until 3 Dec 11
Whenever I return to my family home, I am again and again impressed by how little it ever changes. Same furniture, same décor, same colours, same porcelain figurines. My mother would dust each of them religiously every Saturday and it would always be cold. Dust, the enemy.
The baroque shepherdess is now a Jesus head. White, made of threads, dead flowers, plaster is unashamedly inviting the dust to rest. On him. Cover the wounds. A figure, that would possibly be abstract to anyone outside judeo-christian obsessions.
I felt it; I get this certain kick on the right part of my head each time I encounter something interestingly different. Dolls, mannequins, sisters of Bellmer. Unisex shirts forming bone structures or ‘the Origin of the World’ without sensationalism but as comment. A memento mori set of clocks, possibly cheesy in description hypnotises me. Arte Povera vs. David.
And at the edge, a city, a favela of rooms and houses covered in tricks, fabrics, memories and sounds, homage maybe to Charles Matton. Playful and eerie it lends its song to the whole exhibition as soundtrack.
Poor little shepherdess: dead barometer.
more info:
http://www.rosenfeldporcini.com/
http://annavinegrad.com/category/rosenfeld-porcini/
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