diana wickersham
During my final year in college, a visiting artist was invited to critique my studio class.
She asked me if I knew what my art was about.
No idea.
"Maybe your art comes from the same place as your answer."
Being lost?
For my final undergraduate art class, I embraced that meaning in my process.
Each structure I built, each process I developed, came from the internal desire to create it.
I set aside meaning and allowed each creation to lead into the next.
As the semester continued, my studio
---what began as a collection of disparate, abstract forms---
morphed into an accumulation of repeating connections.
I started to see patterns everywhere:
sidewalks,
shadows,
mussel shells,
neurons,
branches,
the mathematical rendering of a black hole.
I made their shapes:
twisted in wire,
shadowed by the darkroom,
contained in plastic
burst out again
carved from photographs
scratched on acrylic sheets.
I drew them,
expanding...
What do you do amidst the chaos of the unknown?
This final installation forced me to ask myself that question.
I felt lost.
I stared.
I built connections and let them go.
I allowed for the possibility of impossibility...
please be lost with me