Woven throughout Selva Aparicio’s cicada veils and fringed floor coverings are the complexities of rebirth, transition, and beauty’s ability to endure. Organic ephemera—human hair, thorned branches, scavenged wings—become poignant installations and smaller artworks that ruminate on a myriad of global issues, including the climate crisis and the infinite failures of the medical establishment.
Aparicio shares that her explorations of life and death began during childhood when she watched the natural world cycle through growth and decay in the woods outside of Barcelona. This lasting fascination has crystallized in the artist’s body of work, particularly in pieces like “Velo de luto (Mourning veil),” which sews together 1,365 seventeen-year cicada wings with strands of hair taken from two generations of women. The shrouds typically are worn to honor a spouse who’s died, and Aparicio notes the material and form exemplify that “as the fragility of the veil of wings decay so does the patriarchal veil of history that it represents.”
Overall, the artist says that her “practice has evolved beyond the individual to encompass environmental, social, and political activism and evoke the change and rebirth I witnesses in nature.” “Childhood rug,” for example, merges personal memory and a domestic object with larger themes of covering and exposing trauma.
Similarly, Aparicio cites her own experiences in “Hysteria,” an installation that surrounds an antique gynecological table with a curtain of thorned branches. Commenting broadly on the unjust power dynamics inherent within traditional healthcare, the artwork draws a direct correlation between the invasive and painful processes of medicine for women and their ability to bring new life into the world.
Although she spends half her time in Barcelona, Aparicio is currently in Chicago and has work on view at two locations: her piece “Hopscotch” is part of MCA’s group exhibition The Long Dream, while her solo show Hysteria is at the International Museum of Surgical Science, where the artist is in residence. Both are slated to close on January 17, 2021. Head to Instagram for glimpses into Aparicio’s process, as well.
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Although Lucy Sparrow is adept at treating scrapes and bouts of indigestion, her medical specialty lies in helping folks suffering from heart disease, IBS, and various illnesses caused by fiber deficiencies. The U.K.-based artist set up shop with The Bourdon Street Chemist, a fully-stocked, woolen pharmacy that’ll open its doors on January 18, 2021, at London’s Lyndsey Ingram. Over-the-counter medications like plush bottles of Pepto Bismol, Tums, and aspirin line the shelves alongside creams and luxury fragrances.
Sparrow’s medical practice, though, expands beyond the drug store with an entire surgical unit for more severe injuries and illnesses in her studio. The retro, tile-lined room is outfitted with traditional operation equipment and a woolen cadaver with compact organs, a skeleton, and even a bleeding heart.
Similar to her previous undertakings that filled bodegas and supermarkets with household goods, Sparrow hand-stitched the entirety of The Bourdon Street Chemist with painstaking precision, not only ensuring a variety of pharmaceuticals are available but also inscribing each tablet and bottle with fabric-paint labels. The artist established this new medical unit after converting a decommissioned ambulance into a “National Felt Service” vehicle and performing a live-felt-surgery at Miami Art Week in 2018.
Anyone who’s binged on Sparrow’s felt potato chips or wooly Sour Patch Kids can pick up a similarly fibrous remedy from the white-coat wearing artist, who stations herself in the large-scale installation. “There is something so intensely intimate in sharing your personal—and often embarrassing—ailments with a stranger. But because that stranger is wearing a white coat you feel safe and trust them with secrets you wouldn’t tell your best friend,” the artist says.
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Animation director Patrick Smith ingeniously interchanges a variety of pills, capsules, and syringes with similarly shaped candy in a vertiginous new short film. Parodying the ubiquity of modern pharmaceutical use, “Candy Shop” opens by noting that there are a staggering 11,926 prescription drugs available to consumers. Smith shows only 2,863 as he juxtaposes them with individually wrapped sweets, boxes of Gobstoppers, and rolls of Hubba Bubba Tape, which are eerily comparable in size, shape, and color.
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Dana Wyse has a cureall for, well, everything. Can’t make the bed properly? There’s a pill for that. Need to be a bestselling writer ASAP? An injection is all you need. Struggling to figure out the meaning of life? There’s a capsule for that, too.
The Canadian artist dreamed up Jesus Had a Sister Productions, which she describes as “a fictional pharmaceutical company specializing in quick-fix medicines, dehydrated space food, discount time travel, spy electronics, transistor radios, invisible things, sneaky life hacks.” She’s designed various pills, solutions, and DIY kits in humorous packages meant to remedy any problem with a single dosage.
In an interview with Konbini, Wyse said she first thought of the utopic series in France.
In Paris, I was surprised to find three pharmacies on every street. As I explored the city, I found small packages of unopened medicines on the sidewalk. So I picked them up and wondered what they could be. Imagine if these pills were magic ?! If I swallowed them all at the same time, would they make me speak French or play Barracuda on the electric guitar?
Her discarded findings launched the ironic project that hearkens back to American advertising from the 1960s, which vehemently enforced stereotypes. The fictional company’s tagline reads, “Helping you to create your own reality. Since 1786.”
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One of the worst aspects of fracturing a bone, other than the excruciating pain and subsequent hospital bill, is the itchy, smelly, plaster cast. Sure, all your friends get to write hilarious things on it, but you end up being the kid in the shallow end of the pool with their arm stuck inside a giant trash bag. Definitely not cool. What if a cast could be functional as well as aesthetically pleasing? Jake Evill, a graduate from the Architecture and Design school at Victoria University of Wellington in New Zealand, and brother Oliver Evill, have been exploring such a concept and they call it Cortex.
Evill says that the “Cortex exoskeletal cast provides a highly technical and trauma zone localized support system that is fully ventilated, super light, shower friendly, hygienic, recyclable and stylish.” Patients would first receive an x-ray to pinpoint the nature of the break and would next have their arm scanned to determine the outer shape of their limb. Lastly the Cortex cast would be 3D-printed, with optimized levels of support around the break area to provide a snug fit.
It’s safe to say that with present technology the 3D-printed method would take considerably longer to fabricate than a typical plaster cast, but the idea is intriguing. It reminds me of the present movement to make prosthetic limbs more beautiful and personalized. Read more about Cortex here. (via dezeen)
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