A Piece of Me

I pour myself into every image I make.

But maybe a little more literally than that statement directly comes across.

Almost every image I make is a self portrait. Those tiny bits of plastic become me. They represent my strongly felt emotions, my experiences. And through this I attach myself so fully to their image.

I created these images of the Joker. I made the forms of his dog in clay. I sourced and painted the furniture. I built the room boxes by hand for a previous project, but then painted them for this one. Not long after, as something I agreed upon in advance, we sold him. I was devastated.

I never intended to make more photos with this figure. His work in my life, representing my life, was done. And yet, when I sent him off, I sent a part of me with him.

I had recently purchased this green figure. And the same day or day after the Joker figure left my life, I joked to Eric (my husband) that I’d be over my break up as soon as I familiarized myself with this new man.

And I wasn’t far off. I took the new figure to the local arboretum to begin exploring a new series I had planned when purchasing him to begin with. In roaming the nature and discovering images within it, I began to place my psyche into this new figure instead.

I still miss the Joker figure. I don’t typically get rid of figures, really at all, which is going to be a problem someday. But for now these pieces of me remain in my life in their physical and photographic forms and we’ll just see what comes next.

Read also – A Personal Connection to a Toy

7 thoughts on “A Piece of Me

Add yours

  1. WOW, what talent! As I am now into the downsizing size of life, I understand how difficult it is to loose oneself from the “pieces of me.”

  2. I really love the metal monochrome of the Joker series. It turns the seemingly familiar of the home – the curtains, the furniture, the inhabitants – into … something else. Something I cannot quite name but feel quite attracted to. In spite of the distance the color puts between me and the objects. Feels like a not quite forgotten but not quite remembered dream.

Leave a Reply

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: