Monday, August 2, 2010

Artist statement... kinda sorta.

With Rollerconsolation and our league scrimmage taking up most of my weekend, I feel like I've been mentally away from thesis-land for a couple of days. It's been good for me because that distance helped me turn my stiff, horrible-sounding artist statement into something that feels right. It feels so right I'll even share my draft with you all:

I spend eight hours a week attacking other women on roller skates, throwing myself at them and knocking them to the ground. I spend nights chasing down and check-blocking my opponents, and I endure bruises, broken bones, and the threat of far worse every time I lace up my skates. This is my favorite part of every day, the source of the deepest pride I have ever felt, and the single hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I play roller derby.

This work is inspired by the community I have found since joining the Boston Derby Dames in the summer of 2007. I started the Roller Derby Quilt only a few months after becoming a “freshmeat” skater and I will continue it until I retire. It is a wall of collected cloth built from discarded uniform scraps, booty shorts, team jerseys, and shredded fishnets. It is filled with sweat and memories and a tiny bit of blood. The quilt was born from hundreds of hours’ worth of stitching, pinning, ripping, beading, ironing, and hand sewing. Over a hundred women (and a few men) have added their stories to the quilt by donating blocks, mailing me materials, and quilting sections to form the piece. Hundreds more have accepted my emails and forwarded them to their friends, teammates, and leagues.

Those who are a part of the roller derby community may cross the pink lines and gently touch the quilt. These people are a part of the project and it belongs in their hands. Those who are not are encouraged to read The Game and to take a bout flyer so that they may discover the world that we in the derby community have built together.

This is my tribute to the sport that has changed my life, and continues to reshape me as I strap on my helmet three times a week. It is my love letter and my thank-you card, my archive and my record. This work is my monument to my family on eight wheels. 

There are a few clunky parts, but I'm pretty happy with it. It certainly beats the old version with its copious use of words like "upcycle" and "ephemera." Yeesh. Just because I can write like that doesn't mean it's appropriate for this show. The work is too honest for that, and when I'm being true to myself, I don't toss out the vocab grenades just because they're in my tool belt.

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