COLVIN: FOTO-GRAA FIK; MICHAEL MARTIN GALLERY
Anne Colvin, from the
series “Skin,” c-print
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
a cosmic life of their own, behind a super high gloss reflective finish,
Anne Colvins figures are silhouetted against a brazen blare of
light. Upon entering the Foto-graafik show, one is confronted with six
photos from the series Skin, each 16 x 20 hung
three in a row atop of three in a row thus creating a grid. This grid
appears larger than it is, awash in a pink that works more as light
rather than a color. The figures, one to a photo, are exposed torsos.
While there is barely a hint of extremities to enable probing and exploring,
the torso owns its own identity; no need for a head. And with an accentuated
hip curve and the suggestion of an arms swing, one senses a very
heavy, slow, methodical and meditative back and forth rock.
These silhouettes lie somewhere between Nicola Tysons investigating
and rebirthing morphemic figures and a cool 60s Bond coquette
from one of Robert Brownjohns film title sequences. Set in pause
from the rhythms of her environment, the figures are in the midst of
being Surreal or supra bodies. If the moment were set into motion, the
torso would be continually pumping, grinding, swishing, or swaying.
The repetition of rhythm, merely and necessarily beating and ticking,
is a warp-funnel of infinite time that surrounds the figure and runs
forever backwards and forwards. The environment feels secure in its
continuity and steadiness, almost spiritual. Stripped bare of clothing
or an affecting material environment the torso, solo, is experiencing
its essence; being and owning.
Stay with the work a while longer and its subtle quiet side evades being
missed. A first impression renders the customary focal-point-within-its-background;
a figure dancing within the light. But the light is actually its own
life force. In uniform hues of dark brown or black, the figures contrast
their environment of swirling pink light. Like an image burnt into ones
retina, the black silhouetted torso is impressed into the glowing pulsating
aura of blasted unnatural hot pink and red. The lights intensity,
an on pour of screaming molten liquid, seems impossible to turn off.
One wonders: Are neons even really colors or just hues of a light force?
It is the figures that are lifeless while the light bumps and grinds.
The browns and blacks of the figures are thin, flat, and vaporless.
The light is undulating and gyroistic, cosmically oozy. The figures
are more of an impressing burnt memory, perhaps their fate is to eventually
fade. In addition to the background, is an extra strip of pink light
that follows the counters of the body. This strip of light could be
some sort of afterglow or aura emitting from the body. But the figures
are so vacant, it seems rather that this hugging band is the lights
own doing, a way to keep the body separated from the swirling environment.
While the delineation visually separates, one can not help but imagine
that in the next moment, the light may surround, enrapt, and blot out
the impressing silhouette.
There seems to be a push pull play on determining the focus of essencefigures
or light. While the torso is a location point for any beings heart,
it is the light that takes up a soul. It seems the light would carry
on, whether the figure existed or not. Over powered by the pink force,
the figures, even in a power stance of legs apart, end up going only
so far. Acting as a paper doll prop, they provide a reference point,
so that a picture of the light that is encroaching from behind may be
taken. Perhaps this push play provides a certain amount of content;
that life-force (universe) existed before and without us, and will exist
after us. Essence itself incurs power, lust, and grace; it spirals,
repeats, and expands; and rolls into lofty sublime: neither nor.