Nov. 3rd - 7th, 2021
Charlotte G. Chin Greene received their MFA in Sculpture from the Tyler School of Art &
Architecture in Spring 2021. Their research- and process-based practice studies time,
machines, modes of sensing and perceiving, and the global flow of material, utilizing digital
fabrication tools and the practice of gleaning.
Flowers for Myself (Clover) - detail
Wheel, fan, rebar, duct tape
61.5 x 29 x 19.5 inches
The revolution of a clock will never return our time.
The turning of a wheel, the turning that iterates the wheel, the grinding that grinds the wheel to a
stop, the motion that moves after all matter ceases, the dissipating vibration, and the force that
is still—so that there may be vibration. All of it and none of it sufficiently speaks. It becomes a
horizon that approaches and then is surpassed, continuously. A horizon that is itself a sphere, or
moreso, the motion of a sphere.
As I watched her pass I saw this horizon, and then I saw its passing. And then our distance from
its passing, which, after several beats (were they heart beats or human seconds?) vanished into
a spiral, and all moments after have been acutely that: moments after. Since then, there have
been so many with and without measure that their distance is calculated by the fact of their
presence, so that in the present I am as close to her as I am far. The past compressed - her
journey, my journey. It compressed into me.
I see wheels everywhere as I ride my bike. Hubcaps, more specifically. Circular perforations in
their metallic surfaces watch me, like eyes. I pass them on the side of the road, sometimes
whole, usually fractured. Traces of a cataclysmic event. The particles produced by an atomic
collision, which evidence the force that determines their mass. A motor, a spindle, a hip socket.
For a moment, they are recovered. What remains when everything is stripped away. The
asymptotic present - the wheel, the sphere, and the horizon - surpassing.