Vulnerable Stitches:

a formal analysis of Claire Ashley and CAWT, TAUT, HOT .... NOT

Claire Ashley has two first names. She also has much to say in the field of occupying space. The Scottish sculptor creates a science fiction not unlike early 1960’s handcrafted sets of faraway worlds imagined on Star Trek. These sculptures are more figurative than landscape, though, created with painted canvas ‘skin’ and hand-stitched seams, which swell from air-inflation. The hyper-brite paint sprayed on the surface of the canvas neglects a painterly tradition in place for a characteristic of lightness, emphasizing the physical tension in the bloated, fabric forms.

Ashley is generous in her installation decisions at the University Galleries, where these chubby giants lay dormant. While the gallery bones are not forcefully disguised, it is easy to believe a transportation has occurred. This is primarily due to the size of the figures, which is significantly larger than possibly any human has ever been in the history of the world.  The size of the figures is integral to the power of the installation. While giant, they feel vulnerable, soft, friendly and playful. The figures are non-threatening. They have no gender. All the figures have features which could be rorschached into butt-cracks or boobs or the chubby fold of an armpit. Ashley allows them to breath. Navigating the show, one can feel slight movements or sounds of inflation, like the silent grandmother of a chaotic bounce house fan. Skin, stitches and bulging amalgamate into a visible, continuous tension, a guttural swelling.

As you enter the installation of Cawt, Taut, Hot …. Not, you are greeted by a chubby, shorter figure on the right, an entrance into a dark, spooky black-light cave of super neon on the left, and straight ahead, a Twombly-esque grid of silvery-painted foam board tiled over the wall concealing the gallery office. There is a hole cut out of this painting to accommodate the office window, which allows the office occupants a chance to peek at gallery visitors without the burden of direct engagement. I suppose this luxury goes both ways, since the gallery visitors are made aware of the peeking as they are viewing the untitled painting that covers the wall and frames the peeking window. Visible in the window alongside the office attendant is one Claire Ashley sculpture made of concrete and fishnet pantyhose, and one stylish, massive Mac desktop computer. This painting has other functions too, as the background of a set of small plaster sculptural figures. There is a definite change in authority between the larger and smaller figures.

These sculptures are not alive, they are dense, and serve as mockettes or maybe the playthings of the larger figures. Some are organized on a shelf display protruding out of the coverall painting, others stuck to the painting above the shelf like climbing handholds.

The untitled painting is the flattest piece of the show, created with eight or so factory-dimension foamboards tiled together. The overall motif is ambient in regard to the painting and colors laid over the skins of the figures; lots of sprayed, cloudy neon faded to silvery pinks and yellow, with very few areas of saturation. Everything seems to be applied accidentally, with small, inky blueprints of future figures. The only deliberate thing about this painting is its installation, the hole cut out for the window, and the drawing elements. The combination of accident and intention is disjointing, but the palette offers the painting admission into the show. The wallpaper-effect also prompts viewers to look past this piece in search of more solid forms. It is my understanding that, at one point, these foamboard panels were on the ground under the inflated figures during conception. Thinking about this figures as human, I feel an overwhelming embarrassment for them when viewing this piece. As if they weren’t vulnerable enough with the potential risk of being deflated ever present; now the afterbirth-soaked floor of their conception home has been pinned to the wall for all the world to see. It is highly personal, and demands respect and empathy from all guests of the gallery.