Acrylic paint, book binding cloth, gesso, staples and art history book pages. 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2024
Acrylic paint, book binding cloth, gesso, staples and art history book pages. 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2024
Detail
Staples, graphite, wax, pencil and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 7.5 × 5.5 inches, 2023
Staples, graphite, wax, gesso and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 26 x 19 inches, 2023
Staples, thread, graphite, wax, paint and art history book pages. 9.75 x 6.5 inches, 2024
Torn art history book pages and thread. 21.5 inches length. 2022
Graphite, wax, and art history book pages. 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2023
Street trash found while walking in SF and gold thread, 19 x 13 inches, 2023
Staples, graphite, wax, acrylic paint and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 26 x 19 inches, 2024
Staples on a staple box. 9.5 x 7.5 inches, 2023
Staples on a staple box. 8 x 7.625 inches, 2023
Detail
Staples on a staple box. 3 x 4.25 x 1.5 inches, 2023
Staples, graphite, wax, acrylic paint and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 15.5 x 24.25 inches, 2023
Staples, graphite, wax, acrylic paint and art history book pages. 7 x 7 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, acrylic paint and art history book pages. 7 x 7 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, and art history book pages. 6.5 x 6.5 inches, 2022
I continue to work with art history books exploring my favorite materials – staples, thread, graphite, wax, and thin graffiti paint. I can't always control what's happening– tearing pages, sewing, stapling, smearing. "Stuff happens along the way, and then I have to deal with it" is the best way I can describe my process. My discovery of staples as a material significantly shifted my visual language. Not as gentle or delicate as sewing with thread, the seductive metallic staples referenced weapons or armor. Bumping up against and responding to these art history books has been insightful. History speaks to where we find ourselves today–it's a quagmire, a real stew, and that is where the juice is, for me. I'm finding my path forward by unmaking and remaking this old canon, one piece at a time.
Staples, graphite, wax, paint, gesso, thread, and art history book pages, 17 x 12.5 inches, 2021
private collection
Staples, graphite, wax, and paint on art history book pages, 18 x 12.5 inches, 2021
Staples, graphite, wax, and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 26.25 x 19 inches, 2022
private collection
Staples, paint, and an art history book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, gesso, graphite, and book pages. 13 x 10.5 inches, 2021
Staples, graphite, wax, and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 29 x 22 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, and art history book pages, 12.5 x 10.25 inches, 2021
Staples, thread, silver paint, and art history book pages, 12.5 x 10.25 inches, 2022
Thread, staples, sumo ink, acrylic paint, and a page from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, thread and art history book pages, 12.5 x 10.25 inches, 2021
Staples, and pages from "Metropolitan Seminars in Art" by John Canaday. 13.25 x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, paint, and art history book pages. 15 x 11 inches, 2022
Thread, acrylic paint and art history book pages, 12.5 x 10.25 inches, 2021
Thread, staples, graphite, wax, paint, and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 13.25 x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, gesso, paint, wax, and art history book pages. 13x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, gesso and art history book pages, 15 x 9.5 inches, 2022
Staples, graphite, wax, and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. 26.75 x 19 inches, 2022
Three years ago, I began dismantling and reassembling a volume set of “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday. I was interested in altering his narrative, writing new stories over the old. Part of my process is the continuous rhythm of deconstruction and reconstruction–breaking down this vintage canon of art history from the 1950s and reworking it to my own liking. In 2021, Gearbox Gallery in Oakland invited me to have a solo show. The intimate space of the “Inner Room” was perfect for my work, and the gestalt experience of having all my work speaking together was powerful. These are the pieces from the show.
Staples, paint, and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 14 x 11 inches, 2021
private collection
Mixed media and a page from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
private collection
Staples, graphite, and wax on a book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
Staples, graphite, wax, and paint on a book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
private collection
Mixed media and pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 12.5 x 11.5 inches, 2020
private collection
Mixed media and a book page from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
Staples, graphite, wax, and paint on a book pages, 12.5 x 18.5 inches, 2020
Detail
Staples, graphite, and wax on a book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
Mixed media and history pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 11.5 inches, 2020
Mixed media and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 12.5 x 19 inches, 2020
Detail
Mixed media and a book page from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 10.5 inches, 2021
Staples, paint, and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 10 inches, 2020
Staples, graphite, wax and paint on reassembled book pages, 13 x 11 inches, 2020
Staples, paint, and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 10 inches, 2020
Mixed media and history pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 10 inches, 2020
Staples, paint, and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 13 x 10 inches, 2020
Staples, graphite, and wax on reassembled book pages, 13 x 10.5 inches, 2020
Staples, graphite, and wax on a book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2020
Ripping out pages, tearing them up, obliterating sections with whitewash and graphite, and then reassembling the parts speaks to me. At first, I mostly hand-sewed the pieces back together. I saw stitching as a symbolic way to mend things I thought were broken. My fascination with staples came later when I used them to rescue a sewn piece when thread alone was not working. My stitching and stapling attempts to bring together disparate parts and find new meaning in them.
Mixed media and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 29 x 22 inches, 2019
private collection
Detail
Mixed media and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 29 x 22 inches, 2019
Detail
Mixed media and book pages from “Metropolitan Seminars in Art” by John Canaday, 29 x 22 inches, 2020
Detail
Art prints and thread, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2019
Detail
Art prints and thread, 6 x 18 inches, 2019
Center Detail
“Beauty in things exists merely in the mind that contemplates them.”
-David Hume
Walking the streets of San Francisco, where I live, is essential to my art. It feeds my imagination and leaves a mark on me every time I step outside my door. I come home with my pockets full of bits and pieces, things I find attractive, that had a previous purpose in the world but now are forgotten on the street. My collected treasures sit in groups on my table. From time to time, I start to improvise and try to honor their spirit.
Mixed media found materials, sizes vary, 2018
Mixed media found materials, 10 x 10 inches, 2019
Mixed media found materials, 3.5 x 2.5 inches, 2017
Mixed media found materials, 3 x 4 inches, 2018
Mixed media found materials at the beach, 2.5 x 2.5 inches, 2019
Mixed media found materials, 11.5 x 10 inches, 2019
Found materials on the street, 11.5 x 11.5 inches, ongoing 2017 - present
Mixed media found materials, 8 x 7 inches, 2018
Mixed media found materials, 6.25 x 3 inches, 2017
Paint on brown bag, 11 x 8.5 inches, 2017
Mixed media found materials, 3.5 x 1.5 inches, 2017
I purchased one of those "How to Be an Artist" notebooks on a whim in 2018. My goal was to eradicate everything printed in the book and make it my own. I started by duct-taping over the cover, which I found entirely satisfying. My challenge was to develop new ideas by reacting against what is in the book. Responding to something that already exists is intriguing for me. I have maintained an on-again, off-again relationship with her as she frequently sits neglected in my studio while I focus on other things. When I am too busy or lost and need clarity, this is where I go. I have the most respect for her.
Collected and sewn notes found on the streets
Detail
The pages used in the construction of this series are all torn from discarded and recycled books. I liked the aged paper, and the page format was a familiar construct – a comfortable place to begin experimenting. Books are a place where ideas are shared, information recorded, and stories told. I see myself as a visual storyteller of sorts, and using books was a natural material. I have dismantled, cut-out, sewn-over, collaged, painted, scratched, and reassembled my old books all on a search to better understand my world.
Ink and oil pastel on book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2018
Pencil and spilt wine on book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2018
Pencil and spilt wine on book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2018
Ink and photo on book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2017
String and a book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2018
Detail
Mixed media found materials on book board, 10 x 5.5 inches, 2019
Mixed media on book board, 9 x 4.5 inches, 2019
Mixed media found materials on book board, 9.5 x 5 inches, 2019
Mixed media found materials on book board, 9.5 x 7 inches, 2017
Mixed media found materials on book board, 9.5 x 7 inches, 2017
Mixed media on book page, 12.5 x 9.5 inches, 2018
I frequently walk by the corner of 47th and Taraval and have an ongoing love affair with the boarded-up corner store. Drawn to the ever-evolving graffiti, I was inspired to join the street art conversation. In early 2018, I put my mark up one pre-dawn morning and waited. I thought someone would reply, but nothing. I added a speak bubble, soliciting a response. Nothing. Later, I added a large flower made from trash I collected on the street. Untouched for months, it finally was painted over. I continued to interact with the wall for another two-years.
The corner that seduced me into making street art.
My first mark was a slightly startled, curious creature – part deer body, part metal gizmo I found on the street.
I offered a speech bubble, looking for a conversation.
When no one replied, I gave my own response.
A flower, made from trash, I collected walking Taraval Street.
Curated trash is quite beautiful.
No one touched this for months, which amazed me.
Eventually, it was painted out with black spray paint.
Two months after being painted out, I decided it was time to do it again. Part of what is so refreshing about street art is that it is so impermanent and anonymous, offering considerable freedom. The corner store is next to Ocean Beach, and the neighborhood accepts and encourages my work. Having people yell from cars, "Yeah, she's back!" is heartening for an artist. At some point, scaffolding went up, and workers began renovations. It seemed my wall art gig might be up.
In March of 2018, I was ready to begin again.
The painted-out flower was texturally beautiful when stripped of color.
I started by outlining the flower white.
Then added my creature again.
This time the deer body was made from collected trash.
She looked imprisoned behind all the scaffolding.
In the Fall of 2018, the boarded-up windows were removed, and new framing went in for replacement windows. My art was gone. I knew it would happen eventually, but still, it was sad. A few weeks later, I was extremely shocked to see only the flower, reappear, up-side-down, in an adjoining window opening. Whether it was intentional or not, I don’t know, but I seized the opportunity and immediately started again. Things change so quickly on the street; you have to act fast.
Only the flower graphic reappeared but in a different window.
It felt like a resurrection.
My startled, curious mark was back on the wall.
I finger-painted gold rays around the flower. It seemed appropriate after an utterly unexpected reappearance.
Detail of the Resurrection, on a random Sunday.
It survived untouched for four months.
Finally, it was painted out again, this time, green.
From the beginning, I was looking for a visual conversation, and I eventually met my match. Someone started wheat-pasting black and white photos over the flower. For me, this was an exciting and engaging time. My challenge was to incorporate their imagery into my work and make it my own. They were mean; I was resilient; it was great. Eventually, it got so gross and ugly, I chose not to respond, and shortly after, the graffiti police cited the building, and it got painted out, again.
I found it amusing that the owner neatly painted it out green.
Somehow, one of the painted petals started peeling, and that got me started. I was inspired.
I peeled all the paper off the painted-over flower.
Next step was to fingerpaint the gold outline.
Someone wheat-pasted black and white photos on the wall, and the challenge was on.
I painted out everything except the older walking woman.
My strategy was to incorporate their actions into my art. Their approach was to eliminate me. They painted over the flower, again.
I repainted the gold flower, and The Flower Walker was born.
Detail of the Flower Walker.
I am grateful to them for consistently challenging me. Otherwise, I would not have know her.
Painted out again, she continued to walk, despite being waist-high in black spray paint. I loved her feisty spirit.
Eventually, it got ugly and less creative. Not all street artists have the same vision.
In early 2020, The Department of Public Works had the final word.
