Around me spreads a world of cacophonous over stimulation. Buildings square off to edge each other out for a piece of the sky. Upon every surface, along every bus, at every resting point some seductive figure bids me to consume for the cause of personal happiness. And yet there is another world in which I live, where I’m entreated to be still, go within and absent myself from a popular culture of craving. One world promises happiness upon the acquisition of some possession or by making my life match the pattern of what a woman should have and do by the time she’s reached my age. The other insists that time is an invention of perception and happiness merely a by-product of right living. I don’t debate which of these lives is real, they both are, and on a daily basis the decisions I make from both spaces abrade each other. “Be still, and know that I must shop.”

This body of work arises from the existence I negotiate between the demands of two worlds.

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