Kate Mac Donagh: Moving Still
On the wall in front of my desk, there is a small composition by the Irish artist Kate Mac Donagh. It shows two ovals 鈥 one upright, one lying on its side. The upright oval resembles a grey face, while the white lateral oval is like rounded shoulders.
They are not connected, more like shapes floating free on a light grey background. The texture is wonderfully uncertain, allowing the parchment on which they are printed to come shining through with what looks like 鈥 veins, capillaries, arteries, smudges, freckles, imperfections.
This abstract image contains something deeply human, an expression of energy existing beyond the surface. It seems both static and full of motion, like a living presence.
It brings to life the viewer鈥檚 imagination. It allows me, as a novelist, to slip in behind all that restraint and find an expanding galaxy of thoughts and stored memory. Here I am, working in prose, translating into language what this image does so successfully in its silence. Those invisible stories found in places where no words have been used.
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On the wall in front of my desk, there is a small composition by the Irish artist Kate Mac Donagh. It shows two ovals 鈥 one upright, one lying on its side. The upright oval resembles a grey face, while the white lateral oval is like rounded shoulders.
They are not connected, more like shapes floating free on a light grey background. The texture is wonderfully uncertain, allowing the parchment on which they are printed to come shining through with what looks like 鈥 veins, capillaries, arteries, smudges, freckles, imperfections.
This abstract image contains something deeply human, an expression of energy existing beyond the surface. It seems both static and full of motion, like a living presence.
It brings to life the viewer鈥檚 imagination. It allows me, as a novelist, to slip in behind all that restraint and find an expanding galaxy of thoughts and stored memory. Here I am, working in prose, translating into language what this image does so successfully in its silence. Those invisible stories found in places where no words have been used.