I was 11 years old and living on a small island in the Atlantic. As inhabitants of Block Island, we had to bring our refuse to a designated area: “the dump”. At the entrance stood an old man who would direct us to a particular pile. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” he whistled through the space between his teeth. I’ve heard it repeated many times since but he was the first to enlighten me with that adage.

From that moment forward, my template recognition was altered. All the so-called “ junk” began to glow. Rust-caked, post-tech flotsam and jetsam begging to be melded with nature’s slough and fallen debris. A vision reminiscent of a puzzle with no particular solution.

The freedom to orchestrate relationships between objects that may never have been in the same proximity, into a singular composition or a metaphorical device, is what intrigues me. Whether commenting on the mysterious as well as the ironic or simply producing an abstract that is aesthetically pleasing, I am constantly reminded by fleeting memories of the old man that my life work will not end due to a lack of raw materials.
And blah, blah, blah... whatever.

– D.L.