| There are no frills about Norwegian-born Ann Lislegaard’s
recent solo show. In fact, it is all quite simple. A strong halogen
lamp projects a flickering light on to a huge grey box leaning against
the wall. And it is no coincidence that the size of the box is close
to that of a screen - in a way, the box actually proves to be the "scene
of the crime". This becomes clear by the sound in the room. It
is almost like a chant performed by a soft-spoken female voice describes
her everyday doings while moving around in a domestic setting. "I
turn on the light, I can hear my neighbour walking next door; I do the
dishes; I walk across the floor; I like the grey color on the floor;
the floor creeps when I move…" The box bears discrete marks of grey floorboards like the ones described by the protagonist. There is also the sound of her footsteps on the creeping floor. Hereby, the box becomes a sort of stage where the action takes place. But as there is nothing else to look at, the box also becomes a kind of blank screen closely observed by the beholder. And while the light flickers and dims in accordance with the sound there is certainly a sense of screening, only the images take place nowhere but in the beholder’s head. The manner in which light and sound are transformed by the physical object while creating an imaginary but very intimate space is highly sophisticated. Especially because Lislegaard convincingly manages to underline the fact that it is still possible to deal with issues of private and public without necessarily involving the artist’s own children or the most intimate bedside stories. What a relief! |
