blank1, digital image, 2015
blank2, digital image, 2015
blank3, digital image, 2015
CACTUS 1, aquaresin, hair, acrylic, 15" x 12" x 30", 2015
CACTUS 2, aquaresin, hair, acrylic, 15" x 26" x 21", 2015
CACTUS 3, aquaresin, hair, acrylic, 18" x 17" x 16", 2015
CACTI, aquaresin, hair, acrylic, 2015
CACTI, aquaresin, hair, acrylic, 2015
escape, acrylic on felt, 60" x 84", 2015
Daddy always had a joke about it.
What was the joke?
He'd ah... He would introduce mamma as the girl he met in Paris. And then he'd wait um before he said Texas til everybody thought that he meant...
he would wait before he said Texas til everybody thought... after everybody thought he was talking about Paris, France!
He, he always laughed real hard about it.
-- Travis Clay Henderson, Paris, Texas
Taking the Wim Wenders film, Paris, Texas as a starting point, this body of work looks to delve into the parallel ideas of the internalized male gaze
and the externalized male narrative. At the beginning of Paris, Texas a man is found wandering in the desert, searching for his promised land. The Western
Desert is a place of male archetypes: The Cowboy, the Prophet, the Sheriff, the Outlaw, the Pioneer, the Bandit, the Warrior, the Chief. It is a place of
female archetypes too: the Wife, the Prostitute and the sharp shootin', hard ridin', ass kickin' masculinized woman that is the exception that proves the
rule: women are chattel here.
The desert night is a woman's refuge. The cactus flowers blossom in the gentle cool of the starlight. A woman runs naked through the darkness, her hair
catches in the thorns.
She tells him of her nocturnal wanderings and he tightens her ties. He reminds her of her place with him and the child. She is a wife and mother. He
wraps her tightly thick in felt for her own protection.
The wool smothers her.
During the day she rages. He ties a bell to her ankle to track her, but she muffles it with a sock. She breaks free but so does the sock. He ties her
to the stove with his belt and she screams and the child screams. She breaks free again and everything turns to ash.
The child is lost. The man is lost. The woman performs for her reflection, following unseen instructions. Her bleachblonde hair sparkles in the
bright light.
A fowl is flayed for the camera. She can only watch as nails tear through her flesh.
Against the wall is a motel room door. Room number 1520. A peep show of the promised land.
You can stay
or pass on through
or whatever.