Once upon a time there was a self styled artist named Maggie. Calling her an artist was really a stretch, but she had a sense of vanity and occasionally people seemed to like her work and think it was good, so she didn’t worry about the semantic detail of labeling. She considered herself more of a tinkerer who made “stuff” when she was bored or angry or sad or lonely and so she didn’t become a pyro or compulsive shoplifter or clinically antisocial. She was curious about a lot of things, and thought history and stories were more interesting and easier to deal with than the people around her, and then she got antsy and too ADHD to finish this artist statement and then the queen of hearts gave everyone a royal pardon because Maggie spiked the royal tea with tequila and everyone lived happily ever after THE END.
My thought process is chaotic, with a tendency to focus on the minutiae when I might be better served taking a step back to look at the larger context. As a result, the visual work fluctuates between overwhelming the viewer with crushing claustrophobia created by lack of visual space or sheer volume of content and attempts to refine and edit to a much more minimal, but starkly shocking image. I see it as a vacillation between engaging in word vomit and delivering the punchline of a rather caustic joke. Both can be oddly repugnant yet alluring, and there is a time and place for each.
I generally work in mixed media, starting with a 2D plane or image and then evolving as the idea or material speaks to me, seeing my role as a sort or interpreter or medium rather than a true “maker”. More often than not, though, I find myself too unfocused to stick to one material, not seeing why I should keep a monogamous relationship with one substrate when there are so many glorious options and so little time to create. Ultimately, how I make something feels less vital than the message that I am seeking to convey, crawling around like a roach in my veins until it can be given life. Often, thematic threads within my work deal with fantasy, escapism, the duality of light and darkness within the human soul, and the grey area that exists between the transcendence and the gritty nature of redemption. Fairy tales and cultural myths are archetypal for a reason, and I find them the ideal vehicle in which to pose questions about sin, vice, the flawed nature of humanity, regret and forgiveness. In quagmires of philosophical morality, I find there is comfort in depicting fantastical realms in which black and white truths of good and evil are perfectly acceptable, and even condoned. In delving deeper in these imaginary world as tales through visual imagery, I can forget my own asphyxiating anxieties, and give myself and the viewer mental room to ponder conundrums and ambiguities that cut too close to the bone when in the context of one’s day to day existence and everyday life.