A long time contemplative walking practice led to the ​retracing of my life path, guided by decades of personal journals. These are transformed by fire in relationship with clay, each becoming a set of twelve ceramic vessels that are accompanied by audio and written components. Together they bear witness to the experience of a life and the passage of time and form a multi-sensory archive.

Imbued with honesty, patience and radical self acceptance, the installation conveys one person's grappling with identity and suggests the elements - mundane, distinctive, personal and universal - that make up a human life.
                                                                                                                                                                             - Erin Elder, curator

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​​Listen to ​Walking Within​ audio:​

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Walking Within: January 1 , 1972 - March 19, 1974 Exquisite and empty, fragile, now seedless pods, found strung on vines tangled in the vegetation along a familiar walking path, double dipped, first in local wet-wild-white clay, then even more local orange, partially dried, sliced open, fired, my earliest entries briefly documenting each day gauged by the level of fun, lower or upper case, often all caps, and the number of exclamation points, in direct correlation to who came over to play and whose house I went to after school and on weekends, always outdoors, often in the woods or water or on horseback, ins and outs with friends, constantly rotating crushes and tracking of same, a strikingly beautiful and safe and innocent and free childhood, punctuated by glasses, braces, and a bra, then death arriving for my guinea pig, my dog, my grandfather, my beloved cat Pokey (after the eponymous claymation horse), the start of Middle School and Bobbie’s brother’s suicide explained simply by “drugs,” the exposed roots of my love of the ocean, art and animals, cooking, nature.

Walking Within: February 25 - April 22, 1978 Flakes of Mica and the ash of burned journal pages kneaded with wild clay that I dug in a strange, barren, low-lying place behind a housing development near the Jersey Shore, broken down with an old wooden meat mallet in our two-car garage, moistened, sieved, remaining lumps squashed between my fingers, formed into balls and date-stamped, containing misplaced trust and naïveté, ceaseless thoughts about and getting letters in the mail from boys, hiding from phone calls on landlines, forming a philosophy on love, looking at art in museums and drinking in bars in New York City, someone likes me, parental constraints on my social life, basement parties, pre-concert subs and donuts and beer and joints, breaking curfew, he loves me - he loves me not - he loves me, the dance, the freedom that comes with drinking and driving, the dilemma, the unbelievable!

Walking Within: January 16 - August 25, 1981 Overlapping dabs of wild clay (someone said they looked like tiny artichokes which initially irritated me but maybe they were right) filled with a few shredded journal pages, fired, burned, more pages added, but not all, and burned again in John's anagama, a semester abroad that was mostly about leaving my boyfriend and looking to him for happiness - identity - fulfillment, the panic of loving too much, counting down the days followed by the effort of commitment and keeping a clear conscience, torn cuticles, the pleasure of 3-hour meals and talking endlessly about sex and life with my one friend, but no mention of her abortion or my retreat from her, foreign films, PESTO and my first fig, swimming naked in the Mediterranean, loving ruins and the pure joy of the walkman in hushed places, reveling in short hair, with only passing mention of the street harassment every fucking day that inspired it, laughter, no longer counting down the days, buzzy late nights in the studio, not giving up drugs and alcohol, planning and not planning the future, Communism, Bernini and St. Teresa in Ecstasy, my weight issues, the handsome Greek sea captain, solo travels and a lapse in judgment in Amsterdam, cigarettes on the tube in London, going home and being treated like a child, seeing life as a power struggle.

Walking Within: April 19, 1986 - March 9, 1987 Finger-pinched vessels formed of wild clay, their interiors glazed with crusty, low-fire plum I found in the garage, dated, raku-fired with coiled strips of selected journal pages inside, the sketches left untouched, my Lower East Side life, drunken passes, the Wah Wah and the Pyramid, masturbating in the sauna and sucking face in a red American compact, his appealingly naïve ideas and conviction and strong Brooklyn accent, that wonderful excitement you feel inside, a dead man in the street and a SWAT team on the roof, not minding the idea of marriage and a baby, the C-Hole, duplicity and alien territory, things to "get out of my system," Gurumayi and flip-flopping between a new inner life and the old outer one, hot-and-bothered dreams, a heavy creative block, a pervert on the subway, confusion and detachment, WASP guilt, a rainy and tearful vernal equinox, seeing other people and the impossibility of commitment, the sound of rocks hitting one another under the sea and searching for that sound within.

Walking Within: March 19 - July 25, 1989 Small, inflated party balloons from another time dipped in white, wild clay slurry, journal pages later curled inside the deflated vessels and fired in the backyard firepit, more pages added before they disappeared into the anagama, my words still clinging to life six days, seven cords of wood and 2,400° later recounting the time I dropped everything and moved to Corsica to work in a restaurant, ignoring red flags while making chestnut cake, surrender, the sweet farewell flourless Bette Noire followed by a bitter tasting and regretted kiss, Rome with the Guru, twisting the truth, facing my wall, life as a reflection of the mind, a train, a ferry, a train, the meaning of the word grève, my 28th birthday, the ultimate in alone, a campground bar and a postman yelling “Led Zep!,” sensing death from afar, still trying to figure out how to live in the world, self-conscious, exhausted, karma or dharma?, the “no relationships” pledge, doing the math of an 80-100 hour work week, the wild boar in the freezer, seeing beyond differences, feeling the shakti overcome relationship panic, olive and anise bread, lemon canistrelli, chocolate cake, zucchini tart, the French words between lovers, the perfect falling, the I-Ching says marriage, the clearest starry sky, suffocated by his insecurity fear desire, his abusive ex-wife and her death threats, confusion, sitting on the ramparts in a hot breeze with the heaviness of knowing that returning here means choosing him.

Walking Within: March 8, 1992 - June 8, 1993 Balled up journal pages, except the cover and the part about the birth which I saved in case, wound in rolled strips of white wild clay, dated, burned over a wood fire made from sticks and small branches found on the lawn in our old Weber grill once the clay had dried, raku-fired, celebrating our first anniversary and making plans to open a restaurant in the U.S., long-distance parental stifling compounding a fear of risk, wondering where to move to, money worries, step-motherhood and his ex-wife and hysterics, history repeating itself, the time I slept on the couch, “you’re right,” the desire to be heard, ups and downs and downs and daylong arguments and deep thoughts about relationships, too stressed for sex, work and more work, laying it all out there, pregnant - alone - afraid, chanting and meditating, puking, thoughts on creation, dreams dreams dreams, the kind of mother I don’t want to be, pregnancy — why do we do it?, changing body shape, bleeding gums and cavities, twisting and turning sleeplessness, crying over maternity jeans, when your husband faints in pregnancy class, glimpsing love and joy!, desire!, early contractions and fear and bed rest, seeing my mother through new eyes, an unannounced, unnecessary episiotomy, the small mammal, jealousy and questioning, love.

Walking Within: September 24, 1999 - September 13, 2008 Wild clay slabs wrapped around whole journal pages, all of it balled up together, marked with their dates and fired until completely consumed, marital bickering, closing the cafe and selling everything after four years, a new career and the start of chronic insomnia, snuggles and giggles with kids, the anti-climactic dawn of the new millennium, missing my brother, all-consuming household overwhelm and a big funk, boiling it all down, self-reflection, the shit hitting the fan at work, human and feline life and death, a child on a tricycle, a child in the hospital, the welcome snow, small town small-mindedness and a painful lawsuit, that one wonderful island vacation we had without kids and the less successful one with them, French family visitor overwhelm, 9-11 gets personal, pre-adolescent lip, what ifs in Manhattan, job interviews and the fear of entrapment, officially arriving at the place of work-parenting conflict, full-on burn-out, the search for balance.

Walking Within: July 11, 2016 - January 30, 2018 Pinch pot incense burners made from white wild clay, date-stamped with orange clay that I found on side of the road, fallen from a tire tread, used to burn thoughts instead of pages, what no one tells you about parenting, feeling like a failure, the briefly empty nest, Mom and Dad leave New Jersey, reading her journal and forced to face hard truths, an eye-opening solo respite at the beach, extreme balancing/not balancing, first day of College, wondering if my ancestors owned enslaved humans, picking cherry tomatoes and making quince jelly, post-election fear and sadness, anger and determination, stopping drinking, swooping in to the rescue, again, crisis intervention, a message on the landline, storing it all between my shoulders, fantasizing about quitting everything, rejecting Buddhist acceptance and expecting a miracle, hope, hopes dashed by a police escort to the psych ward, she doesn’t really mean it, neck and back pain, cancelled plans, white extremists marching and murdering, same story different girl, one glass of wine too many, a higher level of care, hope, lack of sleep, the major fundraiser - year-end appeal - annual budget - search firm interviews - parental angst - Aunt Sara Jane’s stroke - medical leave - rehab - hospice - family dying on two continents - Finance Committee meetings - staff appraisals – a phone-a-thon – a Board meeting - a memorial service, Christmas, the new crisis and the truth about a broken tail light, a true addict, grasping that things can still get worse, finding a beautiful message and falling apart, her trauma - my trauma.

Walking Within: April 3, 2020 - November 11, 2020 Wild clay dug on a rocky trail in the woods after the rain, sorted, sieved, strained, kneaded, pieces gripped tightly and tensely over each of my fingers, social distancing, working from home while the rest of the world seems bored, remote life and the blurred line between work and non-work, a new business model, another new business model, unemployed Sylvain at loose ends, kids home stressed in school online, solace in nature banned, fear, Easter sadness, a surreal birthday, contemplating the dynamics of the dinner table, a rare conversation, realizing that support can be a disservice, wondering if I will ever see Mom again, cursing and threatening suicide, BLM marches, Mother’s Day and what would have been Dad’s 85th birthday, social distance walks, hitting a wall, waiting for COVID test results, an ocean swim and happiness and a few exclamation points, the opening of my show about death on the steamiest of July days, a campground escape, election fears and Fuck Trump, neck and back pain, a trip to the beach and a broken wrist and a pulled IT band and a flooded basement, finding fault, the one thing I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with, a depressed anniversary, daily sanitizing and temperature checks and the impossibility of a balanced budget, more escape fantasies, my depression, quarantine, finding peace on a kayak, in water.