THIS IS THE SECOND EVENING I SEE 13 RABBITS ON THE GRASS Richard Ducker

Language is not to be trusted. And sculpture is dumb.

For Richard Ducker the authentic self is constantly in a state of flux existing somewhere between fabrication and erasure, reality and myth. As an extension of autobiography in a symbiotic dependency with the work, it is in constant competition with itself. Displaced, memory falls out of sync in a collapse of the present into the past. Language becomes an alien form while sculpture performs as a prop on the set of a sci-fi metaphor. There is a slippage in the space-time fabric. The conduit, the receiver, the prism through which time fragments, is geometric and translucent. It is a rotating philosopher’s stone, through which another authorial voice is revealed: the past lives of the artist*.  Contact is attempted.