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Pomegranate:

as the blood red stains your mouth,

and the peeling breaks your skin,

the first and only thing breaks in,

as the pores of your skin unravel,

and your teeth become thin,

no longer white but cherry,

breaking from within,

the sourness of your grief,

is far down within,

as the ache of your rotting gums,

feels like a void,

that is never filled in,

as it bleeds out,

a pomegranate scent,

and a blood like red.

-EB

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Finished hand sculpture

left hand:

my hand feels useless,

one I never operate,

it lays patently,

for my right hand does all the work,

and my hand softens for it is tired,

so tired of being stuck as pointless,

so tired it cannot even stand,

for the left side does nothing,

nothing at all,

no words to write,

or things to elevate,

as it is stuck being the useless one,

it waits patiently,

as it is being seen,

sculpted by the right hand,

never to be unseen.

-EB

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This piece was made of slabs that I made into bowls then I carved out small circles to make negative space. I then connected two bowls to make a sphere. I made a base slab and connected the third bowl to the base. Then I took the sphere and I slipped it to the base piece. Then I cleaned it up. The piece doesn’t have a direct meaning but I wrote this poem about it as a bit of a metaphor for the sculpture.

- Erin Brown

Mindless, mindless, nothing is all you ever are. What’s 60+60 when you are 50+50. Only half of what your mind should know. What is it like being half shown, only half a person, half a thing, half a mind, only half. What is the point when you are only half of everything everyone else has. What if I can only do 50%, what if I can only speak 50%? What if I can only rationally make up 50%, 50% of what you have, 50% of not having the time, 50% too late, and maybe even 60 too far gone. Maybe tomorrow it will be 30, after that it will be 20, the day after that it will be 10. I’m lucky enough to be 50%. Lucky enough to stand here and say that I have 50% of what you have, I have 50% acknowledgement, 50% the words, and I am lucky to say that I’m 50%. 50% will hinder my every movement, my every thought so who are you when you’re 50% and I am not enough.

-EB

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Monoliths at Chico State that are textured walls made for the blind. Students touch the walls to get good luck before finals or exams.

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beginning shape

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Beginning shapes

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sculpting the inside of the brain synapses 

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sculpting the inside of the brain synapses 

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Start on new brain and the base is flipped 

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Start on new brain and the base is flipped 

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Boats and boating--Equipment and supplies

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The brain represents my dyslexia and a connection to my epilepsy. The cords connect to the EEG I got and the constant feeling of always being tested. The circles and mole like dots are a representation of the day that the emergency room nurses told me I have calcifications in my brain. These calcifications would mean a shorter life and future problems. A later MRI showed that I had no calcifications. The synapses connect to my brain waves during sleep, and also the synapses happening in my brain constantly. The middle shows my brain from a MRI. Being neurodivergent is a constant struggle and I wanted the piece to be a bit eerie or a sci-fi feeling because of the way my brain feels and sees things.

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Make Something by: pinching,rolling,flattening 

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Make Something by: pinching,rolling,flattening 

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artist statement:

My past seems fuzzy in the breeze,

as I am waiting for my eyes to adjust to the wind and the swirls of blood in my head,

for time has faded to something soft and fluorescent,

and the cords around my wrists bring no less shake to my hands,

some moments I remember some I forget,

but sometimes I’m alone and call myself alive,

like my brain hasn’t shattered,

to pieces in the waves,

because the worry in my brain has shown,

but the pain is still there and has never left,

the pain of the shake and the pain of the headache,

the letters all jumbled up and the pages numbered wrong on a book,

as the moment I realize I was so close to nothing appears in plain sight,

and my synapses are loud, but I am dead silent,

and sometimes I’m alone and call myself alive.

-EB Erin Brown 10/13/23