The heart is my own. A rusted broken thing that I've haphazardly propped up in a rough framework and attempted to make work through use of a crude mechanism. For me, this is simple heavy-handed piece.
I gave this piece to a talented artist named Rachel Heu, a person with whom I inadvertently sabotaged a friendship. Her description (prior to the falling out) was much better and I prefer it over mine. She saw a determination, a hope to love no matter what, a insistence to repair the damage and keep on going.
I don't know that description fits me. As of this writing I accept that love is not without meaning, but it's maximum potential is... paltry. Love means that you care, that you adore, but also that you're willing to beat, to lie, to bleed, to rape. There is love and it's a wonderful thing... for the rest of this world.
Materials: Found objects, wood, brass, steel, rubber, copper
Dimensions: ~10" x 10" x 18"