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CLOUD OF PETALS

SARAH MEYOHAS

CURATED BY JULIA GREENWAY
DISJECTA

DECEMBER 2, 2017 – JANUARY 13, 2018
REACTION | PORTLAND, OREGON

BY KELSEY GRAY
JANUARY 15, 2018

There is an undercurrent of tension that builds, unnervingly, to an almost-release that never quite comes. The absolute muscle of an albino python twisting over a bed of fragile petals, the men’s hands compulsively dismantling rose buds, a self-replicating algorithm that is programmed to mimic the imagery fed to its cloud server and works to endlessly produce more possible, but not actual, petals. This, for me, was the genius of Cloud of Petals - a binaristic tension that straddled its viewer between something alluring in its beauty and an insidious knowing of what this particular beauty, in all its disparate parts, costs.

The work at once inverts and critiques cultural norms of gender, labor, automation, and the handling of the body (I could not help but project my own form upon that of the rose flowers as they were alternately plucked, grabbed, smelled, caressed, and squashed), while also acting as a soothing balm through the trance of its imagery. The VR headsets, for example, became an alluring resting place to retreat to after the pithy, emotive content of the video installation. Once the headset is on, you are transported to an ethereal, otherworldly darkness illuminated only by clusters of drifting, glowing petals invented by the algorithm. The references to the replication and production of a singular norm of beauty, the artificially generated, and that which doesn’t last, are inescapable. Still, it feels a loss to remove the headset and return to the starkness of day. How easy it would be, to stay there and watch, your body removed from the equation as celestial petals crowd about you.

 

CLOUD OF PETALS

SARAH MEYOHAS

DISJECTA
DECEMBER 2, 2017 – JANUARY 13, 2018
REACTION | PORTLAND, OREGON

BY KELSEY GRAY
JANUARY 15, 2018

There is an undercurrent of tension that builds, unnervingly, to an almost-release that never quite comes. The absolute muscle of an albino python twisting over a bed of fragile petals, the men’s hands compulsively dismantling rose buds, a self-replicating algorithm that is programmed to mimic the imagery fed to its cloud server and works to endlessly produce more possible, but not actual, petals. This, for me, was the genius of Cloud of Petals - a binaristic tension that straddled its viewer between something alluring in its beauty and an insidious knowing of what this particular beauty, in all its disparate parts, costs.

The work at once inverts and critiques cultural norms of gender, labor, automation, and the handling of the body (I could not help but project my own form upon that of the rose flowers as they were alternately plucked, grabbed, smelled, caressed, and squashed), while also acting as a soothing balm through the trance of its imagery. The VR headsets, for example, became an alluring resting place to retreat to after the pithy, emotive content of the video installation. Once the headset is on, you are transported to an ethereal, otherworldly darkness illuminated only by clusters of drifting, glowing petals invented by the algorithm. The references to the replication and production of a singular norm of beauty, the artificially generated, and that which doesn’t last, are inescapable. Still, it feels a loss to remove the headset and return to the starkness of day. How easy it would be, to stay there and watch, your body removed from the equation as celestial petals crowd about you.

 

CLOUD OF PETALS

SARAH MEYOHAS

CURATED BY JULIA GREENWAY
DISJECTA

DECEMBER 2, 2017 – JANUARY 13, 2018
REACTION | PORTLAND, OREGON

BY KELSEY GRAY
JANUARY 15, 2018

There is an undercurrent of tension that builds, unnervingly, to an almost-release that never quite comes. The absolute muscle of an albino python twisting over a bed of fragile petals, the men’s hands compulsively dismantling rose buds, a self-replicating algorithm that is programmed to mimic the imagery fed to its cloud server and works to endlessly produce more possible, but not actual, petals. This, for me, was the genius of Cloud of Petals - a binaristic tension that straddled its viewer between something alluring in its beauty and an insidious knowing of what this particular beauty, in all its disparate parts, costs.

The work at once inverts and critiques cultural norms of gender, labor, automation, and the handling of the body (I could not help but project my own form upon that of the rose flowers as they were alternately plucked, grabbed, smelled, caressed, and squashed), while also acting as a soothing balm through the trance of its imagery. The VR headsets, for example, became an alluring resting place to retreat to after the pithy, emotive content of the video installation. Once the headset is on, you are transported to an ethereal, otherworldly darkness illuminated only by clusters of drifting, glowing petals invented by the algorithm. The references to the replication and production of a singular norm of beauty, the artificially generated, and that which doesn’t last, are inescapable. Still, it feels a loss to remove the headset and return to the starkness of day. How easy it would be, to stay there and watch, your body removed from the equation as celestial petals crowd about you.

 

CLOUD OF PETALS

SARAH MEYOHAS

CURATED BY JULIA GREENWAY
DISJECTA

DECEMBER 2, 2017 – JANUARY 13, 2018
REACTION | PORTLAND, OREGON

BY KELSEY GRAY
JANUARY 15, 2018

There is an undercurrent of tension that builds, unnervingly, to an almost-release that never quite comes. The absolute muscle of an albino python twisting over a bed of fragile petals, the men’s hands compulsively dismantling rose buds, a self-replicating algorithm that is programmed to mimic the imagery fed to its cloud server and works to endlessly produce more possible, but not actual, petals. This, for me, was the genius of Cloud of Petals - a binaristic tension that straddled its viewer between something alluring in its beauty and an insidious knowing of what this particular beauty, in all its disparate parts, costs.

The work at once inverts and critiques cultural norms of gender, labor, automation, and the handling of the body (I could not help but project my own form upon that of the rose flowers as they were alternately plucked, grabbed, smelled, caressed, and squashed), while also acting as a soothing balm through the trance of its imagery. The VR headsets, for example, became an alluring resting place to retreat to after the pithy, emotive content of the video installation. Once the headset is on, you are transported to an ethereal, otherworldly darkness illuminated only by clusters of drifting, glowing petals invented by the algorithm. The references to the replication and production of a singular norm of beauty, the artificially generated, and that which doesn’t last, are inescapable. Still, it feels a loss to remove the headset and return to the starkness of day. How easy it would be, to stay there and watch, your body removed from the equation as celestial petals crowd about you.

 

CLOUD OF PETALS

SARAH MEYOHAS

CURATED BY JULIA GREENWAY
DISJECTA

DECEMBER 2, 2017 – JANUARY 13, 2018
REACTION | PORTLAND, OREGON

BY KELSEY GRAY
JANUARY 15, 2018

There is an undercurrent of tension that builds, unnervingly, to an almost-release that never quite comes. The absolute muscle of an albino python twisting over a bed of fragile petals, the men’s hands compulsively dismantling rose buds, a self-replicating algorithm that is programmed to mimic the imagery fed to its cloud server and works to endlessly produce more possible, but not actual, petals. This, for me, was the genius of Cloud of Petals - a binaristic tension that straddled its viewer between something alluring in its beauty and an insidious knowing of what this particular beauty, in all its disparate parts, costs.

The work at once inverts and critiques cultural norms of gender, labor, automation, and the handling of the body (I could not help but project my own form upon that of the rose flowers as they were alternately plucked, grabbed, smelled, caressed, and squashed), while also acting as a soothing balm through the trance of its imagery. The VR headsets, for example, became an alluring resting place to retreat to after the pithy, emotive content of the video installation. Once the headset is on, you are transported to an ethereal, otherworldly darkness illuminated only by clusters of drifting, glowing petals invented by the algorithm. The references to the replication and production of a singular norm of beauty, the artificially generated, and that which doesn’t last, are inescapable. Still, it feels a loss to remove the headset and return to the starkness of day. How easy it would be, to stay there and watch, your body removed from the equation as celestial petals crowd about you.

 

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Sarah Meyohas completed her BA in international relations from the University of Pennsylvania and BS in finance from the Wharton School, and in 2015 received an MFA from Yale University. She has been the subject of solo exhibitions at Galerie Pact, Paris (upcoming 2017); Independent’s Regence, Brussels (upcoming 2017); 303 Gallery, New York (2016); and Where, Brooklyn (2016). She has participated in group shows at Aperture Foundation, New York (2015); Regen Projects, Los Angeles (2016); Alice Gallery, Seattle (2016); and Stux Gallery, New York (2015). Her work has been featured in The New York Times, Time Magazine, Wired, Vice, Cultured, Fortune, Artspace, and The Atlantic, among others, and she has appeared on CNBC, PBS, and CBC. She recently was selected for the Forbes “30 Under 30” list. Sarah Meyohas lives, works, and owns an eponymously named gallery in New York.
sarahmeyohas.com

Disjecta provides a catalytic platform for forward-thinking work by visual and performing artists. Dynamic programs showcase new ideas and engage new audiences while fueling collaborations between artists, curators, and viewers to impact and intervene in the larger contemporary arts dialogue. Disjecta exacts equal rigor from local and national artists, while recognizing and supporting the talent of the region. 

disjecta.org
8371 N Interstate Avenue
Portland, OR 97217

Originally from Colorado, and now living in Portland, Oregon, Kelsey Gray graduated in 2015 from Lewis and Clark College with a BA in studio art. With a lifelong background in the visual arts, Kelsey’s practice has recently taken a turn from the concretely tangible, to the more liminal, with writing becoming a more central focus.
kelsey-gray.com

 

Images courtesy Disjecta. Photo credit Mario Gallucci.

REACTION
A short regard of an exhibition, event, or other experience documented by a viewer in person or through digital resources. It aims to quickly connect curators, dealers, critics, and advocates with artists working throughout the country by providing a quick glimpse into a recent project.

© THE RIB 2017
© THE RIB 2017
© THE RIB 2017
© THE RIB 2017