House Show
solo exhibition at TACA, Palma de Mallorca
2024
House Show begins with the discovery of a manuscript that my grandmother wrote in the mid 1970s: a memoir of her life that her family continues to avoid reading.
In trying to engage with her book while still refusing to read it, the work jumps like a resisting magnet, exploring the desire to see out of the corner of one’s eye, to view off-camera action, to dig around the edges of a buried stone. Lithographic prints, mounted on steel and aluminum box frames, hang in the space. Some are taken from my grandmother’s own archive, capturing the obscured edges of the period of her life (perhaps) described in her memoir. Others are sourced from research into the role of off-camera action in pro wrestling television broadcasts, or the invention of a type of elusive light illusion.
Accompanying each print is a magnetically mounted piece of ulexite crystal, that can be guided freely across the image by the viewer, like a loupe or viewfinder. Ulexite, a naturally occurring borate crystal, is also known as ‘TV stone’ because of its unique optical properties. The parallel fibrous structure of the ulexite allows it to act like a fiber-optic cable. When laid over an image or object, the ‘TV stone’ will project the image from the bottom face of the stone to the top face of the stone, making it appear as if the image is ‘on screen’, a purely analog broadcast.
Playing on a screen is a video composed of excerpted clips from 28 films in which a character holds a one-sided phone call – that is, a call in which the person off-camera is not heard. The clips are arranged and intercut creating a narrative between the various interlocutors. They complain of sightlessness, of longing for the empty space on the other end of the phone, they reach out to the nothingness off-camera. The video’s sound can be heard only through a telephone mounted on the wall, separated from the screen by a frosted divider.
-
𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 20 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘝𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘧𝘧 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘓𝘌𝘋𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘨. 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦.
-
generously supported by Culture Moves Europe
photos by Juan David Cortes