Weave. Unravel. Burn. Engrave. Lift.
Horsehair, denim, parchment, wood.
Here is material, here a task.
Each focal point becomes a counterbalance
to the surrounding immensity.
Who are these people at these tasks?
They are attendants.
What are they doing?
They are present.
In what? I ask and no response.
In their work.
Because it is theirs to do,
because they are with it.
Inspired by some of the installations of Ann Hamilton, featuring attendants engaged in simple, repetitive tasks, which the artist sees as representative of the presence required of art.
On conditions for finding.
When the act of making is an act of finding, there’s a question whispering in the walls: have you set the conditions for finding what you need?
Here’s a figure: old and worn, with clothing torn and stained, holding. The figure waits, returning the gaze, its wooden hands a reminder that it is possible to become any gesture.
This body was never created for a museum. It was meant to be handled, enacting a story. And when you move it, other questions enter the room about who and what you are moving towards, limbs animated by a story long denied breath, finally stretching––out, out.
Inspired by, and with borrowed phrases from, artist Ann Hamilton’s description of the draw of a Bamana Marionette.