jenine marsh
       projects
       images


   Dear Stranger, 2017









   Coins and Tokens, 2016-17









   Night Vision, 2016





   Night Shade, 2016



   Correspondent, 2016

   Shadowing, 2016










        
Dear Stranger
Two-person exhibition with Lindsay Lawson
Entrée, Bergen Norway. January 2017


She called three phone numbers. She did this every day. The numbers
were conjured in the way of wiggling fingers in an improvised
screen tap dance. The first rang and rang thirty-one times before
she ended the call. The second went immediately to voicemail. The
third was answered on the second ring. The voice said, “Hello,
who's this?” Her number was blocked. She replied only “Hello” and
let a pause spread like a stain until she heard an intake of breath
and hung up. Her arm hair was all on end, her fingers quivered and
her breathing was like hot bellows.

Later when she went walking to work she would meet eyes with ten
people. Just ten, exactly. Her walk was forty-five minutes on a busy
street so she could be selective. Without looking she would notice
them and try to get a sense of them through their stride, dress and
activity. If they were on their phone or fucked up on something she
wouldn't bother. It wasn't about the challenge. When she and they
were almost shoulder-to-shoulder she would look up and see if they
would look or were looking. Almost every time they would or were.

        

In the evening she sat at the bar, elbow-to-elbow with the others.
She kept her eyes on her cocktail, a Swamp Water. The glass was cold
in her hand, and the maraschino cherry stained the dirty-water
coloured mix with its sticky blood.

What would it be to be as transparent as this glass? Skin like an albino
tree frog, guts seen colourful and cartoony through the crystal belly?
The heart would bob wet and red as a cherry, and purple intestines would
coil here like a worried snake. And what would it be to be this hand here,
holding this glass? Like a starfish, five-fingered and blind, living in
and digging out an existence from salty black mud. A starfish regurgitates
its insides to eat. It feels its way, digesting externally.

When she got home she took out paper and a red pen. The letter began
“I don't know you”. She crossed that out and wrote, “you don't know
me”, and then waited for the rest to come. There wasn't much more to
it; the letter had no body, it was all intro, chopped off with a vague
but optimistic “hope the feeling's mutual.” No return address or name.
She folded the letter into an origami frog and hopped it out of her
window. The street below was quiet. She and the receiving stranger
would make contact, but there would be no further exchange, only this
one isolated incident of a paper frog. She and it and them, they and
it and her. She notices red ink smeared on her palm. “We are like
swamp water”, she thinks; “clearest at the surface.”

        

Dear Stranger, 2017
Pressed flowers, saliva

Coins and tokens, 2016-17
Open series of train-pressed coins and tokens

Night Vision, 2016
Plaster, ink, cellophane, flowers, synthetic rubber,
polyurethane adhesive, acrylic, acrylic varnish, wire
20 x 6 x 33 cm

Night Shade, 2016
Plaster, ink, flowers, synthetic rubber, polyurethane
adhesive, acrylic, acrylic varnish, wire
16 x 5 x 24 cm

Correspondent, 2016
Plaster, ink, cellophane, synthetic rubber, polyurethane
adhesive, acrylic varnish, wire
16 x 5 x 22 cm

Shadowing, 2016
Plaster, ink, cellophane, synthetic rubber, polyurethane
adhesive, acrylic varnish, wire
16 x 10 x 24 cm