A New Appliance to Replace A Perfectly Good One (Variation)
Acrylic & collage on panel
10″×10″×0.5″
$375
Unframed Stretched canvas
By Corrine Yonce
Artist statement:
I’m Sorry If This Isn’t What You Needed, But I’m Giving It Anyways (Unsolicited Advice) unfolds inside an ATM kiosk—an island in a sea of parking lot. Mundane and bittersweet. A surprise where no one was looking. People pass through on errands, cars circling, some doubling as sleeping arrangements. The booth holds a warm, golden pocket amid movement and necessity.
The work gathers fragments of home—foam, tile, cardboard, sketches—materials that mirror instability and repair. These are humble acts of reassembly, painterly attempts to locate comfort where certainty is thin. Made alongside supporting family through homelessness, and shaped by memories of my own housing insecurity, the pieces flicker between collapse and care.
This space became a small shelter, a fishbowl, a place for sun-lit window conversations and notes left behind. It asks how little room is needed to feel held, and how offering—like advice, like care—is often imperfect, sometimes misaligned, but rooted in attention.
Home, here, is not resolved. It is briefly assembled. A pattern that holds, until it doesn’t. The installation lingers in that in-between—where memory, material, and presence do just enough.
A New Appliance to Replace A Perfectly Good One (Variation)
Acrylic & collage on panel
10″×10″×0.5″
$375
Unframed Stretched canvas
By Corrine Yonce
Artist statement:
I’m Sorry If This Isn’t What You Needed, But I’m Giving It Anyways (Unsolicited Advice) unfolds inside an ATM kiosk—an island in a sea of parking lot. Mundane and bittersweet. A surprise where no one was looking. People pass through on errands, cars circling, some doubling as sleeping arrangements. The booth holds a warm, golden pocket amid movement and necessity.
The work gathers fragments of home—foam, tile, cardboard, sketches—materials that mirror instability and repair. These are humble acts of reassembly, painterly attempts to locate comfort where certainty is thin. Made alongside supporting family through homelessness, and shaped by memories of my own housing insecurity, the pieces flicker between collapse and care.
This space became a small shelter, a fishbowl, a place for sun-lit window conversations and notes left behind. It asks how little room is needed to feel held, and how offering—like advice, like care—is often imperfect, sometimes misaligned, but rooted in attention.
Home, here, is not resolved. It is briefly assembled. A pattern that holds, until it doesn’t. The installation lingers in that in-between—where memory, material, and presence do just enough.
