A memory you remain. Ashes, wood-fired clay. Demensions variable.

in memoriam, 2022 - on...
In collaboration with the memory of Ellery Seitz

My father passed suddenly in 2019, months before the pandmic. Not knowing what to do with his ashes, I began mixing them into a groggy wild clay body and forming small rocks with my hands. Each like a perfect worry stone, they contain the indentations of my own fingers and are shaped from the negative space of my hands. The rocks have been wood-fired, a process who’s high temperatures mean that nothing is left of his ashes anymore, but instead what remains is the molecular space left behind as those elements return to the atmosphere. I’ve been carrying the rocks around with me, in a pocket or a purse, rubbing them absent-mindedly until I find asuitable location to leave one. The memory of my father has been left on a suburban sidewalk in Maine, in a flower pot in Mexico City, under a tree in the Pampas, at the mouth of the Uruguay river, and more—each documented with a simple image on my cell phone.