Kerry Rawlinson

Circumstances find me pared down, reaching for performative art as an outward confirmation of the business of surviving, of being alive. I'm processing how that looks: not inserting my presence into the space, which performs continuously with or without me? Or manipulating the space with my presence? Or manipulating my presence into a manifestation of space? I photographed the lowliest of bodyparts: the feet. These images I manipulated into imaginary desert landscapes--hence my body has become the terrain. It's sterile and lifeless--yet a mysterious energy suggest we explore further, and walk in...




Comments

  1. I'm mindful of Eliot's Wasteland
    Here is no water but only rock
    Rock and no water and the sandy road
    The road winding above among the mountains
    Which are mountains of rock without water
    If there were water we should stop and drink
    Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
    Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand

    How to transcend the bleakness / the exhaustion / the loneliness

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  2. Makes me think of a Johari Window; known and unknown self...such a landscape...

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    1. Just to put a name to my comment about the Johari Window, I am saying you are welcome, with my name attached! :)

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