You are a stranger, you always have been.
42 x 28 x 5”
plaster, lace, metal, thread, paper, plaster-dipped cicada shells, dead cicada, red paint
Bright red lettering stands out against a series of four multicolored paper tiles. It reads: You are a stranger, you always have been. You always have been. It repeats. Amidst the mass of text, a wire structure covered in lace serves as the threshold into the piece, the resting place of numerous plaster-coated cicada shells. Inside the lace structure are plaster-cast golf balls, pushing against the lace and the shells in a way that calls to mind a nest and eggs. A family; an institution. The cicada shells are not adhered to the structure, they instead cling to the fabric in the same way they clung to my tee shirts when I would collect them on my shoulders as a child. One is different than the rest; it is a real cicada, dead and entangled in the red threads that criss-cross the piece. It is a stranger, an outcast. I was fascinated with cicadas as a child, but they find relevance with me today as creatures that shed their old skin. The motif of the cicada- a real one amidst a ghostly army of shells- is meant to be echoed by the statement and they combine to provide an examination of my feelings about my place in my familial relationships as I have diverged from the ideologies that I was raised being taught.