Janine Iversen


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-
Holdable portions 
 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
the ceiling 
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 
the horizon,
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 


MFA, Hunter

Contact for CV

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