If I no longer remember do they continue to exist?

I wear my clothes until they have too many holes, and then I put them in a painting.

This is not nostalgia; it is necessary.

The collection cannot exist without its others. Objects have a presence. The residue, seen and not seen, continues to grasp onto more, traveling through space and time, it accumulates context from each temporary home.

Memory clusters occupy me. They have a place together, relying on each other to make sense. A painting alone is not complete without its surrounding counterparts. Making work that is unfinished; leaving it on the cusp.

Accumulation from everyday life demands the choice of what is valued enough to keep and what is designated as worthless and discarded. Unnecessary is not the same as useless. They are alive in the way thinking is not.

I do not have a morning routine. I make impossible plans and create irrational expectations. My birthday presents were stolen. A dog shredded my favorite basket from Honduras. My mother’s plates were shattered by a five year old (and occasionally me). The chairs from my childhood dinner table were left outside. My significant other is a minimalist so everything I want to keep is “accidentally” thrown out. I had two crock-pots and gave them both away. They did not remind me of anything.

Carpet is a stained time machine. In silence it keeps records, holding on to the unseen deep within its fibers. It is a memory conduit; most have lived in a place with carpet. I have lived in seventeen spaces that I know of. I cannot remember which carpet goes where.