the archive of touch

the archive of touch, 2021
plaster of paris
life-size cast

What does it mean when the body is separted from its original structure?
Do we think of it in all its softness, in all its vulnerable, in all its honest, naked state?
Can we tend to it in every mark, every dent, that carries its soft archive, an archive we keep building on and over,
over and on,
how much of it do we treat with care, how much of it do we erase and how much of it do we scrub and scrub and scrub
Until we are able to salvage an archive we want to be remembered

Do you think of the body and the many ways it confesses when it is cast in silence?