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End of Life
End of Life is actually a verb in the tech industry. To end-of-life a product or program is to willingly orchestrate its demise. In this ongoing and growing project, I gather cardboard from items shipped to me from my Internet orders and transform them into quasi replicas of obsolete technologies (the models are generally not specific, but rather pulled from a new collective memory of gadgetry of yore.)
This fake tech is almost a pile of effigies, while the pile is almost a pyre, illustrating a sort of complete cycle on different levels. The shipping boxes deconstructed and used to depict the technology are a portrait of the very system used to initiate their journey to my door and to my recycle bin while the electronics they represent are themselves also eventually junkpiled as we gather their newer iterations and begin the cycle anew.
End of Life
Phones in progress,
Cardboard, acetate, paint
End of Life
Fresh Direct Computer (in progress)
Cardboard
End of Life
Computers in progress
Cardboard, acetate, paint
Completed Cardboard Cash Register
Cardboard, glue, paint
Cash Register WIP for Governors Island Art Fair Pop-up
This fake cash register was something of a little joke. Like everything "pop-up" these days, we simply used tiny card readers in our ArtShop on Governors Island.
Cardboard Roses
Hundreds of handmade painted cardboard roses.
Cardboard Roses
Process
Cardboard Roses
Process
Cardboard Roses
Detail
U
This piece was for a show at Wayfarers Brooklyn where each artist was given a word from a ransom letter to depict. My word was, "U", the frequent electronic timesaving version of, "you".
I started thinking about how this abbreviation seems so much less romantic than its pre-amputated self. "You" is almost lyrical to look at and a joy to scribe. "U", by comparison, seems almost abrupt, gutterral.
I decided to give post-op "U" the Romantic Treatment, depicting it almost as a Victorian valentine, But, I suppose as a joke, I decided to let "U" retain its digital-age identity beyond its spelling. I created it from the least romantic gift box possible: the ubiquitous Amazon box.
U
Sideview
Secret Self (Work in Progress)
(Front)
72 inches high, cardboard, paint, glue
Secret Self (Work in Progress)
(From behind)
72 inches high, cardboard, paint, glue
Secret Self (Work in Progress)
Papier-mâché base of newspaper and flour-water paste