Ata in Turkish means ancestor. All those who came before us and carved the way so we could become.
Some are carved into our memories, beautifully or fiercely, and some are forgotten. I made this series to remember and honor them all, the earthly, the divine, and the chosen.
They arrived on the land we now dwell on and began writing our story long before we arrived.
The Mother and the Father
They came to me as a pair. When I first set my pencil to the bristol, I did not know what they were. The gestures flowed, and the forms asked me to deepen them. I leaned them against the wall and stepped back 5 feet. The three of us found each other, eye to eye. A calm compassion. Personalities woven into the pencil carvings, flows that were abstract yet somehow conscious. As I kept sculpting them on my screen, they told me how to transmute further, which colors and textures they wanted to wear. When I printed Ḫašḫa, painted her, and assembled her into being, I could feel she was ready for her role. A talisman of compassion. Where divine love meets authentic power.…
Attaš is not yet built. He is calling me to pull him into reality, so that is next.