Oh Mr Therrien, where have you been all my life? Simple forms, found objects, honest materials - all 'nailed' to pristine white walls, and classed as sculpture (and not painting, despite their being hung and 'read' as such). This is my kind of language, and I thank the Parasol Unit for bringing these great works together. The show as a whole was bewitching. Familiar forms (clouds, keyholes, switches) and equally familiar materials (wood, metal, enamel, paint) lured me in, but the ultimate works hinted that they were quietly hiding far more than they were ever going to reveal. There aren't many works that affect me physically (Cy Twombly's paintings have been known to reduce me to tears), but in the ground floor gallery of the Parasol Unit, I could have happily found a quiet corner, slunk down to rest on the floor, and just sat ... for hours ... breathing quietly, amongst the sculptural presences, hoping to hear their silent dialogue.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Vanda CampbellThoughts, works, adventures and responses from the studio and beyond Archives
August 2018
Categories
All
|