Both my sculpture and writing skim the surface of the construct of the self, and it leaves me wanting. In that wanting, I realize a loss, an absence. I present the self as an isolated, autonomous, masterful object, when in fact it is the self under the influence—the influence of cultural context. The self functions as a variable, a container, in which the dictates of culture define its value and form. Thus, the self is incomplete, empty; culture completes it.
I dissect the self only to discover it is but a mere flesh wound.0