ElizabethFiedorek.com
The Aldrich Museum has line drawings of buildings and shiny purple paintings dripping into nuclear goo. Gabe and I weren't impressed, but we browsed accordingly. Generally I disdain those who meander past each painting, pausing a requisite 20 seconds in front of every name they recognize. Not to say my thoughts are any more elevated, just that I prefer to walk quickly.
Mostly I'm just spinning my wheels.
Gabe once said he wanted his art to make people "look closer at the world." What does he do when there's nothing worth looking at?
The back room was quiet, with good light. Gabe set up a tripod and started asking members of our 7-person group to join him for a project. He directed me and another friend, Ali, to lie on the floor as if reaching toward a painting with a neon-purple-suburban-nuclear-meltdown feel. "Look like you've been conquered" was the advice he offered. He positioned and repositioned our bodies, at times adding his own. He sought feedback and used Ali's suggestion, a pose where she reaches up toward the painting in confusion, as the focal point of the final image. After the image was done and printed, he reminded me to look for it in the gallery, pointing out where he'd fused separate images and how he'd decided what to do.
"Our human debris," he called it.
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