Ghost of Myself (I)
Old shirt, plaster, wood
Clothes are architecture and shelter for the body. As we put on and take off our clothing everyday, these fabrics are imprinted with the echoes of our skin and flesh. In their hollow voids, and beneath the fold of a lapel, the emotions and residue of everyday events accumulate and take on a life of their own. A shirt hanging in the closet is still shaped by an absent man’s shoulder; a dress draped over a kitchen chair appears to hide the swell of a breast or the curve of a thigh. Day after day, we leave as much of our trace in our surroundings, as our surroundings leave in us.