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  Artist Statement.

These are works conceived and painted in Berlin, Germany. They are the break down of what I see, what I feel, what I remember. Perception moving through time. Time is passing. The act of perceiving.

These are my senses. This is memory. This is a chain of relationships. This is what I see.

They are works on canvas. I use raw pigment, and mixtures of oils, varnishes and turpentine. I mix them into different staining and binding mediums. Varying the thickness of oil to pigment, pigment to turpentine, allows me the ability to manipulate the speeds of paint flow, its adhesive, staining, washing, or binding nature. Its quality of transparency and opacity. Giving me the smallest amount of control in what is by preference, an organic and chance-full process. I do not "mark" the canvas. Instead I pour and drip, rotating the canvas continually throughout the process. This process is a build up of multiple layers, usually ten or more. References of seeing.

These references are personal. My eyes' reactions. Spatial perspectives. Compressions and impressions of time and movement. A visual memory is constructed. Sensation is collected, slowed down, broken into data, re selected and interpreted. Settled into layers of visual textures and space. Landscapes of visual memory. Visual memory compressed into one moment. A canvas. TIME.

For me, Seeing is a form of moving through space. The eye collects everything. Sight is a merely a process of information gathering. What is being seen? What do I call that? What is not needed? What remains? Interpretation. Combinations, categorizations and patterns. The endless supply of visual data.

Were I to "see" it all, I would not be able to move nor function.

Open my eyes and I am receiving. Sight is placed into the needed/not needed file. Stored for future reference. Yes, that is an orange. Or deleted. I can now walk down the street. I see what I need. I am able to function because of selection. Visual memory.

Seeing is memory. TIME.

I try to understand this, I try to break it down. This very fast process of seeing/interpretation/re-membering. I try to break it apart into very separate intentions. I try to slow it down. And amplify its relationships. To break it apart and look at its process. Sight to seeing, interpretation to memory. Seeing is not then, just the eyesı action. But a process of gathering and organizing. A process of placing importance. Re-membering. Acts of gathering, marking and permanence. What is seen, what is needed, what is actual sight, and what is visual memory.

I use repetition. I slow down my visual process. Record visual importance. I cannot separate motion from seeing, seeing from memory, perceiving from living. I try to amplify these unions. To ask some questions about their separateness. I try to cast doubt on the relationships we take for granted as one act. The act of seeing. The use of our senses. The body full of information gathering capabilities, walking within TIME.


    Movement Statement

This is a project about memory. This project is about connection. This project is storytelling. Tell me your story. Let out a memory. Create a connection. Record visually a process. This is a painting.
Time is passing.
Somewhere inside us, time is a long visual record. Un-sequenced. Un-timed. Even out of order. A collection of vivid moments.
I cannot see into the picture house of your mind. You can't play for me a home video of your memories. So, you tell me stories.
I create new pictures as I watch you. If I am listening, I may get a glimpse of whom you are. If I hear you, I can see the visions that compress you into being.
A layered history. A visual history.
As I consider you, I may see a mimic of the memory inside you.
Across your face.
The way you move your head. You raise your eyebrows. Move your lips, look from side to side. If I watch carefully, I may see between these motions. I might get a glimpse of your meaning.
I will see your expressions.
Will you tell me what you mean? Will you not tell me everything? I see the hesitation, a decision to hold back this or that. It falls across your eyes just now.
A missing frame.
When you laugh your neck relaxes. Your head falls back. Your show me a thought through your open mouth. We are all animals actually. Your body tells me as much as your words.
And this is what I look for.

This is a visual storytelling project. It involves people talking to me about their memory. These conversations are recorded visually. A camera records stills of this moving process. A conversation. A movement through time across the landscape of your experiences. Remembered moments. These stills are then transposed into paintings. Paintings that are multi-layered. 15 movements of your face as you talk to me. 15 expressions of your eyes, mouth, or chin. A conversation full of impressions, transferred into line, shape, color, and movement, the tools of a painting. The end result becoming a visual expression of stored memory. A remembered history viewed in one moment. All frames compressed one above the other onto a canvas. Layered expressions, your facial movements, taken from a linear line, a fluid, time-based conversation, and compressed into a field of depth. An object. A painting. Stilled memory.

I am interested in this. Memory. I am interested in our body movements as we tell our memories. I am interested in slowing down time, or speeding it up. So our conversation is now seen all in one moment. Or perhaps the flip side, slowed down into still upon still of expression. Painting allows me to do this. I am not so concerned about what you tell me. Though it is important to you. I concern myself with the story your expressions relate to me. Your words allow you to find the story, telling it brings your visual memories to the surface. On your face, in your movements. It is written all over your face, we say.
I search then, for the memory stored in your body language. The traces of experience that guides your stories. The history that lies in your expressions. I am searching for the visual record of your memory. To see pain or joy in the face of another. Instinct.
I gather the world about me and place it onto a canvas. I am reacting almost continually to memory. I can capture the images of your face. The inserts of laughter, that very important name you seem to forget. Your brow is furrowing. These expressions as you recall. I want them. I will use them. I will construct a history. A retelling of your story. His-story, retold through my story. Reshaping words into pictures. Were I able to get inside your head and play out the movie of images you are drawing from, I would have no need to do this. But I cannot. Yet I am sure about one thing. I will see you differently as you are compressed onto a canvas. I will see you as a series of condensed moments. I wonder what truth of expression will occur there? Will these paintings say visually what you meant? Will they say more? Oral history turned visual history. This is my theme. I see importance in capturing the visual memory. I can read of your history. I can hear your history as you tell me. I can watch a documentation of this process. But these do not act in me as memories do. Memory stores itself in me as images layered out of order, out of meaning, out of regulated time. A painted record of your movements as you tell me of your experiences, comes closer to describing memory. This is what I see. This is what I want to describe.
  © 2004 by Barbara Droubay    produced by bureau Landegaard