It was laying there for months, in pieces. I used some epoxy to get it back together but the other side didn't quite match up. There was a beauty to it though. The bisque ceramic texture has been growing on me. It has an innocence to it, potential, almost a virginity. I wasn't ready to give up on it. I let it lay there a few more weeks.
Yesterday I cleaned my studio, vowing to throw out random bits of ceramic work that I knew wasn't ever going to be anything. I was tired of it nagging at me, weighing on me.
I hung a few underwear pieces to give them a space, to contemplate them. This piece wanted to be hung as well. That's how I created it, to look as if it were casually hung on the wall. As I picked it up I remembered so many things "mended" with duct tape growing up. My dad was that guy, a plumber, duct tape could fix anything. Of course, it has a stigma, a trashiness to it. I looked at this broken underwear and thought it had the same feeling.
I wrapped the last broken bit with duct tape and so many layers started unfolding for me. Stories of women, broken, abused, lost, desperate, just surviving, all triggered by this piece of duct tape on broken underwear. This sculpture that had been in pieces now had life, meaning, a voice. There's a moment when a work feels complete. Adding that small bit of duct tape made this sculpture whole.