Spaces have an affect on us. Memory and emotion become tangled together.
I stare up at the fan blades; see the ceiling and the top of the door frame. This is a domestic, private space. There is a sense of familiarity, of comfort, of thought, rest. It is a space of repose. When I first wake in the morning, I lay quietly with my thoughts of the day ahead. Each day these experiences pass into memory; emotions layer over each other. It is the objects that surround me in combination with the architecture that add up to these emotions and memories that I come to associate with this particular space.
We see certain spaces in our memory vividly--where a traumatic event happened, or where we heard particular news. They become abstractions that do not always make sense. As they filter through our mind, they distort and reverse. Inside becomes outside.
I trace photographs of the space, discarding texture and depth, reducing them to a series of shapes. I then translate these shapes into objects, solidifying the perspective of the two-dimensional image. The result of this process is a collection of fragments; these fragments of space allude to the abstraction that occurs in memory.
“View from my side of the bed” speaks of both being alone and being together. It is a space of my own that is both solitary and shared; a quiet space in which I am free to be myself.