two hundred sixty five

265.191.5

Even though the streets were busy, Becky rode her bike all the way to the store. And back. But she was not alone. Mundane. Repetition. Conformity. Sameness. Fitting in. What lies underneath? While there are slight differences to be seen on the surface, beneath that is where we find uniformity. Cubes. Spheres. Cones. Geometric shapes. And while I suppose there is a degree of uniqueness within the wood shapes (slight size and grain differences), nothing is really truly different within them or ourselves for that matter, and yet we strive to be different than others.

It defines us. Does the black set you apart? Or how the black varies from one shape to another? Does the black set you apart from those not in black, but then does it set you apart from those also in black? What if everyone is in black? Or white or some other color? How is this state of “surface” or visual uniqueness or identity true if what is chosen is more or less the same as what everyone else has chosen… to be different? Or is it more about where and when? Or what and how? The details? Is this just an exercise in defining or explaining nothing more than what you see? What is there? Going past the obvious. An effort to elevate what is there? To make something deeper and more meaningful than just… what is hanging here? Deeper than black? Or are these just various shapes covered in paints to make the overall piece… interesting? Different? They are what they are. Or it is really just that… Even though the streets were busy, Becky rode her bike all the way to the store. And back. But she was not alone.

Wood and rubber paint

24 x 16 x 3 (approx. inches HWD)