These works were opened through a curiosity about reupholstery and a fear of concepts that fall short. As I researched textile properties to discover which fabrics were best for specific uses I remembered a short story that I had read in high school: The Lamb to the Slaughter written by Roald Dahl. It was Mary Maloney who chose meat as her weapon and her dinner.

I began cautiously pulling at the definitive lines between furniture maker, sculptor, and textile artist. I could research history and norms of the furniture and interior design trades; I could discover design processes and regulations; I could fuck around. I would have to do these things simultaneously, lest the balance shift too quickly in the favor of one field.

In attempt to maintain these constraints, I looked to language. A few months ago I had a passionate apprehension of words and communication. I speak three languages though ideally I could speak a conglomerate, using the first words that come to mind instead of sorting through in search of the most comprehensive. Thus I began to collect the language of others; anything I read or heard that connected to this strange meat work, I wrote down. I felt that I could recombine this collection as it grew, and use it to describe what I had done.

When physical tests fell short, research drew me towards other solutions. Reading, listening, and writing ultimately refined much of my restlessness and anxiety regarding the formal and technical. Joseph Grigely explained how to gain control of my viewers while artist talks and visits allowed me to begin to consider what type of artist I plan to be. Of course, I was also stealing their words for later.

As I made more I noticed the relationships between the contents of the interior space I had created. I am quite apathetic towards meat – mostly it just exists, it is food, I like some of it better than others. I could use these same descriptors for most anything. Ultimately it was this apathy that allowed me to trick myself into using thematic constrictions, perhaps because my tumultuous passion, distracted by language and physical making, sat between the two.

What I need now is a new way about myself. I am willing to lose my resolve and even my mind for some time as long as I find them eventually, but I would like to hang on to my wits. In making, the maintenance of my wits allows for progress, quality, and accessibility. I plan to practice how.