Just a Hard Rain
Appropriated or captured images enlarged, stacked, crushed together, and then digitally drawn into. They are printed 24 inches by 42 inches and mounted on aluminum and offset from the wall by an inch.
Living saturated in culture, I look for the radioactive moments. There were times when blues musicians would ride on the dissonance, but dissonance isn't my time. Radioactivity is my time. Pixelization, decay, corrupted data, i-frames and p-frames, acts of dubious translation, viruses, junk DNA, plastic bags, and destabilizing relations full of ripping potential as things ionize, collide and cancel. My music is radioactive. My TV is radioactive. My work, in turn, should be radioactive, a head of multiplicity riding on degradation and recombination—mutations pocketed with zones of exception, fungi and irradiated wild boar.
The photographic work in Just a Hard Rain takes between 30 to 100 film stills, stacks them, compresses then enlarges them, runs algorithms to determine the highlights, where the most luminous activity is, and renders a singular image. The –activity, the fevered movement, the multiplying flesh makes me think of how lumped and dubious our faculties are as they translate the information from the array of photons presented. It cuts them temporally, digestible bits, a stream of tangibility, but what if they stack and compress like layers of bedrock? Freezing the –activity into one visual ecological layer. These are images of our time, the Anthropocene—radioactive images after the end of the world.