Materially, my practice revolves around glass. I use it as a matrix from which to print and speak. It serves as a metaphorical vessel for the shifts in the political landscape of my home. I’m drawn to its contradictory properties– what is cold, sharp and unforgiving can easily become hot, malleable and dangerous. It moves with intuition but unreasonably so, even slight differences of temperatures can cause a tantrum. It is a material that embodies all of these oppositions and is also something seemingly incomprehensible. Within the material I find an extension of myself and my Province– something fickle and flexible, that can be timid and tense, the push and pull of the crudeness of humanity.

 

My home is Quebec. Quiet division between my province and the others bodes the question: what happens when a home is tense with strife? Decades of socio-political conflicts have left hatred to grow like invasive weeds. My work speaks on that linguistic conflict, slowly reframing it in our current climate crisis as Canada faces some of the historically harshest forest fires and floods in recorded history, because as we face the potential end, fires and floods crawling across the stolen land we call home,  I would rather disappear under a smog of understanding than in vapid hate.