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.