Weaving with bones, part 1
Stories from my March 2024 residency in Salta, Argentina
I’d visited the ranch last October, which is spring in Argentina. My friend Marianna told me there were quite a lot of cattle bones on the land and I was curious about them as a material. More than the practical consideration of what kind of work to do with a pile of osseous matter, I was interested in what meaning such work would convey.
After my short initial visit, I wondered: what could be communicated, what wanted to come through me via such a material? Marianna’s intention to open some of the land as a space for healing and transformation indicated to me that a certain spiritual quality would develop in anything I would create; and that whatever might come out of my process would be in service of the planned healing space / temple.
The land itself is immensely beautiful, in a cinematic way; and yet also rough, wild, unforgiving. One observes evidence of the full life-cycle at every turn—great fertility and promise coexist with death, decay. It is a place with deep, slow, dense energy; a place where dreams and symbols and waking life blend back and forth seamlessly—magical realism there seems to be less of a literary genre, and more a governing principle.
With such curious power in this place, and with the bones calling to me, I felt I needed to open a dialogue with the land itself, listening to what the earth would suggest. On my return in March 2024, I spent the first week of my residency adjusting to the rhythms of the place and getting to know her. A lot of being-ness rather than so much doing.
But then I was ready, and I went out to bone-hunt. And I found them—hundreds of bones. Some of them old, a little fragile, crusted with dry mud. Others, more fresh: bits of flesh still clinging, rotting slowly under the searing sun. I wanted all of them, perhaps especially the ones that smelled fiercely of death. The rib bones were most appealing as building materials, due to their curving shapes and relatively light weight.
With help from several people on the ranch, I collected loads of bones over the course of about a week. We cleaned them first in a shallow river, scraping away filth with smooth stones, before bringing them back to my workspace in an old rabbit hutch.
Then I boiled them in a huge cauldron that was fabricated by one of the ranch workers: the bones simmered for hours until the last bits of cartilage, skin, and rot finally softened and fell away.
It was very hot. Blistering high-altitude late-summer sun and heavy humidity, no air conditioning. I quickly learned not to venture out without long sleeves, long pants, and sometimes even neck gaiter—due to the vicious jején: a small, biting fly that rips out chunks of skin and leaves huge red welts.
But the work was progressing and once the bones were clean, ready to use, I experimented with some patterns and ephemeral installations in the small field below my rabbit hutch. It was pure play—creating with absolutely no concerns for outcomes, limitations, feasibility, etc.
I’ll share images of the building process, the finalized sculptures, and the installation and exhibit next time…
To be continued!
Special thank you to those who helped document my creative process through photography and video—Marianna, Madeline, Eric, and Leo.
The Star (in the Ravine)
Including a couple of images here from the Miami Tarot Exhibition and the work I created for this show (responding to card no. 17, The Star) at the end of April. Click through for more information about the artwork.
