This is my own idiosyncratic way of thinking, but I feel that in perceiving the micro, the existence of the macro too is revealed; and the reverse remains true as well. Nothing particularly special defines this relationship; it applies to many things. Past and future, for instance. Light and shadow. It may apply even to creation and destruction, yet I would suggest something of a more multifaceted nature characterizes this relationship.
From point to line - line to curve - curve to circle - circle to point. All equivalent, all differing.
And here, I suspect, a circle-circle perspective may apply more readily than point-point. I will personally suggest, therefore, deconstruction and reconstruction in the place of creation and destruction. Either, of course, pertains to opposing (relative) elements, a relationship to which the concept I have just touched on will apply.
From what aspect is perception approached? From what angle? At what time? In what way? My sense is that opposing (relative) elements are always associated with equivalent senses of distance, presence, values; they mutually complement each other. This is a perspective of a multifaceted and paradoxical nature. In thinking of things, seeking a grasp of them, a comprehension of them, I’ve come to be intrigued by this sort of relationship between opposing, relative aspects.
Let us delve a bit deeper into multifaceted manners of perception.
Here, for example, is a book. In front of everyone, I hold it and show it, this book. Within the scope of what can be seen from directly in front, there are many pieces of information to be taken in. Do I hold it with one hand? Both? From the distance between my thumb and index finger, how thick is it? From the movement of muscles in my hand, to a certain extent, how heavy is it? What is written on its cover?
Even if not visually perceptible, each of these pieces of information can be composed in one’s mind to enable a grasp of the book’s three-dimensional form.
Considering all this, we might agree that in forming an image of the book in this way, there exist six relevant facets - or six ways of perceiving facets - top, bottom, right, left, front, back. Including, then, the inside of the book, the number comes to seven. Discovering this new dimension, the equivalent of a seventh facet in a sense, we uncover a new sense of mystery as well, in the same manner, I would suggest. What might be inside this book: text in an unknown language, for instance, or photographs or illustrations yet unseen?
Based on what I have just discussed, I would like to now touch on how I arrived at my practice of removing threads from the canvas.
I at first was coming to find a mismatch between my technical skill and creativity. In attempting to make up for that gap, everything I tried was turning into processes of addition, in terms of both the work itself and the concept behind it. Everything was becoming bloated. All the information, techniques and time I projected onto the canvas in so many layers gave rise to a sense of doubt and confusion, and this provided me with the impetus to shift my perspective.
Breaking away from a unidirectional mode of thought, I made a fresh reexamination of my approach and my work with a new perspective informed by a consciousness of relative relationships and multifaceted manners of perception. I proceeded to strip away all the layers that covered my work, one by one, until finally what came to be exposed was the existing canvas itself, the common element I had been using all along, revealed now as a starting point.
I experimented with crumpling the existing canvas; stretching it up, down, right, left; rolling it up; pressing it into a mold; dyeing it; freezing it; immersing it in liquid, drying it and watching how it contracts; cutting it crosswise, lengthwise, diagonally; removing threads. I considered every conceivable perspective and aspect I could find.
The relationship between thought and action... beyond thought, action; beyond action, thought.
At the moment the constructed object is destroyed, there is revealed a new aspect; new work is given form to. In my process of taking the existing canvas and removing threads, I came to get this sense.
The process of removing threads from the existing canvas - of breaking or destroying it, in a manner of speaking- intentionally creates deformation and slackening to form expressions of curvature and drape in the new aspect that emerges in the existing canvas through the removal of threads from it. Further forms of expression can be achieved by leaving certain sections flat, where threads are left in place, securing certain portions to the frame, and applying these techniques in various combinations. The process of securing portions to the frame is not an absolute requirement, of course, as a comparable effect can be achieved with the canvas alone, relying on the weight of the canvas itself.
This is a paradoxical addition to my outline here, but the process of removing threads to bring out curvature and drape in a piece requires the canvas to first be flipped over. Most of the remaining process, from removing the threads to bring the work together as a finished piece, proceeds with the canvas flipped over in this way.
The relationship between the process of reconstruction and time is profound. I draw on an understanding of specific characteristics inherent to thread, such as the ways it slackens and deforms, to decide on factors such as the direction in which to remove threads and whether to remove warp or weft threads based on the size and shape of the piece, while repeatedly adjusting parts of the process both intuitive and mathematical.
Finally I would like to touch specifically on this piece.
This was strongly informed by a consciousness of flow. Flow as it might relate to waveforms, to the movement of people, to the vibratory nature of the human voice, to natural terrain.
Channeled into this piece is a sense of what I feel here in this place and what I might expect to feel in this building. I drew on rough, abstracted visions of three successive forms that appeared to me as I visualized waveforms to arrive at this piece in three parts that you see. I made a series of fine adjustments to determine the form of the piece, envisioning the way visitors might enjoy viewing it from different angles, the overlapping senses of depth in the piece and various new aspects that emerge from the overlapping of its parts. Regarding color, I referenced the primary colors of the CMY model. Finally, I imagined places’ or buildings’ sense of ambience, the overall interior balance, the people who might come in and out the space, or who might spend a length of time there to settle on factors such as the shape, size and color of the work.
The whole piece can be viewed from directly below, from the same height as the work, and from various angles: front, back, left, right. It is exhibited parallel to the large window in the hope that visitors might enjoy the look of transparency it takes on as the sunlight shines through, the shifting interplay of shadows in and around it, and the countless combinations of other new factors that might emerge with the passage of time.
When a new aspect is revealed, I feel, a sense of mystery is found to be concealed between this aspect and another that cannot be controlled with intentionality. This may be an extreme perspective, but I tend to wonder if aspect itself might finally vanish and be revealed as something akin to the sphere. Point shifts from plane to sphere, and in the way the point appears depending on the angle of viewing, the sphere may be an endpoint and may be a starting point as well.
Meta at Spring District Block 16, Bellevue WA
