About the show

Little boys are made of snips & snails & puppy dog tales. Old boys are made of leather-bound aches & a myriad of mistakes (attended, one hopes, by the merciful touch of grace). With my own Best Beloved in the crook of my arm, adventures were read aloud, and whole worlds were pulled from the ether. My children have grown beyond my elbow niche and spoken stories. Still the storyteller remains, and though the clay is static, it retains the cadence of a nursery rhyme.  The following is an example of my thought process in regards to my sculptural narrative. Lord of the Flies, depicts the head of the wild pig impaled on a spear in the book of the same name by William Golding. In the story, the Sow’s head represents a demon, The Lord of Flies and Dung. A personification to the protagonist, of a ferocious beast that can be hunted and slain. Ultimately it is understood to represent the beast within us all.  

Time and again I’ve F. Gump’d my way onto playing fields where stakes were thought high, hierarchies were firmly entrenched, and both the rules and barometers for success were clear. In this sculpture I’ve depicted the different paths that may lead to the gilded staircase at the pinnacle of this labyrinth. Babirusa boars have tusks that may grow back into its own skull eventually killing it. One of this boar’s eyes is blinded by a tusk, just as the rules of some games turn a blind eye to merit, or fairness. As a species, our greatest advances, and transgressions are born of these social accords.

The boys stranded on the island, have devolved into murderous tribes, firmly enmeshed in this reality of their making. They are eventually rescued by a Naval Officer, who is himself at war. And so it goes. Like the boys in Golding’s book, sometimes we need an adult gaze to help us understand that it was only ever a game. The only question is who’s going to tell the adult?