Untitled
Heather Reeves
Lorelei Horne
Dates Showing: May 28th - June 30th, 2001
Heather Reeves - Artist Statement
Between us and reality sits an internal screen, a site where we attempt to bring about order from our sensory encounters with the world. The screen also acts as a defense against the welling up of the repressed trauma of our earliest experiences of separation. An immigrant yearns to belong, but does neither to the new nor the old, thereby being dispossessed of both native and chosen lands. Memory calls up occasions when the psyche has singled out coincidental experiences of two places, Newfoundland, Canada, and the coastal plain of Western Australia, where plants, land and water coalesce and new island lands are formed to create a geography of the imagination.
Memory Screen 2: Pitcher Plant: Sarracenia purpurea/Cephalotus follicularis, Flag: Iris versicolor/Patersonia occidentalis, Iceplant: Mertensia maritima/Gasoul crystallinum, Bottlebrush: Sanguisorba canadensis/Callistemon speciosus, Pea: Lathyrus japonicus/Swainsonia formosa, silk, graphite, linen thread, cotton tape, phototransfers.
A gap/a seal, gem boxes, used screens, transparencies.
The leaves, a million hands greener than energy, soundless past the closed window. The hot room, the smell of wooden sills and floors baking in the sun. Looking out at the dry hills, so bright, the eye manufactures shadows.
If I could draw, I'd hold a square of paper up to this window and let the landscape burn into it, seep into it like a grasp leaving its stain, like photosensitive paper turning dark with desire for a place one will never apprehend. The hills dissolve as I look; but the loss I feel is that of one who has already passed the point of apprehension. Like writing to a man who no longer wishes to be found.
Until the blossom bending the branch, the weight of the shadow separating one leaf from another, presses that place in you. Until the hills burn your eyes, until you give in. Until the seam of density that separates leaf from air/is not a gap, but a seal.
Until the beautiful buzzing of flies wakes me.
Fugitive Pieces. Anne Michaels
Lorelei Horne - Little Boxes by Pete Seeger, 1962
Little boxes on the hill-side
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hill-side
Little boxes all the same
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same
And the people in the houses
All went to university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look the same
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they all come out the same
And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look the same
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same
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