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Artist Exhibitions:
The Forever Exhibition
Mad House Art Online Gallery
http://www.madhouseart.com
18 Nov - 13 Dec 00
MOAK Exhibition. Springfield
Art Museum, Springfield,
Missouri, USA.
Selected works.
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Further Information
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Artist Galleries:
Mad House Art Online Gallery
http://www.madhouseart.com...
Further Information
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Artist Reviews:
Coming Soon!
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Collections:
Coming Soon!
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Commissions:
Coming Soon!
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Artist Statement for Dominique Simmons
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I never played with dolls. Armed with spoons from the kitchen, I spent my youth digging holes and tunnels in and around the roots of several pecan trees in my backyard. When I was ten, I was told by Kerry Brown, the prissy snot down the street, "Dominique, you can get dirtier quicker than any little girl I know." Kerry never dug a decent hole in her life.
When I was seven, the ancient Mrs. Bender in the dilapidated house across the street died. They tore down the house, leaving mounds of wooden lathe and brick, which my sister and I greedily grabbed up and carried to our backyard under the pecan trees. We pried the nails from the wood, and scraped the old plaster and hair from the wood's surface. We saved the nails, while the discarded plaster and hair worked its way into the ecology of our backyard. My father explained that the fibrous substance in the plaster found between lathe was horsehair. I pondered this unsettling fact, and came to the conclusion that the horsehair had something to do with Mrs. Bender's death. All of that horsehair had to be unhealthy. The neighborhood children (all Catholic) claimed she had died of seven different diseases. Now I know that the number seven had more to do with being Catholic and less with how she really died.
Anyway, with the wood, nails, and brick, we spent the summer constructing houses for our plastic farm animals. Day after day farmyard dramas would unfold. The cat was the smartest, the dog the bravest, the chickens stupid, and, of course, the horse was the leader. The plastic humans were the enemy, and they would die horrible deaths at the hooves and paws of the animals in the pits under the pecan roots.
In quieter moments, I would sit and look at my father's voluminous and mysterious art books. Bosch and Bruegal were the best. In these books I found drama, strange landscapes, and even weirder structures. Unsettling, just like the horsehair.
Then there was eleven-o'clock mass every day. The dark church, the candles, the incense, the statues with exposed, punctured, and bleeding hearts. All that Latin. Very unsettling.
So my work is about digging holes, building structures, creating drama, mystery, and atmosphere. All very unsettling.
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