In an act to be something I’m not, I expose what I really am—a stupid good sport. Using American sports competition (organized conflict) as a metaphor, I question the performative demands of womanhood, competition, and self-preservation. My current work is a cultural critique of stupidity, a vacuous display of self-importance. It’s an observation of pop culture sound bites, public spectacle, and a heavy dose of personal insecurity on instant replay.

These moments and memories of grand stupidity focus on embarrassing, awkward, and painful parts of high performance spectacle in both grand and mundane senses. Deliberately manufacturing garish, tawdry costumes and props, these spectacles compile personas that are humorously absurd, ridiculously repetitive, and contradictions of the manufactured self. The repetitive and monotonous work (laboring over the costumes and props, performing pseudo-scripted choreography, and manipulating manufactured video) is a calculated part of momentary grandeur.

In an age of performance anxiety, we never quite measure up. Using the grand spectacle of American sport, I spend countless hours knitting, stitching, crocheting, drawing, sewing, painting, molding, crafting, watching, filming, photographing, composing, editing, preening, listening, reading, writing, obsessing, and reviewing. I (the good sport) survive using controlled behavior within organized conflict; all in an effort to just play nice.