Wednesday Edition: Rebecca Loyche
Happy Wednesday (which feels like Thursday to me for some reason) collectors! After a morning of pelting rain and wind, I'm glad about the blue skies out our window, not to mention the fact that I have a window to look out of.
The lack of exterior windows is one of the many things that gets me about today's photography edition, The Office from Rebecca Loyche. As always, this limited edition is available exclusively through 20x200. All three sizes are printed on 100% cotton rag paper using archival inks.
I initially discovered Ms. Loyche's work via Paddy Johnson, a NYC art critic who publishes her witty and biting commentary daily on the site Art Fag City. In addition to regular doses of candor, Paddy also has an ongoing spotlight for emerging artists via her In Our Masthead series. An image from Rebecca's Legs series caught my eye a while back and I liked what I saw when I clicked through to her site.
Narrative is often an important element of the photography I'm drawn to. I love it when people walk into the gallery and start telling me stories about the photos that they're looking at. Many of the photos that I live with at home have stories attached to them: from the artists themselves, or of my own imaginings, associations or memories. There's a comfort in these tales and a certain meditative quality in their constant retelling. The subjects become characters, and the tableaux become familiar in that same way there are certain houses I've visited a million times in my dreams without ever having gone their in my real life.
The Office reminds me of a lot of things that I'm happy to have left behind. Windowless cubicles, PCs, feather boas. I've forsaken all of them, oddly enough! I have my own far-fetched theories about this particular scene based upon the evidence presented and my own personal neuroses.
Our heroine has lived her adult life plagued by an irrational fear of fiscal management which manifested itself in the form of sweaty palms, night terrors, persistent low-level anxiety. (Not that I'm projecting, no not me.) Steeled by therapy and the support of good friends, she prevailed against her subconscious and conquered the demon that is Quick Books. This momentous occasion was cause for rejoicing, so she put on her red dress and went out to celebrate.
After a night of revelry and a considerable champagne buzz, she returned to her cube and feeling virtuous, decided to account for the evening's expenses immediately. Sadly, tipsy good intentions proved to be her undoing as she inadvertently deleted all her earlier hard work. She slumps to the floor in shock, and this is exactly where her coworkers find her the next morning, staring blankly into space.
I am absolutely certain that this narrative is wholly my own and has little to do with Rebecca's intentions when making the picture. I'm also absolutely certain that the inconsistencies don't matter. I've got my story, she's got hers and we're both better for having imagined them. You too are free to make up your own story: try it, it's fun!
I'll be back with more arty goodness next week, but also plan on doing some catching up on past editions in the interim. Check the blog later this week to hear more about yesterday's edition. (Which clearly speaks for itself as it's just about gone already, in spite of my being remiss in yesterday's newslettering.)
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