Wednesday, July 22, 2009
It sensed my face, knew I watched spellbound by its confusion—its pain, absorbed and defining a nightmare existence. “Slip,” a fiberglass sculpture shaped like an engorged “S” through a looking glass . . . Eyes blinking top and bottom, vulgar vertical lips breathing sighs, uttering sounds almost inaudible, almost sensual, always searching.
“Wow-wow; low, low, low, low. Oh no! Where did you go?” gave form—meaning to its multimodal essence, grieving and apocalyptic. Across the museum, “Slip” wails to Maria—woman without eyes, mouth, nostrils—just skin draped with cascading black hair. Like an unpainted, unfinished manikin on canvass, Maria only imagines how “Slip” appeals to all senses, yet like an abstract conversationalist, she communicates as well. Both endure.
Posted on behalf of Sterling Warner