My body of work involves a balance between written pieces and the paintings and drawings that accompany them. These separate components deal with different sides of my work- the written pieces identify feelings of strangeness related to the mental/spiritual persona, whereas the visual pieces work to show the more physical aspects of identity, and express issues of dysmorphia and disassociation. My goal is to combine these two practices into one experience, where the viewer is aware of the human spirit as something separate from the physical, and slightly troubled by the fleeting nature of such an intangible yet vital organ, as well as being made aware of the seemingly arbitrary connection of that spirit to a human vessel, which the spirit may or may not feel empathy for. A common theme throughout all my work is teeth. The normalization of your teeth (which are part of you) falling out and being discarded- now no longer a part of you. This idea has always been troubling to me, the concept of something that is a piece of what you considered to be you transitioning almost instantly into something that is separate and even unrecognizable. It is interesting to think about how, when something is still on your person, it is a part of you- the spit in your mouth does not bother you, and you do not think of it as a separate object, but once it leaves your mouth, it becomes other-ed, and is viewed as something grotesque. You would never spit into a cup and then put the spit back into your mouth, because something about it has changed since it was a part of you. The same can be said for nails or hair, which is not gross when attached, but as soon as they are disconnected, they become repulsive and dirty, even though there has been no physical change other than separating it from the self. This applies as well to larger pieces of the body, such as an amputated limb- although your arm is something you are very familiar with and have touched every day of your life, you would view your own amputated arm with horror and disgust, and would not want to touch it. I think about the human spirit in much the same way- although it is not visible, it is growing and changing as well, perhaps even more than the body. You lose pieces of yourself along the way. Some parts are just outgrown or trimmed away, others gouged out painfully or imprinted upon you by your environment. The near infinite flexibility of the soul in this respect is frightening to consider. The body can only endure so much, and is restricted to somewhat holding its original form, but the soul can abandon its shape again and again. What claim can we then make to any one identity while holding such a flimsy grasp on our own personas? Are the physical manifestations of identity (style, aesthetic, tattoos, etc.) just ways of reassuring ourselves that we are still the same person we have always been? An attempt to solidify the way we view our ever-changing accumulation of micro-personalities? And yet, just as clinging to old discarded pieces of the physical self (hair, teeth) would be wacky or even disturbing, one can not cling to the bygone parts of the self that are not visible to the eye, as I comment on in my poem Curse the Line. We, as a species, must change. I also use teeth to represent a form of identity- they are completely unique to you and your body, and can be used to identify you in the same way that your fingerprint can. So the loss of one’s teeth can be equated to the loss of one’s identity, and growing new teeth to replace them is both a form of growth and a way of replacing and erasing the part of you that is gone, as your body constantly does with your skin and blood and hair, and every cell in your body, until there is not a single piece of the old you left, only the memory of the information it carried and processed, as I depict in my painting and poem entitled Sum of Our Parts. Essentially, the person you were ten years ago is dead, and you have replaced them. And in another ten years, someone else will replace you. Although this change is a normal part of life and everyone does it, it is terrifying to think about. If you are by nature obligated to change, how can you lay claim to any one identity? The slow nature of this change, the piecing together of new parts, has a sort of humor to it, in an ironic way, since we are aware of its occurrence. This humor is important for me to portray in my work, as the sarcastic way we view the strangeness and inevitability of life is essential enduring it. This is, at its core, the subject of all my work.