
The Masking Tape Mask came from a set of ideas that have been stuck in my head for some time. This piece signals the beginning of a new body of work; it's significant to me because it represents a shift in my process. The shift is toward simple, personal, non-technical work that explores the act of making art and the examines the life of an artist.
On one level this is a piece about language and confusion. I am a 25-year-old living in America in the year 2006. I should be very familiar with the common uses for masking tape. But here I've short-circuited and concluded that masking tape should be used to cover my face. This is an absurd mistake that could only be made by an outsider.
As with many of my projects, I thought about this project for a long time before executing it. I generally have more conception time than construction time available, so I have a tendency to dream up new ideas, imagine their execution, and run through several "what if…?" scenarios mentally before I actually get down to crafting the pieces. As I was thinking about this project, it didn't occur to me that masking tape on my face could look very similar to surgical tape. It seems so obvious now, but until I actually applied the tape to my face, the thought that there could be associations to reconstructive plastic surgery never crossed my mind. I'm fine with these connotations, because they fit with the emergence of a new body of work. It's as if I'm reinventing myself behind a veil of masking tape – a material conventionally used for arguably the most iconic creative act: painting.
This project is also stupid, and I understand that interpretation. It is simply a mask made from masking tape. The pun isn't so deep, and it's not immediately interesting as a play on words. I would agree that it's a bit of a one-liner. But I am interested in the idea of consciously making a stupid project. I'm giving myself permission to follow through with this little idea and then asking myself to value it.
I don't want to tie up all the ends too tightly here, but I want to make it clear that this project is deliberate. This piece is experimental for me because it brings with it change and uncertainty. I'm very curious how this new work will be regarded and where it will lead me. It's obviously a bit clever, but I hope that doesn't stop you from peeling back the layers and looking underneath.

Almost ten years ago, a friend of mine made a joke that I haven't been able to forget. The joke was about the pretentiousness of conceptual art, and it was very similar to this sentence. This piece is that joke taken seriously.

There are many different kinds of paperclips, but it's safe to say that the Gem-type (shaped like the ones pictured) is the archetype. The Gem-type paperclip, invented over 100 years ago, seems to be at the end of its evolution. It performs its function sufficiently well, and is so cheap to produce (afterall, it's merely a bent wire) that the world may not see a better paperclip. We will probably continue to use the Gem-type paperclip as long as we use paper.
It's widely believed that the paperclip is a Norwegian invention. A paperclip is a simple device that binds things together. During World War II, as a symbol of unity and resistance against the Nazis, Norwegians would attach paperclips to their clothing - a practice that could get one killed. How is it possible that something as small and seemingly innocuous as a paperclip can hold so much meaning? Where does it keep it?
These paperclips are bound to each other. Their shapes overlap to make a heart.

In section T. The Alphabet of his essay "Think/Classify" (Le Genre humain 1982), Georges Perec calls the order of the alphabet "arbitrary, inexpressive, and therefore neutral." Building upon this idea, I've come up with a few new alphabetical orders. This one is a suggestion to sequence the alphabet according to the order in which the 26 letters appear in the English translation of this section of Perec's essay.

What happens when revolution becomes an everyday event? Inspired by Raoul Vaneigem, Georges Perec, and Leila and Massimo Vignelli, Revolutions of Everyday Life presents a series of absurd revolutionary gestures championing ordinary objects, tools, toys, and vegetables.
This project was first exhibited in April 2006 at Rx Gallery, San Francisco. It was shown on a hand-held iPod Video.