I love the things I make.
"Junk" is collected, sits around for about 20 years, and finally finds its
place. From collage postcards to a large motorised Not-Very-Merry-Go-Round
of gargoyles, including my mother's false teeth in a fish head, life is full
of possibilities.
People have been puzzled by the contrast: my optimism and enthusiasm for
living seen against my work, which finds its beauty in images of fear,
death, and the follies of the living. To me there is no contradiction:
given the horrors, the brevity and the pain, an intense joy is the only
rational response; dance till they drop you, exult while you can.
(Self-analysis is the thinking woman's vice?)
Over all the joys of life, the fierce and inevitable decay.
The objects I collect, the treasures I keep for years until they find their
place, they may indeed be images of death, but for me their beauty is one of
the joys which make life into a glowing jewel in the dust.
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