I was experimenting with wires while I was at the Blue Mountain Center, and I wanted to use thin wires for the second piece, “Last Splash.” Looking this piece from the side, the wires are reaching out into the air―some of them has a tiny blue dot at the end―and the wiggly lines of wires make them look very organic to me as if they’re breathing, but with desperate and somewhat dying breath.
I was able to work on the site-specific installation in a very quiet and almost in solitude over the holiday break. The University was closed, so the Women’s Studies Research Center, where the gallery I was working, was also closed. There were only few people who came to work over the break. One of them was Hilda, one of their feminist scholars, who came occasionally to work on her book. She was compiling all her writings on museums into a book. One day, after working all afternoon, she came to see my work. I asked, “How was your day?” She said, “Well, I got two paragraphs written.” I pointed to a rather small area on the wall and said, “Well, I made these dots today.” Then, we both laughed. Our brief conversation reminded me that act of creating is a rather slow process―no matter how fast you think you’re working.
When Hilda saw me almost finishing “Last Splash,” she said, “You’ve been working so hard on something that’s only going to last temporarily.” And I thought about that. There’s something gratifying about making these temporarily existing pieces. I love Andy Goldsworthy’s work with nature, and I admire his patience and Zen-like approach to his materials. Though what I’m doing is far different from Andy Goldsworthy’s work, I see the ephemeral quality and simple additive process in what I’m doing here. My friend, Eva said, “It's like the Tibetan ritual where monks come together to create a gigantic mandala wheel pattern out of beads, and then after chanting they calmly cleaned up everything. Everything is impermanent.” You make something but leave no trace behind. I kind of like that. I wish we could do just that with the earth―leave no trace behind, but it’s too late, I’m afraid. And I feel like the earth is on her last breath.
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| Adding wires onto the blue droplets |
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| slowly... |
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| almost meditative process... |
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"Last Splash"
18"x 15"
Elmer's poster tack and wires on painted wall |
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| Everything in life is temporary |
When Hilda saw me almost finishing “Last Splash,” she said, “You’ve been working so hard on something that’s only going to last temporarily.” And I thought about that. There’s something gratifying about making these temporarily existing pieces. I love Andy Goldsworthy’s work with nature, and I admire his patience and Zen-like approach to his materials. Though what I’m doing is far different from Andy Goldsworthy’s work, I see the ephemeral quality and simple additive process in what I’m doing here. My friend, Eva said, “It's like the Tibetan ritual where monks come together to create a gigantic mandala wheel pattern out of beads, and then after chanting they calmly cleaned up everything. Everything is impermanent.” You make something but leave no trace behind. I kind of like that. I wish we could do just that with the earth―leave no trace behind, but it’s too late, I’m afraid. And I feel like the earth is on her last breath. 
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