Pando Porto stands for "Pandemic Portfolio." It's what I quickly wrote as the title on my digital file folder that holds these images on my desktop and I like how it sounds. Porto makes me think of "portal" and in Latin it means to carry. In Portuguese, a port; a place for safety or rest, a harbor- which was kind of how sheltering in place felt for me, while I made these fifteen works.
Mirroring the kind of harbor or port that time was for many of us, the spaces and characters that inhabit this collection don't necessarily lead the viewer to feel secure or safe, but they hold the potential for wonder, rest and change. The creatures are sometimes chaotic, dangerous and liminal but essentially, benevolent.
I was fortunate to still have my day job teaching, but from home, so I was busy. That said, in regard to many expectations of the outside world being halted, I was given a kind of gift of time that I never had as a working artist. With a cancellation of an upcoming exhibition and no art events to attend, I was able to take time to explore materials and not stop until I felt things were "correct." This journey, however, carried on a bit longer than I meant it to, due to a few life circumstances; caregiving for my elderly mom, moving from our apartment to a new home and my long work commute resuming. I also worked in real-time on a largely internet-based fashion project with my friend that had to do with art and connection during the shelter-in-place orders.
The fifteen pieces were mostly done in a two-bedroom apartment in Marina California, the city I was raised in and moved back to just before the pandemic. It had a big, glass sliding door with a balcony that overlooked a lovely view of sand dunes in the distance with people hovering around while holding onto parachutes, catching currents off of the ocean and around the beige hills, just past the highway.
After a day of teaching I moved my pieces-in-progress from one room to another in the afternoon light and maneuvered tables, stood on step stools and laid down tarps to do whatever the many large works were asking of me.
I'm playing around with the idea of natural form, both in the physical materials I used and in my subject matter and concepts, which were mysterious, even to me. I started to consider mortality after my dad's death (the reason I moved back to Marina) and kept falling into thoughts of a spiritual balance I'll never understand but often feel. Energies, dreams- acceptance, as a way of life. A reconciliation of how I wanted things to be and how they are. A bizarro celebration. The embodiment of things like behavioral patterns as harmless, big-eyed characters that may or may not have limbs. These are "themes" that were running through me during the making.
I feel as though they depict an attempt on my part to unveil or say hello to and connect to energies that had been ignored. The pandemic offerred them the chance to emerge from their camoflauged hiding places. I was saying, "It's safe to come out now."
The Tooth, Moon, Big Boy, A Hearty Hello and Butter Ghost are all currently on display at Compact Disco, in Monterey California.
Mirroring the kind of harbor or port that time was for many of us, the spaces and characters that inhabit this collection don't necessarily lead the viewer to feel secure or safe, but they hold the potential for wonder, rest and change. The creatures are sometimes chaotic, dangerous and liminal but essentially, benevolent.
I was fortunate to still have my day job teaching, but from home, so I was busy. That said, in regard to many expectations of the outside world being halted, I was given a kind of gift of time that I never had as a working artist. With a cancellation of an upcoming exhibition and no art events to attend, I was able to take time to explore materials and not stop until I felt things were "correct." This journey, however, carried on a bit longer than I meant it to, due to a few life circumstances; caregiving for my elderly mom, moving from our apartment to a new home and my long work commute resuming. I also worked in real-time on a largely internet-based fashion project with my friend that had to do with art and connection during the shelter-in-place orders.
The fifteen pieces were mostly done in a two-bedroom apartment in Marina California, the city I was raised in and moved back to just before the pandemic. It had a big, glass sliding door with a balcony that overlooked a lovely view of sand dunes in the distance with people hovering around while holding onto parachutes, catching currents off of the ocean and around the beige hills, just past the highway.
After a day of teaching I moved my pieces-in-progress from one room to another in the afternoon light and maneuvered tables, stood on step stools and laid down tarps to do whatever the many large works were asking of me.
I'm playing around with the idea of natural form, both in the physical materials I used and in my subject matter and concepts, which were mysterious, even to me. I started to consider mortality after my dad's death (the reason I moved back to Marina) and kept falling into thoughts of a spiritual balance I'll never understand but often feel. Energies, dreams- acceptance, as a way of life. A reconciliation of how I wanted things to be and how they are. A bizarro celebration. The embodiment of things like behavioral patterns as harmless, big-eyed characters that may or may not have limbs. These are "themes" that were running through me during the making.
I feel as though they depict an attempt on my part to unveil or say hello to and connect to energies that had been ignored. The pandemic offerred them the chance to emerge from their camoflauged hiding places. I was saying, "It's safe to come out now."
The Tooth, Moon, Big Boy, A Hearty Hello and Butter Ghost are all currently on display at Compact Disco, in Monterey California.