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Family Rxm (detail) from the November 2008 exhibition Charged Spaces at the Haydon Art Center in Lincoln, NE. 25’ x 34’ x 18’. Ceramic, mixed media. Photo by Larry Gawel

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everything changed- then changed again

solo exhibition at the Clay Art Center in Port Chester, NY April 28th- May 25th 2012 * photos by Loren Maron The last two and a half years have been a battle; for everyone that loved, knew or met Amy. She was a light and all its definitions. I learned many things about and because of cancer. I have learned a lot more about living, dying and gratitude. The first thing I learned at first diagnosis is that there is no normal. As a pretty uptight person by nature, this lesson has been a tremendous gift. I have been able to apply it to many parts of my life outside this hellish journey. Tom Petty wrote: “Everything changed, and then changed again.” It is a process of constant adjustment. The game changes and the board keeps shifting. Flexibility is key. This is an awful, terrifying and baffling process, but it is also a great teacher. In the beginning of our relationship, Amy and I were “us”. We had our story. We took our bond of union seriously and walked every road together. We presented “a united front” as Amy said. Cancer did not allow for that. We walked separate roads, side-by-side most of the time, though I can never know what she is went through, and she never knew what I did. In the beginning, we were both so scared of hurting each other, a great gulf grew between us. The attempt to stay strong and positive and protect one another from our pain, did the opposite: we crumbled individually. We became two islands. I won’t speak anymore of this because it is painful. Needless to say, I learned that vulnerability can be a strength. To put voice to a fear can remove the burden from the body and set it adrift in a much bigger space, thus making it smaller. The attempt to house these things in our tiny bodies creates a pressure cooker without a release valve. One can never know what you would do if confronted with this situation. You may speculate, but I tell you, you will never know unless you are in those shoes. It brought out the best and worst in us- and often at the same time. It has been a time of profound gratitude, and utter hopelessness; reckless behavior and gallant fights, selfishness and selfless acts. I could go on, and yet I can’t. I would not wish this on anyone, nor would I trade it. We tried everything. Or rather, we dabbled- with alternative therapies, diet, exercise and meditation. Some of these things were fun, like a science experiment and amusing because they were so strange. Some however, seemed to give the foe more power in their rigidity. As if in our desperate clinging to an eating and supplement schedule recognized that this was an emergency. Amy and I disagreed about these things. I can be a rigid person, Amy refused to be. Struggling to balance living a full life both around and through it was challenging. I am not alone as long as I remember to look. Amy lived and loved hard. She was full of contradictions. She was vulnerable an resilient. She inspired deep devotion. She made people feel as if they were the center of her universe- and perhaps we were for the time she was focused on us. She made me more human. The body is incredible. My love and awe of it grow daily. Cancer is ugly. It is beautiful. I have born witness to the destruction of body, mind and spirit. I have born witness to incredible strength; of will, of character, of love. I have been the horrified observer of the destruction of dreams and of hope. The capacity to forget is a tremendous gift. Amy was so present it was intoxicating to be around her. Yet, she retained little. In the moments she felt better, she was impatient with those around her. Our memories of her pain, of the fear, were seared in to our memories; a brand that we must weave the remaining fabric of our lives around, and they impeded her desire to live. Live!!! Amy forgot, a blessed amnesia, and her capacity to rebound was awe-inspiring. Her thoughts turned perpetually to the future. I loved her for this, and I resented her. Many days I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I wanted to step out of my life. I found myself wanting to stay on the train long past the stop for home; to throw my phone into the sound, to walk away from this unbelievable reality. The mundane seemed pointless, yet the only thing that felt real scratched at the surface of my soul- threatening to carry me away. The iron bands that tightened around my chest in dark moments were ever-present; something to work around, never far from gripping me tighter. I ran from awareness. I numbed my mind with others’ narratives, maintained a persistent chatter through my earbuds. I ran from friends’ sympathetic questions and coworkers sad eyes. I am weak. I admit to wishing it would stop. Now. In whatever form that may take. It is the ugliest part of myself. I can’t tell you how hard it is to stay present- even now that the fear is gone. It hurts. It is uncomfortable. But, when I allowed myself to take a break (which I did a lot of in the beginning), I missed minutes- hours with her- however helpless I was to fix things. Poignant moments, every touch every look, had gravity, taste, color and profound revelation. The poem The Invitation by Oria Mountain Dreamer has given me solace, forced me to confront my own anger, and made me weep at its simplicity. It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.' It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. This exhibition is difficult. In many ways it has been cathartic- yet it feels in some ways more public than the most avid facebook poster's life. I have mixed emotions, though there is nothing new in that.

Cold, Dark and Funny

Thomas Hunter Project Room Hunter College NYC * Photos by Jessica Ozment Cold, Dark and Funny I am persistently moved to find beauty in the ragged edges of humanity. The intersection, or in some cases, collision between public and private lives, provides a place to peer through the cracks in the mask we put on for one another each day. Alone or in intimate groups, my sculptures describe the vulnerability and insecurity most of us feel beneath our perceived exteriors. I look at the ways in which we define ourselves for others, at the awkwardness found there, and at what happens when that pretense is stripped away. Despite attempts to clothe and ornament or build the insulating walls of societal perception, we are in essence naked in front of one another. American culture encourages a kind of disconnect, where bodies are taken for granted, or used as vehicles to carry around our intellect. However, a serious diagnosis can bring to consciousness and place into stark contrast the usual attitudes toward the vessels we occupy. In these situations, many are asked to place the care of their bodies into the hands of others: doctors, nurses, family, friends, and caregivers. Patients and caregivers alike are forced to move beyond a sense of modesty and the boundaries we place between ourselves and others. This work, the result of daily observation and participation in this process, brings to light the isolating, humbling and often humorous nature of the loss of control that occurs within this set of conditions. Using information derived both from personal experience and empathetic observation, I use gestural nuance to describe the figure, and the subtle intricacy of intimate relationships. I am interested in looking at the psychologically and emotionally charged spaces between people; the dynamics of human interaction and the cultures that develop as a result of forced shared time, whether in family groups, working relationships, or situations that cause strangers to come together. I am driven to explore the profound impact one person can have on another

installation in progress

Cold, Dark and Funny Exhibition installation at the Thomas Hunter Project Room Hunter College March 27th- April 15th American culture encourages a kind of disconnect, where bodies are taken for granted, or used as vehicles to carry around our intellect. However, a serious diagnosis can bring to consciousness and place into stark contrast the usual attitudes toward the vessels we occupy. In these situations, many are asked to place the care of their bodies into the hands of others: doctors, nurses, family, friends, and caregivers. Patients and caregivers alike are forced to move beyond a sense of modesty and the boundaries we place between ourselves and others. This work, the result of daily observation and participation in this process, brings to light the terrifying, humbling and often humorous nature of the loss of control that occurs within this set of conditions.

What is the Price of Rejection

2010 Including the pieces: DosSantos and the Chemo Cowgirl and September 5th. Photographs of installations at Penn State University, Art Mission and Theater in Binghamton, NY and ClockTower Salon in the Bronx, NY. Photographs by Cody Goddard and Jessica Ozment

September 8th

2010 Photos by Cody Goddard

Family Rxm

Family Rxm from the November 2008 exhibition Charged Spaces at the Haydon Art Center in Lincoln, NE. 25' x 34' x 18' Ceramic, mixed media. * on Auction this fall at the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts! Photos by Larry Gawel

Bored Meeting

Bored Meeting,; A Sunday Dinner *a work comprised of 10 ceramic figures and their furniture as seen installed at the Lux Center for the Arts, Lincoln, NE in February 2008 8’ x 25’x 5’ ceramic, mixed media * in the collection of Marc and Kathy LeBaron, Lincoln Industries, Lincoln, NE Photos by Larry Gawel

8:45 am

8:45 a.m. 2008 54x 35 x 42 stoneware, glaze, underglaze, fabric, wheat paste, gesso, wood, paint, aluminum, mirror, lightbulb, bathmat * In the collection of Carol Gendler Omaha, NE Photos by Larry Gawel

Sheldon Art Museum SMAG Connections Series

* InsideOut: Caitlin Applegate and Eddie Dominguez Installed at the Sheldon Art Museum in October 2007 as a part of the series Sheldon (SMAG) Connections in an exhibiton called InsideOut: Photos by Larry Gawel

MFA

2007 Richards Hall University of Nebraska Lincoln * Photos by Larry Gawel

candid shots

No description

ceramics student work 2006-10

Student work completed from 2006 at UNL as a Graduate Teaching assistant, until the spring of 2010 as a visiting professor at Penn State University

drawing student work 2007-2009

work from beginning drawing, life drawing and advanced level drawing classes taught at UNL and SUNY Cortland