Francesca Costanza. Soft Fossils, 2024.

As an artist I hope to be vaguely familiar but not useful as though I’m going to illustrate how to deal with desire. I conduct my research like a singing bird in the forest plotting the distance, looking for something the rational mind can’t find. I seize a blade of grass and hold fast to it as it begins to grow from the middle. I am standing in front of the sun doing shadow puppets on the moon. I am not trying to lead anyone into the promised land but myself. My ideas are three tin cans on the tail of a mad cougar. Working like a beaver, I collect only the perfectly fitting debris. There is always the feeling that I have no idea what to do, but my fingers make easy flowers of all things. My ideas are four lean hounds crouched low and smiling.  Let me show you something elastic and bursty.

I run my  fingers along my no-moss mind, feel like a truck on a wet highway and take a lot of dirt off someone. It's important that I explain how birds with bigger eyes sing first, perfecting their round sounds. I try to wrap my head around dinner while enormous pools of a moment keep opening around my hands each time I try to move them. I conduct long case studies created by small interpreted clues. I am the smile of the river, letting a question travel into an answer. I am working full time for every sense and nonsense.

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