These stunning images come from photographer Mallory Morrison‘s latest series, FOG, and combine the unearthly nature of life underwater with the beauty of the human form. An experienced underwater photographer, Morrison works with models to push the limits of what is possible.
Poetic and succinct, her artist statement provides further explanation in the impetus behind her work on this series:
Our path is not always clear. Finding our way through life, figuring out what we what and how to get it can be like searching aimlessly through a foggy abyss. In FOG, Morrison captures feelings of uncertainty, desperation, and ultimate release throughout a journey to the water’s surface. These feelings also reflect Morrison’s artistic process of holding her breath underwater to capture each submerged form. The series tells the story of accepting the unknown: that which is on the other side of the surface and beyond the frame.
Her dive into underwater photography began when she was photographing dancers, and found herself constantly pondering how to eliminate gravity as the barrier keeping her from the shots she wanted. After trying trampolines and other tricks in the air, Morrison decided to try water instead. Seen underwater, the figures have an otherworldly mysticism about them. The reflective underside of the water’s surface shows a warped mirror image, and infuses each photograph with an intriguing symmetry. The colors are muted and few, but beautiful, nearly translucent.
Massive, glowing webs of geometric gems climb the walls, successfully controlling the behavior of early afternoon light—while soaking the empty surfaces of the space with gentle washes of color. It’s only upon close inspection that the pieces reveal themselves to be painstakingly handcrafted, light-as-a-feather paper sculptures by Brooklyn-based artist Kirsten Hassenfeld. She applies her sharp paper craft skill set to creating fanciful, (if not slightly frivolous) site-specific works that command presence, but in reality are quite ephemeral. A nice study of pure form, movement and spatial composition.
3:2 An experiment in time travel. Subject lived in isolation for three weeks adjusting to a slow clock, experiencing only two weeks 2008
Continuing my Rhizome Commissions coverage, here is Office for the development of Substitute Materials. Their work deals in the relationship between objects and how humans use them, or how objects become more human just because we are using them. The ideas about tools and their relationships to us and each other is incredibly smart but at the same time, attainable in their simplicity. The way they document their work is also very beautiful. I’m a big fan. You can see their Rhizome proposal after the jump (it’s the last item in the post).
Mithu Sen did not begin her career in visual expression. Her work has evolved quite a bit to get to the point of creating an 80-foot long installation that is essentially one giant denture. She began as a poet, inspired by her mother, writing in Bengali as a child. She was published quite a few times before she moved to Delhi and began to lose her connection to her mother tongue. Afterwards, she made the transition to “artist.”
Her artwork now is often categorized as highly sexual. She has said of this: “I don’t really care if my sexual works are the reason people are looking. Sexuality is the means by which one can enter the self and the psyche. The so-called sexual overtone in my work is to provoke and trap people, to force them to see and to contemplate. I’ve tried to bring tabooed sexuality out of the closet… I try to draw sexuality from both living and inanimate objects.”
Definitely her work pushes boundaries, but in her drawings as in Border Unseen (the tooth wall) there are details and subtleties to be discovered beneath the most obvious aspects of her work. On Border Unseen, little figurines of people, skulls, toys, etc. of similar dimensions to the teeth, are camouflaged all throughout the installation. Likewise, although her drawings are overtly and uncomfortably sexual – as in the piece where a finger seems to be inserted inside an animal within which is another animal – if you are able to overcome the initial disturbance, there’s a great deal of tenderness below. Although the work is challenging, it is not so heavy-handed, and always demands more open-mindedness of the viewer; always a worthwhile exercise. (Via BOMB Magazine)
German photographer Uwe Schramm’s minimal photographs pack a powerful punch.
“Removing the blinkers, to enable one to see that there is more than meets the eye, what one hasn’t been able to see before, from yourself and the world around you. Photography, for me, is the ideal medium, because it enables one to focus clearly on the image and carry a message. My aim is to reduce the subject and picture to the absolute essential minimum whilst giving the observer a subliminal message and other interpretation.…
The supposed obvious has become, through my picture, foreign. The subject in the picture is seen in a new light, or better still, takes on a second meaning and invites a second inquisitive look. The result is another interpretation of everyday objects which invites the viewer to produce his own views.”
Marci Washington is an artist, based in Northern California. Her lightly rendered gouache and watercolor paintings depict the interiors and exteriors of creepy houses, reed-bordered pitch swamps, forbidden correspondence, and nocturnal, aristocratic cannibals who always seem to maintain a certain measure of grace amidst unsavory conditions and elements. To me, it’s always appeared as if such figures are pausing for her to paint their portrait while the world crumbles around them. A macabre fashion shoot staged amidst the apocalyptic environs of a world without sunrises, Washington’s delicate, detailed work is a rich stroke of contrast between dark and light; brutality and delicacy. I caught up with Marci in-between her various travels and projects and, in keeping with her reputation for graciousness, she answered some questions and brought us up to speed with her career. (Images courtesy of Rena Bransten Gallery.)