Domestic Disturbance: : A Surreal Climate Change Experiential
I grew up a military brat and experienced a great deal of displacement. I also got to experience many different cultures, landscapes and climates. My childhood was spent playing in the sweaty, tangled jungles, caves and concrete bunkers on post-war Okinawa, to exploring the thin forests of Virginia that patiently digested the leftovers of past homesteads, to the dehydrated deserts of Arizona, where sand storms regularly plugged the man made swimming pores that pocked nearly every inch on the skin of the exploding cities. There was a lot to see. Which was good. There was a lot I did not want to feel. I frequently lived in the landscape of my inner making. Residing there, I could keep everything I owned. No one ever parted. And I had a code: to be so self-sufficient no one would ever tell me what to do, or cause me pain. When you don’t let anyone else run the show, the job becomes yours, which I preferred. I modeled my lifestyle after Gilligan’s Island, where survival depended upon your own creative problem solving. You made everything by hand, preferably from bamboo. My recipe for success is this: start where you are with what you have on hand and build from there. Apply yourself consistently. Eventually you will create something grand. Something from nothing. Something like an installation that brings to life the psychological landscape where most of me resides.