NOTHING
YOU
DO
IN
YOUR
LIFE
IS
A
WASTE
I destroy in order to salvage, salvage in order to destroy. I turn 'waste' material—shredded paintings, scrap metal, packaging, hair, etc.—into surrogate selves through which I can enact and understand contradictory bodily desires. I seal them in a transparent medium to float and flaunt. I build them steel sentinels to guard and arm. I wrap them in thin, colorful threads to cradle and hide. Is this care? Is this cruelty? The thread represents how we are bound by the logic of value. Fear of worthlessness and failure manifests as thousands of soft lacerations that cause us to shrink and fold in on ourselves; to resist by becoming rigid and inflexible; to derive comfort from suffocating. Yet this fear (of lack) is rooted in excess (pride, greed). What is it that we really want?