Drawn to cast-off, left-behind possessions of the dead, I rattle around in the attics of strangers; take naps in the summer homes of memory and history; braid moonbeams into digestible sleep. I’ve looked for a sanctuary space, and finding none created my own. Bringing people and places [back] to life in images is a visceral response to what’s gone or never was. Building bridges across time, I look for some reassurance —meaning— to counter the tenuousness of every human connection.
My dreams are bound in waxed sail thread and resin; my palette comprises the hues of storm-bruised fragility, screaming silence, a fierce face toward the void— the tertiary colors of secrets, mystery; veiled optimism. The images are projections only— imprecise castings of traces discovered in the dust.
contact: liz [at] electrofork [dot] com