Jessica Mais Wright
We keep memory through codes and rhythms and rings of information, which we ritually repeat. We are ritual creatures, beyond the superstition of myth; ritual is part of our intelligence; it is about taking possession; of space, of territory, of ideas, into oneself. In the possession of space comes the need to belong, to take rest from constant travel, to invest domesticity somewhere in some small form, to order and divide and sector, to designate, to organize.
Of all forms of organization, pattern is the most primal. Pattern is everywhere; it is the function by which most material things are homogenized by humans. It is a small concession made to the ritual inherent in our intelligence. Pattern is what designates possession of a space. Pattern is the simplest thing; a line repeated over and over again, a trace of an imprint stylized.
' When I first arrived in London in 2009 I realized how far away from home I was; my surroundings were comfortable enough, not particularly exotic, yet the space offered no rest from an incessant sense of spinning, heavily, too fast, as if my ears were full of water. I went to the library and buried my head in a book of Matisse’s paintings. I went to the cinema I bought a ticket to Pina by Wim Wenders. I watched with 3D glasses as a mirage of a red silk flag materialized into a ring of dancers, I watched a couple spinning in front of a black sea punctured by a rock lapping onto a wooden theatre stage. I walked through a green park and sat on a bench in the sun. For a few moments these places were home. If considered universally all humans would have the same reason to find theses experiences comforting, yet, as I went to my dorm the red flag kept spinning in my head, then as I looked out the window I sat watching the shadows of the trees move as the light faded, then, later, I dreamt of the red studio and of the sparkle of the waves around the pirouetting dancers. The next day I bought a one meter square of wallpaper printed with red clubs with an orange background and some cardboard. I copied the print onto the cardboard. Quietly my head stopped spinning. A simple red line … '
Pattern is the simplest thing; a line repeated over and over again, a trace of an imprint stylized and reproduced. In my sculpture I use the line of the wire to cut space. I create a complex armature, so there can be a liminal difference between what is contained and what is without. In each sculpture is a dense leaded cloud of tiny thorny spaces and yet also the wires themselves draw in space taking in the air around, making delicate filigree. In my paintings a single drop is made again and again, pushed around in forms, then copied, painted back, re-edged, in others a cloud of dust is heaped and ordered and lacquered into place. Each one of these works in my exhibition is its own constellation, a small, sectioned piece of ordered, contained space.
Jessica Mais Wright
Printaniere. 2013, Oil on Canvas. 110x 110 cm
Iridis. 2013 Oil On Canvas. 110 x 110 cm
Dusk. 2014. Oil On Canvas. 150 x 150 cm