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Process and Reflection

Creative identity as performance art

      video still

As I've been rolling out the Bunny Glue version of the creative me, I've been thinking a lot about identity. This can get bogged down and boring pretty fast. I'm not really that interested in me per se.

Making art. Doing stuff. Learning stuff. Absolutely.

But I figure I did enough self introspection and questioning of the angsty variety between fourteen and twenty one that now I can go ahead and just do things that interest me.

So why the weird name and all that?

I like to think of it as performance art. Let's be honest. I'm an artist. I would rather be in my studio than tweeting and whatnot. If I'm going to do the whatnot, which I've come to believe is the most effective way to do the post studio art adoption process, then I want to do it as art. I want to do it in a way that looks at how we do the communication and distribution of art, and plays with it. Questions it. Finds some new ways to frame it.

You know, I'm just going to play with my art, hide behind it and goof off in a video... and well you'll see.

That I find interesting.

The icky fridge project

I'm too old to blame much of anything on my parents anymore.

But I sometimes wonder.

Do the ways in which my fridge becomes a central art object and place to hang things, one week wrapped up in fabric to be like a Christo and Jeanne-Claude that failed to scale, currently a magnets gone wild, semi-sculptural, found art landscape... have anything to do with the fact that my mom never hung my art on the fridge as a kid. Well, if that's true, I've definitely fully over compensated.

Right now I have weird ceramic heads with embedded magnet that are starting to crack scattered across the door. I found a tin foil sculpture that had snuck into the freezer the other day. Well , you catch my drift.

People who visit me are drawn to my fridge, and not because of my consistent beer stock.

I have the best magnets. And numerous random metal things stuck to them. Painted tin can lids. Forks. Crazy glued nail structures. Sometimes there's a bit of hazard, but the fridge is a living piece that everyone wants to touch.

Unfortunately, my fridge does not find her internal Martha Stewart when you open the door. Nope. Why do condiments seem so much like art supplies? You always have a ton of them, some of them are embarrassingly stale, but you always secretly covet that one mango chutney that you ran out of last week.

I'm always fascinated by other people's fridges. What do they keep hidden? What is decaying? Is there an organizing principle?

The butter compartment is the true closet. Sure the vegetable drawers can hide a number of peccadillos, but there is something particularly private about that small butter compartment. In mine I hide the Happy Planet Energy shots that are only randomly stocked at my local food store, chocolate, and for ease of grabbing mini crazy glue tubes that have prevented many trips to emergency. Note to self, no more late night vodka and wire cutter parties.

I've been doing a series of fridge photographs. Not the haunting portrait lighting of a Philip-Lorca diCorcia fridge shot, but more the grimy industrial approach. Though admittedly I didn't post the shot of the onion skin bits, plastic spoon, tub of protein powder and unidentifiable stain on the bottom shelf. My mom has internet access too you know. You can call it art, but maybe it's just another strategy to shame myself into domestic cleaning? Hard to guess.

So what is hidden in the secret corners of your fridge? Or is your fridge hidden behind the paintings that you've stuck to the door?


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