Top to bottom, left to right:
- Paradox (There is no woman in Paris who has ever had surgery. Not one.)
- Paradox (She can no longer jet off at a moments notice.)
- Paradox (When I return a couple of hours later, Lily is arranging a huge bunch of blooms in a giant cream-colored earthenware jug. Somehow she also manages to simultaneously pour champagne for her guests, roast two chickens, make delicious fresh salads, and entertain the group with her tales from the road.)
- Paradox (Reveling in the belief that no matter how serendipitous or considered the path, nothing feels better than the find.)
- Paradox (I was a Park Avenue housewife, with two children and a cook.)
- Paradox (In order to resemble the selves we love a bit longer.)
- Paradox (In the yellow gallery of her family home in Paris.)
- Paradox (Elegant Restraint. Anything but shy and reserved.)
This work/project invites people to also draw/trace. Materials and instructions provided reflect the same process used for other work in the exhibition.
Details after 5 weeks in the gallery.
Carbon Copy, carbon tracing on paper, each 29.8 x 21 cm (11.75 x 8.25 in), 2012
4 (Le Corbusier, Villa Savoye, 1928-30)
24 (Day bed, attributed to Lilly Reich, 1931-37)
4 (Barcelona ottoman designed by Mies van der Rohe for German Pavilion, Barcelona, 1929)
12 (Arne Jacobsen, Egg chair, 1957)
10 (Mies van der Rohe/Lilly Reich, Floor lamp with silk shade, 1930
5 (Gerald Summers, Lounge chair, 1933-34)
26 (Giandomenico Belotti, Chair (homage to Theo van Doesburg), 1980)
2 (Isamu Noguchi, table, 1947)
16 (Mies van der Rohe/Lilly Reich, Square tea table, 1930)
14 (Marcel Brewer, chair, 1923)
27 (Mies van der Rohe, Cantilever chair, 1935) – Detail
27 (Mies van der Rohe, Cantilever chair, 1935)
5 (Peter Murdoch, Child’s chair, 1963)
6 (Plazzetti, 2008)
18 (Eero Saarinen, Tulip chair, 1957)
9 (Marcel Brewer, Wassily chair, 1925-26)
The Cleaning Girl and the Boarder is a stop-motion video work I presented in the Emily Carr University Low Residency MAA Graduate Exhibition, HERE + THERE, at the Charles H. Scott Gallery in July 2012.
When I was being born, my mother says (whose second name was stupid, apparently), she was in labour for three days (eventually they took me out with forceps). While in the labour room at the hospital a black woman was brought in and put in the bed beside her. My mother, a newish immigrant (called damned DPs, I heard), tells me she had never been so close to a black person before (guess that depends where you come from). She felt afraid (of what?). She was suddenly feeling unsure of herself. How do I talk to her, she thought. She had no idea how she should relate to this woman (like she’s not a person). She tells me, she felt afraid because she didn’t know how to act or what to say (except that’s never been a problem before). No words passed between them. My mother lay there passing the time with contractions. When I was six, my mother says, she was browsing in the downtown hardware store looking at dolls (they sold toys there in those days). She noticed a single black doll (I didn’t notice a lot of blacks in our town, but I recall the Chinese boarders that lived in our bedrooms after the divorce – I thought it was strange how you could see their fallen hairs on the pillows). She decided that she would buy it for me. She thought, she tells me, that if I played with a black doll that I would never have to feel afraid the way she had been.
I have used my own personal preferences for choosing the text that remains legible in the YES volume, as well as the NO volume.