The house settles in silence after a vibrant, chaotic day filled with the sounds and needs of an active, growing family. In this quiet of night, I make this work and offer myself to a moment of cutting, placing and gluing; scraps of paper, like impressions of the day, make tangible parts of the day that I will never remember, and cannot be photographed or written down. This is my private world, a subterranean place of responses, shadows of time, and newly generated forms. Yet while steeped in the daily, these pieces bridge the personal and the collective: to make a drawing is to elevate a mark, a moment, give shape to the mythic.
I consider these pieces drawings, although made from cut origami paper. They are a continuation of my interest in the expressive, authentic mark of the body in action. Unlike my more traditional drawing process in which I commit to a drawn line without erasing, the cut pieces of paper can be rearranged infinitely; they exist in a state of unlimited potential until I choose and glue, folding the chaos into order. But the order I seek to find is an order that is unfamiliar, often unbalanced, and that has something to teach me visually. The process is an absorbing play of risks and recognition, revealing how conditions, details, relationships (of color, shape, emptiness and symbolically the textures of my life) can be thrown into and out of balance, embodying the exquisite composition of the moment.