I busted this out during a sleep deprived, burst of inspiration at school. It’s collaged paper, acrylic paint, silk thread, oil crayon, tape and glue. It measures about 40 x 40 inches.
Lotsa squares. Burrows. Flattened crawlspaces.
All these symbols, made of plastic, are populating my studio, photographs and paintings.
I’m putting parts of myself in them. They are reliquaries, produced en masse by Hasbro or Mattel, containing sacred bits of little girl Libby.
I’ve given these pieces to those I love. I’ve left them on doorsteps and beneath pillows. I’ve been like a cat that brings dead birds to her masters.
They are little anchors to drop in another’s life. Sometimes their chains get yanked back.
I’ve left paintings in trees with the hope they’d be found. I’ve left messages with chalk on rocks to be washed away. I’ve made others participate in my scavenger hunt.
When I played with Barbies, I preferred building and designing the doll’s house. I wanted to build the spaces they’d exist in. Maybe I’ve always treated life like a diorama.