Rest in peace… you’ll probably just rest in grease. A body not really treated like a body, just a commodity. What makes one life inferior to another, what makes eating some animals normal vs another animal a horror? What makes one death a time for grieving and another a time for indulging, craving, eating? I do a little mourning every day, but apparently mourning cows, chickens, pigs is a radical way to live. I feel treated like I’m crazy, or picky, or over-sensitive, or difficult. But I just feel like I have my eyes and heart open, and I feel like the only one.
Above is the result of my “Color Constructions” project. This aesthetic and process was something new and exciting for me, but so was making work on this topic. I’m learning and talking about it constantly, and realized if something lights my fire I ought to make work about it. So here’s my wild result, material list including: photographs, roses, topsoil, raw steaks, mashed raspberries, and a broken lightbulb. Art school gets weirder every day.