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THE CITY
Reconstructing
Memory: Factual Errors and Fictional Truths
On the recent paintings of Richard Perkins
Essay by
Jennifer Dorner
Jennifer
Dorner, Volare
(Detail), oil on
canvas, 2004
Yesterday
was a beautiful, warm and sunny July day. I left work early and walked
toward Parc de Lafontaine which is about halfway to my place. All of
the metal rooftops looked like flat matte grey chalkboards against the
infinite blue sky. As I reached the park I noticed a helicopter
stationed in one of the clearings. I walked toward the aircraft and a
man in a light blue uniform stepped partway out and signaled me to come
over. The wind from its propeller made it difficult for me to keep my
eyes open.
I was drawn by the massive, loud and overpowering machine, pulled in by
the magnet of my curiosity - to see the city from above. I climbed into
the helicopter; it rose hovering up over the buildings and trees. It
swayed and drifted, gradually making its way through the suburbs.
Glossy blue swimming pools reflected the sky, yard to yard, decorating
the elaborate grid of streets, cars and homes.
I moved closer to the opening to get a better view. The helicopter
seemed to become motionless, as if suspended in one spot. My eyes
stayed focused on a bright blue rectangular shaped swimming pool far
below me. It was as if my body was gravitating towards the ground. I
leaned further forward and rolled out, head first. At that moment it
felt like time had stopped. Everything was still. My body completely
disconnected from the world. I dove down, falling, and falling,
my sight fixated on the fast approaching pool until I penetrated the
surface of the water, an abrupt shift into the cold turquoise
depths.
The truth is I’ve never fallen out of a helicopter. In fact
I’ve never even been inside of a helicopter. Although, I did grow
up in the suburbs with a big blue swimming pool in the backyard.
Richard Perkins also grew up with an “in-ground” pool. In
his painted version of it (entitled Pool) it appears as though the
deep-end has no bottom, it goes on forever. As a child, the
deep-end meant that you couldn’t touch the ground when standing,
and that even when you dove, it was impossible to hit the bottom. Did
it even have a bottom? The memory of the pool, its scale and
depth, grows and shifts with time alongside of the body.
As such, memory inevitably fails at being able to record events with
accuracy and precision. Painting inevitably fails at being able to
document events with accuracy and precision. However, painting succeeds
at being able to depict memory. Like memory, painting is elusive. It
slips away from the sharp lines and exact shadows of the outside world.
Imagination fills in the cracks and gaps and allows for the mind to
wander, travel and explore spaces that are built and shaped from little
bits of truth.
As part of the process, Perkins builds three-dimensional models of
objects, structures and architectural spaces based on memories from his
childhood and recollections from his recent past. The models are small
constructions crudely and meticulously built of paper, cardboard,
papier maché, bits and pieces that are assembled to give a
physical presence to the ephemeral recollection. In other words,
the model is a mnemonic device used to describe the mental image in
“real” space. The process of transferring the memory
to canvas is laborious and circuitous. It moves through various stages
of production from sculpture to photography to paint. Like memory, the
mediated space of time and movement distances the recollection from its
original state and positions it within a universe of strange and absurd
detail.
The paintings contain recognizable fragments such as architectural
motifs and expansive interior spaces. However, strange and unfamiliar
structures and unusual colors are woven into the depicted sites. The
fusion of warm familiarity with cool alien spaces incites exploration
and invites the viewer to travel through narratives of their own
making. The paintings are quiet with no sign of life, no evidence of
human activity, they transcend time like an endless grey highway
punctuated by small flashes of odd sights. Like travel, the
paintings pull the viewer from the flux of everyday life and present a
situation where one might ask “what would it be like to
fall from a Helicopter into a bottomless pool?”
Depictions of various forms of space are transferred into
two-dimensional environments that narrate intimate fictions. They
become vehicles of fantasy into which the viewer may enter to watch the
story unfold. The story is in part about Richard Perkins; it describes
the defining moments that stand out in his memory. These moments are a
collection of objects, places and ideas; suburban swimming pools of his
youth, giant water slides, imagery pulled from photographs and places
that he has been. The story also incorporates a reflection on the
aesthetic materials out of which the work is made. The paintings are
based on the intricately crafted models and describe the history of
their labor and construction. They depict the flatness of cardboard,
the dryness of wood, the sheen of plastic and the coiled, glued papers;
all of which have been amassed and documented for the purpose of
composing the visual anecdote.
Perkins is creating artificial worlds that rely on truth and inversely
error to illustrate the psychological atmosphere of memory. These
worlds could never exist. Anomalous and imaginary, the shifts in
perspective and scale allude to the uncertainty and instability of
memory. When imagination is used to fill in for the real,
colorful and complex worlds emerge. Sunlight falls into spacious,
minimally adorned chambers, a warm glow illuminates monumental
architectural structures that cast long shadows. Windows divide the
outside from the inside and look out into a vacant space. The sky is a
blue void, an empty backdrop as if to contain the constructed universe.
2005
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