Nearly all my life I’ve felt the compulsion toward creative expression, but it took a stage-4 cancer diagnosis to motivate me into action. There’s nothing like a terminal diagnosis to serve as the catalyst for a life change that utterly lacks practicality. I couldn’t not make art (please pardon the double-negative). I have only been benefitted by the fact that I am a 41 year-old who has completely come to grips with my own death, and I would consider the situation to be the best thing that has ever happened to me.
When I make art, I find materials that might, under ordinary circumstances, end up in the recycling bin. My art has two personalities; one is observed up-close where the detail and texture of the materials are apparant, the other arises when standing back from the piece, to see it as a complete representation of the subject matter. You’ll likely see something, like a beer can, that is resting in your own recycling bin.
I keep a constant eye out for unexpected materials I can repurpose; garbage that could be re-cast as something more elegant. Can this empty plastic bottle be cut into smaller pieces? Does it have intrinsic artistic value? Is the material opaque or translucent? How will light play off its surface? Can it be painted? Can it be folded? Can it be attached by glue or screws?
Let my art be a lesson about how we view ourselves. If we shift our perspective slightly, something that might seem unusable could turn out to be quite treasured.