by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge
3.
I tried to complete a life circumstance like a building I aspired to,
loose in space on used land.
I made a shape against sky on flat land like a cut in the weeds, but I
got bored and didn’t finish.
Concrete surface needs support, and my illness made calculations
difficult; shadows fell like hinges on erasures.
This site is riddled with plastic wood paneling, plastic ducks and
discarded coach lamps.
The iconography doesn’t ethically correspond to its present eroded
state.
I make something, which as it changes and falls apart, offers no
clues to itself before.
Small daisies grow in the cut, preserving the shape.
Physical significance becomes an area lacking objects, a surface as
limit, like the changing surface and mass of a lake.
Nothing was completed, but there are a lot of sketches.
Actually, I designed two bungalows; the gold leaf, and one later,
because I had missed something.The Gilding was pure decoration, irrelevant to private space.
Now, when my work expresses loss or failure, I no longer say, get
rid of that.
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