Devastation and utter bleakness surround the epic refinery on the coast. The shiny immaculate chimneys puff out whiffs of smoke beside of the emissions that blast orange fire into the sky. The refinery is completely fenced in, a turnstile as its only breach. The horizon-line of the ocean blocks thousands of offshore rigs that reside just out of sight. One jack-up rig perches on the dark blue line like a three-legged crow on a wire. The sky is steel gray here every day. Sometimes the sun shines through, especially in the evenings; I keep reminding myself that the most beautiful sunsets are in the cities with the most pollution.

Like an inefficient machine, I build massive structures that do not seem to serve their purpose, which is to support. Each of these objects wants to be slick, yet they fail miserably. The towers, the barrels, and the line-quality in the drawing reflect a personal ineptness. I present a personal report that oil is dangerous, necessary, beautiful, pleasurable, and I like using it. Morally, I cannot state that oil production should be stopped at all costs. I would like the viewer to gain respect for the production of oil, the way one would respect a sharp knife. Each day, we contribute our time and money to the oil industry; we are partners in crime.

After the gallery, the studio, and the museum are gone, my work will remain. PVC and plastics will last because there are no bacteria to consume them. Petrochemicals have no natural predators. The fur creature provides a humorous alternative to the incarnation that those bacteria might take. The materials that I choose reflect a personal immortality, hubris, and ego. It is on the viewer's dilemma of beauty and revulsion that my work finds its essence. One reason t hat my work is often seen as humorous is the effect of disassociating the waste, the way one laughs at passing gas. The resolution to guilt, for many viewers is humor.

Julie Camarata