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Someone could not woke someone up from its fainting, from its death; that’s almost indecent and yet I believe him; I believe this quest for beauty in all places that supposed to be covered with dirt.
I was immediately sorry I hadn’t thought of it myself, that I hadn’t stolen him from life, into my story.For spectators, an interactive experience awaits: birds, caught in the moment, watch us, ready to strike or to fly away; clusters of twisted vines and treacherous spikes draw us inside.‘As my work with natural subjects becomes more detailed, so my subjects become more assertive,’ the artist states.The Magpie is the only non-mammal species to have the ability of self recognition in a mirror test.And they are are also the ultimate recycler known for thieving and collecting found objects for their nests.Then, in 2005, ‘sick with shingles, I walked into a shop that was running ceramic painting classes and it was immediately obvious that it was something I had to do’. Having worked with human hair in the past and now with donated pigeon, natural, undyed feathers, Kate Mcc Gwire creates visually striking art.
While she has worked with earthenware as well as porcelain, her medium has always been the plate. The Royal College of Art MA graduate is based on a boat floating on the Thames, which helps her stay connected to nature.
A young man with burning eyes (that’s the way it is, sometimes similes flares in your head, later it softens).
Anyway, a young man with brown eyes, keeping dead birds in his freezer and later taking them out of their coverage in a club named Nightingale Cinema, no less.
Symbolism pushed its way in, photographs with dead birds, magnificent, hurt, in a club named after the primordial singing bird; and that’s the mode of action: he approaches stranger men at the club and asks them to photograph with a dead bird. The necrophilic layer, the emotions layer, the surprise, the threat, the spectacular sight of a boy holding a bird, struck with a spotlight.
It’s a story’s geology, something needs to be done, I thought in despair.
An almost Christian image, I thought, almost poetic, Jesus in the hands of Mariah.