Bomayka Sens lives and works in Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA.
We pursue explorations of history, language, society, and the environment, grow forward on legacies of past to present periods and movements, and reinterpret and continually examine the meanings and different perspectives of human communication. Our efforts and evidence draw on personal sensing of the most notable philosophers, expressionists, and inventors to unknown and lesser-known everyday helpers.
Our projects are thought of as unique time capsules through monoculars on grief. Observations of agony, suffering, woe, and dolor-dole are handled carefully and with a strong sense of immediacy. Lyrical prose mingles with deliberate, abrupt, physical actions. Art joins with numerous conditions subject matter. Processes are equipped to communicate touch, sight, hearing, smell, and taste—reference points.
To accompany our work are subtle, imperceptible gestures combined with bold and robust absolutes. Big things like social measurement guides and laid-down fixed presumptions are shown in many different ways. Objects can also be sensed as mysterious embodied disinvestments. Dilapidated previous approaches and techniques are picked apart and presented as metaphors.
For example, a deliberate stumble and spill says something about being human. What falls, dips, and settles upside down on a seascape, velvety sand shore, somewhere, is pictured. With hushy Ethiopian instrumental music as background ghosts, a boy is detained for stealing a cardamom cookie. Everything can be felt and smelt before beginning the inertia of another research of something spiritual and interesting, which comes before any muse tempting utterances.
A question can result in measurable improvement, so we face all the mortal pains and frustrations. What was recently damaged or ruined needs no other noise—no extra riddled agitation. As part of a worship service, a stained atmosphere changes to a peaceful melody singularity, even if the souls of the living bodies there drift out of the building. It's a weak and pale grievance—idiosyncratic distortion.
The rare, once-in-a-lifetime fish is so elusive. It always seems to get away, so far. Our pictures have lucid details of fog. Love leads as oblique citations of tolls and loveliness. Flat possibilities have several wide-awake facades that welcome visitors. We identify with loss and any absence of confident, secure labor. Insiders and outsiders are constantly critiquing our process more than they are critiquing our actual physical places and items, and we are giving to Gods of Goodness the detractors.
Fortunately for everyone, art today has countless transmuted instances. Extraordinary lightness that becomes fresh, new fluid performances, or static living sculptures (bodies covered with a hundred intriguing wearables). All that is ethereal mixes into our senses as paths and directions, reassignments of much cherished spirited resonances. Nothing opaque interests us anymore.
