Glass
Self Portrait 2019
Photographs by Damian Munoz
Self Portrait 2019 is part of the exhibition "Entire Unto Myself".
It further investigates my scars which were previously the subject of “The Marks We Leave” and its continued explorations, as well as two currently untitled pieces. One is a smashed glass bubble repaired, with the pieces held apart, by copper wire. The second is a self portrait made in 2016.
The work consists of 100 bouquets of kiln glass flowers spread across two of the gallery’s walls. They are arranged in the shape of my scars.
Stepping away from the figural, the pale, flesh like colors are all that is left to reference the body. Even the scale defies that of the human figure, extending to the ceiling in multiple places. The scars become a monument.
Those unfamiliar with my scars are drawn in by the scale of the piece and the detail of the delicate flowers. Their placement is deliberate, and the viewer is left to wonder at the significance.
Necropsy of a Human Soul
Necropsy of the Human Soul, made in 2018, consists of approximately one hundred glass shards suspended in the corner of the gallery.
Smashed bottles were used to create the shards. Some of the fragments were melted on the torch, some were twisted and warped, some were mixed with tinfoil, and a few were left largely unaltered.
Next, the shards were painted. First with Black 2.0 by Stuart Semple (the "mattest, flattest, blackest black" available at the time), followed by translucent layers of silver ink, then gold. Their metallic qualities contrasted with the actual metal embedded in some of the shards. Finally, the gold edges were painted with LIT, “the glowiest glow pigment”, also created by Semple.
The shards are suspended in the air, giving the impression of an explosion frozen in time. The central mass of shards is located directly in front of the viewer (at the point furthest away from the corner) and is centered between the two walls. With few exceptions, the illuminated edge of the shards face this center. As the shards are flung away, they become smaller and more dispersed.
The arrangement measures 6 feet along the diagonal, 4 feet from the corner, and the shards are suspended between 3 and 6 feet from the ground. The gallery lights are turned off for part of the viewing experience. A black light illuminates the work instead, activating the glow pigment.
Despite its many pieces, the contrast and complexity of color, texture, value and transparency, there is an understanding that these pieces once formed a cohesive whole. Simultaneously, the understanding of what this 'soul' was before being 'necropsied' is left to the viewer. This invites the viewer to contemplate the phenomena of contemplation, the many intricacies which combine to make a person who they are, or the unfathomable existence of consciousness. In effect, the viewer participates in the necropsy through this observation.
Leaves of Glass II
“Leaves in Glass II” was made in 2018 and continued my exploration of flame working. Instead of using glass litter as I did in “Leaves of Glass I” I obtained bottles from friends and family.
More leaves were created for this piece and many of them were larger and thicker (the largest measuring 2 ¼ inches across), requiring more glass than what I collected picking up trash.
I mixed the green and brown glass together. While forming each leaf I focused on their organic shape and I exaggerated the texture of their veins and structure. Some of the leaves ripple, mimicking the movement of a leaf being carried by the wind.
I hung the leaves from a tree in front of Tyler, anchoring them along the incline of a hill so they appear to be blowing in the wind.
Leaves of Glass I
Made in 2018, “Leaves of Glass I” was created using discarded bottle glass I collected, alongside other trash, while walking my dogs. The glass shards and even entire bottles were then melted on the torch and stamped with the studio’s leaf masher.
I then returned to the places I originally found the glass to photograph the leaves. Additional shards of glass, pieces of brick, a nail, and a cigarette butt, are all visible (and were all collected and disposed of after documenting) in these photographs
A Sudden Change in Monosynaptic Response
“A Sudden Change in Monosynaptic Response” was created in 2018. Five layers of sheet glass are stacked together in thick, black frames, which are lit from behind. Each glass pane has part of an x-ray screen printed on it with powdered glass. The image is separated into dark through mid to light tones, giving the final piece more depth than the obsolete x-ray film (as x-rays are now viewed through computer monitors).
Some nervous system responses are involuntary. Electrical signals rush from the sensory neurons in the skin, muscle, or tendon, to the spinal cord which processes and responds to the signal before it reaches the brain.
The monosynaptic reflex is one such involuntary response. The most well known example of this reflex is tapping the knee with a rubber mallet. For Neurologically intact individuals the leg will ‘jump’, extending outwards.
An uneven or sudden change in a monosynaptic response indicates neurological impairment or a possible spinal cord injury.
I have such an impairment. My reflexes have been uneven since its onset.
In October of 2018 I fainted and fell, landing on my shoulder then my head. I was taken to the Emergency Room. My shoulder was x-rayed. The bones were fine, however, my muscles were injured. The simplest tasks were painful and challenging. It took three months for me to regain partial use of my arm.
During a follow up with my doctor, she noticed a dramatic change in my monosynaptic reflex. This could mean many things, including damage to my spinal column which could become far, far worse if I fell again. I needed more x-rays, urgently.
I was fine.
It was just that, once more, I faced incredible uncertainty. Something inside my body might have been broken. There was no way for me or my doctor to know without the tools to see deep inside the body and there was nothing I could do until those images were taken and interpreted.
Already, my brain had been imaged in an MRI, later, its electrical pulses measured. I watched my heart beating on an ultrasound. Again, I wore electrodes, this time for 30 days, so doctors could read the pulsing of my heart's chambers.
I saw fundamental parts of me which, not that long ago, could only be studied, still and dead, in cadavers - if they could be studied at all. Through technology and light and sensors and screens we can see the living workings of a person.
This artwork reflects the awe of such achievements and the magnificence of the body.
The Marks We Leave
"The Marks We Leave" was created in 2017. It is a blown mold glass casting. This casting process obscures detail, giving only the suggestion of a face. This vagueness emphasizes my scars, which I carved into the glass and painted gold.
This piece, and a few of my other experiments, have been compared to Kintsugi. Kintsugi, translated as “golden joinery”, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold or other precious metals. This process makes the object more valuable than before it was broken.
The First Iterations
These pieces were made in 2014. They are hollow plastic casts of my head with my scars cut through the material. Each casting is illuminated from within.
One cast is translucent, the face glows. The second projects the pattern of my scars onto the gallery wall.
I was inspired by Paige Bradley’s, “Expansion”. It is a sculpture of a woman in lotus pose. Her arms are stretched wide. There are cracks across her body. Light shines from within her.
Continued Exploration
This third version was made in 2018. It is kiln cast glass. Errors in the process left the object only partly formed and caused the glass to devitrify - leaving the glass cloudy instead of clear.
Instead of light or gold, I use glass beads to convey the beauty and value I find in my scars. Additionally, the use of red evokes blood and healing. The faceted beads are subtly reminiscent of stitches.
Since this casting is not transparent I once more illuminate the sculpture from within.
Why Scars?
The first iterations were made in the summer of 2014 when I first had access to mold making materials and instruction.
During this time, I was a leader in Diversity Trainers at Strath Haven High School. There, I designed and ran anti-bullying programs for middle and high school students. Inspired by this work, I shaved my head for the first time to reveal my scars.
I was ten years old when I had my first surgery. I had long hair, past my shoulder blades, and we did not think to cut it. The surgeon tried to save as much as he could. After four hours in the operating room, my hair and scalp were absolutely matted with blood. The surgical drains and fresh sutures prevented me from washing my hair for two weeks.
After my fourth and final surgery, two years later, I studied my reflection. I tried to understand I would look like this for the rest of my life. I tried to imagine my face with the stitches removed and the wet and raw skin healed. My hair grew back, slowly, in a patchwork of unusual directions. My scars created bald spots.
When I shaved my head I saw, for the first time, the aftermath of these experiences and I embraced what could be consider disfiguring.