Staring at the fruit. Sharing the fruit.
Borders. There are visible ones and invisible ones. Some are heavily guarded and patrolled; others are unattended. Who controls the border of painting? Who is sent to jail, and whose assets are seized? Which skeletons do you hide in your closet? Is there a chief of painting like there is a chief of police?
Who controls the border of painting? Imagine not staring at but sharing the fruit. It is risky. There might not be enough for the two of us. It is beyond your control. You might end up alone and empty-handed. Or it might be like the miraculous feeding of the multitude, with fruit showing itself to everyone.
Who controls the border of painting? What is the border of painting anyway. The edges of the canvas? Its colored surface made of pigment made from roots and nuts and flowers and synthetic stuff? The lines the critics draw in the sand of art history? The pictures we paint in our heads to make it through the day?
The Black Goddess is here beneath a coat of bricks and paint. One and One make 86,399. We have counting within us, even though things never add up. The Bauhaus ship has sailed and was hit by a heat wave. The flayed rabbit is reborn as a sleeping cat, its furry coat of paint evanescent with pinks and blues. This corpse is going to war with sexism and racism. “and we, our several selves collecting sundry / baggage for the trek to some amazing orient” (Marsden Hartley)
Who controls the border of painting (or was it “paining”)? I am sensitive like Dean Spade; I am seizing this song from Lindsey Buckingham:
Sanity / We long to see you / Keep our ears down to the track / Honesty / Did we desert you? / Is the truth ever coming back? // Slightly episodic / Always on the run / Ever so neurotic / Still we have our fun / This is the time of the new sign / This is the sign of the new line / Time, this is the time / Time, this is the time // Revenge and fear / How can we heal you / With our heads down on the block? / Family / There is no curfew / In the town they call the rock // Ever so hypnotic / Underneath the gun / A little too erotic / How do we get things done? / This is the time of the new sign / This is the sign of the new line / Time, this is the time / Time, this is the time
Who controls the border of painting? There is no curfew in the town they call the rock. New Dawn.
curated by Leidy Churchman
Opening: Friday 27 June 2014, 7-11pm 28 June – 2 August 2014
CHIEF Police USA
PEPSI (bully drink)
KALI God of Time and Death
Emma Hedditch & Elizabeth Orr
BAUHAUS Boat building Kit
FLAYED Rabbit (Chaim Soutine)
AUCTION (Seized Assets)
OLDEST Human Skeleton
JAIL (fear of the wild)
DIE Deutschen Bilder (Marsden Hartley)
SEX, Gender, and War in an Age of Multicultural Imperialism
Dean Spade & Craig Willse