Tuttle_Martha_5.JPG

Weight Without Motion (4 and 5), 2018

Wool, silk, pigment. On wooden supports.

46” x 31”

 

+

 

Oracles, 2018

Stones, and stones cast from steel (approx. 600)

Variable dimensions

Tuttle_Martha_6.JPG

Divided Substance (1), 2018

Wool, silk, pigment. On wooden support.

30” x 25”

 

+

 

Oracles

Tuttle_Martha_7.jpg

Tongue, 2018

Stone, wax, steel.

Approximately 1.25” x 1.75”

 

Their bodies were assumed to be operative to the workings of _____; passive offerings, a precious affair and a tender knotting-with. 

I want to get really clear about something I've been trying to say for a long time: 

To acknowledge a thing as a thing/ matter means fixing it, (impossibly) stilling. There's pleasure and pain in this.... 

{When I was maybe three or four I asked my mother in an airport what would happen if she lost me. She said that because she was my mother she would always be able to find me again. I took this to mean that everybody is connected by threads like angel hair or spider silk, forming flexible but unbreakable bonds to our current kin, and also leading us to everyone we will know in our lifetimes. For years afterwards, while in crowds, all I could do was imagine thousands of strands stringing in and out of bodies until they became like shadows cocooned in silver reflectivity}

It's been said that dark matter is the skeleton on which ordinary matter hangs. The skeleton, in this case, is still completely ungraspable. Dark matter particles pass through us at a rate of billions per second. 

Q: What constitutes being alien, then?

A: Spitting, forming, vibrant grief. A metabolization of empathy which asks not for the experience of another (if I am walking in your shoes, where are you?), but rather for shared experience. So far is presence before preference. Can you make like this?

Tentacle-like fingers probing the material, seeing where it might leak. Atoms gesticulating beneath the lie of the Beam and its flat, slick stillness. In a bath of mingling bacterias they wondered what they were making. All this compost, the debris of things and bodies in inseparable circuit (break).

As if we were mad gardeners. So far, ajar...

 

Written with Laurie Kang for Nesticulations @ In Limbo November 2016