This Nymphal Skin
“This Nymphal Skin” represents my first endeavour in work begun as mixed-media collages which have then been presentationally enhanced and enlarged as limited edition inkjet prints.
My visual work is often correlated with literary sources and the title of the exhibition, “This Nymphal Skin,” is taken from the text of one of my poems. These written sources serve as gateways into the intricately layered visual realm, where what is elevated and celebrated is the recognition of the emotional resonance of particular experiences. These 28 works explore, as does the poem, both the idea of life as a journey of continual metamorphosis and the concept of liminality, which has specific anthropological and neurological definitions but is broadly understood to describe a subjective psychological or preternatural state of being in which an individual abides on a threshold between two dissimilar existential positions.
The works are divided into three distinct groupings: “The Monoliths (Betty Jean),” “The Forest (Warnemunde),” and “The Sea (Mattapoisett).” In the grouping entitled “The Forest (Warnemunde),” the figures within appear quietly sensual and seem to possess both confidence and fear. They exude a sense of presence and a sense of yearning and are possessed with an existential ambiguity, as if they have not yet determined who and what they are—or, for that matter, where they are. The forest can be both a place of wonder and discovery as well as a place where one can get lost or encounter monsters. The mystery of the forest, too, provides space for impossible ideas, such as the fantasy that one might hide from and escape death and enjoy one's youth eternally—yet the frequent depiction of bones reminds the viewer that such notions are contrary to the mortal limits we humans share.
The figures in the grouping “The Sea (Mattapoisett)” seem to hold an endeavour to change and a desire to escape the liminal state. There are hints of activity, yet that activity appears to be frozen, or at least moving at a glacial pace. In eight of the pieces, a figure lurks in the shallows near the shoreline, but his purpose is not at all clear. Has he evolved? Is he moving from the sea to the shore? Or has he moved from the forest to the shore and entered the sea? Perhaps he is chasing, grasping onto, the fleeting moments and notions in his life that frustratingly float away like spots of light on the water. The shoreline is, as we are, constantly in a state of flux—boundaries and specificities change, though the essence—our essence—remains unchanged.
The grouping “The Monoliths (Betty Jean)” exists in the littoral space between the forest and the sea. A woman's face looms repetitively like an icon, like a monolith, dominating each piece. Her enigmatic expression displays a sense of contemplative stillness and brings to mind both Da Vinci's “Mona Lisa” and the Great Sphinx of Giza. Like the figures in the other groupings, she, too, is in a state of transition, though the threshold on which she stands differs from the others: her angst stems not just from the loss of her youth but from the awareness of the impending loss of the trajectory of her life. She exists not in the forest, not in the sea, not exactly on the shoreline, but in some undefinable plane where she has been made aware that despite the fierce efforts she made to construct a life, everything has begun to fall away. Despite that, she seems poised to make the transition into the next phase of her existence, even if, puzzlingly, that phase is the oblivion of death.
Collectively, there is no obvious narrative, but within each piece meditative space is provided for the viewer to contemplate what is literally and metaphorically presented. The forest and the sea provide situational context for various figures. Both places hold prominent weight in the human psyche: both bring to mind concrete images and locations yet they are also places of constant transition and change. They are marginal places, shrouded in mystery, where human dominance is hindered. They are places where our collective knowledge becomes limited and muddled, where doubt and uncertainty linger, yet they are places whose mercurial nature permits and even encourages change. In keeping with the focus on the liminal and the transitory, even the images have undergone a series of various transitions. Personal photographs provide the central background in each piece; the photographs were then enlarged and photocopied, after which I embellished them with a combination of pen, sumi ink, and, using imagery from both my own photographical archive and found material, paper collage. The collages were then enlarged and printed, enhancing and changing the images and the material one final time, creating a richly textured miscellany of powerful and fascinating imagery.
My visual work is often correlated with literary sources and the title of the exhibition, “This Nymphal Skin,” is taken from the text of one of my poems. These written sources serve as gateways into the intricately layered visual realm, where what is elevated and celebrated is the recognition of the emotional resonance of particular experiences. These 28 works explore, as does the poem, both the idea of life as a journey of continual metamorphosis and the concept of liminality, which has specific anthropological and neurological definitions but is broadly understood to describe a subjective psychological or preternatural state of being in which an individual abides on a threshold between two dissimilar existential positions.
The works are divided into three distinct groupings: “The Monoliths (Betty Jean),” “The Forest (Warnemunde),” and “The Sea (Mattapoisett).” In the grouping entitled “The Forest (Warnemunde),” the figures within appear quietly sensual and seem to possess both confidence and fear. They exude a sense of presence and a sense of yearning and are possessed with an existential ambiguity, as if they have not yet determined who and what they are—or, for that matter, where they are. The forest can be both a place of wonder and discovery as well as a place where one can get lost or encounter monsters. The mystery of the forest, too, provides space for impossible ideas, such as the fantasy that one might hide from and escape death and enjoy one's youth eternally—yet the frequent depiction of bones reminds the viewer that such notions are contrary to the mortal limits we humans share.
The figures in the grouping “The Sea (Mattapoisett)” seem to hold an endeavour to change and a desire to escape the liminal state. There are hints of activity, yet that activity appears to be frozen, or at least moving at a glacial pace. In eight of the pieces, a figure lurks in the shallows near the shoreline, but his purpose is not at all clear. Has he evolved? Is he moving from the sea to the shore? Or has he moved from the forest to the shore and entered the sea? Perhaps he is chasing, grasping onto, the fleeting moments and notions in his life that frustratingly float away like spots of light on the water. The shoreline is, as we are, constantly in a state of flux—boundaries and specificities change, though the essence—our essence—remains unchanged.
The grouping “The Monoliths (Betty Jean)” exists in the littoral space between the forest and the sea. A woman's face looms repetitively like an icon, like a monolith, dominating each piece. Her enigmatic expression displays a sense of contemplative stillness and brings to mind both Da Vinci's “Mona Lisa” and the Great Sphinx of Giza. Like the figures in the other groupings, she, too, is in a state of transition, though the threshold on which she stands differs from the others: her angst stems not just from the loss of her youth but from the awareness of the impending loss of the trajectory of her life. She exists not in the forest, not in the sea, not exactly on the shoreline, but in some undefinable plane where she has been made aware that despite the fierce efforts she made to construct a life, everything has begun to fall away. Despite that, she seems poised to make the transition into the next phase of her existence, even if, puzzlingly, that phase is the oblivion of death.
Collectively, there is no obvious narrative, but within each piece meditative space is provided for the viewer to contemplate what is literally and metaphorically presented. The forest and the sea provide situational context for various figures. Both places hold prominent weight in the human psyche: both bring to mind concrete images and locations yet they are also places of constant transition and change. They are marginal places, shrouded in mystery, where human dominance is hindered. They are places where our collective knowledge becomes limited and muddled, where doubt and uncertainty linger, yet they are places whose mercurial nature permits and even encourages change. In keeping with the focus on the liminal and the transitory, even the images have undergone a series of various transitions. Personal photographs provide the central background in each piece; the photographs were then enlarged and photocopied, after which I embellished them with a combination of pen, sumi ink, and, using imagery from both my own photographical archive and found material, paper collage. The collages were then enlarged and printed, enhancing and changing the images and the material one final time, creating a richly textured miscellany of powerful and fascinating imagery.
