Let me clear my mind.
Painting considered as a box
One side, clear in this case-for experience
How else could there be a sense of what happens inside.
Our thoughts, separated, like potatoes in a bin-
species and the class, subclass
a taste, texture, potential
it’s no secret
clarity is no charity
and you cant spell painting without pain
The clear side is a window –vellum, smoked
is rigid, dense- impasto.
It is grids compressed into a star
throwing a shadow inward
its form asks for directions
it is clouds and sky and smoke and terrycloth bath towels crumpled clothing slippers shoe laces broom bristles hair
its walls, a removed form of matter
wetted paper curling and rippling into the field of vision
a painters tape,
or a form in the way as the paint passed by
it could be you.
What could be the world where this extent of conjuring is required.
the need transforms, or simply is the site
we see them there, they face each other
spaces around them like ice
Janine Iversen lives and works in Brooklyn, NY
Contact for CV