Tree bark and branches, various species; copper tubing assembled with stainless steel screws and epoxy; Portland cement mixes with metal foil and wire reinforcement; acrylic paint and sealer
Dimensions: 99 x 78 x 54
Why do we think so much about flying, why we are so fascinated with birds, why do we have flying dreams? In Flying Ancestor, I was looking to synthesize what I was learning about birds and my personal experience, which flickers between a sense of freedom and desire to be connected to place. I’m always impressed when a flock of birds flings out from a tree and then settles back into it. I remember dreams where I was flying but never far from the ground. I love walking in woods and getting only a little lost. Like the pelagic albatross you can wander very far in your life and come back periodically to the same solid ground. Up to a point, where lies the fear that home will not be there upon your return.
Flying Ancestor is an exploration, a collecting of diverse artifacts from a journey through the landscape/airscape/seascape of memory, giving them a home in its simple youthful frame. Maple branches brought down by superstorm Sandy; imitation gingko leaves and branch, dovetailed with a bit of actual gingko branch; feathers made of hickory and birch bark (white on the outside, coppery red on the other); markings of deep primary color. Flying Ancestor is a casual barter with uncertainty, a simple estimation of the cost of freedom.
Curious fact: The albatross mates for life—each partner flying tens of thousands of miles alone across the Southern Ocean to return to one another every 2 years, in the same place; vast flocks of starlings launch out together in fantastic synchronized dances known as murmurations just before dusk.