Your gelatin sculptures often contain beautiful flowers and herbal elements, which are sometimes juxtaposed with the sterile imagery of syringes and other western medical symbols. How do you view that contrast in your life?
For me, one of the challenges is figuring out where I sit in the spectrum of toxins, technology, eco-toxins, and natural treatments. A lot of western doctors aren’t that interested in traditional, eastern or Indigenous medicine, but the combination can be really powerful and it’s how we need to evolve. When you have a rare illness, you’re kind of left to figure it out yourself. One of the things I use most often—medicinally and in my art—is gelatin. My other go-tos are chrysanthemum tea, dandelion tea, and nettle tea. As far as that contrast, I’m really into experimenting and the general uncertainty of our experiences. Even when I write, my style changes. I’ll use more clinical words mixed with qualitative words. Having been medicalized as a body, when I’ve always wanted to be completely natural, I like [working with] the combination [of influences]. Even if we think we’re choosing not to ingest chemicals, we are, and I think that normalizing that is important. Syringes, in particular, divide people because they inherently have this kind of negative connotation. But I’ve been taking injection medications for over two decades. As a kid, it can make you feel like an alien, especially because those treatments are often kept in the fridge since they contain live antibodies. They’re hidden away, unlike pills, which we carry around in visible bottles. In my early teens, people were really suspicious of my medications, asking “What is that anyway? Are you getting high?” I just want them to be a normal part of living.
