Valley. 2019. Porcelain, hair, beeswax. 46 x 20 x 34.5 in. Assisted by Camila Friedman-Gerlicz.
Morn. 2023. Paper, lemon juice, beeswax. 5 x 10 in. each.
Valley. 2019. Porcelain, hair, beeswax. 46 x 20 x 34.5 in. Assisted by Camila Friedman-Gerlicz.
Say. 2018. Lemon juice, iron, hanji paper. 54 x 31 in.
I. 2019. Baby oil, vellum. 84 x 40 in.
Wheat. 2023. Newsprint, charcoal, spiker, beeswax. 7 x 7 in. Leaf. 2023. White drawing paper, charcoal, pen, white tissue paper, beeswax. 7 x 7 in. Moss. 2023. Newsprint, porcelain, beeswax. 7 x 7 in. Stone. 2023. Charcoal paper, beeswax, sewing needle. 7 x 7 in.
Vestige. 2019. Facial cotton tissues, rust, white thread. 98 x 38 in.
Pump. 2019. Mop yarn, breast milk, borax. 84 x 12 x 6 in.
Cilice. 2018. Hair, curling iron, mesh cloth. 21 x 15 x 3 in.
A husk is a remnant, a material residue that encases, protects, or conceals that which was vital. An abject memory of what was and the potential for what remains. Etymologically, a dry outer covering. Shelter and discard. A husk is a tactile threshold, a site of transition between fullness and emptiness, presence and absence, form and decay—a vessel of histories waiting to be shed or reinterpreted. Husk enfolds layers of bodies—nests, honeycombs, shells—through materials, such as paper, fabric, and clay. Husk extends boundaries and vulnerabilities of bodies - flesh, skin, hair, and folds - the softness of tissue. Husk reflects the cyclical shedding and regeneration of embodied experience, exploring processes of becoming and unbecoming, growth and decay, and the tension between protection and exposure. The work honors the body’s intimacies and horrors through repetitions of nurturing as a husking.
Husk. 2019. Boulder, Colorado.