Growing up an evangelical Protestant in the South, I have unwittingly assigned spiritual meanings to otherwise commonplace objects. Snakes, locusts, cedar, sandals, and bread all carry biblical symbolism within them. It seems, through my religious worldview, everything, not just the heavenly, has become eternally significant. Every object is like a tiny parable connecting itself to its Creator.

In the cabinet lie a collection of these old-world objects, or relics, that are further manipulated in traditional or folk techniques to impose the sacred narrative upon them. Ƒor example, the rifle with a pickaxe as the barrel is a reinterpretation of the quote in Isaiah, “they will beat their swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks.” The sixty-six of them become a kind of biblical periodic table, each object organized and created in relation to the other. However, without prior knowledge of biblical symbolism, they may become an indecipherable barrage of symbols and messages. The simple, closeable cabinet reinforces the idea of these objects being in a mind or a book, where it can be easily seen or easily hidden.

While it would only strengthen the piece if everyone knew what each individual sculpture in the complex array represented, that need not be the case. Even if one is totally unfamiliar with biblical symbolism or, understandably, my own mind, The Word should still be comprehensible as a collection of mundane natural objects that, because of their manipulation, are made into something important, if not sacred. Each object is really just a reinterpretation of a symbol that already exists in Scripture to tell of a concept higher than itself. The multiple levels of metaphor can turn a pickaxe-gun into an emblem of transformative peace. My thoughts, through my handiwork, transform something unused into a holy object. By this, our worldviews affect not only how we interpret our lives, but how we value each part.

Admittedly, boxes are quite simple to make, however a constant structure allows for infinite variation. I often use them to practice a particular technique I have been wanting to try. These simple visual statements make great accent pieces in a living room or bedroom.

Drawing has always been crucial to my work as a sculptor. I incorporate the same kind of pattern and complexity from the sculptures into drawings and prints. With inspiration coming from medieval plans and stained glass windows, these drawings allow me to therapeutically get lost in the details.

A place for everything else small and sculptural.

I find fewer things more satisfying than waking up in the morning dew to work on a big project. Whether it’s solid and permanent, like the LookOut at Memphis College of Art or something a bit more ephemeral, like the Mississippi Halocline, I try to let the landscapes inform the compositions.

Upon arrival to Memphis, many are faced with a bewildering matrix of streets, cultures, and customs. Only after time well spent does the newcomer see these distinctives as beautiful, vibrant, and complex. This work attempts to recreate that experience on a small scale by skewing the aerial views of Orange Mound and Binghampton. While simply abstract shapes at first, the colored fragments eventually reveal themselves as city blocks. The spaces between become streets. Finally, viewers can find their own place in the map. The acts of investment and curiosity create meaning in both this work and in the city writ large.

Found

Tom Marino Chapel at Service Over Self, Inc. in Memphis, Tn.

This was a commission from the folks at Christ City Church (my folks). I was inspired by our commitment to Midtown and Memphis at large, but also our willingness to delve into difficult things. Thus, if you can tell, the walnut pieces have been arranged to be a map of Midtown with the actual building this piece is in located in the top right of the composition. The walnut is also ebonized, creating strikingly dark, but still rich, values as the shapes alternate in texture and size. See blog for building details.

I spent a few years as a furniture maker at a tree service where, thanks to my colleagues, I learned a lot about making things. Here lie the pieces that I made in full or contributed heavily in the design and fabrication.

Jezreel, in its original Hebrew, means roughly "God will sow". These weapons of cultivation are inspired from Isaiah 2:

It shall come to pass in the latter days
    that the mountain of the house of the Lord
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
    and shall be lifted up above the hills;
and all the nations shall flow to it,
3     and many peoples shall come, and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
    to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
    and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go the law,
    and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
4 He shall judge between the nations,
    and shall decide disputes for many peoples;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
    and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
    neither shall they learn war anymore.

5 O house of Jacob,
    come, let us walk
    in the light of the Lord.

These weapons once used for aggressive attack and, ultimately, death are now transformed into tools used to bear fruit. Their violence was stripped from them, and they were given new creative duties. Ornamented with medieval patterns, they allude to being Gothic relics, carrying a sacredness that both contrasts the rugged practicality of both gun and tool, but also point to the holiness of discipline, restraint, redemption, and transformation.

Originally from an interview at http://forthdistrict.com/peoples-district-ben-hancock/ :

What inspired these pieces?

These pieces were originally made to feature in a collaborative show at the Alabama School of Fine Arts, of which I am an alum. They kind of evolved from these strange surreal looking trees that were supposed to represent various attributes of the Trinity. It was almost a scientific approach to the topic of God through art, which I honestly found to be less motivating. As the imagery become more and more non-objective (they obviously aren’t trees anymore), the motivation became more relational. I would dwell on things like, “Yes, the Lord says He loves me, but how can I even accept that in light of my past junk?” and “Gee, how do I fathom that the God of the universe has entrusted me with the knowledge that the prophets of old wanted and even angels long to look into?” So the works essentially became visual responses to these realities. It was worship for me.

What is the significance of the mediums you used?

The wood came from the tree forms I had done earlier. I found that making the wood from the scrap bin beautiful made a rather convenient metaphor to work with, so I kept it. With the oil paint, I honestly just love using it. The richness of it is incredible. There is also gold leaf in every piece as kind of like “Hey, this has religious undertones, man”.