Self portrait as my brother.

This is a new body of work that relates entirely to our collective experience with aviation. Sitting in my studio among the rubble and the wreckage of this near complete work, reflecting on the process and the product, I’m left to wonder if there is a strange beauty in these tense moments that our lives are made of, in the grotesque and the fantastic, in the fractions of time preceding following and punctuating. While I find beauty in the grotesque and art in the mundane, sometimes I have to wonder if what’s on the easel is any better than what is in the trash. I make art that I want to see, I build things that I want to experience, trying to capture some sort of vague intangible moment of transformation, where something familiar like cardboard is seen anew, where the common becomes the extraordinary. I strive to make work ripe with wonder and ambivalence at forces beyond us. Maybe this work is about my relationship with Seattle, a longing punctuated with short visits only through the portal of commercial aviation, or perhaps it’s a dialogue about the non-space, and non existence experienced while traveling, surrendering comfort, control and space in exchange for mere transport. Or maybe it’s more an unconscious attempt to reconcile the anxiety of travel compounded with the passenger plane as our new symbol of national martyrdom. Or maybe it’s all just a cluster fuck.
P. Williams 12/2012