The Girl in the White Room
Guided into the many incarnations of the homes of my mind, The Girl in the White Room stands at attention. Two feet solidly built in stoneware, the legs of a young girl in frilly socks and mary-janes, grounding her watchful soul as a temple guardian, a keeper of mysteries. She is a childhood self-made in malleable clay and cardboard, frozen in a moment of terrified experience, the preserver of secrets ushering in wary viewers. Contained within the safety of roof and siding are her warped and empty rooms, body and mind, dimly lit in their awkward proportions.
She stands as a tall tale of childhood, the culmination of memories that have become the twisted ideal that my constructions emanate from.