Mid Residency Exhibition
Gallery A402, CalArts
On View: 1.22-1.26.2018

The body is a house. A vessel for time, space, memory, and weight. The body is always in danger. The body is raped, loved, hit, beat, cared for, tossed away, pushed to the fringe, stripped, squashed and squandered, left behind, taken without your permission. Taken from you before your eyes open to greet the sun. This body is not mine. I am more than this body. This house is not mine. I simply live in it. What you see is the mere brutality that has seeped through the cracks on the outside. My body is my subject. My body is my object to use, by me only. My skin is my border to push and crash. Not for you to do so. Don’t judge me. Your body is no better. We all heal, cover, and conceal our traumas in various ways. I am not interested in hiding it anymore. He can’t get to me here. I push my body to the edges of my mind. Every piece, every movement, every endurance is a securitization of weight and memory. Body memory. The weight of memory. My body is my medium. I move through space utilizing the body and its abilities to endure time. I push it to its limits to understand how much further it can go and still come back to me. Safe and sound. Like a boomerang, you have to put all your force in the throw, let it fly and it may just come back to you. One day this body will fail me. One day this body may not come back to me. I push it to the extremes because I am the one pushing, [not him], and I have the power to bring it back, for now. I know I am not safe here, but I am safe in my body. The body keeps changing. The body is slowly dying. Any work is archived in my skin. Documentation of the body changing and dying. Like the work the body is ephemeral. Perhaps when the body dematerializes so will the work. This is not an attempt to understand the body but an investigation of this purgatory and how far I can push the boundaries to see what’s on the other side.