Jack Henry Whetstone
Dig & Fill
2023
Most holes, if not dug for play, are dug for progress. A hole may be the beginning of a home; both a hiding spot and hunt for treasure; a burial, or in the case of Toru Okada in The Wind up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami, a fitting place for spiritual rebirth. All these holes may formally appear the same -- a cavity in the earth and a mound of dirt next to it --but they are meant for different things, and thus mean different things. This is not to say all holes are equal. Some hole-and-mounds may be more important than others because some reasons are more important than others. In Dig and Fill (2023) my reason for making the hole-and-mound mark is so that I can erase it. I pursue equilibrium, I progress towards nothing.
Dig and Fill (2023) exists in two forms, the video documentation, and the performance. The documentation consists of two videos that play side by side. In the video on the right, “Dig,” I am seen digging the hole and building the mound as dusk turns into day. In the video on the left, “Fill” I refill the hole and erase the mound as dusk returns. In each video, I perform the same manual laborious task of digging for a sustained 4-hour effort. Together, the videos total a complete eight-hour work day. As the videos play side by side, they constantly point towards the inevitable conclusion of either action: returning said hole-and-mound back to its initial state.
The actual performance of Dig and Fill has an audience of one, me. I dig and I fill to form a personal and experiential relationship with the landscape. I feel its weight, find its equilibrium at the top of the water table, and watch, briefly, as earth turns to water and dirt turns to air before filling the hole back to its original state. It is a sinusoidal and ritualistic act. Just as sunrise turns to sunset, winter turns to spring, or ice turns to water; digging turns to filling and back again.
Throughout making this piece I was inspired by Sisyphus. I can only imagine how many calluses he had torn after all the millennia of endlessly pushing the boulder up and down the mountain. I wonder if he still tears them. Maybe his hands have been worn so raw that they are nothing but blood, flesh, and little chips of bone, and each roll of the boulder is more agonizing than the last. Or maybe, his hands have healed back stronger each time and he pleasantly descends the mountain after yet another successful push of the boulder. I suppose it depends on Sisyphus and his intention. In the former, Sisyphus pushes the boulder to fulfill his punishment. In the Latter, Sisyphus’ rises above the gods’ curse opting instead to push the boulder for the sake of boulder pushing. If it were me, I’d take the latter.
