Happy Hump Day, Dear Readers!
Those of you who know me know my little obsession with miniatures. Dioramas, dollhouses, you name it. Mostly though, I'm drawn to the macabre when it comes to miniatures. I have no idea why. Perhaps it's because seeing catastrophe, despair, and struggle in such a minuscule form is a way for me to overcome my problems when it comes to dealing with hardship. Because truth be told, I break. I even break when I see someone that needs a cane to walk. And if someone breaks their eyeglasses? Instant puddle. So when something big happens in my little corner of the world, like a death or an illness, you can imagine how hard I take it. I crumble. I go numb. I dissasociate. I have hurt many people this way. I turn myself off, and I appear cold. Unfeeling. My brain does all sorts of weird things in the name of self-preservation. I think miniatures help me deal with this element of myself better. I think that small things depicting big, big tragedies allow me to feel the heaviness of tragedy without feeling like I cannot overcome it.
Lori Nix
I mentioned in a previous post the work of Lori Nix. Her dioramas depict tragedy, loss, natural disasters, and the forgotten. What I love about her work is that there is always an element of humour or lightness amidst the sadness. She creates these vignettes in painstaking detail and then takes haunting photographs of them. Here is an example of one of her photographs of her dioramas. I can't get over the talent and work that goes into making something so small in such detail. Keep in mind that her biggest work is a mere 182 centimetres in diameter, and that none of her photographs are digitally manipulated. I highly suggest clicking on each image to see the work in more detail. |
| Bounty, 2004. Lori Nix. |
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| Laundromat, 2008. Lori Nix. |
Sarah Anne Johnson, House on Fire
I remember years ago going to an art exhibit at the
AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario) here in Toronto. I didn't see the entirety of the exhibition, because I spent my time trapped in one small room, peeking inside the windows of a horrific dollhouse. It was sheer madness, and it was brilliant. It was by an artist named
Sarah Anne Johnson, part of an exhibition called
House on Fire. From the
AGO website:
In the 1950s, Sarah Anne Johnson’s maternal grandmother was an unsuspecting participant in a CIA research program. Seeking treatment for post-partum depression, she was subjected to a series of mind control experiments at the Allen Memorial Institute at McGill University, Montreal. In House on Fire, Johnson uses her artistic practice to explore this difficult history and begin to understand its effects on her family.
So powerful and moving. Some pictures of the exhibition (sources noted after photographs):
That's all for today! Have a lovely Wednesday, Dear Readers!
