Kendrick owns five chainsaws and calls his radical sculptural interventions a form of “anti-carpentry,” but he’s ultimately invested in revealing and repairing forms, thereby discovering new dimensions of wholeness.
Mel Kendrick’s studio has always been filled with tools. The place feels like an extension of his brain and body, a labyrinth of identity projection and maintenance where thought occurs through the manipulation of inert material rather than the coursing circuits of neurotransmission.
Mel Kendrick’s wooden sculptures record the history of their own making. Wood has a history inherent in its markings. So too, his work scribbles the process of its being. Cuts are marks, and shapes are cut-out and glued (somewhere else) in a wildly primitive and aggressively peculiar physicality. “The whole process is constantly reinventing itself … a composite of awkward moments …” The awkward moment between indecision and acceptance becomes, in the end, simultaneously their history and their present, a riotous balancing act.