Jackson Water Crisis, 2022, 35mm film black and white photography installation, approximately 5x5' installed.
At the end of summer in 2022, Jackson, Mississippi's water treatment plant failed on a monumental scale. In the dead heat of a Mississippi summer, thousands were left without clean water. When the plant was patched up, many Jackson residents still wouldn't drink the water. Growing up on the edge of South Jackson, I know why. The water is unsafe, and has been for decades. Utilizing the extensive newspaper archive of the Clarion Ledger, I chronicled the growing water crisis in Jackson all the way back to the 1940s - though I still have questions over whether it goes back even farther. Using the newspapers themselves mixed with expressive photography and impressions of items used by Jackson residents to stay safely hydrated, I created a 'investigation wall' style installation, meant to lead viewers through the complicated, extensive history of safe water in Jackson, MS.
Take As Directed (Methylprednisolone), 2022, print installation (digitally printed and constructed pill boxes and drug information sheets and soft-ground etchings), size variable.
In May of 2022 I was diagnosed with COVID-19 for the third time since the pandemic began and nearly hospitalized after. This medication was my ultimatum - if it worked, it worked; if it didn't, my doctor advised me to go to the ER. It did work, and while I was once again sick with a disease I had taken all precaution against, I began to contemplate the boxes of medicine I had taken each time. I decided to recreate the box, the pill packet, and the drug information sheet into a display of medication to showcase the continued consumption of both the medicine and of people being plagued by the illness 3 years out.
Recovery Position, 2022, installation (cyanotype bedsheet and pillowcase, pillow, inflatable mattress, and bedframe)
Cyanotype exposure of the artist's body on a twin bedsheet and standard pillow. Bedframe, pillow, and inflatable mattress used as part of installation.
This bed started as a representation of my sick bed during my second bout of COVID. I began to draw parallels between it and my normal bed. The boundary between the personal space and the medical space has been pushed for many people because of COVID - but as a chronically ill person, that boundary was crossed for me a long time ago. My COVID sick bed wasn't much different than my normal bed, my curled up form no different truly than it would be if I'd had a lupus flare up or bad mental health day. The main difference was that the form became specific - this position best allowed me to breathe.
Disposability, 2022, 60 cyanotype tissues in original box with 6 writings
Some writings are direct quotes, others are events paraphrased through the artist. All are writing in the artist's hand. The box was turned inside out and spray painted blue. Installed, viewers would be encouraged to take a tissue with them.
I created this piece to talk about the level of disposability that disabled people were treated with over the pandemic. This piece would be intended more for the gallery space, the pedestal, a place where it can be recognized as an art object. It's sister box, Ask Yourself, is intended to be more subversive.
Ask Yourself, 2022, 70 silkscreened tissues featuring a quote by disability activist Imani Barbarin
Like its sister piece, Disposability, the piece talks about the disregard disabled people were treated with during the pandemic. This piece is more subversive - it purposefully looks as close to its original state as possible to encourage interaction in an unintended way. Hopefully, viewers would pull a tissue before realizing what it was, the same way many Americans lauded for laxed restrictions too early when people started saying only the disabled and elderly would be heavily impacted.
Don't Forget Your Meds, 2022, sculpture (40 pill bottles with alternating labels, sharpie, medicine cabinet)
This installation includes 40 of my own pill bottles, with reprinted labels. This piece started with the pill bottles because I wanted to use them for something, since I had so many of them. I wanted to create a work that showcased the buildup of taking medicine over time, of not realizing just how much I have to take when I get new bottles each month. The labels have direction lines on them that relate to fears I've had over my illness - "Take one tablet once daily until you can't afford it," or "Take four tablets once a day until insurance denies it," for example. The note on the mirror, "Don't forget to take your meds!" was a poke at my ADHD, how I can walk out the door some mornings without taking the thing I need to go about my day with some semblance of ease. It also was a jab at how ingrained something is into my life, that taking pill after pill has become as normal as, say, brushing my hair and putting on my shoes.
It Weighs On You, 2022, cast iron sculpture of 5 pill bottles
Various prints from print exchanges or individual projects.