Counting

We All Count ...68 / Numeriamo ...68, 2009
Counting On You
Counting On You
We All Count

We All Count ...68 / Numeriamo ...68, 2009

Wood-fired stoneware
26 x 8 x 0.5 in.

Counting On You / Conto su di te, 2011

Performance artifact
Graphite, unfired porcelain, pigment, oils on canvas
48 x 35 in.

Counting On You / Conto su di te, 2011

Performance artifact
Graphite, unfired porcelain, pigment, oils on canvas
48 x 35 in.

We All Count / Numeriamo (detail), 2012

Wood-fired stoneware
24 x 12 x 0.5 in.

Days from or days until; money; lovers; losses or gains; shoes; votes; dreams broken. 

Everybody counts something.
We count to make meaning; to make sense of chaos; to reduce the relentless to manageable. By counting, we shield ourselves from the unbearable brilliance of uninterpreted experience.
We count to predict how best to respond to and interact with our internal and external environment. As we count, we define our personal space. We share our view of the world in which we live.
With consequence and without care, the act of counting takes on the meaning, the enargeia of experience of which we hope to make sense.1 We narrow the aperture to shield our eyes from raw reality, only to discover we are wearing sunglasses at night.
Everybody counts.
Everybody counts something.

1. Enargeia is how Homer described the experience of viewing the gods when they came to earth not in disguise, but as themselves.