projects

Reconstructive Memory
The video portion of Reconstructive Memory was inspired by conversations with my father. I can still hear his descriptions of the majestic pheasant- the graceful movements, the beautiful feathers. If one were ever near the road, he would stop the truck and watch the bird until it flew away. I never understood this tender love for the very thing that he would later kill while on a hunting trip. I became interested in the notion of what I thought of as "loving something to death". A tender and genuine affection coupled with acts of domination or destruction. I began to notice variations of this phenomenon in the way my dog giddily extracted the stuffing of her toys and ripped out the eyes, the art of taxidermy, relationships, zoos, and war. Compelled to explore further, I collected stuffed animals, at one time well loved, protected, and cherished, with the intent of destroying them.

Once I had a stockpile of stuffed animals, I ventured into rural North Dakota with a few experienced hunters and was shown how to use a shotgun properly. I had never touched a gun before, and the experience was frightening- and exhilarating. After a few hours of shooting, I was so comfortable with the gun that I forgot the very real damage it could do. After all, I was blowing up inanimate objects and watching the beautiful display of their insides float through the air.

Afterwards, I was left with a video of the destruction and a studio littered with injured animals missing eyes, arms, and legs. A strong desire to put the animals back together formed almost immediately. So, I began the labor-intensive process of sewing up all of the buckshot holes, salvaging stuffing, and sorting out appendages for the original owners. This incredibly time-consuming act of attempting to "fix" what I had done reflected my initial vigor now mixed with latent regret. The mending of the disfigured plushies was laborious, but fostered a new and intimate relationship with the animals. It became important that the stitches were visible with threads hanging, illustrating the sympathetic gesture of repair. I realized that Reconstructive Memory narrates a story repeated throughout history; the story of destroying something without a realistic notion of consequence, regretting it, and then attempting to fix the unintended consequence. The photographic portion of Reconstructive Memory displays my failed effort to restore what I had forever altered.