My grandfather lived with my family while he was dying of cancer.
He died in the study we converted into his room. I can still see the
dim lights, smell the faint whiff of Ensure® and hear him sing to
me as he tickled my arm.
Mom has had several cysts removed from her breasts. So far, each
test has come back benign. Dad continually has skin cancer spots
removed from his hands and back. He swears it's nothing to worry
about. What frightens me is that neither story exists in isolation
I am continually drawn to the body's changes, transformations,
distortions, perfection and horrors, it's needs and desires. I want
to explore what it disguises and protects. I want to confront its
battles and its beauties. Lumps, incisions, feathers and pearls all
exist simultaneously as one negotiates both interior and exterior
Untitled addresses this "decoration" and disguise of a painful
relationship with the body.