He Fa on Elsa

Beads, discs, strips and layered skirt panels hang along the body, while the headdress's scattered lines extend to one side. My hands rest on my hips, one leg is raised, and black stockings make the shift of weight more visible. Borrowing Elsa's dress for this assemblage, what I first see is not infinite richness, but every connection asking a little care of the body.

Place one ornament beside another, and meaning may suddenly change. Fragments need not wait to become a set before forming a vivid image; this freedom is precious. But the easier it is to add, the easier it is to forget dismantling: where a thread tangles, how a disc should be put away, and who sits down after the shoot to undo each piece are all time extended by assemblage.

He Fa's face does not become excited along with all the ornaments covering the body. The ordinary expression seems to be taking stock of the splendor. I am willing to make this spoiling of the mood part of creation. Recombining things does not automatically save resources; an old object may also be used up in one go. If it cannot be used after being joined, the rich image has merely postponed disposal to somewhere others cannot see.

Yet calculating every attempt for complete efficiency in advance would give unexpected combinations no chance to appear. A small amount of waste can first be allowed, while connections remain detachable and we record which parts can return. The point is to acknowledge experiments' material and labor costs, neither exempting them all by saying art needs this nor allowing only proven formulas for fear of loss.

The raised leg must eventually come down, and skirt panels and circular ornaments will meet again. I want to put the work's ending a little later: once the body can leave comfortably and the objects have somewhere to go, assemblage becomes more than an eye-catching instant. It becomes a pleasure willing to finish up.