Melanie Willhide: The Disquieting Muses Again
October 18 – December 9, 2017
If the post-structuralists had ever penned their writings on chestnut beams, their graffiti might have looked much like Melanie Willhide’s The Disquieting Muses Again. A meditation on the construction of identity and desire, Willhide’s photographs of her uncle’s post-and-beam Connecticut mill–first erected in 1869–transform a reality already visibly mediated by language, and not to mention, weather. That there are “no real unaffiliated surfaces,” as Willhide puts it, is as true of the collection of countless paintings within the old mill and the collaged beams that buttress it as it is of the artist’s own images of the space. All objects, we find, are already more than their material substrate.
First a silk ribbon factory, and later an auto parts distribution center and furniture warehouse, the two-story brick mill underwent an unlikely metamorphosis in 2003 into an eccentric uncle’s artist loft and studio. Willhide’s subject bears the inscriptions of its history in the deliberate marks of those who have passed through its doors. If we expect warehouse workers of the 1960s to live up to our rugged stereotypes, then we may not be surprised by the naked women cutouts from Playboy and Time Life Magazine that adorn the mill’s posts. Their proclamations “Girls Are For Loving” and “Kisses”–text trimmed from the pages of magazines–are paired with the obscene scribblings of a studio assistant with a crude and violent imagination.
That those textual additions were made many years later is a fact lost in Willhide’s photos as they collapse time into one ruddy surface. The line between desire and violence, already a shaky one, is further obscured in the artist’s scans of her unknown collaborators’ work. In “editing their edit” of desire, and the masculine identity that comes into being through its images, the artist uncannily turns the gender of the space itself upside-down. Her process is somewhat more complicated than converting a silk ribbon factory into an automotive warehouse. Choreographing a scanner’s movement around the four sides of the mill’s beams, Willhide acknowledges the space itself as a form of art-making. But her resulting images reshape a masculine ideal of femininity, repurposing it for her own transgressive expression.
It is a clever reformulation of the idea of the muse. Perhaps Willhide is aware of the symbolic conflation in psychoanalytic theory of the house–its windows, doors, and rooms–with the female body. But whether she is or not, her process is both a collaboration across time and a reassertion of women’s own realities and creative power. We might be tempted to believe the subject of Willhide’s work to be the men who have come and gone through the space, those who have been fixated in turn on women’s eyes and mouths and bodies, but whose own bodies appear to be absent.
For Willhide, “desire is messy.” Its politics are not always as correct as cutouts of the US flag or Abraham Lincoln. The text in one of her photographs “Be Careful at Night” reads as both a bit of concerned advice and a deliberate warning, appearing alongside a headline about Jack the Ripper. But the messiness of desire also inheres in the disintegration of an ideal.
For further inquiries regarding this exhibition, please email firstname.lastname@example.org or call 646.247.1657.