FORWARD, WITH KINETIC EFFECT AND CONSEQUENCE
CATALOG ESSAY FOR EMILY GHERARD’S SOLO EXHIBITION, NOT A BILLBOARD, AT J. RINEHART GALLERY, SEATTLE, NOVEMBER 2021
What follows is an excerpt from an essay that was originally printed in a beautiful hardbound coffee table book published by J. Rinehart Gallery in Seattle, Washington. This publication features full-page full color images of the artwork in Emily Gherard's solo exhibition, Not A Billboard, for which this essay was written. You can purchase your copy here!
NURTURE
... Like all expressions of nuanced and masterful storytelling, Emily’s work engages a seamless and organic feeling of process, layering, and stratification; of breath, of labor, of exertion. With this new series, Emily underscores the uncertainty she has always questioned with a weighted but determined contrapposto. We feel the substance of her figures; their burdens, the gravity of their exhaustion, and their aspiration. Yet in spite of this, or perhaps because of it, there is an almost dutiful loyalty to the presence of hope and hopefulness. While the forms, shapes, and constructions are heavy; they still allow for some levity to come through. They don’t ever go completely dark—we can see between the cracks, and light is still visible through apertures within blocks and lines. These are both confined and expansive, an almost Futurist device of implied motion. The figures are forward-moving and restless, shifting position; moving in spite of themselves, decisive—they may be stumbling, but they’re still standing. Their jagged, unrestricted edges expand outward unambitiously to feel where they need to be. They define their own maps, their own territories. They hold fast to grasp unlimited potential.
Whereas previously, Emily’s shadowy forms would cascade and crumble across the frame, these figures, these vessels, hold themselves up in the face of it all, to acknowledge the inherent softness within each of us in ways that perhaps give us permission to express our own without explanation. In the wake of all that’s happened and all we now know, how do we gather, arms locked in an embrace, to shelter what and whom we love most in both reflection, and in advance, of tragedy? These strangely elegant forms may show us how, and that we can reveal what we're made of, no matter how roughly built and from how many odd pieces; that our composition is expansive and limitless and beautiful. Through them we learn how we may fold ourselves like a blanket around that which supports us. Through them, we learn that in the act of opening ourselves up to each other, asserting exposure, flaws, and beauty; we may collectively carry the weight of our common cause. They demonstrate how we must catapult ourselves forward into motion, however imperfectly, to effect change. We can build the world we both want and need. Relational, and relatable. Adjusting and adaptable. Vulnerable, but protected. We may be stumbling, but we’re still standing together.
Whereas previously, Emily’s shadowy forms would cascade and crumble across the frame, these figures, these vessels, hold themselves up in the face of it all, to acknowledge the inherent softness within each of us in ways that perhaps give us permission to express our own without explanation. In the wake of all that’s happened and all we now know, how do we gather, arms locked in an embrace, to shelter what and whom we love most in both reflection, and in advance, of tragedy? These strangely elegant forms may show us how, and that we can reveal what we're made of, no matter how roughly built and from how many odd pieces; that our composition is expansive and limitless and beautiful. Through them we learn how we may fold ourselves like a blanket around that which supports us. Through them, we learn that in the act of opening ourselves up to each other, asserting exposure, flaws, and beauty; we may collectively carry the weight of our common cause. They demonstrate how we must catapult ourselves forward into motion, however imperfectly, to effect change. We can build the world we both want and need. Relational, and relatable. Adjusting and adaptable. Vulnerable, but protected. We may be stumbling, but we’re still standing together.
Emily Gherard, The Mothers #5, 2021 cedar, staples, flash paint, and acrylic, 65 x 42 x 2 inches. Image courtesy of J. Rinehart Gallery and the artist.
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Emily Gherard, The Mothers #4, 2021 graphite pencil on Okawara and Kitikata paper, 39 x 38 inches. Image courtesy of J. Rinehart Gallery and the artist.
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