The Tiny Things in the studio

While I strive for outcome, process is where the work tells its story. Here process is exposed, and the studio presence is shared.
Click any image to enlarge and begin slide show for The Tiny Thing.

Abortion

This shattered vessel represents all women who are now left “less than;” shattered and reduced to lesser than equal humans by losing the right to their own autonomy of choise about their bodies. I was one of you. I am one of you. I will forever stand with you. [completed piece]

Measuring Spoons [Measuring Time / Measuring Love]

From the kitchen of my mother to me. These spoons have measured countless times. [completed piece]

jealousy

My mother had so much yet coveted that which she could not attain. My mother’s mental illness made her only see what she didn’t have leaving her always unfulfilled. This is a replica of an actual magnolia tree located on Ridgewood Road in South Orange, New Jersey, the town she lived in for 50+ years of her life. She wanted this tree and, of course, she could not have it. [completed piece]

judgement

My mother was an avid and giftted garener. Her gardens personified her. I did not know this until I was much older and she was gone. This old pan was passed to me from her and now it contains essential elements from her flower gardens: clustered roses, tulips lining a path, strawberries in a pot, a lone sunflower, and vines of wisteria. [completed piece]

a cure at all costs

My step-aunt-in-law’s pill case no longer holds drugs but rather acceptance, hope, and love. Her desperate search to “turn back time” has hampered her ability to embrace what is good (albeit limited) in the present. Its inside is polished and mirrored to create reflection of the small bloom.

societal pressure

My grandfather’s top hat in its original box will holds his painting studio. “Poppy” born in 1884 immigrated to the US from Romania in 1900. He was a professional inventor and a leader in the plastics industry. His need to monitize his inventions overshadowed his creative needs. As an turn-of-the-century immegrant the need to find financial success as well as integration into proper society he pushed aside the arts. Later in life he painted, prolifically and fully for himself. [completed piece]

isoaltion

One of my mothers brass pans transformed into a combination of all edible gardens she cultivated. From an herb and berry patch in South Orange to a full vegitable garden that propigated with an amazing variety on Long Beach Island and culminating with her strawberry patch in Florida. Maybe through the solitary process of gardening combining with her extrodinary culinary skills she found a way to feel nourished - at least I hope so. [completed piece]

out of place

Some things are forever out of place. One would not anticipate a fig tree to prosper and consistently bear fruit in New Jersey but alas through constant nuturing and care my Mother did just that. Not only did her fig tree survive; with her care it thrived. [completed piece]

abuse

Any Gibson Hummingbird is a special instrument but THIS Gibson Hummingbird represents much more than an instrument to its owner. When this person’s life was defined by fear and supression this instrument was the only place true expression and emotion lived. The trust to let anyone else into this fortress of personal protection takes a lot of courage. The interior is a replica of their safe haven basement. I have had both the privilege to peek in and the frustration of being held out. I forever stand with love and patience by them.

trapped by expectation

This 1950 vintage valice contains remnants of memory from the house I spent the first 18 years of my life in. It’s special touches (the custom wallpaper, windows, chandellier, antique barometer) have been miniturized and contained as a portable installation. The images are of my parents and their family printed on silk and organza are lit, layered, and hung in the windows as the ghosts that created the orginal space now inhabit it memory. Paintings are miniature replicas of my grandfathers work. The under staircase book shelr is filled with tiny hand made books filled with hundreds of individual pages.

unattainable competition

The only physical space I ever shared with my sisters was the pink Jack and Jill bathroom in the house we all grew up in. They are older than I am and I never actually co-habitated in this bathroom with them but their spirit was there. The pink tile was never replace after half of it fell off during one of their epic fights. Wallpaper replaced it. When I was older and the bathroom was mine, my mother decided to replace the aging wallpaper. The old was removed and I was told I could write on the walls until new was installed. New paper was never installed and the following 10 years everyone wrote on my walls.

Hikikomori [shut in]

My mother-in-law was one of the unhappiest and most frightened people I have ever known. As she aged, her once-large world filled with travel and a lifelong love affair with NYC shrunk to contain only her apartment, her cat, and her collection of books. This is a replica of her living room built into a stack of books saved from her apartment. The titles of the books show how hard she tried to not have the past define her future but no matter who hard she tried she could not overcome her past or her fear.

mixing emotions

I bake through my emotions, then I found out I am not alone in this activity. This mixer was my mother’s. It mostly still works but is in the process of becoming a Tiny Thing bakery. More to come!

disease

So many aspects of identity are found in the collections within closets; not the least of which are in shoes. The history of footwear is long associated with social status and class but as shoes became more accessible they became more and more attached to personal identity. One of the first things that my sister needed to give up due to her Parkinson’s her shoes. Here tiny closets are created inside the shoes, not of that which is lost but rather that which is cherished and remembered.

unfulfilled

My mother was a librarian. She worked at my elementary school for the year that the librarian was on leave. She had completed her Masters of Library Science and this was the only job she was “allowed” to have. These card catalogs will be transformed into private reading rooms filled with all the banned books within a safe space.

support

humanitarian

war

escape

in the studio