I kept saying that I’ve had Gizelle’s Belltown Art Walk show in my calendar for a year, and today my phone reminded me that we in fact did hang out exactly one year ago today, when I must have put it in my calendar, because it was already in there the next time we met up and she excitedly relayed her plans for it. I had a vague idea what to expect, but walking into the space still took my breath away, like “wow.”
The sheer scale of these pieces, combined with the patient labor it took to make them (all of this is embroidered) was unexpectedly moving; these are acts of devotion. There are religious motifs throughout, and personal moments sprinkled among the subtle nods to totalitarianism and “terror” (that backwards ‘live laugh love’ banner could have been taken off of the back of a desert technical). But most of all, there is deep affection here.
I strolled through the opening of MODERN AMERICAN MASCULINITY, which was also taking place at Base Camp 2, and was so impressed. This is just a fraction of the art on display.
I’d like to come back. I don’t do quite as well at these receptions as I do on regular gallery visits; I feel rushed and in everyone’s way while trying to soak in the vibe the best way I can. It’s me not you, but still.
I was most moved by Gizelle’s two horizontal strips depicting two texts from her mother. Yes, because they explicitly name “Beirut” (again and again, as Etel Adnan put it: “It Was Beirut, All Over Again”), but mostly because of the tiny label underneath, that said: “texts from mama.”
The simplicity of that statement and the disproportionality in size between those three words in comparison to the texts above pricked something in me. But I didn’t consciously realize it until I talked about it with Christine on our way home. Saying that word aloud (“mama”) broke my heart.
Maybe there’s enough dadaism in the world. Maybe what we need is more “mama.”