Self [other] finally opened last night. Seven pieces of plywood with paper stuck to them have now been seen by a whole heap of people and for the next fortnight will be seen by a whole heap more.

I revisited the gallery this morning to clean up and noticed the surfaces of some of the pieces have started to warp a little. I knew this would happen. The expansion properties of the wood, glue, and paper move out of sync with each other according to the temperature and humidity of the local environment. I’m not worried about this naturally occuring property and neither am I about to attack the surfaces of my work with varnish or sealant.

I feel no need to preserve my work because I don’t want to suffocate it. I want to expose the fragility of its existence. This is why the work is raw edged, unframed and unsealed. My Self [other] needs to live, deteriorate, die, and decompose.

My work needs to breathe just as much as I do.


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