I remember watching my dad prepare traps for trap-lines when I was a kid. The traps were beautiful, boiled in a mixture of walnuts and wax, they became something more than traps for catching animals, so we could sell the furs. The traps became something of great beauty and value, not only because the walnut and wax coating elevated them from a functional device to an object worthy of inspection and introspection, but more so due to their process causing each of them unique.
A mind races unfiltered through the days events, absorbing glimpses of objects: an old log, a paint can, a discarded toilet, an old worn car tire, and I stumble around my studio making pieces made of discarded stories.
I am not interested in adding to a collection of things that are art, but in investigating the possibilities of what art may be.— Bruce Nauman