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(1995) is made of pieces of blanket that Sharif cut, rolled and then secured by wrapping them with wire. Next he attached each small bound roll to the other, creating long plait-like pieces of material. Each instance of its exhibition is unique for he orchestrates the relationships among the components anew, juxtaposing reds, yellows, oranges, greens and whites. Sharif works alone, and when he does, he neither listens to music nor watches television. Without distraction, he engages repetitive actions while remaining fully present in the process. I asked him about repetition, which he complicated by indicating that sameness is not inherent in repetition because each moment is unique. At the same time, the boundaries that distinguish past from present from future are morphous. The thoughts that transpire in his process dissipate just as soon as they appear, and he makes no attempt to memorialize them in anyway but to continue with his repetition. The objects therefore become indecipherable records through their embodiment of those fleeting moments. As he indicates, “I am molding my thoughts.” I asked Sharif what was inside the hundreds of wrapped objects, but again, dichotomies dissolve when he describes his practice. His objects simultaneously lay bare and keep secreted all there is to know.
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