papers, two legs, birch bark, panty hose, fabrics, ink, cork, photographs, string and thread, 27 x 28 inches.

Thea and I were on a pristine beach where any blemish is considered a pox on the soul. What should we have come across, but an inexplicable, grotesque, bizarre, object. It had been in the sea for a while and had eroded, but now it was stuck firmly in the sand and rocks by the shoreline.  It was rubbery and peeling and dense. Maybe there was some wood in there, but it was unclear.   We marveled as to what it was, laughing and describing it. Repulsed and attracted. We were afraid of it, but enthralled by it.  Trepidatiously touching it and recoiling.   

This artwork  just appeared  in my studio, like a marvelous interpretation of that sublime experience with Thea.  My object does not look the same, but to me evokes a comparable reaction.   From it sprouts two legs; one is Thea’s and one is mine. We have a joint eye vagina because that is scary.