| Ivana Franke, Pierre Giner, Karin Campbell
by Carly Haddon
Content in Emptiness - Ivana Franke’s full empty space
Nylon line and clear tape stake space with nothing,
virtually, the way light or reverie can fill a room, the transparent and temporal
attachments suspended in air and hinting at the quiet invisible structures of lives, of
time, or destiny, that even when we are stillest swirl around us with the slow float of a
feather, as if hundreds racing for their trains stopped en masse to start dancing steps
they thought they’d forgotten.
Dancing - Pierre Giner’s Dancing
Their faces are filled with the fresh luminesse of hope and
frisson. Their calmness is an elated afterglow they’re unaware of. They dance in a
state of grace. You want to leave them to it, you feel as if you’ve caught them in a
moment so private they don’t even know you are watching, and you slip back out the
door quietly.
Ways of Crying - Karin Campbell’s "Looped
Tear"
Somehow the way our body is different is what makes it our
own. It’s like the way you could pick your bike out of a pile of the same model by
its distinguishing scrape or dent. The woman began crying and I felt sadness for her, and
then her tear rolled down her face and pooled in her ear (I know my tears don’t do
that because I have cried in bed). This is an intimate quirk of biology, a thing you would
only know about someone you had watched lying in bed crying. Someone you knew like a
lover. The repetition, the continual flow of tears readjusted my focus and my attention
shifted. The sadness became fascination, then objectification, and the tear’s path
looked like a glistening slug’s trail. Sometimes that’s the way it is when you
see someone cry, even someone you love, you and your heart frozen like you’re
watching a video, which, in this case, you are.
Carly Haddon is an artist and writer living in Vancouver,
Canada. Her photographs, drawings, and sculpture have been shown in Vancouver
galleries, and her writing has appeared in Canadian magazines, newsletters, and websites. |
