The Harris Gallery presents an online solo multimedia installation by Chuck Feesago. With an extensive exhibition record that has included performance, digital media, installation, and painting, Feesago’s studio practice continues to morph and evolve. In this temporary site-specific work, he poetically addresses topics that are intimately personal and sociopolitical. Carefully integrated materials, imagery, and lighting transform the Harris Gallery into a stage for somber contemplation.
The blur of the video collided all the emotions of my life into a collection of detached elements. Cut down, lying by a tire, bound to an unwanted scenario. Well-lit darkness witnessed an undeniable tragedy. The conversations are pushed beyond the margins. Narratives – NO – Stories pour forth eroding the limitations of awareness. Eroding the limited narratives of a single perspective.
George Floyd. My witness to the lynching of Floyd effected my ability to keep silent. The repetition of the video only dug deeper into my emotions boring a need to respond as I know how. Conscious of the space where the actions played, I honed on objects and relationships to the subject. My free association of those elements searched for other contexts where they may share an existence. In my clouds of thought and puzzling, the intersection of situations, history and materials orchestrated the foundation of the presented installation.
My words in free verse, are a challenge to an imperfect situation in an imperfect manor. For me piercing threads connects a moment to the past while offering possibilities, though tangled and confused.
Trees hold me to see time and memory. The log can be interpreted as potential for transformation or the kindling of a lifetime. This log’s bark is composed of images taken of lynching’s with onlookers staring into the lens. These images, often sold as postcards, are even more haunting as child stand smiling at corpses. A tethered tire lays in a pile. My memories of a swing in the woods are thwarted by images of humans dangling by a rope.
The dominance of white light – the rationing of black light – the pulsating flashes of blue and red – my anxiety escalates with threats of hostile contradictions. We can no longer plead innocence.