Tracy Grubbs: I like the way my eye moves from the darned image back to the edge of the fabric. There is something so suggestive about the way the red threads hover there creating an almost misty edge-- a set of new possibilities extending out beyond the edge of what we know. I appreciate the rewards of deep looking here (thanks to the zoom tool). I wish I could touch what is here.


Daniel Leng: This work is interesting to me on many levels both physically and metaphorically. The idea that things and people can be defined by the randomness that happens and the randomness of the reaction is wonderful. Tearing cloth... seemingly perfect re-weaving... alterations... a look at what's behind what has been made whole again? All complex ideas presented in a simple object. Beautiful to think about. Thanks for sharing your work.


Catherine Haley Epstein: Joyce thank you for sharing these works with the P+L community! Quite brave works. I noticed some of the titles of the works allude to the clothing items, turning the body into an object of sorts, and the head and faces are removed where the clothes items are describing the works. I wondered if that was intentional? I like the contrasts of marks in this "Pencil Suit" piece. If clothing and it's evolution are at all an interest in your work, I highly recommend "Seeing Through Clothes" by Ann Hollander - it's an anthropological review of the history of clothes. Promise it's a smart but light read, and you might find curious some of the deeper details of how we humans have "covered" ourselves over the years. Thanks again for sharing!

Joyce Kubat: Thank you for your comments, Catherine. My titles are simply used to identify the piece, to tell one from another. When I do nudes, some silly part in me wants to put clothes on them, often see-through, suggestive. It makes me laugh. Often the nude pieces are somewhat boring until I tweak them. And no, it isn't intentional to remove the heads. It's just my instinctual way, to avoid being academic when facing the model, I leave off the heads. And unusual things happen along the way. All these are from my PINK INKS series which started in 2003. It began when I drew a clothesline across the paper and hung body parts from it, and it has evolved since then. I with pleasure will order the book you recommend.


Daniel Leng: Intriguing to hear the background on the work, Sam. Thanks for taking the time. I find the image really engaging as well and would love to see it in person someday. For me, it eloquently captures the idea of a journey, physical as well as mental. The high horizon leaves my eyes wandering/swirling in the field of marks at the bottom, wanting to get to the clean open structures on the horizon, but not ever feeling like I get there. Love the tension.

Sam Tudyk: Thank you Daniel, I love hearing your description of the work as a journey. It seems especially fitting since it was the last work in a series that I had been working on for months (an end chapter in my personal artistic journey).

Catherine Haley Epstein: Sam I love this work, I remember seeing it in situ in your last PDX exhibition - really brilliant!! The fact that the top half of the work is calm and slowly rendered, while the bottom half is an act of patience and anxiety all at once. Counting things finds its way in my practice and it's as much an act of quieting the mind as well as a rabid search for patterns. I love the relationship with these marks that seem to illustrate both rigorous self control and a big giant breath at once. Thank you for sharing this work!

Sam Tudyk: Thank you Catherine, that is a wonderful observation!

I created this artwork after a month long self-imposed residency in Marfa a few years ago. The bright, arid Texas landscape with its blue skies and pale grounds was such a stark difference from the dark, wet, lush, green Novembers that I had grown accustomed to in Portland. I wanted to capture a sense of that, including the ochre grasses that surround areas of the Chinati Foundation.

Even more impressed upon me in Marfa was the concentration of minimalist art, and of course Donald Judd’s work. My perception of that style of artwork shifted in front of my eyes on that trip, and it led me to imagine my folded letters as objects with a greater physicality and scale. I was working on several large paintings for the show you mentioned, focusing on handwritten materials and correspondence, and this was the last work I created. I usually have an extensive amount of process that goes into my work before I get to painting, however this work flowed out of me without any over-thinking. The tally marks had become a symbol to represent time-passing in my vocabulary with art, and it seemed like a perfect visual to illustrate the grasses. The shapes on the horizon are a simplified representation of a folded letter, one that never gets sent but remains in memory.

Thanks for the dialogue!


Catherine Haley Epstein: Lovely observations Nigel. This too is one of my favorite pieces by Corinna, likely for different reasons. I'll digress here slightly - My question to the artist/community would be the convention of a faceless figure. While many of Corinna's portraits are frontal, with vestiges of faces, they are not faceless. Many painters have used the faceless convention to aplomb (e.g. Gideon Rubin, don't love the work though it's commercially successful). I've never been able to fully understand, or appreciate the faceless figure and feel it represents a much larger symptom in the zeitgeist. In the gallery setting, the less face the more seemingly easy it is to project oneself onto the piece, therefore more appealing to more people. It's rare to see fully rendered faces gaining major attention (except for Chuck Close, and a handful of others). Even Michaël Borremans rarely has a face facing front, confronting a viewer. I recent;y saw a showing of Hannah Van Bart's work and I always find it compelling - the face confronts the viewer in all the paintings. Thoughts on faces?

Nigel P : Hi Catherine & Corinna

Wonder if you'd indulge me in relating a small coincidence? I'm reading Catherine's piece and then came across the 'faceless" images by artist Deborah Sheedy on Instagram - comprising of collaged works, where the heads of depicted figures are pasted over, or cut away. One effect is to estrange, or at least to perform estrangement as a knowing Surrealist homage. Maybe of more interest, I was struck by how the artist tagged a number of these as associated with struggles for self definition. Sometimes it's the facelessness of authoritarian bureaucracy, at others, an individual crisis, a loss of personal identity. Sheedy offers a Sylvia Plath quote: 'And I sit here without identity: Faceless. My head aches".

Wonder whether there is a limit, a minimal measure beyond which a being fails to represent to others - becomes faceless. Passport photographs, iris recognition technology etc involve specific tolerances outside of which images fail to be understood as viable faces. We see each other through conventions framed by administrative technologies- seem to remember Chuck Close started his grid portraits around the time that Scientific America featured early digital imaging experiments in mid 70s. Remember painting my own pixel heads and trying to place them just the right distance away so that they were almost legible.

Which brings me back to Corinna, and her sequences of ladies - how much the paint can smudge and streak but remain within the conventions of facial recognition- within the frame of our expectations?

Nigel P : I've been a fan of Corinna's painting for some time, since becoming acquainted with her serieses of 'ladies' shown here and on social media. Typically these images epitomise the play of difference & repetition, her signature compositions involve multiple portrait paintings arranged in grid formations. Loosely painted heads emerge from ominously dark grounds - each head, individual and unique, yet sharing some familial resemblances with their kin. The multiple pairs of eyes staring back at the viewer are from another age - possibly complicit in some unspecified institutionalised trauma, or just actors' mugshots for a gothic costume drama.

There is a powerful tension in these works between the conceptual frame - the structured presentation of historical stereotypes, rubbing up against the fluency of paint and the marvellous theatricality of the narrative conceit. I find a similar tension holds here, in this painting: Bust. Familiar framing devices are in play - the roundel figures as uncanny historical anachronism held in place by a thicker white overpainting covering the rest of the picture plane like ruined plaster. The Bust - turned away, commemorative of some long forgotten triumph or poignant defeat.

Finally, I think it's the knowing delicacy of the thing, the nuanced compositional control of depth between the two vertical lines, keeping the image, the narrative, hovering in its theatrical indeterminacy that really demonstrates the facility and fluency of Corinna's practice.

Wonderful stuff!

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