For a while in college, all I wanted was to lay down and sink into the grass until I was indistinguishable from dirt. But there really wasn’t the time for that, there were too many things to do. However, I was able to measure my limbs and create a wooden imitation of myself that could do nothing but lay there. There was a bizarre peace-of-mind knowing that while I may have desperately desired a two year nap, my double was resting in the grass just around the corner.

Beyond this bleak ambition to physically manifest a depression nap, I had been playing with the idea of body as landscape. I was fascinated by inorganic beings stretching out from the earth, rock formations as forearms rising into fists through the desolate sunsets of Utah. The margin of space between the sole of a foot and ground it treads upon must cease to exist—the differentiation of earth and its life no longer possible. I wanted to impart the sense that the sculpture was being pushed up from the earth or sinking into it, so that earth and body are singular.