Tentative. Running my fingers across the coarse edge of the tub. Deteriorating. Grains crumble from their rightful positions and into my hands. Stable but so delicate. I can feel the material eroding in my hand. Itsstillthere. No matter how many fragments of the whole I crumble, the figure remains. 

Heavy. Daunting.               Cold.

“I surrender.” I whisper to the figure engulfed in burden. 

With that

I am consumed. 

Art as a practice, for me, has always been about conveying to others the things that I am unable or unwilling to share verbally. Perversion is a dive into the dark abyss of memory. It is an invitation to the viewer to join me in exploring the gravity of the past. 

Warped from its original form by time, I see an image that has been inexplicably woven through the composition of myself as a person. I feebly bat the image out of my mind with a melting arm. I know my hit was not strong enough to dispel the image forever. It will come back time and time again and I will once more wind up my ever drooping arm to deliver another blow. 

Few materials feel as permanent and immoveable as cement. However, this image of a harsh and unchanging material is incorrect. Concrete begins and ends as dust. Few are ever present to see its full life cycle. Cement’s illusion of continuity demands respect. Cement is not to be tormented. 

Bugs, on the other hand, often do the tormenting that cement so effectively fends off. They are intricate, delicate, and essential. They cause a visceral reaction regardless of the unquestionable good they do for the world. Largely avoided and exterminated, bugs act as an effective repellent. Unwilling to compromise, they advance in rank. Steadily approaching their next bald target.