Last week’s Michael Farmer show at My House was a success. Show originated with Michael’s suggestion. I had empty space due to my inability to find a roommate. So let’s put on a show and simultaneously show the apartment. Brilliant!
So we did. And it was a great turn out. Michael’s work was sort of an homage to himself, a sanctuary and altar to history and meomry that is very personal and close to home, and we are welcomed to this space but not without caution. A dead scorpion stinks up the insides of a jar which is then held inside a santa hat and placed precariously atop a long box scribbled with lines. Empty wooden frames lean against a wall and smaller painting of friends, family, self decorate the frame around it. In the adjacent room a table lit with candles and a cd player looping Michael’s grandmother’s recent message sends creepy vibes all over. A simple watercolor of his grandmother rests above the table a if an obituary dedicated to his still alive family member were being mock performed. The message includes a worried and wearied grandmother, her voice deep and exasperated. The installation in both rooms stand uncomfortably and waveringly between a thin line of intimacy and exposure. Maybe Farmer wants you to see, maybe wants to be vulnerable, but not without you revealing your own tainted innards.
Round 2 of Shows at My House: CLASH. Came up with the title after contacting 3 artists friends who just happen to work in COMPLETELY different styles. Hyla is a photographer who merges the personal and abstract, Emily is all jagged recollections of memory and space, Megan rocks out in space suits and buxom ladies ruling and struggling in a fantasy real world.
Details on Facebook event page, rsvp and see you there. BYOB cuz I’m really broke.
O and I found roommates. A couple and their dog. Looking forward.