* The Sea: In Third Person (Absent)
Yasi Alipour, July 29 – August 15, 2022
* Installation Views
* Individual Works
* Statement
The Sea: In Third Person (Absent)
Fold
A Child bored in the back of a classroom
A drawing disguised as a math exercise
Eyes mesmerized by the curves, lines flirting with infinity
A hand, not trusting rulers or their measuring nonsense
A hand, failing all but touch itself
Did I tell you? Our word for math is labor.
Hell with your divide; bodies are present and invisible.
Count
It’s a system, a score, and we dance.
Did she say, here, there, and elsewhere?
Over the years, paper got used to
pretending to be a rectangle.
The edges giggle. As if they would ever believe in something as silly as parallels.
I bring the far ends together.
My fingers run to touch, to bend, to trace, to remember.
I count through forgetting.
The lines are threads I lose and find again.
Fold
A Child bored in the back of a classroom
A drawing disguised as a math exercise
Eyes mesmerized by the curves, lines flirting with infinity
A hand, not trusting rulers or their measuring nonsense
A hand, failing all but touch itself
Did I tell you? Our word for math is labor.
Hell with your divide; bodies are present and invisible.
Count
It’s a system, a score, and we dance.
Did she say, here, there, and elsewhere?
Over the years, paper got used to
pretending to be a rectangle.
The edges giggle. As if they would ever believe in something as silly as parallels.
I bring the far ends together.
My fingers run to touch, to bend, to trace, to remember.
I count through forgetting.
The lines are threads I lose and find again.
Cycle
It’s a sea you haven’t seen.
In actuality, it’s just a lake that grew too big.
And so one day, it decided to be called a sea.
Sometimes it can be as simple as that.
Sometimes sitting in New York, staring at the Atlantic, I call it an ocean.
How can a story ask you to imagine, to believe into existence, what you will never see?
I no longer trust language.
The paper is coated as if waiting for the sun. Blue: the deeper you go, the more you have known the warmth on your skin.
Distance
There was no verb this time.
Only traces, through and through.
It’s memories
Of stories
In languages
You don’t know.
Silence.
It’s an empty page and my hand.
It’s a sea you haven’t seen.
In actuality, it’s just a lake that grew too big.
And so one day, it decided to be called a sea.
Sometimes it can be as simple as that.
Sometimes sitting in New York, staring at the Atlantic, I call it an ocean.
How can a story ask you to imagine, to believe into existence, what you will never see?
I no longer trust language.
The paper is coated as if waiting for the sun. Blue: the deeper you go, the more you have known the warmth on your skin.
Distance
There was no verb this time.
Only traces, through and through.
It’s memories
Of stories
In languages
You don’t know.
Silence.
It’s an empty page and my hand.
* Past Exhibitions
Omid Mehdizadeh
June 17 – July 4, 2022
June 17 – July 4, 2022
Curator: Keiman Mahabadi
May 27 - June 13, 2022
May 27 - June 13, 2022
Latency
May 6-23, 2022
May 6-23, 2022