Catherine Haley Epstein: Hello Stuart!

These painting/drawings are terrific. Per your bio you mention you were making installations previously and are now primarily painting. Can you talk a bit about this decision? I fully believe painting remains an important medium in fine art, and have come across many nay sayers lately on the "painting is dead" topic. It's a tired argument, and Matthew Collings (a painter and critic) on your end of the planet has recently been pronouncing its death. Thoughts on the matter? In my humble opinion it's the most rebellious thing one can do at present, if done well. Lastly - can you speak to your color palette? I'm noticing the color versus the black and white - do you prefer one to the other? Thanks for considering my questions!

Stuart Dodman: Hi Catherine,

Wow, It's a trap!
I'm mucking about but that's a big question and as you say one that has been asked over and over again for many years. I first started thinking about it 25 years ago during my degree where I decided to stop painting, at the time I thought it wasn't open enough for me and why paint anyway it's all been done before and is completely irrelevant (it was dead then too) instead I'll read Blanchot and make art about making art.

In my case I don't think I made a decision to stop making installations and start painting again but the activity of painting became relevant for me again - I started painting and it became another part of a vocabulary.
The fact that I haven't stopped painting again plays on my mind more than the fact that I'm painting. I find painting difficult in every sense of the word.

I personally don't care what sound bites Matthew Collings has. I don't believe that thinking about if painting is dead (or sculpture/photography/drawing/installation/object/time-based/print/performance/film/sound etc etc) is productive or that relevant either. The most important thing is to make work, use whatever medium fits (of course you have to question, critique and answer why for yourself).
Each discipline is a tool to use and each are no more dead or alive than the other in the broader context. So I think that any question of death is ridiculous - I certainly do know that I don't know his definition - do you think he is talking about some kind of idea of what painting is or do you think he is talking about an old definition of what painting has been? Or is he talking about the art market machine? Or is he talking about being a painter? Or is he talking about moving things forward? Or is he saying that other things have more life or scope? I'm not sure and I think that's an important thing to understand.

I don't have a preference with colour. White I can manipulate for longer and it asks different questions of the viewer which I find interesting.

I hope some of that reads OK and thank you for looking and asking!

Catherine Haley Epstein: Thank you Stuart - very eloquent. I totally agree vis a vis Collings' comment, though I couldn't resist asking you about it, as artists we always need to find solidarity and principals for what we are doing.

I'm excited to see more of your work, and maybe one day in person. BTW - what does P.W.U. stand for?

Stuart Dodman: Thanks Catherine - that's very kind.

P.W.U - you'll have to fill those in yourself ;)


Ann Ploeger: Daniel,

I'm thrilled to hear from you and so happy you were able to see my prints at the Portland Art Museum.

Oh, that shutter click - how vital and how revealing of myself. Staging these portraits is me trying to control the image; the shutter click is the magic moment of spontaneity proving no matter how much I try to control things, there needs to be this divisive moment where the click dictates the final result: where it erases my preconceived notions about what I thought I wanted the image to be allowing it to become my art.

The "My Melinda" series has more of agenda than the other portraits in that I wanted one subject to be the many sides of femininity within the horror framework. The most successful images in the series are the ones where spontaneity played a major role; where there was freedom to explore within what I thought the images should be. I shot this series in my own house, so I had to look at my domestic environment as the stage. This was very challenging for me because "My Melinda" worked best when there were less props, less environmental clues because they ultimately distracted from the imagery.

"Ivey and Colin" is a great example of how the subject's home environment is a major player in my portrait photography and how important the objects are to the imagery's creation. The home and its pieces allow me to create this puzzle within my frame. I truly feel most present and alive when I get to create these images on the spot. Often I make a portrait in a home I've never been to before where my photographic eye is boss: I choose the space, often the attire, and yet the subjects and shutter clicks do all the talking. There is always an inherent truth to the portraits no matter if I know the subjects or not.

I love making both types of work. My portraits, like the one of "Ivey and Colin" come very easily to me. The "My Melinda" work was a lot harder for me to figure out, but the challenge of making the work informed my environmental portraits in an invaluable way. Controlling chaos is one thing, but trying to evoke emotional chaos through simplicity made me a better photographer.

Daniel Leng: Thanks for the generous reply. It's so interesting to hear you talk for the process, down to the words that you use to describe it. I think a lot of photographers who I've talked to empathize with the idea of trying to "controlling chaos", or trying to finding the decisive moment that represents of a what they're seeking, whether that's figurative or abstract. I love the idea of "evoking emotional chaos through simplicity" as a process description though. As a humble photography student, I find myself doing that in the darkroom, on the other side of the shutter click... trying to distill the ideas what were captured through controlled chaos... in order to create something that evokes... I don't think I've ever considered that what we evoke is "chaos" in the end, though it seems very accurate. A beautiful symmetry.

Daniel Leng: Ann,

I feel fortunate to have seen your prints recently in the Portland Art Museum and am thrilled to see more of you work here on Point + Line now. The installation at PAM was perfect to me, as viewing the prints in a dark room really accentuated the already vibrant images and stories that the work tells. Overall, I love the questions that your work asks so eloquently by navigating the line between real, hyper-real, and unreal.

I'm curious to know about your process for creating (or perhaps just unveiling) these "accidental unspoken narratives." I'd imagine that in the case of this image, which seems to be a bit more dramatic, outspoken, and purposefully staged, the concept and story preceded the image, but in the case of a portrait like "Ivey and Colin" (https://www.pointandline.com/works/1865), you might meet the family and let the people and objects lead the storytelling, perhaps even revealing unintended layers of meaning after creating the image.

Where does the click of the shutter sit in relation to the "making of the image" for you? Assuming this varies, is there one process for making images that is more rewarding to you? Why?


Catherine Haley Epstein: Hello Sarah! I'm enjoying looking at the latest works you have posted here. I am particularly interested in the combination of chance and formal qualities in your work. In your artist statement I see you mention a "ritualized process" when making the works - to what degree are you conscious of the formal (color for example) qualities of the work? At the beginning or the end? Or is it really more of an organic process fully based on chance or feeling? Have you always worked in colorful mixed media formats? Lastly - is this really to become a rug, or is this a conceptual rug? Thank you for posting the work!

Sarah Arriagada: Hello Catherine! Thank you for your comment on my Design for Rug series.

These assemblages bring together different found materials and pieces I made during the course of two years. Working on the screen prints on veneer I had little notion of what they would become and I let chance happen. However, I did have certain ideas in mind while making the stencils, choosing the colours and veneer surfaces. When creating the paper cuts, I was very much aware of the formal qualities of the pieces. However, both works – the screen prints and the paper cuts – were incomplete as such and so I kept them in folders. I viewed and combined them regularly with other work, wallpaper fragments and fabric. Meanwhile, I had been thinking a lot about the aesthetic and functional qualities of domestic rugs. Finally, a few weeks ago the assemblages made sense on a formal level and were completed. I would like them to become rugs, their scale to be blown up and their material quality to become entirely different to the paper, acrylic and wood veneer surfaces. Ideally, they would be approximately 170 x 240 cm and hand-knotted with a short pile wool. I would love to see them laying on the floor and be used to sit or lie on.

I have always worked in colourful mixed media formats, but have at times been more concerned with a particular medium, such as painting. The painting process is very similar to the process I just described. When I paint, I tend to work with layers of paint and patterned fabric. I also use stencils. In other words, I assemble different materials and media and alternately layer and remove them in order to arrive at a point of visual clarity.

Catherine Haley Epstein: Thank you so much for the generous response Sarah. I like how the foundation of your process is with paper cuts, screen prints and eventually using stencil - all methods usually reserved for precision work, all in the name of chance. I look forward to seeing more. And I do hope your designs find themselves on rugs and being used in a completely new way. Best of luck!!!

Sarah Arriagada: Thank you, Catherine!


Catherine Haley Epstein: Richard - I'm really enjoying seeing this work here. I wish I could be in this space to fully experience the work - yacht varnish? Terrific. Since I have seen your work years ago, where you were still working with vestiges of the figurative, can you talk about that which bumped you fully into the realm of the material and abstract? I find it fascinating with this work, as well as other works of this nature (Burri comes to mind though on a more intimate scale), that with all the focus on the material in the process, the result leaves the viewer to ultimately consider the immaterial, the spirit, and that which is not seen or felt. Thank you for posting these works!

Richard Zeiss: Catherine, excuse the delay!

Let me give you a quick run-own on what happened there...
Back in late 2012 I was feeling like I had hit a bit of a dead end in terms of research and decided to apply for an MPhil in Painting at the Royal College in London (i.e. a research degree; much like a PhD, but only 2 years). I applied with a specific project in mind, which collapsed pretty early on; as these things happen. I remember I ended up overpainting my canvases, and became curious how people reacted to what were effectively monochromes, and how my preference for egg tempera, which I make myself, could inform my research path from there on out. There was of course no way around delving into the Russian Avantgarde, what with their material-driven art production ("Productivism"!), and at some point, looking at the monochrome in the modernist canon, I came across an essay by Michael Newman on Agnes Martin, where he applied a concept created by the Belgian linguist Paul de Man, called pure, radical materiality, to Agnes Martin's work. Basically de Man talks about the material texts are made up of, i.e. letters - which, when reading, you have to forget in order to form meaning. The letters would be the pure, radical, non-phenomenal materiality. My question was whether and how that could be translated into visual art, especially painting (the crux being that this meant one would have to be able to see before seeing; Kant's apprehension and comprehension in the mathematical sublime can be brought to bear here). My way around has been the clash of material with strong external connotations that would be unlikely to meet in any given context. Like egg tempera ("medieval religious painting") and tarpaulin ("lowly material in industrial use"). The strong external referents would, to my mind, potentially erode and even delete each other, leaving you with pure, non-relational materiality. ("Pure Materiality In The Painted Linguistic Turn" was the title of my MPhil thesis)
In recent months I have expanded this field to questions like where literature and painting overlap, how so, etc. I have somewhat moved from de Man to Blanchot, whose double-negative of writing, i.e. literature, has fascinated me. Basically he rejects the idea of a stable meaning, but not only in deconstructivist terms, but beyond that. Basically every piece of writing establishes writing anew, and in a sense creates a microcosm with internal references, like vestors shooting back and forth; or indeed like a good science fiction story, that is completely unbelievable out-of-universe, but works perfectly in-universe. That is where I am currently at. Creating loops within works that consist of more than one piece on the one hand, and possibly fictionalising a project with a sci-fi twist.


Nigel P : I like a puzzle - to be invited to figure out what it is I'm looking at. This image displaying a kind of grid structure with smudges looks vaguely scientific, maybe a series of lab grown cultures or a thermal imaging snapshot looking down on figures moving through buildings. Then there's the areas of colour - layers that sit either in front or between the mesh of the grid - and lastly the area of white space - where the grid stops.

I read the title Versions/Matrix and the description - reprographic print of original paintings - and I realise that there is possibly some sort of cataloguing or indexing taking place - an attempt to map creative endeavour. Futher questions emerge - are the "original paintings" a distinct body of work, a folio, or attempts to make a single work. Does the printing involve reductions in scale, cropping or the sewing together of work by many hands? Is the space at the right there to be filled - or is it that the source material ran out? Did the painting stop?

Looking closely at the more substantial painted areas - are these landscape references or body images; is this some kind of terrain or mark making diary. Some features are repeated - is there a syntax, a language or purely ornamental patterning. What is it thats being recorded and matrixed - haptic motions, accidental smears, meaningful marks?

As a whole the work reminds me of Susan Hiller's works from the 1970s; her reconfiguration of painted works as books, piles of ash and unravelled canvases. Hiller's work has a persistent materiality entwinned with the conceptual endeavour of re-working the status of Painting as prized cultural object. One crucial difference is that Versions/Matrix appears to retain the frontaility of a painted surface. Another is that, viewing the image here online takes away any of the insistent materiality of Hiller's objects. Yet I can't escape the conclusion that Versions/Matrix is similarly a product of ritual, and intense creative self reflection.

Jane Boyer: Wow! Thank you so much Nigel for your comments. I absolutely love what you've written. And to think, my work has raised this many questions is astonishing. The first thing I'm going to hook into is your comment about Susan Hiller's work, which is a real compliment to me to be compared with her. She is a remarkable thinker. Your phrase, "reconfiguration of painted works" is precisely what underlies my work overall and Versions: Matrix specifically. I've come to question the continued use of resources in producing new work, so often now, my work is made by re-imaging, reusing, re-sampling, and recycling older work. This has led to a profound interest in the self and in simulacra, which is what I'm doing my PhD thesis on, and it is an "intense creative self reflection." I'll trace the trajectory of Versions: Matrix which may give you a sense of this depth.

One painting primarily, is represented within Version: Matrix in three different ways. First the background of 'splotches' is a digital re-sampling of the painting to create this sporadic pattern. It was created through countless layering of layers in photoshop. Then the area that is slightly golden in colour and looks kind of like an 'eye' is a digital re-imaging of an excerpted detail from the same painting. I made that image a few years after I made the painting. Finally, the image areas that show a 'cross' is a further digital re-imaging based on another excerpted element from the painting. I'll post the original painting, Token, here on P+L so you can see.

We're looking at a an eight-year progression so far. The original painting was made in 2008, the digital re-imaging happened in 2010, the Matrix series happened in 2014, and in 2016-17 I'm continuing to work from this imagery. In late January, I'll be curating a project exploring this way of working. I've invited nine other artists to join me in taking an original work and translating it into three to five new works. My 'original' is Version: Matrix, which as I've just described is anything but the original work. It will engender a further three to five new works.

The process of actually making Versions: Matrix involved several printing passes through the printer. This infused the element of chance into the work. I could not control how the printer printed on the page, so in essence, the process of making V:M was a unique event in the history of this re-sampling. The very nature of reprography means that, even though it is a digital process of reproduction, I couldn't possibly repeat the process. So while the image is created digitally, and its process is of a reproducible nature, it is a one off and cannot be reproduced except by photographing the work.

I would argue this is not the materiality of a painting, but the immateriality of Being, made material, while at the same time, I think raises questions of the notion of materiality as a physical construct.

Nigel P : Hi Jane Thank you for this deeply interesting account of Versions:Matrix and especially for posting Token - You've described this as the original work, and mention sampling- I'm intrigued by the kind of emerging genealogical relationships between the works in your practice, and the ontology of creative expression in play when you refer to the immateriality of Being. Token obviously sounds like something to exchange, beginning a process, a fast forwarding of molecular transformation, a transubstantiation....

I remember as a student reading Benjamin Buchloh on Richter and idea of painting as synecdote - each new work a representative of Painting while adding to and changing the shape of the medium. Also of course Baudrillard's hyperreal: the always already reproduced - the notion of simulation and the loss of real as referent. I say as a student, because that is some years ago - before internet and smart phone touch screens transformed relations between sight & touch, presence & distance - those visceral markers of connections to a Real beyond discourse.

Looking at Token on screen, reading it's dimensions I imagine it took some physical energy to make - I'm not sure if the darker marks hover or suggest tears, ruptures in an amorphous fabric. Versions:Matrix generates a different kind of depth - you describe mechanical process and digital imaging- and as mentioned there's a sense of something being indexed - charted...

After I stopped being a student (at least in the institutional sense) I eventually owned a PC & scanner- the first thing I did was to gather together slides and notebooks to digitize, transform, to make new sense. For me, technology facilitated reinvention & generated a nostalgia for a possible self. What I see here is also about time - though somewhat more profound and open.

Jane Boyer: Nigel, thank you so much for this intensely interesting discussion. First let me address your question about ontology. You say, “I'm intrigued by the kind of emerging genealogical relationships between the works in your practice, and the ontology of creative expression in play when you refer to the immateriality of Being.”

What does it mean for an artwork to come into being? How can the application and organisation of materials express the essence of being and existence? When is an artwork a synthesis of a life’s experience and all the belief systems, both accepted and rejected, involved in that experience? When is it not? Does time mark the only measure of distance between an artist and the artwork? What can a distance imply, is there ever any actual distance, and what exists in the lacuna, or the gap, of that distance if it is there? And to engage your recent question about your own work, what is an artist seeing? These may appear to be obvious questions, with even more obvious answers, but I think these are the questions at the centre of my practice, and my ontology of creative expression. From these questions, perhaps the genealogical relationship becomes apparent and possibly gives an insight into what I mean by the ‘immateriality of Being’?

It’s really interesting that you mention Buchloh, Richter and Baudrillard. The first two I adore, the third is the antichrist of simulacra! I say that in jest, but Baudrillard’s view of simulacra is the one I’m working against in my doctoral thesis because of its limitations. Baudrillard isn’t wrong, just limited in his scope. I much prefer Deleuze’s view of simulacra as a positive motivator of change, or expressed differently, something that is a difference of difference carrying its own potential for change within it. Another important view of simulacrum, which informed Deleuze, comes from the French novelist Pierre Klossowski, older brother to the artist Balthus. Klossowski saw the simulacrum as an invisible agitation, a deep-seated response that recurs persistently as outward actions and motivations – much like Freud’s and Nietzsche’s ideas, who pre-dated Freud. The notion of synecdoche you mention with regard to Buchloh and Richter is the very thing my supervisor recently suggested I look into, so thank you for that tip. I’ll look up Buchloh’s essay!

With regard to Token, it’s funny; I think of the energy it takes to make all my work as equal. For me, I think of it more as the mental energy of concentration than anything physical, not that that isn’t physical. However, as I approach every work with the same focused attention, I think all of my work takes the same amount of energy to make, which strikes me as an odd way to equate effort, but there it is.

The thing about Token that I personally find so intriguing is the interruption the background texture insists. Every mark in that work is disrupted by the insistence of the background texture. As I worked this became an element, almost an identity of the work. It’s one of those things that parallel experience and we just have to find ways to cope. I found myself approaching that texture in this piece the same way. I wanted to see first, how it affected my intention as I made marks, then what responses it coaxed from me as I coped with its presence, and finally how I managed to synthesise it all together in a coherent whole – or at least a coherency that made sense to me. Others may dispute that it is coherent!

I think then in regard to the translation to Versions: Matrix, it became a question of objectifying the original, making an emblem of it so to speak, which is a further extrapolation of its title as I realise writing this. That was not intentional on my part, but not insignificant. Token became a symbol of its own self, repeated, overlaid, obscured, interrupted, distorted, scaled and changed. It still carries those same original interrogations and meanings, but they have transformed into other meanings of intention, response and synthesis. Within the work, time has become a factor of existence, rather than a factor of expenditure. Through its continued transmutation, Token lives a life of change, chance, and occurrence, just like I do. The question to be debated is whether its life is my life, or whether it is its own?

Nigel P : Hi Jane, I'm spotting a problem with the P+L format - should I be posting under Versions: Matrix or Token. Or may be it's an effect of your practice to make fixing on a single work difficult - feel the curatorial ground splitting and dividing with each iteration?

Much of what you say here resonates with me. I should mention that I've barely entered the foothills of any readings of Delueze but the dynamic idea of becoming, and of desiring production provided a way for me to continue thinking creatively in difficult times. I linked up the idea from Anti-Oedipus (as I understood it) of cultural consumption as generator of psychic meaning (production) to Ranciere's take on the poetry of active spectatorship to overcome the deep sense of guilt that always wells up in the background late at night in the studio, when I sense I should be doing something more socially useful!

I'm moved by what you say about investment in work - "what does it mean for an art work to come into being?". I'm not sure whether here you mean a single object, or the process of becoming. For me I think it is about looking as an imagnative act making the work - creating the poem. When seeing the accumulated effects of all the previous looking you maybe touch life experience: but whose life - is a good question.

Poem - language for me is where the problem starts with my own work. I've difficulty with the relationships between art and discourse in terms of equivalences, of visual literacy and notion of reading works. I'm not sure how words can touch images, except as a kind of prop, or as tracings of a geneological web of possiblities leading back from (in Deluezian terms) the actual to the virtual.

What strikes me from looking at Token, Versions: Matrix, & from your words is how much life and time, as you say "as a factor of existence" is held in the work: could say it's magic, or physics - the differentiation of each resampled image, the escalating frequency of looks; an accumulation of possibilities across space and time present all at once (cubism, a David Jones drawing). Not sure though, that in this process you can say where one life ends and another begins.

Jane Boyer: Thank you Nigel, my apologies, American events have taken my attention. I would like to think that "the effect of my practice makes fixing on a single work difficult," and if that is the case, that is a very great compliment indeed. As you mention curation, this is an important element of auto-curation, or artist/curator practice, which holds significance for me - this idea of division, or perhaps more to the point, subdivision. It's not an idea of division as separation, but more like division as reduction. Let me explain that. As an artist/curator it is my job to curate my own work either on its own, or in conjunction with other artists' work. In order to do this, I must consider the totality of my production and make decisions on where I can 'isolate' images from the context of their making, removing them from their 'set' and immediately initiating the condition that they then represent all of those other pieces which cannot be represented within the scene of the exhibition. In all reality, these are not decision that can be made with any rationale or logic, they are decisions of chance, in that I realise it is equivalent to a throw of the dice: The throw happens (the choice is made), the dice tumble (all unrepresentable associations take effect), the dice fall back from the throw (the work takes its place in the exhibition as member, as place-holder, as emblem, as isolate). The message of the work is no longer just the readable visual, it is all of these things separately and at once. It is the significance of all these things that pose the question, "what does it mean for an artwork to come into being?" So while separation happens in making the choice to exhibit a work, actually what is happening is a distillation and reduction, or maybe a realigning, of meanings associated with the work. I see this as uniquely happening within artist/curator practice. In light of this, it makes complete sense that you would have difficulty 'fixing' on one work. That tells me that I might be right in this notion of artist/curator practice.

I know what you mean, it can be hard sometimes to rationalise the social benefit of making art, but I truly believe without art we are not civilised beings. It's a difficult thing because the effect of art is not quantifiable, but remove it and think of the dire consequences of an existence with no creativity. I don't think our psyches could cope. Posing the question "what does it mean for an artwork to come into being?" is an all encompassing question. It contains the question for the individual object, as well as the totality of a practice in its process of becoming. You touch on the implication of this question when you mention Deleuze and Ranciere above. Perhaps, much like I described about curating one's own work above, the creation of an artwork is a distillation of all the influences and experiences we've had. The artwork becomes a resonance of a life, which then emanates back all that is visible and unrepresentable from that life, becoming something other than the representation of that life.

This is perhaps a good point to address the issue of the relationship between work and discourse, because with such a vaulted view of what an artwork is as I've just expressed, it can be hard to talk about it. For me, the question of talking about art is not one of equating language to visuals, but perhaps more like translating visuals into language. But that isn't in terms of trying to set up any kind of parallel for translation to be able to happen. I think it is just another way of experiencing the visual through the linguistic. Language will always fail in its attempts to describe the visual and the visual will always fail to convey the fulsome meaning of language; they are two different means of experience. But experiencing the visual as language is possible, just as experiencing language as the visual is possible. What I mean is, the experience is uniquely one or the other, but the application of one to the other does not have to be in terms of equivalence alone. For me visual literacy is sort of like knowing how to read clues. It's knowing how to 'speak' through looking, calculate through looking, analyse through looking. The looking comes first in visual literacy.

And finally, that is the point, I like the way you've said this, "...the escalating frequency of looks; an accumulation of possibilities across space and time present all at once." There is no distinction between where one life ends and another one begins in the multiplicity of Being. We fuse with our context, are products of our context, and while we experience our context uniquely, we are so enmeshed in it and with it that it would be impossible to extract an individual from the context. Hopefully, this fusion and simultaneous 'escalating frequency' are what comes across in my work.

Nigel P : Hi Jane

I think I realised when first seeing this and the rest of your folio that there is a lot to unpack from your work - thank you for being so generous in sharing yor thought processes and ideas about making and wider critical contexts for creative endeavour.

You mention events in America at the begining of your last comment. Think that what you say about words and images, the interplay between discursive and visual fields is very relevant to the culture of politics - especially at this moment when values, identity, self expression and the concept of choice are embroiled in such a momentous outcome.

I really liked the way you characterised the choosing of images - auto curation as a sub dividing, a reduction - a distillation. It made me thinks about language and the structuring of sentences - words on the page, works on the wall or on screen; each stream of contiguous elements selected from, standing for all the things not said or shown.

Probably the bit I struggle with most in my own work is the notion of making sense. That the pattern of choices means something to me, and something different to the reader or spectator - the witness or conspirator. And then in what ways is such a meaning understood and sanctioned as valid or real, or contested? There are obvious rules and conventions - much of the discourse about visual imagery draws from the structuraton of words - as in rhetoric of the image - application of devices such as metaphor, trope, synecdote etc.

I'm particularly wondering about public discourse - ideas of value and exchange and how rhetorical conventions might privledge certain choices over others. Many years ago a tutor said to me that 'you can't have socialism in one work' - in that there needed to be an accumulation, a body of material through which a perspective, an orientation could be manifest, be shared...

Versions: Matrix seems to play along these lines - as something that's both one and many; as we said - an accumulation of looks - a vessel of experience. On P+L it also multiplies in the ether - a mirage, a mesh of pixels on the screen. What you show and what you've said are making me reconsider what it is to encounter immanace of art objects and to scrutinise their apparition in cyberspace.

Send Feedback

Sending Feedback