Eileen Rae Walsh: Round Juicy Citrus, Bright Reddish-Yellow
Natures are bound and not perfect. Identity is formed, but how? Immersion in discomforts and joys are ways of forming something like home. A room becomes confused by the canopy of plants and unfamiliar life. Forms become hot and weird. A windy city connects to the tropics and compositions can become all wrapped up in elements of installation and photography and colors and rocks and stuff upon stuff. Eileen Rae Walsh associates physicality with variations in tone and stresses how important humor is. Particles become parts; full resolutions concoct study and reflection. Her works are on walls and tables but they are connected back—to you. Looking becomes personal, not that it isn’t always, but in Walsh your self becomes inoculated and coherent. Senses vary in tone, terrible and beautiful. Wonderfully baffled in the circus of self-loathing and pride. They are not without each other, they are for one another, and you are for you.
Elasticity between big and small accesses things that are broad and specific, but specific shouldn’t remove possibility. The excursion of Walsh is a gas, a graze, a visceral balance of baring witness, and walking through doors. Not necessarily literal doors, but her work is not only on the surface. “We are not limitless, but we love running toward places.” Grasping and potential for relationships consume and absorb the swell of Walsh’s constructed visual conversations. The sky arches, and that kind of space is outside as much as it is inside. Those insides are in structures like architecture and skulls, vaulted and vexing. It becomes supernatural.
All events occur. Tensions are formed in critical observations and depths of field are flattened and found in images. Something about photography transforms—everything. Tools extract feelings and stars and dust and the everyday. Presented and playful we form ourselves in the environment; the Earth is in shapes and sizes, saturations and hues. Walsh is of the same meat, the works she produces are for pulp and flesh, carnal humanity, exude such illustrious things and shift what might be true. The ubiquitous and pedestrian are in everything. Anything can reign true in the cover of relationships. “I can make things that aren’t happening seem like they are happening.” Beyond perception Walsh is after such play and excursion.
Confusing and amazing is alchemy. Pleasure is turned on by the world. Channels of strength form buildings and rules. Being inside the body is shuddered by feelings and experiences. The work dissolves the maker when it comes into being. A universe is formed for people. The body is carnage. Walsh is in the service of others; viewers push through the framework of her art. Wanting and fearing are together and dissolution washes over all that anxiety in free form—like jazz.
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