April 21 – April 14, 2019
Opening reception: Sunday, April 21, 3 PM – 7 PM
Open Hours: Saturdays and Sundays, 12–5pm
and by private appointment (info@ehfineart.com)
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I like to think that chasing a Snickers with a carrot brings balance into my life.
I know that twenty-step Korean skincare routines will not reverse the general crisis of democracy, and really there’s no way of knowing if tight pores will prove advantageous during the rewilding of civilization, and I’ve heard it is better to be safe than to be sorry, and often I am both.
If you are the company you keep, what does it mean that I’ve spoken only to my dog for the past three days?
Susan Sontag wrote “If civilization may be defined as that stage of human life at which, objectively, the body becomes a problem, then our moment of civilization may be described as that stage at which we are subjectively aware of, and feel trapped by, this problem.” The problem—whatever it is—is working, because it operates in such a way that it allows itself to proceed. In this sense the body, like shopping, is an activity, and I’m doing it well.
In an episode of The Nanny, Fran Fine stacks two slices of pizza atop one another while claiming she only needs one. “That’s two” her friend says. “No honey, not when you eat it like this.” Fran replies. “The body doesn’t know.” I’m thinking of wrapping my cigarettes in kale leaves.
We’re out of toilet paper again.
I lost my keys again.
The minutes of stillness commanded by placing a gooey sheet mask over my face are pretty much the only times I can force myself to do nothing. Reacquainting myself with boredom grants me kinship with the resigned, ambiguous faces of Renaissance models. Waiting around is a girl’s birthright. Even Judith, blood dotting her cleavage as she beheads Holfernes, looks a little bored.
I like to think that chasing some Adorno with The Bachelor brings balance into my life.
East Hollywood Fine Art is pleased to present Self-Careless, the first solo exhibition of painting and sculpture from artist Sarah Wilson. Rendered in a Skittles darkside palette, four paintings whorl the mundanity of quotidian female rituals into psychological and emotional landscapes. Interior states become fleshy, surrealistic figures plaintively playing out the antinomies of self-care, consumption, and isolation. Girls lounge precariously on counters, like a Cézanne apple about to fall. Here, the body is a model for families and institutions without ever losing its sticky corporeality. The sculptures bring the artist’s deft materiality in conversation with her family history, incorporating intimate, personal photographs tucked into amalgamated structures salvaged from her former family home. A giant stuffed denim chair hangs from the ceiling in chains, alternately conveying attitudes of louche display and blank surrender. Some might say they are one and the same.
Sarah Wilson (b. 1996, Toronto, Ontario) lives and works in Los Angeles, CA. She graduates this Spring with an interdisciplinary BFA from the University of Southern California, Roski School of Art and Design. Her work has previously been exhibited in Son of Mr. Green Genes, BBQLA (2017); Soft Bodies, Werkartz, Los Angeles (2018); and The Street and the Shop, Tin Flats, Los Angeles (2018).
