A high tech projector screen painted on giant sheets of newsprint, butchers paper, faded and crinkeled only the thin build up of paint holds the sheet together as the tissue thin membrane strains under the weight of pigment wall hung. These skinless monsters are pinned to the wall in a counter clockwise motion from first made to past, around the galleries cavernous walls, each failing to look directly back at the viewer, each suggesting the focal point off camera, out of frame, creating the effect of a mute witness, a silent vigil for their own discovery, as their skin is removed the possibility for recognition impossible they are suspended in suspicion. “Self portraits” was the accusation, how could I defend, no they are heads, consciousness of painting this moment. Paintings that will never be accepted as paintings because they are too poor. A critical moment, when recognition knows it has failed to change anything. taowells.blogspot.co.nz/2008/11/chrisfist-gleaming-like-day-in-la.html
Posted on: Sun, 08 Jun 2014 12:10:15 +0000
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