Essential Workers, 2020
Mixed media: embroidered name patches, buttons, cotton, 22 x 33 in
Created during the pandemic to honor the often overlooked labor sustaining the nation, this work now reflects how easily gratitude fades into control. Despite claims of neutrality, U.S. immigration enforcement continues to mirror racialized systems of power and exclusion.
Made America Hate Again, 2020
A riff on a JFK for President campaign poster from 1960. How far we have fallen.
Hail To The Chief, 2020
Cotton fabric, inkjet printing, Scrabble tiles, 29 x 29 in
I struggle to find one word to describe the 45th President of the United States. Indeed, it takes many.
I'm Fine, 2020
Sometimes I am, sometimes not. I usually have a going-in plan when I start a piece, but for this one, I just started making.
Every Other Hour
Quilt
Gun violence in America is a public health crisis. Inspired by a Chicago Public Radio series of the same title, this piece contains images of 4,331 bullets—one for each person shot in Chicago in 2016—one human body violated every other hour.
Chicago Cries
Quilt
The second of two works that is a data representation of the reality of gun violence. In the permanent collection of Chicago Sinai Congregation.
Wear Your Damn Mask, 2020
This pandemic could be almost over by now.
Flatten The Curve, 2020
Made from Covid-resistant vinyl and plastic.
Hear Me Roar
Stainless steel beads, velvet, up-cycled frame, 18" x 28"
I'm enraged by the overturn of Roe. This piece channels my anger and the late Helen Reddy's iconic song "I Am Woman." This piece exhibited at Jessica Hagen Fine Art in Newport, RI, as part of Exponential, an exhibition featuring all female artists.
Girl Talk, 2022
Infant onesies, hangers, mannequin head, plexiglass stand, sneakers, doll head, clamp
Infant onesies with the terrible things I've said to myself about my body. I spent a good part of my teenage years in a bikini on the beach in Narragansett, RI, my changing body on full display along with those of my peers. At home, I absorbed some unhealthy messages about how women’s bodies ought to look, and, of course, experienced idealized, airbrushed female bodies in the media. Unsurprisingly (and despite always being a healthy weight for my height), I developed a harshly critical inner voice about my appearance that continued into adulthood. This voice was relentlessly judgmental and downright cruel. It took on an even nastier tone after my body twice experienced the miracle of pregnancy and childbirth. Until one day, fed up with hating my mirror, I asked myself: “You would never say these things to a sweet baby girl. So why on earth are you saying them to yourself?” Girl Talk is this 60-year-old, soon-to-be-grandmother’s attempt to exorcise my body image demons. By putting my self-cruelty on display I’ve been able to realize the absurdity of treating myself so unkindly.
Grab 'Em By the Pussy
Still shocked that America elected a known molester of women to be President of the United States.
I Fro Up
Quilt made during a long, long winter when my two young sons were sick all the time. Shown in "Body/Image" at Hera Gallery, Wakefield, RI September 10 - October 11, 2022.
RIP RBG, 2020
A Jewish mourner's ribbon with lace.
Clean All The Things, 2020
Microfiber towels, mops, 34 × 55 in
In the earliest days of the pandemic we were cleaning all the time.
Strawberry Shortcake, 2022
Upholstery foam, vinyl, acrylic, wood, 24 x 36 x 5 in
When I was in grade school, I wore my parents down begging for money to buy a Strawberry Shortcake ice cream bar after lunch. They finally relented…the very day my school stopped selling ice cream in the cafeteria.
Indivisible?, 2017
Digital images on tea-dyed cotton, machine embroidered
I made this after the 2016 US Presidential election, alarmed to have been jolted out of my echo chamber into a truly divided America...thus the black and white. I remained optimistic that the "stars", emojis that signify the things that unite us, would prevail during the Trump administration. Sadly, this has not been the case. In the private collection of a former Obama cabinet secretary.
Pain, 2015
Metal beads
In 2013 I broke my right hand in a fall. The bone healed quickly, but my brain did not: I developed chronic pain in areas of my body unrelated to my injury, slid into depression and suffered dissociative experiences during which I felt my consciousness leave my body. During my ordeal, well-meaning psychiatrists prescribed an ever-evolving cocktail of mood-altering pharmaceuticals to try and stabilize me. Ultimately, a gentle and patient psychotherapist diagnosed me with PTSD. She stuck with me for two years as I fought to climb out of a terrifying dark hole, finally emerging into the light wiser and mentally stronger than before my injury. And an equally wise MD specializing in the mind-body connection helped me to understand that the brain can both cause physical pain and be a powerful tool in eradicating it.
Pain is a day-by-day, chronological record of every pill I took on my two-year pharmacological journey. Created with metal African beads strung in one continuous strand, it is reminiscent of the ancient knotted string quipu the ancient Andean people used to count and mark the passage of time. Each type of bead represents one type of medication, some of which caused terrible side effects. While drugs can be unquestionably important in the treatment of mental illness, they can also be hastily over-prescribed and the healing power of the mind given short shrift. This piece evokes the yoke of pain I endured for three years, as well as the beauty that ultimately emerged from my struggle.