JAN from Morgan - Detritus - Lydia Ricci

 

A previous envelope from Morgan inspired a whole series. I knew when I saw this one that I would want to do a flowery vine name. There will only be one in the outgoing FEB envelopes because I didn't have very many flower stamps. I might revisit this idea. While I prefer the address written on the two colored lines - if we are only considering the design ---  I would suggest making 3 parallel lines and writing the address between the lines. That would be more friendly to the USPS scanners.

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Here's a question. Is detritus and ephemeral stuff the same thing? I've been writing about ephemeral stuff. Then I ran across this person who is making a name for herself in the world of contemporary art. Her work looks a lot like the work of people who were once called outsider artists. 

It looks to me like the line between outsider (or whatever the proper term-du-jour is) and mainstream artist is not just blurred - it is gone. That's just my view. Feel free to ignore it. If you, too, like found objects, ephemeral stuff and non-traditional art - here's a rabbit hole for you.

LINK to Lydia Ricci's IG

LINK to her website  If you have time - I like the first animation - it's only 4 minutes

The following two paragraphs are from the internet - not my words. It's probably off the website - but, I'm not sure:

Lydia Ricci’s practice unfolds from a long-term process of accumulation, care, and transformation. For over thirty years, she has gathered everyday detritus—paper scraps, discarded objects, remnants of lived time—and reassembled them into sculptures that hover between tenderness and quiet disillusion. Central to her work is the notion of Letdown: not as failure, but as the subtle space between expectation and its soft collapse. These works give form to the fragile rhythm of ordinary life, where memory, anticipation, and imperfection coexist.

Her sculptures are imperfectly perfect replicas of quotidian moments and objects, constructed from materials charged with personal and cultural histories. Ricci’s process is deeply rooted in inheritance and necessity: raised by a Ukrainian immigrant mother skilled in improvisation, and an Italian father who never discarded anything that might one day be useful, she learned early on to value what others overlook. Tax forms from the 1970s, dried-out erasers, broken game pieces, old utility bills—materials she cherishes like family heirlooms—are honored through meticulous acts of making. From a tiny roller skate fitting in the palm of a hand to a wall-spanning lace bra composed of canceled checks, her works remain messy, fragile, and human, mirroring the way memory and perception function.