Modalities of Presence, digital cameras, rca cables, crystal ball, leather wallets, cardboard, battery chargers, 2023
Dream monument, aquarium, steel, sand, shells, polyurethane, crickets, various denominations of currencies, gold leaf, incense, 2023
Canada, luggage used for migrating, acrylic, straw hat, smart bulb, aluminum cast, chains, plastic, bronze, wood, clay, ink, pond liner, duckweed, arrowhead plant, java moss, Christmas moss, Egeria densa, scuds, pond snail, planaria, seed shrimp, 2023
Esoteric goods, raffia, shells, oyster shell, nail polish, coconuts, black kyanite, blue kyanite, obsidian, emerald, amethyst, fabric, cardboard, 2023
Curse sweepers, coconut frond, plastic, fabric, cardboard, 2023
Bathala, bamboo, wood, paraffin wax, metal, pearl, abalone shells, clam shells, oyster shells, thread, 2023
Mythologies, acrylic, oil pastel, ink, collage, 48” x 60”, 2023
between the angel and the stars are glimmering thought forms, acrylic, oil, ink, plant matter, paper, on panel, 60” x 47.5” x 1.5”, 2023
CANADA
30 November 2023 to 13 January 2024
Susan Hobbs Gallery
“My favorite time is in time’s other side, its other identity, the kind that collapses and sometimes reappears, and sometimes doesn’t. The one that looks like marshmallows, pomegranates, and stranger things, before returning to its kind of abstraction. I used to be fond of time as it was a matter that helped us feel intelligent. Those days have gone to where days go, in their own cemeteries. Today I see eternity everywhere. I had yesterday an empty glass of champagne on the table, and it looked both infinite and eternal, though it left me indifferent. At least, I was in good company, and a day closer to all sorts of annihilations.” - Etel Adnan, excerpted from SHIFTING THE SILENCE
A clock given as a wedding gift in the 80’s is a marker of time—a reminder to make note of moments big and small as they pass you by. The clock is cyclical, technically living through the same ticking loop. But, even after repeating itself, the experience of living through sixty seconds is subjective every time.
A clock in a studio is a record of time. It provides a template that structures daily tasks and meanderings. It counts the hours spent on something, turning time into currency through whatever is being produced. We refer to the clock to know the value of our labour. But of course, even when the clock dies, our work persists.
A clock in the garden, rotting, is an index of time. Here, it no longer functions as a clock but rather as a stump, prop, reminder, or support for the duration of something else. It has gone through its own transformation, and its deterioration provides evidence of time gone by. The clock is not time but a container for time, where it is the signifier for the concept of time— a code for periodic motion.
This same clock presented in the gallery is a synthesis of time. The clock has been resuscitated, re-gifted, relocated, fixed and no longer rotting, repurposed and removed from the studio. Now, it is the artwork. A marker, record, and index all at once.
Upstairs, seasons are passing. The room's circadian rhythm is constantly resetting while works drift between numerous states of being and temporality.
Framework Text by Bianca Weeko Martin
Documentation by Laura Findlay and Toni Hafkenscheid