Frequently occupying the space between employee and child, I remember standing shoulder to shoulder with old two-by-four studs, watching my father awaken the bones of our home. His shadow darting this way and that through hot yellow halogen light. These moments, at once normal and mythical, helped create powerful impressions and a reverence for the shaping of objects, stories, and spaces; for the shaping of otherwise silent things.
Rites of Passage is a body of work about origin, value, and a slow awakening of material sensibilities. It is about the intimacy of a knife handle worn glossy and smooth by my great grandfather’s hands, and about the clink-clink-clink of a claw hammer keeping time in a tool belt holster. Each sculpture or installation cites moments of discovery, lessons passed through time by word of mouth or work of hands.
I grew up around the insides of things; spaces under, between, or just beneath the surface. In altering the form and iconic placement of these objects, attention is given to the narrative qualities and tactile nature of learning through doing. Each piece functions, much like the objects they are crafted from, as a place to pause, to pay attention. A desk is not the end of the journey, it’s often not even the beginning. Each piece is merely a chapter in a greater story; a space to teach, to listen, to be taught. This body of work explores the intent of education. In a more universal sense, what we think of as “lessons” are often incremental rites of passage.
Below are the pages from the book “I”VE TAUGHT YOU EVERYTHING I KNOW AND YOU STILL DON”T KNOW ANYTHING”
Reduction print with school desktop.
I grew up to a family of do it yourself carpenters and architects. Tucked into every visit to the woods on our property, or my grandfather’s cabinet shop, seemed to be a lesson in waiting. These lessons came from teachers of all sorts, like the 16 penny framing nail that taught me to watch where I walk, or the treehouse that gave me a firm lesson on gravity. Some of these lessons were more deliberate. “I’ve Taught You Everything I Know, And You Still Don’t Know Anything” is a print series about the lessons learned from my father and grandfather. Arriving at my grandparent’s home when I was young, my grandpa would greet me at the door and before I could go further into his home he would ask, “What do you know today?”, which was my cue to repeat each of these lessons back to him. When he thought I had the most recent phrase set to memory, he would add another phrase to the list. These lessons he imparted to me until his death. Around that same time I began work for my father, who had rules of his own to relay. This series of prints captures the nature of how these lessons were acquired, by repetition. Even the 16 penny nail had to teach me its lesson 3 times before I committed it to memory.
I’VE TAUGHT YOU EVERYTHING I KNOW AND YOU STILL DON’T KNOW ANYTHING
Book design, printing, and binding by Maeve Gathje
With assistance from Laurel McKay and Morgan Butler
© 2020
Portland intense black relief ink, woodblock print on Kraft Legion Stonehenge Paper, handbound.
This book is part of the MFA Thesis Exhibition “Rites of Passage”
WHAT I KNOW TODAY
cANCELLATION PROOF
WHAT I KNOW TODAY
This is the final print in the succession of 11 reduction prints. The text has been enlarged (compared to the previous 10 prints in the series) for a few of these truisms that my father and grandfather had me memorize as a child,
Portland intense black relief ink, woodblock print on Kraft Legion 90lb Stonehenge Paper 22” x 30”
Prints are available on request Until they are gone. There are 34 total.
CANCELLATION PROOF
A cancellation proof of this series was made in part to signify an end to printing, there are 34 prints and another cannot be made regardless of demand. It also serves as a marker of finality for me. These words have been a cornerstone and foundation for how I learned to see the world, imprinted over and over again.