Hot House, 2019
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
-Walt Whitman, Song of Myself, section 6
This installation of felt and paper grass, plastic flowers and paper spores is not nature. It is an offering of the artifice of color, form and texture to conjure a memory of play, of invention, and the moment when things speak to each other. The not-realness of these objects asserts that they are just what they are. This simulated little pocket of non-nature offers a model landscape of out-sized objects for projection and reflection, where one can imagine the possibility of finding a secret message in a hidden corner, an entrance to another world that is soft and strange, a place amongst the leaves of grass.
-Rachel Urkowitz, 2019