A Split Second of Humanity (Phase 1)
February, 2017
As my practice is predominantly made up of drawing with intricate marks, I am always fascinated to explore new ways of mark making and new shapes to include in my repetitive processes.
For this project I decided to take a piece of text I had written in an old sketchbook and use tiny handwriting to repetitively reproduce this. Written on soft almost fabric like paper, the mostly illegible words make their way over and around creases, skewing the sentences further. The size and display distorts the text from its usual primary function; as a means of communication. The written language's new objective as a visual art form.
The words make up a repetitive paragraph of thoughts, the piece both revealing and hiding this inner dialogue.
I really enjoyed exhibiting this piece in Art+Text exhibition, curated by Sveta Antonova and Kelly O'Brien, alongside some really fascinating pieces involving text. I think the use of wording within art adds another layer. Even if the viewer cannot reach an understanding of the words, having undiscoverable information locked in to the piece adds a curiosity and encourages the viewer to attempt to uncover it.
By putting this paragraph of inner dialogue on display, the piece shows a very human contradiction - a desire to both reveal and hide our thoughts.
...and for the curious out there - because the desire to reveal it got the better of me, here is the text used:
She sees your fullness. I see your gaps. Not in a way that you lack something. But in a way that all these parts shape you. But the gaps intrigue me. The cracks intrigue me. The glaze of unsureness in your eyes. The awkward way your arms move about. Too uncomfortable to sit anywhere. The way your words crumble with a lack of pattern. The way you chat excessively with your nerves. The redness of your face. The way your eyes dot to me and away - where to look. Where to look. Without your insecurities all your expressions curl up ugly to me. Your grin not just in your lips but permanently peering out of your eyes. I think it’s stitched into every crease of skin. It never wavers. I’m looking for a sign that you’re painting it on. A split second of humanity. A small scratch, dent, scar, to fall in love with. A nervous giggle in your knowing giggle. A moment of embarrassment. Anything. Give me something. So solid and unhuggable. There is nothing faulting or revealing. Nothing. So I see nothing in you. Why must you look so bare? I spent hours looking for the smallest detail.
©2020 by Sophie Erin Evans