Speak to My Ass, The Octopus is Sick
hanging out with molly:  
when molly and i hang out  we never talk for less than three hours and that always seems like never enough. (long afternoons could be much longer) the paintings feel like this to me too, that as i go i find more, that they go beyond the beyond, that they are sharply focussed and far reaching, that they are generous and witty, sharp as fuck, critical and messy. and, and, and... (and this, and what if this, and also, and another thing...) these are talkative paintings (and i think contrarily gorgeous) and like the best of conversations they keep me thinking long after the afternoon ends.
-Danielle Gustafson-Sundell

Dear Molly, Everything we are and all that we will ever be is our body, oneness of consciousness and vehicle.  All of our moments leave traces in the world. I see your work in a figurative light,   you are the figure and the painting or object is the foreground of that painting. The magic or trickery is the projection of the viewer onto the work. Most of the elements in the work are objects with their own history and signifiers, placed together to create an orchestra.  The content is the sound that the orchestra quietly utters.  You allow these elements to play; you are absolved.  The objects: thoroughly used paintbrushes, canvas, and reproduced images possess the phantom motion of their making and their use.  These objects also point to your history and a more plural context.  Brushes are a primitive device.  A brush consists of animal hairs bound to a stick.  The brush alludes to our separation from animals. We dominate and use the animal’s carcass to make. Brushes extend the reach of the maker in terms of dexterity and potential. Tools to aid creation.  Extending our reach is an evolutionary benchmark.  The mutation that aided our bipedal quality was favored because having one’s hand free from locomotion meant we could be better at combat.  With this freedom we also paint; painting is also a type of combat.  I know that you squatted, stood up, and repeated this process in the making of the work. We squat to defecate, an activity that exposes our corporeal bodily limits, and our sameness with other animals.  We also squat to get a closer look, to inspect, to figure out, to interact with and create, an example of our potential. When we stand we survey and lay claim to, we get distance from the object and separate it from ourselves.  Squatting and standing mimics tens of thousands of years of progression, in repetition it folds forwards and backwards and forwards again.  Your body in time, squatting and standing, mimicking history, is the meat of the work. - Justin Micah Jacobson

Molly’s direct questioning once asking me if I was having an “affair” with someone inappropriate, has, and will continue to, set me ill at ease, I smarted at the exposure – completely wrong! – I’d like to say misreading, and the word got under my skin for days. But for her affair is simply the term(s) for relationship. She is always the other woman. (for her art, promiscuity = so obvious) As with all other women I find her totally out there.
-Deirdre O’Dwyer

Octopuses have an excellent sense of touch. An octopus's suction cups are equipped with chemo-receptors so that the octopus can taste what it is touching. The arms contain tension sensors so that the octopus knows whether its arms are stretched out. However, the octopus has a very poor proprioceptive sense. The tension receptors are not sufficient for the octopus brain to determine the position of the octopus's body or arms. As a result, the octopus does not possess stereognosis that is, it does not form a mental image of the overall shape of the object it is handling. It can detect local texture variations, but cannot integrate the information into a larger picture.

Octopus my brain
Octopus my body
Octopus my long toes
Octopus my knees
Octopus my thoughts
Octopus my doubts
Doused in dragon spit
Chainsmoking octopus
Clown octopus
Eight arms or eight legs
Ate legs for breakfast
Eight foot legs
Do ya think I’m sexy
Octopus Rod Stewart
Octopus blonde
Arid octopus
And then we set sail
Octopus Acupulco
Constrained octopus
Bound to the human hand
Octopus to god
Unraveling road
Folded Locklear
Feathered octopus
With furry armpits
Lip-locked octopus cries “heat!”
Octopus my name
Octopus the alphabet
Octopus the hours
Octopus the years
Spread your arms octopus
Octopus dreaming of flight
Octopus bathtub
Octopus horloge
Octopus Benjamin
Ice cream flavored octopus
Leering octopus
octopus dog-faced
Wiles its weariness
In octopus dreams
I am sorry to disappoint
You. Octopus of regret
Octopus filed away
In an octopus archive
A-Z octopus
Grotesque hybrid octopus
Creature of drafts
Mammoth of hiding places
Nouveau octopus
Searing light octopus
Short-listed octopus
Prize-winning octopus
Octopus my dreams
I don’t want them
LIVE NUDE octopus
Fretful, mistaken
Woeful octopus
Octopus of sorrow
Mournful in octopus pools
All our money octopus
Betting on the octopus
Self-aware octopus
Dark octopus seeping
Damp octopus sweat
Staining the walls
The hollow entwined
Octopus arms
J smiling and
teasing the sanguine
long-legged form
all head long shadows