Yesterday my show titled AFFECTION opened at Covenant College in Georgia. Thank you to Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt for this opportunity. While I was not able to be there in person, I did get to introduce my work via the video included below. As I was stressed about the preparation a dear friend said to me, "Julia, no one has ever seen this before." And that simple concept gives so much freedom. I am only competing with what's in my head. Every one else will be experiencing something new and hopefully fascinating. The show is up until March 6. The written statement is below for those interested. THE HORIZONTAL LINE by Edward Hirsch (Homage to Agnes Martin) It was like a white sail in the early morning —-- It was like a tremulous wind calming itself After a night on the thunderous sea —-- The exhausted lightning lay down on its side And slept on a bed of cumulous sheets —-- She came out of the mountains And surrendered to the expansiveness of a plain —-- She underlined a text in Isaiah: Make level in the desert A highway for our God Every valley shall be exalted And every mountain and hill shall be made low —-- The mountain grew tired of striving upward And longed to flatten its ragged peaks —-- The nostalgia of a cathedral for the open plain —-- The nostalgia of a soprano for plainsong —-- I know a woman who slept on a cot And sailed over the abyss on a wooden plank —-- She looked out as far as the eye can see But the eye is a circle—poor pupil-- And the universe curved —-- It was like a pause on the Bridge of Sighs An instant before the storm Or the moment afterward —-- My friend listened to Gregorian chants On the car radio as he raced down A two-lane highway in southern France —-- I remember riding a bicycle very fast On a country road where the yellow line Quivered ever so slightly in the sun —-- The faint tremor in my father’s hand When he signed his name after the stroke —-- The beauty of an imperfection —-- An almost empty canvas turned on its side A zip that forever changed its mind —-- From its first pointed stroke To its last brush with meaning The glow of the line was spiritual —-- How the childlike pencil went for a walk And came home skipping —-- It was like lying down at dusk to rest On the cool pavement under the car After a blistering day in the desert —-- The beaded evanescence of the summer heat —-- The horizon was a glimmering blue band A luminous streamer in the distance —-- I recited, Brightness falls from the air And the line suddenly whisked me away —-- No chapel is more breathtaking Than the one that has been retrieved On the horizon of memory —-- She remembered the stillness of a pool Before the swimmers entered the water And the colorful ropes dividing the lanes —-- Each swimmer was a scar in the blue mist —-- Invisible bird, Whistle me up from the dark on a bright branch —-- It's not the low murmur of your voice Almost breaking over the phone But the thin wire of grief The hum of joy that connects us —-- Sacred dream of geometry, Ruler and protractor, temper my anguish, Untrouble my mind —-- Heartbeat, steady my hand —-- Each year she crossed a line Through the front page of a fresh diary And vowed to live above the line —-- She would not line up with others She would align herself with the simple truth —-- She erased every line in her notebook but one Farewell to the aspirations of the vertical The ecstasies of the diagonal The suffering cross —-- Someone left a prayer book open in the rain And the printed lines blurred Ink smudged our fingers when we prayed —-- Let every line be its own revelation —-- The line in the painting was surrounded by light The light in the painting held its breath On the threshold of a discovery —-- If only she could picture The boundlessness of God drawing An invisible thread through the starry spaces —-- If only she could paint The horizon without limits —-- A horizontal line is a pilgrimage —-- A segment of devotion wrested from time —-- An infinitely gentle mark on a blank page —-- The stripe remains after everything else is gone ——- It is a wisp of praise with a human hand —-- It is singing on a bare canvas I first read “let every line be it’s own revelation” over twenty years ago and it has guided my practice ever since. As someone with a developed and ongoing commitment to repetitive mark making alongside an understanding that for me to paint is to pray, every mark, every interaction between materials is an opportunity. an invitation into relationship, with material, with viewer, with the Divine. Every line every drip becomes it’s own revelation. The work is displayed in such close proximity, because it seeks dialogue. In much the same way that salons of artwork used to be hung for education and discourse so too these pieces ask you the viewer to join the conversation. Moving clockwise thru the space, beginning with the blue wall. The first 10 pieces are a reflection on the theme of affection. They are constructed thru the drawing of affection forward and backward across the surface, Salt is then showered on the surface and the offerings are left to dry. Each piece is created in the same way, and each outcome is different. They are an amplified chorus proclaiming love and interest to the viewer. The affection pieces acknowledge the nuance of nature and nurture, inviting and welcoming all in glorious diversity. By having them on adjacent walls it is my hope that the viewer begins to be encircled by affection, preparing them for the difficult conversations ahead and knowing that all of the questioning is done from a place of bolstered support. The next series is titled “In the Depths” These paintings appear ossified and aquatic. One of the most profound books I read in the past year was “The Deep” by Rivers Solomon. “The Deep” is a haunting remembrance of collective trauma, the Mid-Atlantic slave trade, and how healing happens in community, especially thru mutual aid. They nod to my experience as a swimmer, but also to the human experience of navigating life’s currents. They invite the viewer to go deep. My family phrase is a call and response where someone says “Is the water deep?” And the rest chorus “Jump in!” Meaning explore the new, do a deep dive on history, or something else that interests you. Be earnest and unapologetic about your interest. All of these references are not comparable, but layered. They were what I reflected on while painting and it is my hope that they show up and find resonance with the viewer prompting reflection on your own understanding of self and community. These paintings are created thru splashes and drips, their watery origins being reflected in the final images. This next collection of works, is just that: a collection. Here various working methods are displayed alongside each other prompting different interactions. There is a distinct ombre effect in the day when the winter sky is visible thru the clerestory windows and a striped effect when the night sky mirrors the darker paintings of the lower row. This prompts a different reflection on place and time, perception and transience. Each painting of this collection offers something different and it is up to you to interpret without external guides, through your own intuition. Then we come to the Droplets wall. The foundation of this series began a few years ago when I was on a Zoom call with a precocious three-year-old. We were painting together and she was asking lots of questions, as is her right as a three-year old, which meant that my focused attention needed to be directed at her and not necessarily at the painting. What could happen was a fingerprint at a time. A simple gesture, that evolved into patterned prayers, meditations on connection. I painted on dry paper in sketchbooks and then dry paper in large rolls, 30ft long rolls. A shift happened when I wet the paper and then fingerprinted onto it dancing with the blooming touchpoints, allowing for real-time adjustments of the image. After gaining proficiency with this working method I returned to my familiar practice of adding salt to wet imagery. The hydrophilic and hydrophobic reactions highlight the directionality that the water application introduced and construct highly textured images. As for the content of these images, this Droplets series is a reflection on two concurrent epidemics in America. First, SARS-CoV-2; as someone with a complicated immune response to illness, my life has been drastically altered by the presence of these viral droplets and is the reason why I am not there with you in person today. The second endemic that the Droplets series focuses on is gun violence and subsequent blood splatter. Something I am all too aware of as a university professor. As I realized the content of these paintings I removed my fingerprints from the paper and created through splatter and drips; making no direct contact. This is reminiscent of the distance that many that many take when talking about these challenging issues. The choice to display the paintings as a wallpaper points to the enormity of these issues, their immensity blocking all other sight and action. Both the “Droplets” and “In the Depths” are constructed in the same way. Thru drips and splatters, but the “Droplets” have salt added and “In the Depths” foregoes that step. While the process of making these paintings appears effortless, they are splatter paintings after all, they are not. They are carefully choreographed initiatives between material and intent. The monochromatic color scheme constructs a meditative space where the viewer has room to explore free from chromatic distraction. Every element is collaborated with allowing for the coalescing of form and meaning. All of the paintings remain unframed in the traditional sense. For a long time I didn’t understand my reluctance to framing. I had the means and ability, but the work resisted it. It wasn’t until I read a street performers and musician with a habit of crowd-surfing reccount about the exquisite trust and vulnerability that develops between a performer and their audience that I understood. The pieces are an experience in trust. The sheets of paper remain unprotected. They rely on the viewer to treat them with, at minimum, benign neglect, and at best, utmost care and consideration. Thus adding to the interpretative elements while implicating the viewer in the process. Thank you for your careful consideration, I offer these works to you with much affection. Julia Hendrickson
Epiphany 2024
2 Comments
Sharon
2/1/2024 07:41:36 pm
Hello Julia. I have been fascinated by your work since finding your instagram account a couple years ago. As a children’s book writer and art maker, I’ve had years of enjoying different types of art. I’ve made everything from jewelry to fabric art, collage to dolls. All in a small but most enjoyable way. Your work spoke to me when I first saw it because of its repetitive look (though each piece always its own message). It reminded me of my yoga practice…starting with the more active vinyasa, aging into a more relaxed yin practice. This past autumn, two things happened to disrupt my comfy life. My mum died (after 92 years) leaving a hole in our home and hearts. I was diagnosed with a chronic allergy (tick borne), call Alpha Gal which means my life on our cattle farm radically changed as I now live a Vegan lifestyle…rather reluctantly. So what does that mean to you? It means I had not the interest or bandwidth to create in my usual way. Everything seemed hard and foreign. I did all the Christmas things which was a delightful distraction but the 56 days of January dragged. Then, thanks to the algorithm gods, you appeared up once again on my instagram feed…and my creative spirit took notice. Today I pulled out my liquid watercolors with view to making a journal similar to the one you made for traveling friends. I don’t know how you feel about folks interpreting your work in their own way and trying your techniques. I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to thank you for - unknowingly - giving me the nudge I needed to create again, and tell you how much I enjoyed your video about your lovely Affection collective. Stunning work. Kindly, sharon stanley
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Julia Hendrickson
2/10/2024 07:40:17 pm
Hi Sharon,
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