Missing

There’s something to be said for prolific makers. Those who don’t flitter and get bored and leave things in piles and in folders. Those who have painted 454 portraits for a show but just in case there aren’t enough, they make 75 more.

A selection of the hundreds of artworks tickles the floor of the gallery like the hem of a frilly skirt. I’m not convinced the works are based on real encounters but as the space swells with friends, students and associates, everyone, whether frantically or more subtly tries to find a figure who resembles them.

‘That one looks like me!’

‘No, it looks like her’

‘I’m offended he didn’t do one of me’

Text wraps it’s way around select figures, a deep dive into an imaginary monologue or a one sided conversation. Inclusion of text combined with the ambiguous, genderless characters craft a sweet and melancholic narrative that mirrors the artists’ previous work around gender and identity.

‘I am longing for attention from the right person’.

Mouths are overdrawn and bloated as if stained with red wine or stuffed with something sweet. Others look swollen or juicy after an intimate encounter. Some appear like Victorian high society with over the top headpieces or lofty lace and cake like layers. Occasionally a figure is more exposed in spaghetti straps or swathed in bleeding tones of brown and grey.

Some of these characters are smudgy and tired and weary. Perhaps they’ve been up all night and they catch your eye on your commute and their walk of shame.

‘I get up every morning and feel like death.’

Eyes are pulled in all directions as concentration wanes. A need for back-story or for context draws us further in both figuratively and literally as we inspect the tiny faces, bending and kneeling; hoping clues might reveal themselves.

The figures in Missing reference art history and fashion and drag all at once. The loose sheets cast shadows and hide faces and crisp copier paper is gently warped by water and
pigment.

• https://lungleygallery.com/missing/