📁 LIFE/LIVE
ARCHIVE 2001-Faith Maryanne Chandler
Feeling :
I got fired a week ago today ...
I’ve gone through the stages of grief. Now to print the resumes and sell myself on the street   like the workaday red light district waitress I am





   



this website is under construction live viewing for your pleasure
  

If you see this and have the ability to give me a job please interview me I promise to not disappoint I have been customer facing since I was ELEVEN and am pretty good at design stuff, I have a good “eye” if you think that could be useful to you then you should hire me. 
I’m also really good at talking to people when I feel like
GIVE ME A JOB <3




 You’re never in the way, always part of the dance
Currently Looking
Discoloration of Meemaw’s Linen
Keeping House in a Cave Living Moving Box #1 

EVEN A WORM WILL TURN



10/25/2024

Mixed-media installation made with plastic twine, ivy, linen, dirt, china, silverware, spray-paint, collage, houseplants, bottles, filing cabinet, lamps, american flag...

Faith Chandler is an interdisciplinary artist exploring philospohical themes with material interventions. Through her use of everyday objects, recycled materials, and living-breathing plants, Faith examines mundane intimacies, personal dogmas of empathy, and a cultural obsession of overwhelm.
Faith was recently awarded by the College of Visual Arts and Design for her exemplary work in the biennial juried group exhibition Emergence at the University of North Texas.

Faith's first solo exhibition, Even a Worm Will Turn, showcases several works created by the artist over the last two years.
The idiom "even a worm will turn" indicates an individual frustration with collective agreements on invisible systems. A worm, the docile creature under investigation, mirrors the artist, a character of the system smothered by immense pressures and brought to the brink of retaliation and explosion.

- Jillian Wendel, founder of the Shed Show and curator

FAITH IN ENDURANCE


Performance lasting 3hr 11min, archival landscape painting on 6ft of muslin...

     
    I dragged this lovely piece of muslin around Clear Creek Natural Preserve for three hours. I wore white linen to mirror it, vowing that if she was to sacrifice her “whiteness” so would my linen dress. Walking into these woods, the muslin was weightless but God, did I feel weighed down. I’ve fallen in love on hikes here, every time I fall in love with the person or people I’m with on some level. With love comes pain, comes heaviness. The fabric got heavier as I whipped it into the water, smudged it with every leaf and colored berry or mushroom we could find. It took all of my weight onto it, and leaving the woods I found my head empty, thoughtless ; everything was now on the muslin, leaving me with a floating feeling … like walking on ground littered with possibilities… and decorated with flowers, trees, + grasses.

    Documented by my friends Jillian Wendel, Grace LaFlamme, and Brendan Watson.   

    FAITH IN SEMBLANCE


    Performance lasting roughly 15 minutes. The artist invited the exhibition-goers, her friends, to throw dirt on her, wearing a white linen dress she inherited from a deceased family friend...

       
      For one of the pieces in Even a Worm Will Turn, I took 6 feet of white linen into the local forest. I dragged the fabric through the mud and grass, archived termite trails using leaves, and crushed berries into its wrinkles. I wore a white linen dress while “performing” Faith in Endurance to mirror the canvas that the landscape was painting. It didn’t get dirty enough that day, so I wore it the opening night of the Shed Show. I had decided the day of while finishing installation with curator, founder, and friend, Jillian Wendel that I wanted the viewers to throw dirt on me while I wore the dress. Those that threw the dirt  came up to me after and told me that it was inspiring, inner-child healing, and liberating. Which in turn, me hearing that healed, inspired, and liberated me. The experience was simply jovial, and can be considered a rebellion against a certain typical convulted stoicism that patterns performance art as a whole.  

      CHARCOAL ARCHIVE


      THAT WHICH IS A WEED IS A TREE


      Oil pastel, watercolor crayon on 18x24” tan-toned paper...
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      CORKSCREW CULDESAC / 
      I CANNOT GET LOST IF I AM WALKING IN CIRCLES


      Oil pastel, watercolor crayon on 18x24” tan-toned paper...
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      FIXING MY LIPSTICK IN THE REFLECTION OF EVERY YELLOW LAWN






      Zine made from dried bamboo, leaves, twigs, masking tape, acrylic paint, oil crayon, collage, cloth, sewing thread, packing tape, and receipts on printer paper...

      2024


      for this assignment I was asked to observe repeated phenomena, like checking the clock or the sun setting. obviously they wanted something a little deeper than that and when I was walking around that day on campus during break I couldn’t help but notice how many patches of yellow grass I saw. how familiar a yellow lawn looks to me, as someone who has been in North Texas her whole life I believe it’s an iconic symbol of suburbia. I started to notice trees trying to grow through brick cracks and how they wouldn’t be thriving or making any significant progress with themselves, but they wouldn’t be dead, either. and lets forget life or death for a minute and talk more about form and color. blades of grass that stand tall and stay together but turn yellow, they become these thirsty, crispy little things that even sprinkler systems can’t fix because really the reason they’re dying is because they should have never been planted there anyway and it just doesn’t feel natural for them to truly take root. yet still they remain, spirit not knocked out of them but never there in the first place. needless to say I relate to a yellow lawn or a shaded area that gets a little less love because it’s inconvenient — or a tiny tree that thinks she can trust certain nooks and crannies to keep her safe and guarantee her growth — yet I do not fall down. I break, sure — get kicked around by feet preoccupied with destination and let the wind rustle through my limbs a little too much sometimes. I’ve never felt I had stable ground to root in and so although I exist just as I always have, I am ceasing to grow. I could say I feel dead inside but the truth is that there is this subtle nuance between desisting a full life but rejecting a death that swallows me whole…a line that I walk up and down all day but hey at least I get my steps in, just enough for anyone else to see me actively existing, even yellowwing away.





















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      LOOKING INTO EVERY LITTLE LIFE #1


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      LOOKING INTO EVERY LITTLE LIFE #2


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