+ Inspiration
So much truth and beauty hides in the facial lines of the city people when they feel safe – at home – within their 4 walls
(and no one’s watching!)
+ Process
I’m inspired by how thoughts and feelings surface onto people’s faces. This act of discovering the authentic is something I love. It’s beautiful; it intrigues me and moves me deeply.
My serendipitous lines (100 Urban Faces) are a “discovering game” where I find out WHO hides behind the doodles.
When I do, I’m thrilled! I complete the lines so others can see what I see. The plasticity of clay brings “life” into these lines and faces; this “life” moves to touch, ignites imagination and generates emotions: be it laughter, compassion, mock, joy and so on. And then when I see these spontaneous reactions the cycle starts all over again: I’m inspired by how thoughts and feelings surface…
+ Technique
I “etch” serendipitous drawings of faces on clay with wooden skewers, and instead of using clay as a simple flat canvas, I take advantage of its plasticity: I swell and pull creating elevations where the eyes, nose, forehead, cheeks, hair, etc. are.
At the end of the drying period I find that sometimes the piece curled in another direction and looks different when compared to the initial drawings. It pleases me that clay has a memory, and I enjoy the unexpected movements because they add a new character to the piece.
Afterwards comes the washing, colouring and glazing. I fire two to three times up to 1060°C.
+ Installation (the anonymous being)
Urban life, in many cities of this planet, means living in small rooms in serially planned residential buildings. And yet, each of these tiny units is big in its meaning: HOME.
I found IKEA Expedit book shelves to make the frame for the 100 Urban Faces. They’re serially built and, like many residential buildings, everywhere the same.
We adapted the shelves by adding cosy divisions (backdrops) so that each face had its own little nest.
The installation unified the “individuals” becoming an integral part of the artwork.