Pretty Feather (I Found On The Ground), 2024. Feather.
A classic example of the found-object school, Pretty Feather (I Found On The Ground) refuses traditional ideas of cleanliness, in part because it is dirty. Formally, the feather is shiny, and though it does need cleaning, viewers must assume that the collector will get to it eventually.
Half-Burnt Candle, Ongoing. Wax, glass, scented oils.
In Half-Burnt Candle, the collector subverts tradition by leaving a candle half-burnt. The price tag of $34.99 introduces a “why”—specifically, “why” would someone pay that much? The object's scent, “lavender rain,” evokes smelling. It also challenges ideas of what lavender and rain smell like (Critic-roommates have noted the candle “smells like nothing”).
Old Chapstick, year unknown. Carnauba wax, plastic, ink.
The revolting texture of Old Chapstick acknowledges a fascination with the grotesque, while the peeling label suggests something important obscured (perhaps an expiration date).
Broken Charger i, 2020. Plastic and silicon.
Broken Charger i is the first in a series, all featuring nonfunctional chargers. The piece invites viewers to reconsider their relationship to clutter, as the damaged object “takes up space” without actually “charging anything.” But is there not beauty in a form? And how does one dispose of a charger anyway? Electronic recycling? And where is that?
Broken Charger ii, 2020. Plastic, silicon, cat hair.
The sister piece to Broken Charger i, Broken Charger ii offers up an object covered in bite marks which suggest the presence of a feline. This poignant reflection on the notion of absence is– Oh, and there’s a cat chewing it. What a dynamic performance.
Pokemon Figurines Owned By An Adult, 2017. Plastic.
This generous gift was made possible by the Younger Cousin Birthday Present Foundation
The Pokemon figurines confront the viewer with questions like: Is that Pikachu? What about that one? Wait, so none of them are Pikachu? I don’t know any besides Pikachu.
Untitled (Stack of Books), 1978-2024. Paper and ink.
This playful, sculptural pile introduces juxtaposition by stacking books that have been dropped in the bath. Roommate-critics have noted that it’s “weird” to have “dropped so many” and suggest “not reading in the bath,” but as any true artist can attest, critics don’t know everything.
Cup Full of Pennies, 2015-present. Ceramic, copper, zinc.
Much has been made of Cup Full of Pennies searing critique of contemporary capitalism. By presenting the coin as an art object, divorced from its original purpose, the artist embodies refusal; in this case, a refusal to carry a coin purse. However, the title is deceptive: upon close inspection, a viewer may notice the cup has some dimes. This subtle inclusion forces us to ask: what else could be present deep within the cup? Canadian dollar coins?
Old Desktop Computer, 2017. Plastic, silicon (probably).
Old Desktop Computer is by far the most visited piece in the Desk collection, in part due to its interactivity (it can connect to the internet). The joyful play of looking at websites stands in stark contrast to the computer's condition, which has been described by experts as “bad.” This is emphasized by the work’s sonic elements—it emits a loud wheeze when it’s powered on. And though the machine was constructed recently, it is already slow and out-of-date, perhaps because the collector does not know how to get rid of viruses. This may represent the claustrophobic pace of contemporary life, or the alienation of modern society, or it may mean that the collector needs a new computer. Art is ambiguous like that.