The Scrap Book

I started an art project where I placed a strip of white out tape on a map wherever I had driven that day. By the end of the week, my commute was ten strips deep, while the route from home to the beach was only one layer deep (I got ice cream instead of heading straight home).

The Artist's Statement: the map is no longer a metaphor of the city, reproducible, generic and static. It was now particular, valuable and evolving. It was a physical record -specific to me and my choices- of my life. Because you don't leave tiretracks behind you when you ride your motorcycle on asphalt.

I was a reading an amazing book after my wife, Mikaela got pregnant. It's called What's Going on in There? : How the Brain and Mind Develop in the First Five Years of Life by Professor Lise Eliot.

While reading about the developing proto-human inside my wife, I had this realization that the form of that tangle of neurons inside my kid's head would ultimately take was more than just simply a text, a metaphor of their life. The number and character of the neural connections inside the skull would be manifestations of the number and character of human connections and experiences that existed outside in the world.