toilet paper tubes, polyurethane, hair, leather, acrylic paint, jar, caulk
A friend told me that the bricks used to build most of Chicago around the turn of century were softer, fired in kilns to a lower core temperature. The city’s older, soft-bricked buildings have been repaired with mortar intended for the newer, harder bricks, leading to the cracks and buckling that are as critical to the city’s architectural landscape as the bricks themselves. The overgrown lots reclaiming bricks from 1893 and 1963 into the soil and the cinderblock condo buildings built at the peak of the housing bubble with sheets of artificial brick sealed onto their facades and already crumbling are also critical to that landscape, how we read it and relate to it.
My intimacy with the city and its landscape is the same intimacy I share with friends and lovers— emotional commitment lacing into ideological critique, history into fantasy, structural material into garbage. This pair of objects embodies that intimacy and provides a tool for seeing and building these relationships.