The practice itself is often an exercise in accretion – the accumulation of tiny parts that transform into much larger whole.
Communication, or making myself understood, is something I struggle with. The work is an attempt to find a more satisfying language, a lexicon of birds and stars, and also of clouds, dark masses, and viscera. Words, if they are used, are played with – both in terms of their physical forms and the sounds and meanings they make.
All the work is about time, in some way. The murmurations or bird groupings are a freeze frame, the constellations are a nod to deep time, the organs are tiny, fragile, and gold — a way to acknowledge the plumbing that will ultimately stop working at some point. Ceramic is dirt, dust — like the stars, like us. Ceramic also has the potential to last for thousands of years, offering a toehold into disrupting the scale of time afforded to most humans.
— Aimée Papazian