Urban Porch transforms the mundane into the unexpected and recasts infrastructure as art. Three ordinary bus stops on San Antonio’s West Side have been replaced with welcoming gathering spaces designed to enhance the passenger experience. By visually referencing iconographies of the home and recreating some of those comforts, Urban Porch reflects the neighboring porch community, and encourages its extension into the public sphere. Passengers can enjoy their time by swaying on a porch-style swing or glancing upward and reflecting on a simulated night sky. By utilizing the “porch” as both a design motif and as an underlying concept, these bus shelters evoke the comfort of home and the presence of community.
hope/luck, 2010-2012, Custom coins with the word "hope" on one side and "luck" on the other left in various urban areas around San Antonio
This body of work was created by altering and reassembling items from my late grandmother’s extensive collection of costume jewelry and knitted afghans. Through this work, I am questioning how desire and excess relate to loneliness, emptiness, and fulfillment. Does one not purport to solve the other? And, what is the difference between having and being?
Refelction, 2010–2011 / assemblage of costume jewelry, gold leaf, custom frame and mirror
Nest #1, 2010-2011 / Altered costume jewelry in nests crocheted from deconstructed, found afghans
Installation view at Luminaria 2011
Pretty Bird, 2010–2011 / Assemblage of costume jewelry, hand mirror, gold leaf, found afghan
Nest #2, 2010-2011 / Altered costume jewelry in nests crocheted from deconstructed, found afghans
Lorraine, 2007, documentation of my late grandmother's home as she left it, 7 x 10 inch digital print
Fortune, 2004, 1000 offset prints hand-folded into "fortune tellers" and randomly inserted into library books at the downtown San Antonio Public Library
Another set of 1000 "fortune tellers" randomly inserted into books at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Library in Washington D.C.
I like that these words rhyme. I like that long is within belong. I like the onomatopoetic nature of long as it cannot be uttered without a slight linger in tempo. I like the complex relationship these words have with each other.
They are neither synonyms nor antonyms, yet they somehow define each other. They do not harmoniously co-exist, nor do they mutually exclude. One could purport to satisfy the other but, belonging is not entirely attainable, and longing is not entirely extinguishable.
Longing is desire. We can long for people, places, things, other times, other lives. We can long to belong. The word conveys ache but not necessarily pain. It can be overwhelming or infinitesimal.
Belonging describes a psychological state—a sense of connectedness to time, place, or people. Our common need to belong is part of what makes it possible. And if we frustratingly cannot find it, we can make things belong to us. Our possessions are our belongings.
These words are posted to incite introspection rather than action. To remind the reader of what it means to be human, of these things we have in common. Our sameness is what makes us feel as though we belong.
Within the context of a billboard, these words would simultaneously expose the constant and empty promise of advertising—the myth that possession will lead to satisfaction and fulfillment.
Longing. Belonging. Seen repeatedly on a daily drive. A subtle but persistent echo.
LongingBelonging, 2004, Billboard installation concurrent with library installation
Home, 2002, 35 x 47 inch digital prints
Presence, 2001, 500 fliers reading "Lost Friend" posted in residential areas near downtown San Antonio
Backlit photographic prints of interior spaces were mounted on plexiglas and inserted into existing architectural doorways to create a complex visual interplay between physical and representational space
Gallery walls painted to be evocative of residential setting, track lighting and hardware replaced with domestic light fixtures and door knobs
Set design for the AtticRep theater company's production of HellCab by Will Kern, directed by Stacey Connelly, 2013.