In December I installed "The bathroom is the place I go to cry. An astrologer told me I would never run out of toilet paper" at Hair and Nails Gallery. It consisted of 200 rolls of toilet paper suspended from the ceiling to create a soft toilet paper drop ceiling that made the bathroom feel like a sound deafening room. I de-installed the piece in early March, bringing home bags and bags of toilet paper that I distributed to friends and family. To say that it is surreal to make this work right before the mad dash for toilet paper is to put it lightly. And how quickly the reading and meaning of the work changes! Wow.
In February I made the piece "It's Okay," a used tissue paper mound atop a golden pedestal. Even when it opened it was a somewhat intense piece to be showing because the tissues were used, but that was February and now it is April and the work is quarantined in the gallery along with all the other works from the show until we can go pick them up again.
Usually on blog posts I don't get reflective, but it is an interesting time to be an artist making work with paper products dealing with emotion, places of refuge, containment of fluids and intimacy. The ethics class I teach at UMN spent time debating whether I should give away all my toilet paper or keep it as an "art material." We decided that I should save what I "need" and give the rest away. How much do I need? What about about the 250 boxes of tissues from "Do you have a tissue" that are installed in my studio? When the time comes they too will be distributed. And the bucket of soap nubs from "After You", those too may come in handy. And that will be a new life for the work, all of it.
In February I made the piece "It's Okay," a used tissue paper mound atop a golden pedestal. Even when it opened it was a somewhat intense piece to be showing because the tissues were used, but that was February and now it is April and the work is quarantined in the gallery along with all the other works from the show until we can go pick them up again.
Usually on blog posts I don't get reflective, but it is an interesting time to be an artist making work with paper products dealing with emotion, places of refuge, containment of fluids and intimacy. The ethics class I teach at UMN spent time debating whether I should give away all my toilet paper or keep it as an "art material." We decided that I should save what I "need" and give the rest away. How much do I need? What about about the 250 boxes of tissues from "Do you have a tissue" that are installed in my studio? When the time comes they too will be distributed. And the bucket of soap nubs from "After You", those too may come in handy. And that will be a new life for the work, all of it.
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