headboard, Mt. Rushmore sculpture, oil paintings, canvas, wood, text, maps, architectural drawings, chisels, branches, gravel, various other materials, 1996
headboard, Mt. Rushmore sculpture, oil paintings, canvas, wood, text, maps, architectural drawings, chisels, branches, gravel, various other materials, 1996
headboard, Mt. Rushmore sculpture, oil paintings, canvas, wood, text, maps, architectural drawings, chisels, branches, gravel, various other materials, 1996
sewing machine, Canadian and American flags, shoeshine box, photograph, 1997
sewing machine, Canadian and American flags, shoeshine box, photograph, 1997
sewing machine, Canadian and American flags, shoeshine box, photograph, 1997
oil painting, text,clocks, statues, nameplate, wood, just loads of stuff, 1997
oil painting, text,clocks, statues, nameplate, wood, just loads of stuff, 1997
oil painting, text,clocks, statues, nameplate, wood, just loads of stuff, 1997
text, cow heart, sleeping bag, wood, picture frames,cup, teeth, 1997
I was walking down Granville Street one night and a homeless man asked me for some spare change for food. I said. “Hey man, in this day and age, we’re all homeless.” He punched me in the face and my tooth fell out.
I asked a man on the street why he didn’t have a place to live. He answered. “Home is where the heart is.” I felt sorry for him and when he wasn’t looking, I stole his heart and put it up for the night.
text, cow heart, sleeping bag, wood, picture frames, cup, teeth 1997
I was walking down Granville Street one night and a homeless man asked me for some spare change for food. I said. “Hey man, in this day and age, we’re all homeless.” He punched me in the face and my tooth fell out.
I asked a man on the street why he didn’t have a place to live. He answered. “Home is where the heart is.” I felt sorry for him and when he wasn’t looking, I stole his heart and put it up for the night.
butterflies, cricket, audio recording of cricket noises, tape player, paper, wood, velvet lined box, cigar box, frames,1996
butterflies, cricket, audio recording of cricket noises, tape player, paper, wood, velvet lined box, cigar box, frames,1996
text, chain link fence, galvanized steel, branches, clothing, 100 teapots, earl grey tea, sheets, 2001
One morning I walked down a crowded street and into a forest. It was cold and wet. My head was in the clouds, my mind steeped in dreams. Deeply moved by my surroundings, I closed my eyes. I fell. On my back dying, in the dirt and leaves, blood pouring from my head, I thought of death itself crashing down to earth and through it, as the weight of my body had. But mostly I whistled, hummed and sang, “On a rainy day you can see forever."
text, chain link fence, galvanized steel, branches, clothing, 100 teapots, earl grey tea, sheets, 2001
One morning I walked down a crowded street and into a forest. It was cold and wet. My head was in the clouds, my mind steeped in dreams. Deeply moved by my surroundings, I closed my eyes. I fell. On my back dying, in the dirt and leaves, blood pouring from my head, I thought of death itself crashing down to earth and through it, as the weight of my body had. But mostly I whistled, hummed and sang, “On a rainy day you can see forever."
text, chain link fence, galvanized steel, branches, clothing, 100 teapots, earl grey tea, sheets, 2001
One morning I walked down a crowded street and into a forest. It was cold and wet. My head was in the clouds, my mind steeped in dreams. Deeply moved by my surroundings, I closed my eyes. I fell. On my back dying, in the dirt and leaves, blood pouring from my head, I thought of death itself crashing down to earth and through it, as the weight of my body had. But mostly I whistled, hummed and sang, “On a rainy day you can see forever."
c-print, 2006
I handed him a bouquet. Don't ever give me flowers, he said. Not even on Valentine's Day. Giving people flowers is morbid. Flowers are dead. Why do you want to give me dead things? Flowers are for funerals. For cemeteries. To remind us that we are dying. What if I gave you live flowers? I said. Yes, he said. If you grew them yourself. You would have to grow them yourself. To really give me a symbol of our love, you would have to grow them yourself. OK, I said. And you would have to cultivate them yourself. You'd have to really get in there and...you would have to plant the seed, nurture them. In your body. In your mouth. Your saliva watering them, your food sustaining them. The flowers growing stronger in the wet contours of your mouth. Yes. Then one day I would pick them. Yes. That would be a proper gift. That would be a proper expression of our love. You are an asshole, I said.