Brushstrokes








60 inches above the floor, a proposal


Upon entering the exhibition space , the spectator is surrounded by a flickering display of small protruding white cubes placed at 60 inches above the floor, a convention of hanging art on center in a gallery to align with the eye of the viewing subject. Carefully distributed on a singular horizontal line like sentinels, they all seem to point at the spectator whose own “Albertian” perspectival space has shattered and muted into a multitude of reference dots and autonomous pixels. Gradually stabilizing his vision, the spectator is drawn towards a point. The small 1 inch white cubes on the white walls are now fully discernible. Emerging from their own procedural and material moment, they each bear a single mark left by a bristle brush in contact to white paint. Some brushstrokes are flat, some fall under gravity off their support, some look like they have covered another underlaying mark in an attempt to erase it. Placed at regular intervals, they appear, disappear and re-appear again; they repeat themselves in an perpetual recommencement circling back on themselves like a snake eating its tail.

The walls are white, there are no labels, there is no chronological organization, the light of the room is homogeneous.