Bloody Cotton Balls
Photographies
Chashama Gallery
2014
''Beyond the tank I could see a girl wearing an old floral bridesmaid's dress. Like a sad fairy she made her way around, dropping bloody cotton balls off at every table.'' (dream passage I chose to create the photographies and the video)
Model and actress: Marie-Therese Bjornerud
Pictures for THE SEED exhibition at Chashama gallery, NY
THE SEED, an experimental art collaborative, will be hosting its first show at Chashama gallery in Harlem on October 23. The opening reception will launch a five day exhibit featuring original works in a variety of mediums. The same,single dream (THE SEED) was given to all artists to be used as inspiration for anew piece of work. The exhibit will feature art by painters, sculptors,designers, filmmakers- to name a few, with work inspired by this common thread. The SEED was organized by Natalie J. Frazier as an outlet for sharing her written dreams. Because dreams are solitary experiences, she wanted to find a way to share them in a manner that allowed them to exist beyond her own mind. This project was fashioned to encourage other individuals to engage with her dream beyond the storyteller/reader dynamic, but on a personal and creative level. By offering her dream as a common launching pad for other artists' work, the interpretation would then stem from those artists. The collection of those works can then be further experienced and interpreted by the audience allowing this one simple dream, THE SEED, to have unexpected meanings and growth.
THE DREAM:
Housewarming
I had just moved into a trailer so I'm not sure why everyone was celebrating. I'd gone inside hours earlier and tried to take a nap before the big party. There were supposed to be a lot of people coming and I knew I would be grumpy if I didn't get some shut eye. Soundly sleeping, I could feel the cold breeze coming in through the open windows and saw the sunlight bleeding through my eyelids like flesh colored heat. Instead of actually resting, I realized I was weighing the pros and cons of whether or not I should have closed the windows and blinds before I went to sleep. As soon as I abandoned the idea and decided to focus on slipping back into the kind of sleep where I wouldn't conduct useless debates with myself, I felt the rhythmic sway of the trailer pick up. Drum beats, like footsteps, rocked me to sleep. A few peaceful seconds felt like hours until they suddenly stopped. Then the floor climbed up the door and I heard the pounding of something unavoidably human. The knocking ceased, not for my reply, but in spite of it and the door opened to let them through. My nap was ending and I would soon have to accept that it was time to wake up. I fought it until I heard the first confirmation of another; her voice poked me in the ear like a needle. The only defense I had left was cruelty, but I was saving that for later. I reluctantly threw off the covers and got up.
I looked out of my double wide and saw the glow of a distant gathering. The party was an acre or so away from the wooden stairs that separated my feet from the earth. Stepping forward, breaking the seal between myself and my festive evening, I placed one polished toe on the ground at a time and when my whole body had left the safety of my mobile home, I never once looked back. Now I was the hostess of the best party to ever hit this side of the woods.
Parting the crowd with my presence, friendly stares and head nods welcomed me into the bubble of onlookers laced with cocktail dresses and glowing from a mist reminiscent of morning dew. I had arrived and now I had to lead my guests through the night, a responsibility that seemed decades away from the crisp sheets of my foldout bed.
The decorations were sparse. Light bulbs were hanging from the trees and tables were set up under a plain white tent in the distance. The biggest attraction was a glass aquarium nearly 50 feet long and 20 feet high. The aquarium was dark and the water emanated a dull, sea green, light. Human bodies were floating around in the tank wearing black plastic clothing and red gloves. Some were dead, getting movement only from the water. Others were performing for the crowd. I wondered how long they'd all been there and if the live ones could taste the dead and if they could, I wondered what it tasted like. My eyes lost focus in the water, mesmerized by the dead man's hair swaying like seaweed, back and forth, his red gloves moving in unison.
Family began to approach me, taking their turns hugging me, one by one. My eyes held fast to the tank ahead until I looked so hard I was looking right through it. Beyond the tank I could see a girl wearing an old floral bridesmaid's dress. Like a sad fairy she made her way around, dropping bloody cotton balls off at every table.
Curator Biography: Natalie is a writer and New York City Realtor with a love of organizing events and bringing communities together. After practicing law in Texas, she moved to New York and began selling real estate. She enjoys developing ways to feed her creative urges, often by organizing events aimed at showcasing talent. THE SEED is the first project where in she has actually injected her own creative work, by authoring the subject dream for this show.
THE SEED 2014 SEEDFREELY.COM
THE SEED, an experimental art collaborative, will be hosting its first show at Chashama gallery in Harlem on October 23. The opening reception will launch a five day exhibit featuring original works in a variety of mediums. The same,single dream (THE SEED) was given to all artists to be used as inspiration for anew piece of work. The exhibit will feature art by painters, sculptors,designers, filmmakers- to name a few, with work inspired by this common thread. The SEED was organized by Natalie J. Frazier as an outlet for sharing her written dreams. Because dreams are solitary experiences, she wanted to find a way to share them in a manner that allowed them to exist beyond her own mind. This project was fashioned to encourage other individuals to engage with her dream beyond the storyteller/reader dynamic, but on a personal and creative level. By offering her dream as a common launching pad for other artists' work, the interpretation would then stem from those artists. The collection of those works can then be further experienced and interpreted by the audience allowing this one simple dream, THE SEED, to have unexpected meanings and growth.
THE DREAM:
Housewarming
I had just moved into a trailer so I'm not sure why everyone was celebrating. I'd gone inside hours earlier and tried to take a nap before the big party. There were supposed to be a lot of people coming and I knew I would be grumpy if I didn't get some shut eye. Soundly sleeping, I could feel the cold breeze coming in through the open windows and saw the sunlight bleeding through my eyelids like flesh colored heat. Instead of actually resting, I realized I was weighing the pros and cons of whether or not I should have closed the windows and blinds before I went to sleep. As soon as I abandoned the idea and decided to focus on slipping back into the kind of sleep where I wouldn't conduct useless debates with myself, I felt the rhythmic sway of the trailer pick up. Drum beats, like footsteps, rocked me to sleep. A few peaceful seconds felt like hours until they suddenly stopped. Then the floor climbed up the door and I heard the pounding of something unavoidably human. The knocking ceased, not for my reply, but in spite of it and the door opened to let them through. My nap was ending and I would soon have to accept that it was time to wake up. I fought it until I heard the first confirmation of another; her voice poked me in the ear like a needle. The only defense I had left was cruelty, but I was saving that for later. I reluctantly threw off the covers and got up.
I looked out of my double wide and saw the glow of a distant gathering. The party was an acre or so away from the wooden stairs that separated my feet from the earth. Stepping forward, breaking the seal between myself and my festive evening, I placed one polished toe on the ground at a time and when my whole body had left the safety of my mobile home, I never once looked back. Now I was the hostess of the best party to ever hit this side of the woods.
Parting the crowd with my presence, friendly stares and head nods welcomed me into the bubble of onlookers laced with cocktail dresses and glowing from a mist reminiscent of morning dew. I had arrived and now I had to lead my guests through the night, a responsibility that seemed decades away from the crisp sheets of my foldout bed.
The decorations were sparse. Light bulbs were hanging from the trees and tables were set up under a plain white tent in the distance. The biggest attraction was a glass aquarium nearly 50 feet long and 20 feet high. The aquarium was dark and the water emanated a dull, sea green, light. Human bodies were floating around in the tank wearing black plastic clothing and red gloves. Some were dead, getting movement only from the water. Others were performing for the crowd. I wondered how long they'd all been there and if the live ones could taste the dead and if they could, I wondered what it tasted like. My eyes lost focus in the water, mesmerized by the dead man's hair swaying like seaweed, back and forth, his red gloves moving in unison.
Family began to approach me, taking their turns hugging me, one by one. My eyes held fast to the tank ahead until I looked so hard I was looking right through it. Beyond the tank I could see a girl wearing an old floral bridesmaid's dress. Like a sad fairy she made her way around, dropping bloody cotton balls off at every table.
Curator Biography: Natalie is a writer and New York City Realtor with a love of organizing events and bringing communities together. After practicing law in Texas, she moved to New York and began selling real estate. She enjoys developing ways to feed her creative urges, often by organizing events aimed at showcasing talent. THE SEED is the first project where in she has actually injected her own creative work, by authoring the subject dream for this show.
THE SEED 2014 SEEDFREELY.COM