My object was a triangle connected to a square: the two sides tapering from the square had to slope gradually until they reached the triangle front. I was young and didn’t how factories worked or how finely-calibrated machinery might replicate this: I’d simply stare at what I’d wrought and the top of my head would come off. This can’t happen!
The impossible and the sacred, a church of the body. We all remember: here’s the church here’s the steeple open the door and see all the people. When no one was around I’d play open the door and where are the people? Always romanticizing absence and loss, I liked the idea of the empty church — although it was sad, too — and that I could build that church with my hands. Linking my fingers, I could create a space and peer in, see a quiet church, see post-church, see loss made.
Gaston Bachelard: "One must go beyond logic to experience what is large in what is small."