As a kid, I heard the story of El Dorado, a mythical city made of gold located in South America. When Spanish conquistadors invaded the region in the 16th century, they heard it too. To bring glory to the Spanish crown, the invaders committed untold atrocities trying to find this golden city. Later, I recall hearing that some historians believe El Dorado was likely a folktale about a ruler who covered himself in gold; the city never existed at all. So, I’ve always seen El Dorado as a symbol of those glittering ideals that the powerful use to justify unspeakable acts. Whether that be religion, enrichment, or national security.

I’ve always been drawn to the perplexing mathematics of interpersonal relationships. Recently, my mind inadvertently started thinking of everything and everyone as basic shapes—Some that fit, some that don’t. Our essencesangular, quartered.

Solitary and separated we are increasingly isolated spaces- turning inward. The square of a cubicle, rectangular bed (coffin-like) facing a door, the dull glow of screens bisected into even smaller vistas, serrated keyhole that cuts ourselves out or in. Fragmented bodies searching for other fractured flesh to assemble a jigsaw social life.

These shapes arranged—interact or overlap—in strange geometry. An ever changing amorphous design that becomes a puzzle to solve, a spell to chant mantra-like alone, or the cracked facts of ourselves refracted through a weird mirror. We mystify demystification and conjure ourselves: the flat shapes that remain.

In the series Event Horizon, I’m exploring the influence of digital media on our sexual psyche.
Specifically in the way it affects interpersonal relationships and the cultivation of desires. They are exploratory pieces, not made to announce bold philosophical/moral statements, but to provoke viewers to confront their own thoughts on the matter.

An event horizon is a boundary in spacetime surrounding a black hole inside which events cannot
affect an outside observer. Any object approaching the horizon from the observer’s side appears to slow down and never quite pass through it. In this way, I see the fluctuating connection between reality and representation in sexuality… a gulf across which depicted ideals may seen forever distant and also as close as fingers touching flesh.