Part II of Molly's Walls

Changes have overtaken our beloved culture. The interaction between the individual and the immediate area around him or her - the living space - has been partitioned to specific focal points of connection, as civilization has crescendoed: the sink, toilet, doorknob, toothbrush, television, toaster and dresser drawer are the touchable tips that remain. Beneath which are the areas of atrophy. Much of our living space is interacted with in the most minimal manner: expanses of walls, the sea of ceiling, behind desks, of decorations. The keyboard interface collects our dripping dead cells but the dust from the air around simply falls untouched, like the moon's surface, on the rest.

These pictures presented mark a precise pressure aimed directly at reuniting with the seldom scratched surfaces. We worship the walls in which we live by celebrating upon them. The square dimensions that regularize our lives become bent and top merges with side, front, and behind through color, texture, and abberation.

Our collective clawing and stroking attempts to make sacred the mundane. We offer sacrifices of virgin drywall, untouched. We are baptized in an inversion of ritual, the walls the riverbed and the paint the plunge. We know that we are manifested with spirit because it takes days to rip out and takes our hair with it. We are no longer the same nor similar nor sane.