When the Bower installation was deinstalled I kept the chandelier that was inside and created a small “dwelling” from the remains. This piece measures 9.5″ x 7″ x 7″, resin and collected objects.
12″ x 12″, resin, silver leaf and grass on panel
The house is a bird’s very person; it is its form and its most immediate effort, I shall even say, its suffering. The result is only obtained by constantly repeated pressure of the breast. There is not one blade of grass that, in order to make a curve and hold the curve, has not been pressed on countless times by the bird’s breast, its heart, surely with difficulty in breathing, perhaps even, with palpitations.
—Jules Michelet, quoted in The Poetics of Space
I began gathering Russian thistles with the idea that I would someday build a structure from the network of branches and thorns—a dwelling of passion, inhabited by the wind. As a child my play consisted of making sculptures from whatever debris I could find. I built spaces in trees, made dugouts in the ground. These were safe places where I felt free to read, write poetry, sing, daydream, nap, and imagine what my life might be. I realize now those habitable sculptures were extensions of my form, a place of stasis from which I could observe the enormity of the world and make sense of it – peering through its openings—watching dust float in the light, frame pieces of the sky.
Today, I live in the center of a city, in the middle of a desert surrounded on all sides by the enormity of the horizon. The environment is harsh. Everything is exposed. Nothing is hidden. I walk and forage in the dusty, hot landscape collecting seeds, bones, and other odd bits that most might overlook. My walks reveal fragile ecosystems, strange beauty – insights in detritus. What I see in these intimate viewings finds its way into my dreams. Dreams lead to poems. Poems lead me to what I create. I hope to bring focus, a new way of seeing, a new life to the objects I find—collected specimens—ephemera preserved, protected.
I have been carrying the idea for a tumbleweed dwelling for a long time. It wasn’t until I was revisiting The Poetics of Space that the concept took full form. I began gathering tumbleweeds and collected the objects I found beneath them. During this process, I decided to use the word “bower” as part of the title and when I began to research I came across the Bowerbirds—amazing architects and foragers. I realized the bower I was creating was much like the ones they make. I learned that the birds court mates by collecting brightly colored objects, organizing and creating elaborate displays within their nests. The chandelier is homage to those lovely, strange birds. Sometimes I believe I become the space where I am. A space that sees and is formed by the rhythm of my heart and the pulse of my breathing.
Installation opening will happen April 1, 2011
across the velvet dark, 60″ x 60″, resin, acrylic and shells on panel, 2010
From the series Pale Dreams, 2009
36″ x 36″, resin and cicada wings on panel
My friend Valerie Vadala Homer wrote the following poem using titles from works I created in the past few years. I had the opportunity to give a reading at my recent exhibition in December.
On certain days,
pale dreams arrive,
become,
cusp on the edge of absence.
Hearing lessons
note the truth-
knot the light.
In late January,
blue darkness
circles dreams,
seeds meditation.
The waiting place promises, whispers:
Where the past overlaps–
all things become
stars.
In the blue of distance–
above the dark night -
a catch in breath,
a certain pause.
I close my eyes
wide.
I finished this piece just before my exhibition opened in November. Like many wonderful things, it came out of the night, quiet introspection and a line from a poem. Certain works arrive from a place that feels unstudied, opening a door to a new place, a new path. I am currently working on several pieces that are similar in subject. All things becoming Stars and Dust measures 36″ x 72″ , resin, foxtail agave, snake vertebra on panel. To see other work in the Pale Dreams exhibition go to www.lisasettegallery.com
