Los Angeles and its stark contrasts of wealth and poverty, ubiquitous references to pop culture and inescapable advertisements was the hazy backdrop of my youth. I was a wallflower in the anonymous sprawling desert of tattered pictures, and tired clichés. Unfulfilled by what I had been sold on TV, I began sifting through the media mirage and traversing the landscape of my own ego by appropriating experiences.
Stealing someone else’s fame by cutting and pasting myself into their 15 minutes. A photo shopped version of reality that left me with an uncanny sense of stardom. Attempting to imitate the false happiness I perceived around me, I altered store bought matching sets of tableware and poised them atop silver serving platters found in flawlessly adorned homes to reflect the prepackaged, artificial sense of security, purchased alongside luxury goods.
Continuing my efforts of self-degradation I forced my emotion onto an empty beer bottle, using it up as worry stone, in a test of endurance as a way to erase recollections of my childhood. Looking for a common ground, I began to strip away the audible parts of language, something we all share. Through a simple burst of breath, upon a windowpane, recorded in a photograph, I found something of significance. A modest gesture signifying that we all are, after all, only human.