist and my rich, full domestic life.
The images on my box are from a series of relief prints in response to the U.S. Attorney General’s “TIPS” program. The program recommends that citizens keep an eye on one another and then inform the government of any suspicious activity. As disembodied doll eyes peer out from the inside of the box, images of men and women watching in various ways surround the exterior.
“This world is a tree to which we cling–
we, the half-ripe fruit upon it.
The immature fruit clings tight to the branch
because, not yet ripe, it’s unfit for the palace.
When fruits become ripe, sweet, and juicy,
then, biting their lips, they loosen their hold.
When the mouth has been sweetened by felicity,
the kingdom of the world loses its appeal.
To be tightly attached to the world is immaturity;
as long as you’re an embryo,
blood-sipping is your interest.”
– Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi
A fascination with seeds, seed pods, fruit of both tree and vine accompanied my own struggle with fertility. What appeared to be fallow in my life gradually evolved into a period of regeneration and rebirth. At present, these familiar forms reflect the renewal of my work and symbolize the opaque and marvelous mystery of the human life.
This box is lovingly dedicated to Mary Interlandi: May 20, 1983 – February 10, 2003
matches played with in our youth
we were going to set the world on fire
maybe still
maybe again
keep it burning.
lighted candles, take a breath
don’t blow them out
inner glow, light, fire, magic
keep it burning.
grow with the flame; feel its warmth
light the passion
dance with the fire
keep it burning
keep it burning!
Medium: wood, metal
“In the heaven of Indra, there is said to be a network of pearls so arranged that if you look at one you see all the others reflected in it. In the same way each object in the world is not merely itself but involves every other object and in fact is everything else.”
– Translated by Sir Charles Eliot from the Avatamsaka Sutra, approximately 500 BCE
Lorraine Serena furnished the box
Julie Coale suggested these pearls
Sylvia Hyman recommended Sherry Male for drilling them
Tyree McFarland provided the silvered glass and the glasswork
Daisy gave me the idea for suturing thread
Dr. Dee Dee Fredin supplied it
Dixie Gamble manifested the replacement glass
and Jane Braddock buttoned it up
women’s network.
Like most domestic tools, the straight pin is usually considered a useful and innocuous object. I use thousands of them to make aggressive statements referencing handwork, domesticity and the female voice. The finished pieces are beautiful. They are also sharp and dangerous. Like the tiny pins that efficiently perform multiple household tasks, my work suggests more than what meets the eye. “Conflict” physically expresses endured emotional battles.
With my background in fiber art from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, I am intrigued by the works of George Segal, Edward and Nancy Kienholz, Cathy de Moncheaux, Annette Message, Louise Nevelson, Eva Heese and Ann Hamilton. Finally, the following excerpt, as read not in context, but taken from Anais Nin’s A Spy in the House of Love, 1968, pp. 6-7, sheds light on my ideological treatment of perception.
“She was like an actress who must compose a face, an attitude to meet the day…She must redesign the face, smooth the anxious brows, separate the crushed eyelashes, wash off the traces of secret, interior tears, accentuate the mouth as upon a canvas, so it will hold its luxuriant smile. Inner chaos, like those secret volcanoes which suddenly lift the neat furrows of a peacefully plowed field, awaited behind all disorders of face, hair and costume, for a fissure through which to explode.”
