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For Margret Wibmer exhibiting at Lumen Travo Gallery, Amsterdam March
19, 2005
We know how to take dirt and make computers out of it. We've learned to
manipulate our universe. - Except at some level it doesn't make good sense.
Some part of the imagery is missing. The description does not entail our
intuition of the world
Mitchell J. Feigenbaum Mathematician
The world of New Magic commits symbols to the vibrating electronic ether
and mystically conjures up something that is with you. You're on eBay!
a friend
Here is a space inhabited by a strange assembly: Objects that extend,
droop, nod and tempt. Some in mid-pour from out of the wall, some reaching
with a lateral yaw. Overall there is a slight suspicion that the walls
might actually be keeping something out.
"measurements" are taken. 2- dimensional human image joins 3-
dimensional object. Connecting points becoming vectors suggesting a 4th
dimension of time and movement.
The flexing and supple body stands out as a guide, a gauge for measuring
the varying tension between the representations of the body and the personified
object.
It is the sensor of gradual degrees of elasticity vs. gravity, latency
and suspense and a rubber band kind of relaxed tension.
A narrative begins and spreads among the busy objects that seem only to
pause to invite detailed investigation. A white skirt declaring independence,
then obliging. Is there a ball-meets-racket sound coming from somewhere?
At 5PM the guide poses a challenge to pull on a red string.
There is disrobing going on. With some of the more seductively clothed
objects the tension simmers down to sheer languor, approaching the point
of total surrender.
Then there is "the girl with the object". The only eyes here
that meet the eyes. She must be the ambassador. Universally indigenous
she comes from a galaxy, far, far
within, holding her dad's helmet/cloaking
device.
Turning from the room there is a slight feeling of being watched. A notion
of the creator peering from behind the curtain, as from out of the corner
of an eye something red flutters to the floor.
Suzanne Morianz, NYC
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