Lu Encarnacion Aubin
b. 2001 Hartford, Conn.
Lives and works in Vermont

2025. RECENT WORK

2024. EARTHLESS-MOON THEORY
“9 Sometimes I go around pretending I am the only person left alive on the earth. I like to invent hypothetical solar-flare situations where there is no modern electricity: moss and light have begun reclaiming human architecture. I imagine a deafeningly silent spring, an endless rendition of John Cage’s 4'33". We all manage in our own way.

10 I am describing, as I remember it, the details of my life as the dreamer, with my voice now as the dream itself. Something small (the dream) inside something vast (the dreamer).

11 Life is so beautiful. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

2023. WISHING IT AWAY
“—I am wishing it away as if there is nothing to loose, or as if I haven't already lost it. Washing the night off us and slowly coming to be. You are already irredeemably and irrevocably that which you can never change nor divorce. Not passively, but actively within every shower, every meal, every passenger drive, every undressing and dressing. Every bed unmade, finger broken, cigarette unsmoked, grandmother promised. And in the activeness of yourself, unbecoming what you are not, wishing them away. Wishing away the words still left unsaid, birthdays yet celebrated, needles un-inking virgin skin, breakfasts skipped, dances spent tied to walls.” (@ People’s Gallery, Randolph VT)

2022. THAT VENGEFUL MOON, THAT LOVING SKY, A SHALLOW HEART OF UNFEIGNED CONFIDENCE
“5. You can see through my bedroom window each of those drifts caught on the church's roof and their slow falling, as if continents. I remember that wonderful dust of a snow day. But I am against parsing out and recounting the pieces of my life. Better to let each of these memories gather and fall like snow off of the church roof. I will stop living on the page. None of this is life. Not the words, not the photos. Fantasy cannot save me and I will proceed to be embarrassed. This is me renouncing all my attachment to bravado. Now I will practice being relentlessly timid. I put my arms tightly around myself and recall the following images: Grandma in the car. The beaver pond next to her house. Morning nosebleeds in Mama’s old bathtub. Pennsylvania. Strip-mall window shopping. Joey’s birthday. Willow sitting on the porch. A reflection on your childhood living room through your childhood’s glass frame. A vivid feeling of the past you can’t articulate but every so often feel, for moments, everywhere. “Isn't it so lonely in the heart of the house? Isn't it so lonely in the house without music? Isn't it so lonely if the music turns to darts? Isn't it so lonely if the darts have you as target? Cut your dresses. Cut your teeth on your good shirt. Make your bed but don't regret its lack of beauty. There is more than beauty that you're after. Leave the house. Forget the music. There's a new light in the darkness.” [1]” (@ Lipani Gallery, New York NY )

2021. COUP DE GRÂCE
“A corner is wherever two things meet. Like every photo is a corner because I keep reaching out to touch and be touched. Like every photo is made through the glass of a window: stained by the slight reflection of the self that intrudes on the world lying on the other side. Photos of blurriness: look through the world through your teary eyes. Isn’t it a gorgeous one?”

luencarnacionaubin@gmail.com
CV