This print was born from a silkscreen class assignment, in which I had to make a print on an "unusual substrate." I decided immediately to use handmade felt, a medium which brings me a strange brand of joy that feels like a guilty pleasure... I recalled making paper for the first time (in another silkscreen class), and hearing my teacher say in an introductory lecture that we could place thin objects in between layers of paper pulp to laminate them. So when papermaking day came around, I brought in a thin sheet of handmade felt to experiment with. Lo and behold, the lamination worked, and the felt could be seen through the sheer top layer of paper pulp. I was also able to cut through and remove areas from the top layer of paper pulp to reveal the felt underneath. My only disappointment was that the paper bubbled up near the edges of the felt, and the areas which did and did not contain felt contrasted quite obviously. So for this more recent assignment, I decided to refine my paper-felt-making process, and silkscreen over top. I made a thinner layer of paper, and though it was not so obvious, there was still a gap of air in between the layers of paper pulp which allowed me to easily remove areas of the top layer both to mask felted areas and the lower layer of paper. 

At this point, I was working on the theme of cuisine -- its origins and sometimes ritualistic qualities -- and our relationship with the living creatures that we eat. Having recently ceased to be a vegetarian after several years, my mind was swimming with the struggle I felt between my belief that living things should not be eaten when we can sustain our bodies with other foods but also a love for culinary tradition and exploration. I wanted to strike a balance between illustrating the beauty of food in its orchestration at the table without depicting meat in a form that is unrecognizable as an animal, as we are oft to do at the table. I also wanted to use some humor by showing an absurd situation: one in which dinner had leaped gracefully and willingly into the plate it would be served upon.

This theme has a resonance in antiquity for me, as the relationship between human and animal has seen a radical change over the course of history. For this reason it felt appropriate to age the piece, both with the linear and illustrative quality as well as the texture and application of color. 

The piece is named for the Ortolan bunting, a tiny bird (illustrated in a bottle on the right of the table) which is traditionally eaten whole after being forced to gorge itself on grain and then drowned and marinated in brandy. The diner places a cloth napkin over his or her head, some say under which they hide from God. The ritual puts a strange taste in my mouth: both strangely beautiful and terribly cruel, it is an unsettling example of the sort of connection I wanted to explore.