The crack of a masons hammer
reverberates to the soul. Quietly passionate with a romanticized craft of
construction, I adopt an ethos of manual labor and self-sufficiency. Wood, left
to decay and be swallowed by sediment, begs to be lifted up and revered as
potent, fertile. Stones shine below layers of age, sinking further with each
passing year. Chisels and saws defy death with life, called out by the response
of stone or wood. The warning of a splinter tearing or the reassuring thud of
good material guides the hand to the next move. Hidden among the calming
repetition of tools and mallets, violence and dust envelope the scene – scarring
and work lays bare the life of our world and the interactions therein.
