Jill AnnieMargaret combines the taxation of the engraving processes with collection, interpretation and installation, exploring the aftermath of personal and social trauma. Her work questions and responds to upheaval, transmuting and transforming challenging experiences into spaces or objects of healing, wonder or spectacle.
The imprint of human skin, relics and hair aligns with the somatic and non-verbal odyssey of trauma. Bridge of environmental degradation and human suffering in Trauma Studies. Lichens absorb and retain air pollutants for decades. The long-term presence of compounds such as radioactive isotopes has been documented by scientists in high concentrations of lichen foliage, serving as evidence of human-caused trauma in the environment. If it is buried, unclaimed, or unexamined, the trauma embeds itself into the tissue until it is forced out, triggered by a sound, smell, location, or other stimulus. Trauma demands recognition, if not through healthy means, through depression, anxiety, and substance abuse.

JILL ABOUT TOGETHER APART: #SHELTER
The creative and energetic team at ´ace organized an incredible residency. As an ´ace alumnus, she knew the program would be well organized, but was not sure how it would take shape as a remote event. Each week, the ´ace staff presented relevant, critically sound and thought-provoking materials that have ignited, inspired and nurtured my practice. My work and practice expanded in new directions conceptually and introduced me to thinkers and artists whose work will influence mine in the future.
Our cohort was comprised of artists living in seven different time zones and around the world. In the span of four encounters, ´ace created the space and context for a wonderful community to develop, emerge and continue into the future. My thoughts on the shelter took two different paths. During the summer of 2020 I was sorting, organizing and cleaning my belongings. The house I live in was built in 1940 and had an unfinished closet in the basement. During residency I gutted and demolished it, removing the old moldy wood and debris, preparing to rebuild it. While the wall was open, I installed a time capsule. It included a handwritten note on the pandemic, a poem by Seamus Heaney, “Gifts of Rain,” two linocuts and 75 cents on the dollar. Adding poetry to my literal refuge was a hopeful gesture, but one that acknowledges a life and time beyond my own.

As I broadened my thoughts on the refuge, water emerged as important and all-encompassing. Swimming has been a haven of physical, mental and emotional refuge for me throughout my adult life. The pandemic has amplified this fact, but normal pool swimming routines are not possible at this time, so I dedicated myself to swimming in open water. In the water, I enjoy being weightless and moving like a dolphin. While I experience some anxiety, the time spent in it restores my mood and generates a greater appreciation for life. To capture the refuge from the water experience, I purchased a waterproof camera and took it to the pond and reservoir. The resulting images reveal some of a swimmer’s visual experiences, but they also amplify the physical isolation and smallness of a human during a pandemic.