Temple Hive is the second in a series of large scale forms whose purpose is to distort the relationship between body and sculpture. The first, Tumor Hive, represented the enormous emotional impact of an excised lump of cells gone amok. Temple Hive is inspired by the idiosyncrasies of my youth as they linger into hypothetical adulthood. I was then, as I am now, obsessed with escape, for both body and mind.

When I was young we had gold-colored, polyester curtains in our dining room. They had a dense, abstract pattern and if you stared at them for long enough you saw rows of crouched figures, the heads tucked down and their knees brought up. At least, if I stared at them long enough, I did. On weekends I spent my time in a homemade tent of blankets and dining room chairs, tucked away from my rowdy brothers.

I liked my space, even if it was just the mini mental vacation provided by picking out the pattern in stippled sunlight through curtains. Temple Hive is meant for the act of isolating yourself from the world to contemplate pattern and texture. It is an ode to sunlight and quilts and calico and brocade, all at once. It was built from triangles into hexagons—like the cells of honeycombs-- and as they spread they also collapse.