painted fiber glass, 150 x 100 cm, ed. of 3
Hanging Low pays homage to the conflicted relationship to memory, to pluralism, to joy thru mourning through the puckered lips of someone who smiles backwards.
Józef Wittlin’s Mój Lwów (My Lvov) laments the loss of the plural identities, languages, and affinities of a city that was Polish, Ukrainian, Russian, and German and warns of memory’s selective, if unstated, agenda. He speaks of the strange mix of the sublime and the street urchin, of wisdom and cretinism, of poetry and the mundane—as a special indefinable taste, as bitter-sweet.