Boxed Ether

As a kid, my house was one of the first in a build-to-order neighborhood near the Superstition Mountains. A desert home to a variety of deadly animals, centuries of human history and civilization, and a purported portal to hell, now framed by six-lane highways and convenience stores. I would walk around the concrete wall fencing my house to my true backyard- a giant stretch of sand cushioned spaciously between a few surface roads. If I walked out far enough, I would discover old bonfires surrounded by heaps of trash. There were old clothes, toys, cooking supplies, porn magazines- once I even discovered a dilapidated hut. I believed this to be obvious evidence of strange nighttime rituals. There was never anyone there in the day- the trash must have belonged to shadowy figures who only came out at night. I came back almost everyday to investigate and see what new objects might show up. In this process I was at once nervous, desperately fascinated and curious. I would often bring a notepad with me with the intention to record information, regardless of whether or not I actually used it. Exploring this spot was an exercise in searching for stories as well as personal autonomy and freedom. In these moments I was able to deviate from the rules and expectations imposed at home, school, and anywhere else in public. I’m convinced that making art has always been a parallel pursuit. Making art is an endless scavenge- there’s always a libidinous urge to resolve something. The strange thing is, the solution (if there even is one) is only a tiny part of the saga. The intrigue exists in the turmoil, strange events, and minor revelations that occur during the search. I see my work as an artifact of this drama (or non-drama) as well as a re-writing of the story itself.

This document is a record outlining the main components of this ongoing investigation. I’ve included images of my own work as well as other artists, spaces, and objects that have supplied inspiration.