The exhibition explores what it is to lose something, someone, some direction and some sense of self. But is it so bad to be a flaneur, flaneuse, in wanderlust, in terra incognita, a nomad, a shaman, a drifter?
A fantastic array of international artists come together in one space to find lucidity in that loss. Through various retrieval methodologies the artists explore navigational strategies, emotional celibacy, memories, reinvention, survival skills and escapism. Work exhibited include film, animation, photography, installations, drawings, paintings and sculpture to keep hold of old ties, retrace steps and to experience the joy of retrieval.
The exhibition asks the audience how we find clarity and closure when the subject has ceased. It allows the artists to answer how the unforeseen is evitable not calculated or measured because ultimately our possessions may have disappeared but we are still here.
From Mind To Eyes collection was a journey through the labyrinth of my unconscious to find my own lost identity. In the process of creating this collection, I’ve learned that my identity as a human was more than dichotomy of concepts such as man and woman, elegance and inelegance or gay and straight which has been captivated humankind through itself as long as man's consciousness history.
Narratives of the Lost is a collaboration between Laurel Terlesky and Bren Simmers featuring photography, poetry, and drawing. The project began with pictures of lost objects taken on daily walks around Squamish, B.C., where they both lived. By framing these lost objects as art—gloves placed carefully on branches for their owners to reclaim—they become an entry point into narrative, sparking conversations about connection. Who did these items belong to and how do they reflect our changing community identity?
The Monarch butterflies do not understand ‘chair' but they do understand the structure of wood. I want to show the loss of functionality of a plain chair as the butterflies cover it, and how the butterflies have lost their way choosing to land on a chair instead of an Oyama tree.
My mother died by slow degrees. Her disappearance—first her memory and eventually herself—took about a year-and-a-half. I was with her every day, or almost every day. I tried to be a decent human. “It is the little we can do,” wrote poet Charles Bukowski, “this small bravery of knowledge.” Each piece is the height of my mother. Each short text is 89 words long, one word for each year of her life.
Loss of youth
St. Albans, UK'Illusion'Stainless steel sculpture (52x14x8am)“The leaves were falling like notes from a piano. The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.” Wallace Stevens
Inspired by nature, in my work I search for an illusive form. A form I come back to again and again, is the shape the wind makes on sand or the shape of a flame, a fish, a leaf. I claim it for my own but it exists everywhere.
Objects often elucidate emotions associated with loss. Three paintings, Samsara, Abatement, and Requiem, served as my exercise in accepting death. The objects shown elicit a desire to possess the fleeting warmth of the moment, soon to be transformed into tokens of loss.
At the time of mass picketing and labour movements fighting for the rights of miners in 1980’s England pop cultures statements were branded like newspaper headlines. These statements often printed on t-shirts were worn by working class young people and juxtaposed the stark reality of their life. These found images taken by miners, on their one weeks holiday a year at Derbyshire Miners Camp in Skegness, (a northern UK seaside town on the East Coast) show their children wearing these statements unaware of the political losses to come.
With my loss of liberty came loss of identity, shattered and scattered in a world of indignity.
I recollect a scorched, cricket scritched day in Chianti, perfumed with the purple ripeness of figs and grapes; or do I? When wrapped in time is my memory a construct, a snatched glimpse between the stitched rents of that dimension? Is there lucidity in memory or just loss and trickery?
Drawing upon objects traditional to a daily Hindu puja, Inscape is a multi-sensory call to remember and honor the life of my friend, the American art writer Dore Ashton (1928- 2017). Fruits, flowers, incense and other assorted objects symbolize how I welcome and entertain the memory of my friend into my home.