Annie Blazejack

oil on dyed bedsheet
[60" x 72"]
Space Paintings

Media: Fiber + Textiles, Painting, Video

439R Somerville Avenue

MAP # 77

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Some days, paintings are like windows. Look into a space that's just beside this space. The plane between here and there is impossibly thin, infinitely thin, impeccably thin, but perfectly impermeable. Here and there have different weather, different histories, and different physics, even though they are right right right next to each other.

Some days, you'll be standing, hands on your hips, looking through a painting-window, and someone will look back out at you. Someone or some thing. It's surprising, to say the least. You feel a soft shock in your spine.

Some days, looking into a painting is like looking into a cave. Or it's like looking down a well, up a skirt, through a crack, into a mirror. There's something tempting inside a good painting, something vast. It's only partially visible, because I've covered up most of it with this big yellow brush stroke. (Is a good painting modest? I want to obscure all the juicy parts, so that you only glimpse a flash of ankle, or a little bit of soft throat skin. Maybe. But maybe I want my painting to swallow you.)

Some days, what you thought was a window, and just for looking, is really a portal. You can jump through, if you're feeling brave, or lusty.

I jump in every time.

One day, I'm going to jump into a painting, and it's going to spit me out into another room. I'll be in my best friend's studio. Just like that. That's the painting I'm trying to paint.