Judy Pfaff:
There is nothing passive about the act of viewing Judy Pfaff’s art. Her work pulsates off the wall / ground virtually enveloping the viewer and inciting visual ADD. Pfaff’s excitement and curiosity of materials is evident in her transformation of the mundane into the magical. For Pfaff, nothing seems sacred (conventions, norms of installations). And yet, everything is sacred (common products, snapshots, tree roots etc.) because everything can be transformed and redeemed. Through her use of formal elements (line, color, value, texture, and space) Pfaff engages her audience in a way that few artists are able to achieve. Pfaff’s work activates the entire gallery space with a glorious explosion of color creating a visceral response in the viewer. It is a distinct honor to have an artist of Judy Pfaff’s caliber exhibit at Azusa Pacific University. We are grateful for the generous support provided by the Windgate Foundation which made this exhibition and catalog possible. Our students and the community at large are richer as a result of experiencing this exhibition.
Stephen Childs, MFA Azusa Pacific University, Director of Exhibitions
The Art of Flower Arranging (exhibition view), 2013, photographs, printed images, framed drawings, melted plastic, expanded foam , paper, and pigment. COV ER I M AG E: The Art of Flower Arranging (detail), 2013.
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Holi (detail), 2013, melted plastic, black aluminum foil, expanded foam, paper, and pigment, 24” x 21” x 11”.
There is nothing passive about the act of viewing Judy Pfaff’s art. Her work pulsates off the wall / ground virtually enveloping the viewer and inciting visual ADD. — STEPHEN CHILDS
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“LIVING FLOWERS”
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Approaching a work of art is like meeting someone for the first time. Not sure what we will encounter but we come with notions of what people and artworks are generally like. Walking into an installation of Judy Pfaff’s work challenges many of our expectations since we actually enter the work itself. The very air in the gallery is activated by her use of color, texture and shape. It takes a few minutes to get oriented and realize that one is in a living environment, a breathing and vital space where the interaction of image and form create visual and meaningful currents moving throughout the room.
not fared so well). It is like entering someone’s private garden, one that reveals the interior spaces of their soul; it is as if we have been invited into an aspect of the artist’s life at a very deep level. The two sidewalls, saturated with small images and sculptural elements, lead us towards the white glowing sculpture at the far end of the space. We approach it with quiet reverence, for it seems that we have entered a sacred space. Not in a heavy-handed way but in a light, honest direct openness that invites the viewer to pause and reflect on the qualities of life revealed in this place of visual intensity.
The artist entitled this work, “The Art of Flower Arranging,” and in some opening remarks, shared that it is her most successful attempt at growing a garden, (the ones in her yard at home had
It is like a garden, one that embraces the full cycle of life, including the browning and fading of flowers as they begin the cycle of decay. It is not with sadness that these flowers meet
The Art of Flower Arranging (detail), 2013, photographs, printed images, framed drawings melted plastic, expanded foam , paper, and pigment.
their end but rather it is an embracing of the reality that life gives over to life; experience feeds the next like memories of places visited and conversations shared. The installation invites a return to the space for many visits, exploring the complexity of the surfaces, finding a silence that seems to contradict the riot of color and shapes that fill the space. It is surprising the way the work induces stillness and supports a meditative response. But maybe that is what is being summed up on the back wall where the large sculptural arrangement is closely tied to the art of Ikebanna, the Japanese art of flower arranging. The term literally means: “living flowers” and is also known as kado or the “way of flowers.”
In this case Pfaff seems to be referring to the way of flowers as an insight into the way of life. This work lacks overt political positions or social commentary as many of her previous works; rather it is one of her most positive and most feminine installations to date. This work moves into a place of access that is open to all who have the eyes and heart to see. There is an invitation in the work to enter the garden, look deeply, experience the richness of the visual plethora, drink in the textures of life affirmations, dance a little, rest in the wildness of experience and perceive the arrangement of the flowers. William Catling, MFA Azusa Pacific University, Art and Design Department Chair
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GUEST ESSAY ART CRITIC: DAVID PAGEL At a time when rules and regulations seem to be tightening their grip on every detail of every minute of everyday existence, and people seem to be getting used to getting told what we can and cannot do, Judy Pfaff’s rambunctious, fun-loving art blurts out a big, loud, and permissive: “Sure. Why not?” That’s not something we hear very often these days, especially in our excessively professionalized culture, where litigious, coveryour-butt caution and defensive, hedge-your-bets protectionism have become the default setting for social activity: standard operating procedure that leads otherwise smart people to defer to authorities and experts whose authority and expertise may not be all they’re cracked up to. “Sure. Why not?” is a simple statement that goes to the heart of Pfaff’s free-wheeling art, whose messy, all-over-the-place energy, and restless, think-foryourself willfulness, have, over the last 40 years, promoted the pleasures of independent thinking by providing not only a vision of what such thinking looks like, but a place for it to take place in its multitudinous messiness, with all of the unpredictable twists-and-turns, ups-and-downs, backs-and-forths that happen naturally when folks of all stripes and from all walks of life get in on the action, which is ongoing and impossible to stop, much less to control or contain. Deregulation never looked better. Nor discombobulation more purposeful. In Pfaff’s hands, the clinical impetus of deconstruction and the laissez faire agreeability of Post-Minimalism dance together, each transformed by a sense of far-sighted pragmatism that kicks everything into high gear.
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Unruly beauty is the goal and modus operandi of Pfaff’s focused art. Made of just about anything—in any size, shape, and color, as well as texture, tone, and polyglot combination of all of these attributes—the New York artist’s terrifically promiscuous installations turn the chaotic craziness of modern life into an eloquent argument for the value of firsthand experience and the importance of figuring things out for yourself, particularly when the complexity of such things, and the open-endedness of our interactions with them, do not lead to easy answers, pat solutions, formulaic resolutions, sorry clichés, and tired stereotypes—in other words: the rules and regulations of business as usual. DIY ingenuity takes powerful shape in Pfaff’s uncanny mergers of randomness and purpose. The seat-of-the-pants improvisation her art requires of viewers effectively—and swiftly—turns us into participants, enthusiastic or otherwise. Leaving no room for wallflowers, Pfaff’s overloaded installations leave no room for visitors to stand back and take in an overall view of the whole, especially if standing back and surveying it all from a safe distance implies the disinterested detachment of objectivity and the passionlessness accounting of dull observation. For Pfaff, knowledge without intimacy is hollow. Knowing and being are not only two sides of the same coin: Each fuels its other, synergistically and surprisingly, leading us to unexpected discoveries that can neither be tracked back to their sources nor explained by their contexts, not to mention the words we bring to them.
O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Going Home, Sometime Tomorrow (detail), 2013, photographs, melted plastic, expanded foam, and paper, 21’ x 7’.
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Graceland (detail), 2013, Steel wires, melted plastics, and pigment.
To step in to one of Pfaff’s installations is to feel, immediately and unambiguously, as if you are inside some kind of sprawling, larger-than-lifesize, three-dimensional painting—looking out, at the world, from a position your imagination is able to wrap itself around while your body is compelled to move tentatively, mostly because it’s not used to being in such a space. The ideas, notions, and inklings that spring to mind from our selves being tugged, at different paces, in similar directions, are fascinating, and loaded with consequences that slowly unfold in the mind’seye, often long after we have left Pfaff’s inside-out compositions and re-entered the world they are part of. In the art world, along with the world of politics, celebrity, and corporate business, there are insiders and outsiders. Much contemporary art, and loads of other modern monkeybusiness, go out of their way to reinforce the invisible yet powerful boundaries between in-the-know folks privy to the behind-the-scene machinations where decisions are made, strings are pulled, decks are stacked, and the nefarious business of status-quo management is undertaken, and you and me: regular, everyday citizens with neither the power nor the privilege to get past the ropes and be welcomed as insiders. This division between insiders and outsiders is not, emphatically, what is manifested by Pfaff’s installations. To be inside her work is to be inside your own skin—and part of a living membrane that extends every which way. Here, artifice and nature cohabitate, as do chaos and calm, clarity and confusion, thrills and mysteries, wisdom and experience. Everything visible and only hinted at spills into its other. Opposites overlap, cross paths, and cross-pollinate. And the whole is far greater than the
sum of its parts, which are often worlds within worlds, connected to one another by the vast network of parallels, similarities, and overlaps Pfaff sets up, as well as by the differences, collisions, and mismatches she lets be, delighting in the serendipity of things doing their own thing. In a sense, everyone is an insider because what Pfaff opens to us is our minds, the ways we form thoughts and process information, using categories and relationships among disparate elements to discover, learn, know, and, ultimately, to recreate ourselves by reorganizing our relationships to our surroundings and everything we have experienced, whether consciously or subconsciously. It’s a heady game with lasting implications, undeniable effects, and considerable daring do, on the part of both Pfaff and each visitor. The messiness of modern life, and everyone’s place in it, is Pfaff’s great subject. To my eye—and mind—her sprawlingly awesome works steer a nifty, user-friendly path through what initially appears to be an overwhelming onslaught of visual info (aka, chaos), inviting curious visitors to weave our way through the vertiginous maelstrom by organizing it into manageable categories whose boundaries are permeable and fluid, neither fixed nor absolute, but ad hoc and provisional: open to change and adaptation while, simultaneously, being good enough to get the job done, right here and right now. That job involves making sense of one’s surroundings, which, in everything Pfaff has made, begins under our skin, in the microscopic realm of cellular structures, and extends to the stars in the sky and beyond, to the furthest reaches of the cosmos.
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Holi 7 (detail), 2013, melted plastic, black aluminum foil, expanded foam, paper, and pigment.
The seat-of-the-pants improvisation her art requires of viewers effectively—and swiftly—turns us into participants, enthusiastic or otherwise. Leaving no room for wallflowers… — DAVID PAGEL
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That immense, unfathomable range stretches the imagination well beyond its comfort zone, so, rather than putting reasonable people off with the immensity of the task, Pfaff gives us, in “The Art of Flower Arranging,” something simple and familiar to begin with: snapshots and flower arrangements and snapshots of flower arrangements. And a whole lot more, which includes a model for making sense of it all. There’s a method to the madness and it’s a pleasure to be a part of. A riot of color greets visitors to Pfaff’s weirdly beautiful work, which you will not be able to make sense of if you’re a nitpicker or the kind of person who likes to micro-manage your perceptions, running them past the rational part of your mind, just to make sure they are legitimate and worth paying attention to. There’s too much for that. So you scan, quickly and casually, settling on some details before moving on to the next ones, and ones after that, which, after awhile, reveal an Everyman, in-thestreet outlook with no time for preciousness, sentimentality, or elitism, only the excitement of discoveries that seem as if they were meant for you and you alone. Sequences come into focus as series of pictures, like frames of low-budget, DIY films, document what appear to be jaunts along the sidewalks of busy streets in bustling cities all over the globe, when, because of the newness of the sights and sounds, your perceptions are sharpened, heightened, and in tune with the quotidian beauty all around you. If Pfaff were a novelist or a storyteller, she’d be a travel writer, one who specializes in capturing the sights, sounds, and feels of faraway places, not by amplifying their exoticism as the travel industry tends to, but by making the most mundane experiences seem to be adventures, as if you are seeing, for the first time, sunlight bathing a tabletop in
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O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Holi 4, 2013, melted plastic, expanded foam, paper, and pigment, 36” x 32” x 15”.
glorious warmth, or drops of water, glistening like crystals, on the petals of freshly cut flowers or shimmering, like tiny rainbows, off the scales of a big fat fish in a display case’s bed of ice. Pfaff’s photos are the tip of the iceberg of her installation, which includes delicate drawings, cacophonous collages, whiplash paintings on paper and panel (some handsomely framed and others unceremoniously push-pinned to the wall), as well as abstract sculptures that hang, at various heights, from the walls. Some of Pfaff’s sculptures stake out their own territory, like bona fide, if restless, wall reliefs, and others emerge from the visual density of her two-dimensional imagery, which has less in common with wallpaper than homemade urban camouflage. Think of her installation as a form of guerrilla wallpaper, a double-edged entity that enhances attractiveness while, at the same time, sharpens your sense that something unexpected lurks behind every pattern, detail, and nook-andcranny—especially in your imagination. All of Pfaff’s sculptural components have the presence of renegade chandeliers or fugitive dinner centerpieces, as if they have been built from discount-store items for a party unlike any other. Each seems to have abandoned the comforts of its original functions and, like a voracious, peripatetic expatriate, gone off on its own, seeking, some might say, adventure, danger, and romance, or, as other, less poetic souls might matter-of-factly assert: anything different from the daily grind. The grind, not the daily, is what Pfaff’s art knocks out of the picture. Unlike art that strives to provide visitors with an escape from the trials and tribulations of everyday existence, hers sticks
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Going Home, Sometime Tomorrow (detail), 2013, photographs, melted plastic, expanded foam, and paper, 21’ x 7’. O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Holi 1 (detail), 2013, melted plastic, black aluminum foil, expanded foam, paper, and pigment, 24” x 21” x 11”.
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to the stuff of regular life, finding the extraordinary in the most ordinary of things. The materials Pfaff uses in her sculptures bear this out. There’s nothing special about the no-nonsense, down-to-earth items she manipulates, even manhandles, to make her unexpectedly subtle sculptures: cheap, Chinese lanterns, repurposed bedsprings, dangling strings of decorative lights, and various plastic wrappings and packaging materials that appear to have been placed, by mistake, in a microwave, and cooked until they have lost their original shape—not quite melted into gloppy puddles of plastic, but well on their way to being nothing like their originals. Many resemble synthetic sea creatures, artificial coral reefs, or enlarged versions of the plastic seaweed that adorns the floors of home aquariums. Think of primordial stew, only inorganic and manmade—not the natural soup out of which all forms of life have burbled, but the cultural stew in which everything in today’s global world seems to simmer.
than can be believed unless you experience it for yourself. When visitors enter any one of Pfaff’s dense yet loose installations we give living form to the democratic principles on which her art is based, bringing to life ideas about selfsufficiency, initiative, and ambition, as well as adaptation, flexibility, and ingenuity. In the past, these adjectives were commonly used to describe the can-do character of a nation of individuals who thought they could make a difference because what they did mattered, both in the present and for the future. Today, this optimism animates Pfaff’s see-foryourself art—shorn of the false patriotism in which it has lately been wrapped, often with more mean-spirited defensiveness than rough-and-tumble affirmation. Optimism returns, in her work, with a vision of something bigger and better, more inclusive and generous and worldly than a shortsighted celebration of a past that never existed, for a people who have all but given up on the future.
And although Pfaff’s mutant amalgamations of unspecial stuff appear to have suffered misuse, even abuse, they convey none of the pitiable sentimentality of old-fashioned found-object assemblage. On the contrary, Pfaff’s cosmic barnacles seem to be futuristic, entirely unconcerned to mourn over what may have been lost, what has gone, decisively, wrong, and who may be to blame. Instead, the myriad components of her installations throw their lot in with the idea that it makes more sense to figure out what we might make of the mess, in the present, because there is, when you really think about it, no alternative. Despite being mass-produced, piecemeal, and disposable, the materials Pfaff uses—and what she does with them—leave us with a labyrinthine bouquet that constantly blossoms into something more beautiful
With the big picture in mind, Pfaff’s “Sure. Why not?” slides toward: “Yes. What are the alternatives?” It’s a one-two punch, starting with acceptance and affirmation and then strengthening such seemingly carefree permissiveness with the existential wisdom that no other options are available, if you want to live fully and freely, open to even a small slice of what life has to offer. When this dawns on you, the easy-going, anything-goes, fun-loving free-for-all of Pfaff’s excess-embracing art gets fortified by its equal—and by no means opposite—conviction that we live in desperate times, and that living, fully and freely, in the moment, is the best (and perhaps the only) chance we have to build a future that has room for self-determination, otherwise known as freedom.
O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Going Home, Sometime Tomorrow (detail), 2013, photographs, melted plastic, expanded foam, and paper, 21’ x 7’.
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The Art of Flower Arranging (exhibition view), 2013, photographs, printed images, framed drawings melted plastic, expanded foam , paper, and pigment.
GUEST ESSAY: AMY DAY I will go ahead and say that I love Judy Pfaff’s art on multiple levels. It is impossible for me to be objective when talking about her brilliant and powerful work. But according to Kant’s ideas about a disinterested objective evaluation, I believe that I fall short of the criteria for that position. Instead, I will try to explain why I love her work from my perspective as a professor and as a studio artist. When I show Pfaff’s work to my students, there are several features that I tend to highlight. At first glance, they are formal
tour de force of abundance and chaos, with an endless palette, an explosion of line and texture, and visual energy in every moment of the vast compositions. They are never simple, minimal, understated, or subdued. There is an element of pure visual pleasure that cannot be called formal eye candy because they are too messy, burned and complex to operate in that realm. So there has to be more to it than that. When teaching, I ask my classes is it the process that makes the work more than just beautiful? Every moment in Pfaff’s work is intentional. A prime example is her use of a giant tree root system in a previous installation. The entire tree root had been blasted with water and all of the bark removed, so that even this natural found element
Amy Day, MFA Azusa Pacific University, Art and Design Assistant Professor
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O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Holi 12 (detail), 2013, melted plastic, expanded foam, paper, plastic flower, and pigment.
has a degree of manipulation. Similarly, when she makes her drawings, they are burned and constructed with all surfaces being considered. The very fact that the drawings hold together is intuitive magic. Another element I discuss about in class in relation to Pfaff’s work is communication. What do the pieces say? Because we have travelled through the formal, the process, and the language we are left with the strong impression that there is more to be considered. Pfaff’s works speak of visual ingenuity and creative expansiveness. She has developed a smart, fully realized visual language that is as unique as it is direct. The dynamic impact of all of these elements sizzling, floating, cascading, buzzing, crying, pouring, leads to a symphonic experience. The depth of feeling and emotion in Pfaff’s work reaches toward longing and exposes the range of our emotional spectrum. They bravely delve into grief, soar into ecstasy, plummet to despair and explode back into hope. Her work is some of the most bombastic out there today. That is where I find her art: intellectually physical, emotionally gritty, and enthusiastically showing us all how to be fully alive.
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Graceland (detail), 2013, Steel wires, melted plastics, and pigment.
The dynamic impact of all of these elements sizzling, floating, cascading, buzzing, crying, pouring, lead to a symphonic experience. — A M Y DAY
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GUEST ESSAY: ELAINE MCLEMORE There is much in Judy Pfaff’s current show, “The Art of Flower a Chinese tradition. According to their website, the lanterns Arranging,” to read meaning into: photographs of creative could be from and one of Ikea’s 1,350 suppliers in 50 countries. processes including flower arranging and art making, more 64% of such products come from Europe while 33% come from photographs of markets and streets scenes, framed drawings Asia. 1 It’s a reminder that while nations are still important units with strong bold lines, abstract sculptures made from cheap of cultural identity they are no longer self-contained ones and paper lanterns and melted plastics. You might assume she is haven’t been for some time. As if in acknowledgement of this, commenting on the relationship between labor and aesthetics Pfaff allows nothing in her work to be self-contained. or creativity and consumerism. But meaning, for Pfaff, isn’t really the point, and this can be frustrating, especially for those trained The installation would overwhelm if it didn’t have the kind to seek the political and cultural as a first point of access into art. of flowing purposefulness that can only come from precision That she flirts actively with the political and the symbolic only and care. The overall impression is mediated joy—too languid adds to the frustration. Her work requires of its audience to be exuberant. You’re left with the sense of a grown-up’s a certain letting go, a suppressing of that urge to determine hand—transforming the cheap disposable stuff of modern what all the visuals add up to. life through use and attention. She manages to produce what may best be described as tossed-off, tangential togetherness. As an artist, Pfaff is undeniably visually and materially motivated. Colors ease into one another and two-dimensional lines and Her installations meld together the everyday stuff of human curves transition easily into three-dimensional forms that experience. In this current one, a number of framed drawings have the otherworldliness of deep ocean or outer space. make use of thick, bold brush strokes reminiscent of traditional Chinese painting. Like the show’s title, many of the photographs “The Art of Flower Arranging” makes extensive use of covering the walls reference Japanese flower arranging— photographs, a new and powerful addition to Pfaff’s aesthetic, a practice that privileges process, treating the art of creation powerful because they underscore the way in which her work as a kind of moving meditation. One sculptural piece contains resists easy symbolic reading. The pictures are stuck to the Chinese lanterns with a visible label reading “Ikea,” so the gallery wall unframed and wrap around the room and merge lanterns are objects made by a Swedish company, referencing into one another, creating a wave of color—pulsing reds, golds,
1 “About Ikea Store,” Ikea Corporation, accessed November 18, 2013, http://www.ikea.com/ms/en_JP/customer_service/faq/help/about_store/about_stores.html.
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O P P OSI T E I M AG E: Ámanita, 2011, steel wires, plastics, shellacked Chinese paper lanterns, plastic flowers and grasses.
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Holi 9 (detail), 2013, melted plastic, black aluminum foil, expanded foam, paper, and pigment, 30” x 28” x 8”.
blues, and greens. The photographs cover two walls, and the pictures are grouped into themes that transition into one another (one group shows taxidermied animals, others the artist’s working process, streets, homes, and so on). But, in places, the categories are visually similar enough that they seem to overlap, and it can be difficult to tell where one group ends and the next begins.
and stylistically. Some pictures seem to depict Japanese flower arrangements, Middle Eastern street scenes, markets that could be North African or just as easily Middle Eastern. The street scenes in particular are pictures of movement—bodies, often on motorcycles, are blurred by motion. There are also photographs that depict scenes that feel distinctly American in their expansiveness but there is not enough visual information present to know for sure. These include animals laid out on clean workshop tables in the process of being stuffed. Another series includes living horses before blank pastoral backgrounds, while others depict simple, middle-class, presumably American homes. All the pictures are straightforward snap-shots, and the American-seeming ones have a deadpan simplicity.
Photographs are well suited to express indeterminacy. Roland Barthes, whose training and life’s work was devoted to linguistic structures, wrote his last book on photography. The semantician found a kind of fragility and magic in the photograph. Photographs were, famously, “signs that do not take, which turn as milk does.” 2 Mourning the recent death of his mother, a constant companion throughout his adult life, Barthes looked to the photograph as a way of tracing the lines of human connection and experience through means other than language. For Barthes the visual, specifically the photographic, had a kind of immediacy that language lacked and an ability to bypass narrative and yet forcefully communicate experience. They are an imperfect but powerful point of access for understanding loss—our own or others—, the process of creating, time and it’s passing, and other deeply human experiences.
So many images and objects, all with histories and cultural reference points, should feel anthropological but they don’t— and this too is interesting. One is reminded of Susan Sontag’s statement, to photograph is to “symbolically possessed” 3 to “put oneself into a certain relation to the world that feels like knowledge— and, therefore, like power.” 4 But, of course, this isn’t true of Pfaff’s photography. In a work that privileges in-the-moment experience, knowledge is secondary, if not entirely beside the point.
The viewer is often left guessing when it comes to determining Pfaff’s visual’s exact cultural reference points—the images include too many that cover such a wide range geographically
Cultural theorist David Levi Strauss reads Pfaff’s melding tendency as “a meditation on fixity and flux and on the accelerated movement of cultural signs.” For Strauss, her
2 Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982), 6. 3 Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Picador, 2001), 12. 4 Sontag, 4.
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TO P L EF T and C EN T ER: The Art of Flower Arranging (details), 2013, photographs, printed images, framed drawings melted plastic, expanded foam , paper, and pigment. TO P RI G H T: Lakshmi, 2013, Melted plastic, paper, pigment, expanded foam, fluorescent light, 56” x 20” x 12”. O P P OSI T E I M AG E: The Art of Flower Arranging (exhibition view), 2013.
work is a virtuosic performance that makes the multiple senses of these signs “available simultaneously to the viewer.” 5 But it is difficult to understand how this effect is achieved. Is the viewer to access these simultaneous signs through the act of looking? It seems more likely that, rather than making a multitude of meanings simultaneously available, Pfaff’s signs have lost their ability to communicate specific meanings, collapsed so that they “don’t take.” I’m much more compelled by Pfaff’s statement to Art and America editor Nancy Princental that “looking at anything
long enough gives it meaning it doesn’t deserve.” 6 This seems more true. Her work allows materials beautifully arranged to be visually interesting but not predetermined or directive in their cultural meaning. It reminds us that it is still possible to inhabit modern spaces and make active choices about where and how to look.
Elaine McLemore, Ph.D. Azusa Pacific University, Art and Design Adjunct Professor
5 David Levi Strauss, “Judy Pfaff,” Artform, December 2003. 6 Nancy Princental, “Judy Pfaff: Life and Limb,” Art in America, October 1998, 100.
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For additional information about the artist and her work, visit www.judypfaffstudio.com. Going Home, Sometime Tomorrow (detail), 2013, photographs, melted plastic, expanded foam, and paper, 21’ x 7’. All photos by Linda Lewis Photography.
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