Intrusions – The Funhouse

12″ x 9″ x 1″

resin, epoxy, acrylic, limited edition photo print, salvaged woodscrap

In many ways, this piece is a biographical sketch that tells the story of my reentry into the world of creation. I “retired” from the art world a decade ago, to pursue academia full-time—that is, until I visited my sister in Louisiana. That unexpected but much needed trip became a beautiful story that unexpectedly changed my life by reviving who I used to be at a time I needed it more than I ever could have known. On one of our long walks through her neighborhood, talking about everything and nothing, she suddenly deviated from the path and dragged me over to examine an enormous house in the process of construction. The mansion-in-progress was, frankly, hideous—reminding us both of a carnival funhouse.

Ever the mischievous one, she dared me to sneak inside with her; with that unanticipated intrusion into a bizarre house of mirrors in the process of its creation, my own long-lost impulse for creation reignited. I took photographs of the ceiling (depicted in the spiraling wood geometries that form the focal points of the piece) on my phone, and we later returned for further intrusions into the carnival funhouse.

Inspired by my sister’s light-hearted dare, and the audacity to embrace parts of ourselves that have too long been hidden, this piece captures the joy and awe I rediscovered through the desire to look at the world anew—whether through a funhouse mirror, or a wide, open sky amidst hurricane season.

Available here.

Wives of the Disappeared and Mothers of the Martyred

8.5″ x 8″ x 2″

aluminum shingles, plexiglass, resin, beam clamps, limited edition photo print

In the foreground of this image, a veiled woman that I will never, ever forget holds up a trilingual sign (Arabic, French and English), demanding information about the whereabouts of her husband—by way of a plaintive (or perhaps rhetorical) plea. Morocco, unfortunately, like too many other countries, holds a number of political prisoners, and some who oppose the government simply “disappear” into the ether – but not for loved ones. Never for loved ones.

I originally took this photograph in Morocco, during the uprisings and pro-democracy protests of 2010-2011 known as the so-called “Arab Spring.” Although the Kingdom of Morocco did not undergo a revolution, as did nearby Tunisia, reforms did take place due to the pressure of large numbers of Moroccan citizens demanding changes to the governance structure. Unfortunately, however, the wives of the disappeared and the mothers of the martyred too often are left with no information, no closure, and no peace—waiting, eternally, for news of loved ones cut down, taken too early, more often than not with no news. Yet still, they wait. Still, they hope.

Now, more than ever – we need a reminder that democracy is sacred. Whether in Morocco or the United States, we face similar erosion of pluralistic democracy to the gradual (and, in some cases, rapid) encroachments of authoritarians. May we all be so bold, and so brave, as the woman depicted here – and never, ever forget what truly constitutes the sacred: not a human being, but connections to loved ones, and the eternal hope that springs from the bonds of faithfulness and loyalty.

Available here.

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