Dear Protagonist, (a reverie regarding you in the perpetual present)
Dear Protagonist, (a reverie regarding you in the perpetual present), Tim Lowly © 2013, acrylic on panel, 86” x 74”
The parenthetical latter part of the title alludes to both how
1) a painting has a relatively temporally static state (compared to film for instance) and as such the viewer's experience with a painting is fundamentally rooted in the present [ie. this reading suggests the "you" is the viewer].
and
2) Temma (my daughter depicted in the painting) seems to have a fairly limited memory and as such seems to exist in a perpetual present [ie. this reading suggests the "you" is Temma].
Assistance with this work by Erica Elan Ciganek and Maggie Hubbard]
Please view this large
Here is the beginning of an essay Kelly VanderBrug in which she reflects on the painting (it's from the book "Trying to Get a Sense of Scale" ). Over the summer I was finishing this painting Kelly would stop by frequently to observe the process of the painting's making:
Temma takes a step, making and made. As in Temma on Earth, she continues muscle tensed, hunched, clenched hands, but this Temma’s vulnerability lies below the surface. She shuffles forward from dark clearing to a path—perhaps a dry streambed. Her awkward yet purposeful baby steps exhibit intentionality. She isn’t just going to the store. She wants to show the viewer herself, her role.
She gazes inward rather than out at the viewer. Technically the real Temma is cortically blind, eyes intact but brain unable to process the images that come. In this painting a blindness of sorts gets painted even though it is ambiguous. Her eyes look down or maybe flicker shut though she still seems to see in her own way. The oddest thing by far comes as a surprise, rising in my mind as I continue looking at this painting. It is this: here seeing assumes no higher value than any other voluntary or involuntary action except as a means of recognizing the girl.
When the viewer pulls back to take in the whole image, ambiguity adds to ambiguity. Everything gets peeled back and tipped up. What is here? The viewer lists a girl, wall, maybe wallpaper or garden or corral reef, air, floor, and shimmer of light. The bottom left corner is important. It points to a real and readable domestic space. It suggests that something double happens: The outside space is the wallpaper of this room with a doll’s bed, but the bed could also fit a person. In the latter case this Temma towers over the space with its vaulted ceiling.
In the painting Temma exists ambiguously, both vision and real. The light says it reflects on her and comes from her but not as exactly as Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus. Temma’s glow subtly makes, grows, and extends. Unlike her steps, she does not make with intention. It is her very existence that makes. She emits the cool bioluminescence of a female firefly and also moves close to the ground. She is a messenger without wings. Around her, embers fly up, shimmering into the heights, but nothing sears the eye or skin. These embers, paint daubs skipping from her shoulders, land at her feet and shimmer temporarily. As this world grows chilled, Temma brings light in a small circle. Her light quakes, fragile and expanding.
The light that reflects on her is another light all together. Temma comes forward into this brighter light, and even in her projecting glow, everything else fades back. The blanket dazzles. Her wrap of rainbow color cocoons her and hums with bright energy. Its softness appears blurred even as the light crisply carves out peaks and valleys. Her hands and face beam even more. It is clear that her body is not “normative,” but at the same time Lowly depicts her beauty. The reflecting light spotlights her and emphasizes her already obvious significance. Her message is a call to attention. It suggests that paying attention to her will create change.
It is important here that Temma crosses multiple spaces. She not only steps on a path, but that path is a wall. It leads into a room and out to the space where the painting hangs. The three spaces barely clear their throat. A viewer must take time for it to settle in. She moves from outside the wall to domestic space to our world. She is already leaning through, her head catching the bright light of our space. Or is our space the fourth space, the third space being a stage where all this happens?
Whatever the case, Temma is our guide and the focus of our attention. The focus is sharpest in her face and hands. Everything else winks in and out of focus. Here and there a stone is clear, but not the plant or bit of wood next to it. Darkness shrouds the upper reaches of the painting, the background, and the bed’s head- board. The blanket around her blurs slightly.
Dear Protagonist, (a reverie regarding you in the perpetual present)
Dear Protagonist, (a reverie regarding you in the perpetual present), Tim Lowly © 2013, acrylic on panel, 86” x 74”
The parenthetical latter part of the title alludes to both how
1) a painting has a relatively temporally static state (compared to film for instance) and as such the viewer's experience with a painting is fundamentally rooted in the present [ie. this reading suggests the "you" is the viewer].
and
2) Temma (my daughter depicted in the painting) seems to have a fairly limited memory and as such seems to exist in a perpetual present [ie. this reading suggests the "you" is Temma].
Assistance with this work by Erica Elan Ciganek and Maggie Hubbard]
Please view this large
Here is the beginning of an essay Kelly VanderBrug in which she reflects on the painting (it's from the book "Trying to Get a Sense of Scale" ). Over the summer I was finishing this painting Kelly would stop by frequently to observe the process of the painting's making:
Temma takes a step, making and made. As in Temma on Earth, she continues muscle tensed, hunched, clenched hands, but this Temma’s vulnerability lies below the surface. She shuffles forward from dark clearing to a path—perhaps a dry streambed. Her awkward yet purposeful baby steps exhibit intentionality. She isn’t just going to the store. She wants to show the viewer herself, her role.
She gazes inward rather than out at the viewer. Technically the real Temma is cortically blind, eyes intact but brain unable to process the images that come. In this painting a blindness of sorts gets painted even though it is ambiguous. Her eyes look down or maybe flicker shut though she still seems to see in her own way. The oddest thing by far comes as a surprise, rising in my mind as I continue looking at this painting. It is this: here seeing assumes no higher value than any other voluntary or involuntary action except as a means of recognizing the girl.
When the viewer pulls back to take in the whole image, ambiguity adds to ambiguity. Everything gets peeled back and tipped up. What is here? The viewer lists a girl, wall, maybe wallpaper or garden or corral reef, air, floor, and shimmer of light. The bottom left corner is important. It points to a real and readable domestic space. It suggests that something double happens: The outside space is the wallpaper of this room with a doll’s bed, but the bed could also fit a person. In the latter case this Temma towers over the space with its vaulted ceiling.
In the painting Temma exists ambiguously, both vision and real. The light says it reflects on her and comes from her but not as exactly as Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus. Temma’s glow subtly makes, grows, and extends. Unlike her steps, she does not make with intention. It is her very existence that makes. She emits the cool bioluminescence of a female firefly and also moves close to the ground. She is a messenger without wings. Around her, embers fly up, shimmering into the heights, but nothing sears the eye or skin. These embers, paint daubs skipping from her shoulders, land at her feet and shimmer temporarily. As this world grows chilled, Temma brings light in a small circle. Her light quakes, fragile and expanding.
The light that reflects on her is another light all together. Temma comes forward into this brighter light, and even in her projecting glow, everything else fades back. The blanket dazzles. Her wrap of rainbow color cocoons her and hums with bright energy. Its softness appears blurred even as the light crisply carves out peaks and valleys. Her hands and face beam even more. It is clear that her body is not “normative,” but at the same time Lowly depicts her beauty. The reflecting light spotlights her and emphasizes her already obvious significance. Her message is a call to attention. It suggests that paying attention to her will create change.
It is important here that Temma crosses multiple spaces. She not only steps on a path, but that path is a wall. It leads into a room and out to the space where the painting hangs. The three spaces barely clear their throat. A viewer must take time for it to settle in. She moves from outside the wall to domestic space to our world. She is already leaning through, her head catching the bright light of our space. Or is our space the fourth space, the third space being a stage where all this happens?
Whatever the case, Temma is our guide and the focus of our attention. The focus is sharpest in her face and hands. Everything else winks in and out of focus. Here and there a stone is clear, but not the plant or bit of wood next to it. Darkness shrouds the upper reaches of the painting, the background, and the bed’s head- board. The blanket around her blurs slightly.