Unlikely but Not Impossible. Artist Statement (Mass) 2021.
First formally articulated as a distinct body of sculptural work in 2021, though subsequently extended to include works dating back to 2009, Unlikely but Not Impossible designates a heterogeneous yet conceptually coherent strand within my broader sculptural practice. The category encompasses a diverse range of assemblages that had previously resisted straightforward classification. What unites these works is not a consistent material language or formal strategy, but rather their genesis in a sustained engagement with the principle of “play” (see artist statement, On the Nature of Play). Play, in this context, is neither trivial nor incidental; it constitutes a methodological framework through which material, idea, and intuition are negotiated.
These sculptures are unapologetically material-driven and are constructed entirely from found materials. I employ the term “found materials” expansively, encompassing discarded waste, commercially purchased items, deliberately collected objects, and indeed any material that captures my attention. The selection process is guided as much by curiosity as by intention. Frequently, a particular object, or constellation of objects, suggests an image, narrative, or conceptual entity. These suggestions, however whimsical they may initially appear, are pursued rigorously (see artist statement, Questions and Paradoxes, Enigmas and Wonders). Not all such speculative beginnings culminate in resolved works; many require prolonged experimentation, adjustment, and reconfiguration. Yet when successful, these processes yield sculptures that I regard among the most compelling within my practice. The iterative and at times uncertain trajectory of their making is integral to their eventual strength.
Consistent with their origin in play, these works often carry an undercurrent of wry humour or caprice. Their titles tend toward simplicity, sometimes descriptive, occasionally poetic, serving as understated entry points rather than prescriptive interpretations. While I welcome moments of amusement elicited from viewers, such responses may coexist with subtler sensations of unease or ambiguity. Indeed, the structural logic by which these works are assembled often destabilises familiar associations, generating a productive tension between recognition and estrangement. The smile, in this context, may veil a more complex negotiation with uncertainty.
My approach to sculpting with found materials generally proceeds along two principal trajectories. The first involves the accumulation of multiple identical objects, as exemplified in works such as Black Bird and April Shower Curtain. There is a particular satisfaction in aggregating mass-produced items. When brought together in quantity, such objects undergo a perceptible transformation: their original utilitarian contexts are attenuated, and what might be described as a “loss of aura” occurs. Detached from singular function, they become accessible and conceptually malleable. Their former specificity gives way to a kind of productive vacancy, a void of potential, into which new criteria and intentions may be projected. This process may originate serendipitously, as when dormant materials within the studio suggest unforeseen possibilities, or it may begin through encounters in commercial environments. In either case, the accumulation creates an open field in which my own conceptual agenda can be inscribed.
The second trajectory entails the reconfiguration of all components of a given object or set of objects to construct something unexpected, as in Crow. Here, the hierarchical logic of the original object is deliberately undermined. Viewers recognise the constituent parts and presume familiarity with their intended function; their subversion disrupts this expectation and renders them newly indeterminate. In such works, I am often careful not to add or remove elements from the original set and, where feasible, to avoid supplementary fixings or adhesives. This methodological restraint is psychologically significant. The use of a complete set satisfies a deep-seated desire for order, closure, and coherence, both for myself as maker and for the viewer as observer. Yet this satisfaction is complicated when the intact set is repurposed in a manner that appears illogical or nonconformist. The comfort of completeness is thus unsettled, potentially giving rise to confusion or even anxiety.
These strategies, however, function less as rigid prescriptions than as provisional guidelines. They are subject to adaptation, suspension, or transgression whenever the evolving demands of a work require it. At times, the deliberate introduction of incompleteness or inconsistency intensifies the viewer’s engagement by amplifying unresolved questions. The process remains fundamentally dialogic and exploratory, governed by responsiveness rather than dogma.
Ultimately, Unlikely but Not Impossible represents an ongoing investigation into the transformative capacities of found materials under the conditions of play. Through accumulation, subversion, and recontextualisation, these works interrogate assumptions about function, hierarchy, and material value. They operate within a liminal space between humour and disquiet, order and disruption, familiarity and estrangement. Ultimately, this body of work affirms play not as escapism but as a critical and generative mode of artistic inquiry, one that enables the improbable to be tested, the ordinary to be reimagined, and the boundaries of sculptural possibility to remain productively open. edit.
First formally articulated as a distinct body of sculptural work in 2021, though subsequently extended to include works dating back to 2009, Unlikely but Not Impossible designates a heterogeneous yet conceptually coherent strand within my broader sculptural practice. The category encompasses a diverse range of assemblages that had previously resisted straightforward classification. What unites these works is not a consistent material language or formal strategy, but rather their genesis in a sustained engagement with the principle of “play” (see artist statement, On the Nature of Play). Play, in this context, is neither trivial nor incidental; it constitutes a methodological framework through which material, idea, and intuition are negotiated.
These sculptures are unapologetically material-driven and are constructed entirely from found materials. I employ the term “found materials” expansively, encompassing discarded waste, commercially purchased items, deliberately collected objects, and indeed any material that captures my attention. The selection process is guided as much by curiosity as by intention. Frequently, a particular object, or constellation of objects, suggests an image, narrative, or conceptual entity. These suggestions, however whimsical they may initially appear, are pursued rigorously (see artist statement, Questions and Paradoxes, Enigmas and Wonders). Not all such speculative beginnings culminate in resolved works; many require prolonged experimentation, adjustment, and reconfiguration. Yet when successful, these processes yield sculptures that I regard among the most compelling within my practice. The iterative and at times uncertain trajectory of their making is integral to their eventual strength.
Consistent with their origin in play, these works often carry an undercurrent of wry humour or caprice. Their titles tend toward simplicity, sometimes descriptive, occasionally poetic, serving as understated entry points rather than prescriptive interpretations. While I welcome moments of amusement elicited from viewers, such responses may coexist with subtler sensations of unease or ambiguity. Indeed, the structural logic by which these works are assembled often destabilises familiar associations, generating a productive tension between recognition and estrangement. The smile, in this context, may veil a more complex negotiation with uncertainty.
My approach to sculpting with found materials generally proceeds along two principal trajectories. The first involves the accumulation of multiple identical objects, as exemplified in works such as Black Bird and April Shower Curtain. There is a particular satisfaction in aggregating mass-produced items. When brought together in quantity, such objects undergo a perceptible transformation: their original utilitarian contexts are attenuated, and what might be described as a “loss of aura” occurs. Detached from singular function, they become accessible and conceptually malleable. Their former specificity gives way to a kind of productive vacancy, a void of potential, into which new criteria and intentions may be projected. This process may originate serendipitously, as when dormant materials within the studio suggest unforeseen possibilities, or it may begin through encounters in commercial environments. In either case, the accumulation creates an open field in which my own conceptual agenda can be inscribed.
The second trajectory entails the reconfiguration of all components of a given object or set of objects to construct something unexpected, as in Crow. Here, the hierarchical logic of the original object is deliberately undermined. Viewers recognise the constituent parts and presume familiarity with their intended function; their subversion disrupts this expectation and renders them newly indeterminate. In such works, I am often careful not to add or remove elements from the original set and, where feasible, to avoid supplementary fixings or adhesives. This methodological restraint is psychologically significant. The use of a complete set satisfies a deep-seated desire for order, closure, and coherence, both for myself as maker and for the viewer as observer. Yet this satisfaction is complicated when the intact set is repurposed in a manner that appears illogical or nonconformist. The comfort of completeness is thus unsettled, potentially giving rise to confusion or even anxiety.
These strategies, however, function less as rigid prescriptions than as provisional guidelines. They are subject to adaptation, suspension, or transgression whenever the evolving demands of a work require it. At times, the deliberate introduction of incompleteness or inconsistency intensifies the viewer’s engagement by amplifying unresolved questions. The process remains fundamentally dialogic and exploratory, governed by responsiveness rather than dogma.
Ultimately, Unlikely but Not Impossible represents an ongoing investigation into the transformative capacities of found materials under the conditions of play. Through accumulation, subversion, and recontextualisation, these works interrogate assumptions about function, hierarchy, and material value. They operate within a liminal space between humour and disquiet, order and disruption, familiarity and estrangement. Ultimately, this body of work affirms play not as escapism but as a critical and generative mode of artistic inquiry, one that enables the improbable to be tested, the ordinary to be reimagined, and the boundaries of sculptural possibility to remain productively open. edit.
