4Eva

4Eva is a sculptural installation which draws attention to gendered materialities and the risks taken in sculptural histories, particularly in the work of American artist, Eva Hesse. Hesse’s works were a sensual retort against the male dominated Minimalist movement of the 1960’s and 70’s. Using materials that included plastics, fibreglass, latex and resin, it was speculated that these may have led to a rapid disintegration in her health. Hesse died of a brain tumour at the age of 34. 

4Eva addresses these materials furtive identities through their formal manipulations. These furtive identities lie in the risk that was taken by Hesse and how they plagued the artist to keep working with the materials even through being aware of the risks. The risks that lay in choosing to work with ephemeral, flesh-like materials during a time where the dialogue between artist and sculpture was about removing the artist’s hand to ultimately produce a hard-edged, long-lasting finished product. Through material investigations of Hesse’s work, I also examine the polarising nature of each material - their hard or soft identities, their lustre or dullness and their durability or decay.

This is an ode to Eva Hesse's feminine resilience even through knowing the risk of death and impermanence- her own and her works.

Respectful, Reckless Abandon

Your gravitas is marred by your beauty

Your attraction was created by it.

You tried to locate your rank, yet you fell ill at ease with yourself.

So you twist the string-

Over and over and over and over.

You drilled the holes-

1, 50, 800, 1200

You tangled the rope-

Knot after knot after knot after knot.

Your breadcrumb success piqued your esteem,

in the way fingerpointing advice could not offer.

You knew everyone but they didn’t care to know you, to see you, to understand you.

And yet, they all did what you did.

But yours was made with your heart and hand,

while they remained in their manufactured, cerebral fraternity.

You hung it all up and

expanded and expanded and expanded and expanded,

and then right after-

you died.

I went to visit where you worked and lived.

I wanted to tell you that those fucking Sherlock’s are touting your self-doubt

And in turn, were being applauded for their borrowed genius.

I wanted to tell you with my accumulated annoyance but the walls pulsated with your incessant thoughts.

Your incessant thoughts that were muffled by the

layers and layers and layers and layers of domestic paint.

A sequin rope and cum-coloured balloon were suspended and stuck mid-air, daring gravity so gracefully.

The inflicted silence in your voice kept them there.