Lindsay Metivier's images read like a diary of sleepless weeks. Filled with observations recorded in the crepuscular half-light bridging darkness and dawn it evokes that hovering state; where memory isn't memory so much as the brain seeing its own contents in the moment. These are the hours when company is scarce, limited mainly to deer, much like these images, their consciousness continuously flickering and liminal.
The area in which a deer spends its entire life, called its home range, is thought to be less than a few square miles as long as food, water and shelter is available. Thinking about a life lived in such minimal expanse, the attention span deepens and settles on the quotidian, finding meaning in concentric loops of dappled light, cracked vinyl car seats, remnants of spiders’ webs, abandoned furniture, fading flowers, dust motes, lamps like freshly-snuffed candles, stray fauna, and flood- lit scenery obscured by half-drawn curtains. These pulses, stitched together, map out a restless, unfixed landscape, constantly being sketched by one hand, erased by the other, drifting into the viewer’s perception, before receding just out of reach. It’s a vision that resists careless comprehension, resembling rather a patina of humid condensation on window glass, softening the edges of everything seen through it, each glimpse in hushed conversation with the others, telegraphing a narrative in minor variations on a recurring riff or rift.
All artwork is for sale. Please contact Stacy Bloom Rexrode for more information.