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| 18 in. x 12 in. mixed media collage (paper, black latex paint, gunmetal gray metallic spray paint, Mod Podge) on two smaller black canvases fused together with hot glue down the middle, framed with metallic washi tape on their side edges |
With sympathies for the recent passing of our most dearly beloved — and the many, many strangers. Channeling an autumn color palette despite it now being technically “spring”
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| 12 in. x 9 in. surreal collage/sequin art on spray-painted canvas with sparkle washi tape edging |
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| 12 in. x 9 in. surreal collage/sequin art on spray-painted canvas with sparkle washi tape edging |
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10 in. x 8 in. painting-collage with heavy black enamel on reverse, sparkle washi tape edge, and textured surfaces using latex tube colors with a base of metallic spray paint over a previous collage (see January 19th's somewhat silly post of frolicking lambs) |
20 in. x 32 in. painting-collage-sculpture on two canvases fused together compromising of: paper, wall paint, enamel paint, chalkboard paint, acrylic latex tube paint, “tar” (congealed chalkboard paint that was dried into goo), spray paint, broken plastic shards off the sidewalks (collected after car accidents), hot glue, Mod Podge, sequins (4 mm & 6 mm size), plastic takeout bags, 1/8 inch reel tape from an audio cassette, plastic fiber mesh netting blown onto the yard, sewing thread, cornflower blue crepe ribbon, and a good amount of emotional angst and frustration.
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| “I am the writing on the walls; I am the sweet smell of blood. The buzz that echoes in the alleyways.” |
It can be argued that a strong indicator of a successful film is its lingering presence in your thoughts —be it days, if not years, after the final credits fade. I did not expect to be particularly impacted, and certainly not deeply moved, by 1992’s CANDYMAN but it bore itself inside me, striking a buried reserve of sorrow. As in the best of horror cinema, it serves as an entertaining, artful, and (above all) frightening gateway into honest discussions of topical societal issues, if not humankind’s most terrible crimes. In this case, the focus is urban housing development and the mismanaged ghettos of communities of color that go overlooked until more privileged (typically white) buyers descend, encouraging gentrification.
Further, the story is in itself a captivating, achingly poignant generations-spanning fairytale for the unjustly downtrodden communities within Chicago’s Cabrini-Green public housing development. It is delivered via an ambitious female protagonist (as is often the case in this genre) who I immediately sympathized with and easily rooted for. Much like a bee sting —a recurring motif frequently referenced and emphasized, along with the analogy of apartments as an expansive “hive” with faceless, disposable worker-bee tenants— it drove itself under my skin. Enough so, in fact, that I feel weirdly embarrassed by how much I was moved, from the art direction and cinematography (think eerie expanses of insect-size cars moving on highways from far above, similar to “The Shining”) to the arresting Philip Glass score that, in its repeating theme suggests the ritual experience of brazenly summoning the vengeful spirit of murdered slave Daniel Robitaille.In terms of further topicality and relevance, 2022 marks the film’s 30th anniversary; only just last year heralded genre master and A24 headliner Jordon Peele (GET OUT) produced a meditative, well-intentioned follow-up installment replete with free online educational videos, essays, writing prompts & scholarly discussions on black trauma and other pertinent themes through The Candyman Social Impact Initiative. Then, in the current “tv weekly” scheduling guide I chanced upon the Black History Month documentary series Horror Noire from Shudder and AMC TV, premiering Friday. Weirder still, I just now learn TODAY is (no joke) the birthday of aforementioned Philip Glass —and at 85, that’s a name worth repeating. (Just not into any mirrors.)
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| —Slated to air this week on cable network AMC— |
