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Justin Chapman

I remember riding home from the movie theater, sitting in the far back seat of my parent’s wood paneled Caravan. The thing was sweet. The windows in the back didn’t roll down, but I could crack them open just far enough for me to stick my little hand out the window. Gummy bears were my treat of choice at the theater, which I had some left over that I wasn’t going to eat. So of course, with the window cracked open, I started dropping gummy bears out the window. Sort of an army paratrooper escaping to freedom, but just a gummy bear instead with no parachute. As I dropped the first one out of the window and watched it bounce off of the pavement, I instantly and whole heartedly felt terrible. I didn’t feel bad for the road rash or the fact that the gummy bear was going to get eaten by ants or eventually decay. I was upset because that gummy bear would be alone on the epic journey that was to come. Next air drop, I corrected my mistake and dropped two at a time.  Having a friend along for the ride felt much better to me.

In my art I try to be conscious of the subject matter’s history, its past, present, and its future still to come. In this series I explore the tension between what something was, what it is today, and what it will be in the future while still celebrating the ordinary, the small-scale, the local, and the eccentric.