Abi Spring

I am interested in the mysterious: the erased, painted over, cloudy, destroyed, ambiguous, muffled. A noise that I can barely hear draws my attention more than the blasting vibration of a siren. When I hear a quiet noise through the din of street sound and dogs barking: the scuffling of mice in the walls, or the sound of a sparrow hoping in the grass outside my window, my response is more engaged. “What is that sound?” I stop what I am doing and try to locate it, moving closer, hotter-colder-hotter, like the children’s game, until I can locate the source. I want to create a similar experience of prolonged investigation with my work. “What did I just see?” I want the viewer to ask. I want them to pause, wonder, move around and have a physical relationship with the work.