Artist Statement
I once saw a spider in the library, and I wanted to became it. Arachnids look intimidating to many people, but they are also so vulnerable to human beings. I’m so fascinated by this contrast. When I was performing the spider piece, I collapsed emotionally. It was more than I could handle in the end. I felt that, in that space, I was prominent but also invisible. I was surrounded by an audience but also isolated. As I crawled to viewers, they all stepped back to keep a distance from me. I only got the chance to touch someone’s foot. The floor was cold, and flesh and blood was warm. I wasn’t firmly attached to the sculpture I wore at the beginning of that performance, but, after a while, I realized that it was the only thing I had. It was my closest companion.
The experience with the beetle piece was really different. The horn became an extension of my body. I touched audience members with its sharp end, grazing a cheek, tapping shoulders, and pointing to a heart. I was surprised how people trusted me that I wouldn’t hurt them but only touch them gently. The beauty and tenderness of that trust and tension broke my heart. I attached and lost parts of myself on each spectator.
I touched the audience and also was touched by them at the same time. I was holding a mirror to things in front of me, but I wasn't aware that the mirror, also the reflection in the mirror, became part of my body. A kid playing with her shadows didn’t know that she was also manipulated by the shadow.
I touched the audience and also was touched by them at the same time. I was holding a mirror to things in front of me, but I wasn't aware that the mirror, also the reflection in the mirror, became part of my body. A kid playing with her shadows didn’t know that she was also manipulated by the shadow.
Spider
Beetle
