“The house is the bird’s very person; it is its form and its most immediate effort [...] Its suffering. The result is only obtained by constantly repeated pressure of the breast. There is not one of these blades of grass that, in order to make it curve and hold the curve, has not been pressed on countless times by the bird’s breast, its heart, surely with difficulty in breathing, perhaps even, with palpitations.”
-Jules Michelot, L’oiseau, (1858)
From the outside looking in, our intimate spaces necessarily expel and exclude all that engenders danger, yet from the interior perspective, they often serve to reflect their inhabitants. The domicile, through all its infinite iterations, becomes an index of our decisions, habits, our interests. Each corner of each room becomes an organ in the body which exists outside ourselves - yet is inexorably linked to our own. These indices are contained within the shells of our homes, packed away in drawers and boxes, hidden behind curtains, displayed on shelves, and hung on walls.
The exhibition pediceled wrinklets of few to many florets acts as invitation into the sanctum. With works by Dosia Sanford, Earl Fox, and Ada Bowman, it follows threads and gathers thought toward a universally personal language of sanctity.!
