Large drawings of flowers stretch from floor to ceiling, interspersed with childlike doodles and rubbery human heads.
The gallery is transformed into something like the space of the mind in remembering or dreaming; a place that flickers in and out of three dimensions and linear time.
We might find an insight in the unreal space, but it refuses to be held onto. The feeling of a tangible crystal clear truth evaporates, but the images remain to haunt at a greater truth lost in our waking hours.
There’s no boundary box of frame, edges of drawing overlap and scrawls knit together, jumping from one paper surface to another, pink-skinned heads float freely and invert. The work in Belly combines for an aesthetic that feels much like a psychedelia of the self, with visuals that oscillate rapidly between the mental constructions of a child or adult, or out of chronology altogether.
It is a reconstructed space of frozen moments, replayed motion and esoteric annotations. As in dreams or memories we try to find the truth, where choices lead to divergent paths, what could have been and still could be, looking for signal among the noise.
In our heads the kaleidoscopic potential of imagination unfurls, possibilities for the grand and absurd exploding like shrapnel, our perception of crisp boundaries around the self become perforated and eventually disintegrate.
In that dissolution there are sensations of curiosity, terror, joy- but ultimately some sublime beauty: that what we are, and may be, is so much more than what is seen.