Lesley Dill at George Adams – New York
by Nancy Princenthal, ART IN AMERICA
Language as an instrument of perfect paradox, a medium of both exposure and concealment, has been Lesley Dill’s subject for many years. This exhibition included work both more physically condensed and more ethereal than she has shown before. The biggest piece in the show, Still (all works 2003), is also the least material. A modular veil made of combed, off-white thread invisibly backed by white organza, it falls from ceiling to floor and is (as installed here) 34 feet wide. The threads issue from knotted-wire words, borrowed from Kafka, that speak of faith and the power of language to liberate: “I still half believed that a word would be enough to free me” and “Faith like a guillotine as heavy as light.” The two quoted phrases repeat irregularly, creating a slightly stuttering effect supported by the subtle jumpiness of the words, which are squeezed so tight they seem to be falling out of alignment. But the dominant note is of unearthly serenity. Vapor, a related work made of horsehair, is coarser and brighter, the springy hair catching the light as it cascades to the floor, and the words, again from Kafka (they read, in part, “she seemed to be steaming”), ascending like smoke.
Still, 2003
The remaining works shown involve the human body, compressed to slightly under life-size and additionally assailed by words let loose like shrapnel. Kneeling on the floor was a diminutive, dull bronze figure, elbows tense and hands stretched out in supplication. Bright orange horsehair spills like flames from the backs of her calves, and the words “a wounded” and “deer” are spelled out on her arms in bullet-bright polished bronze. A spray of glittering letters peppers her back, which also bears the single coherent word “ecstasy.” At once victim and the struck match of resistance to her unseen predator, she has an alter ego in Air. Made of wire and light as lace, Air hangs on the wall, feet not quite touching the floor, skirt gently flaring. A thin skein of blue thread ascends from her chest to mark the respiratory origin–the inspiration–for words by Emily Dickinson (a longtime Dill muse) that stream upward from the crown of the figure”s head.
Other sculptures included Residence, a melancholy harlequin made of whitewashed bronze, its slightly baggy coat and pants perforated with illegible words. Among smaller works were three delicate heads seemingly spun from ribbons of words wound around each other like a ball of string, thread trailing from eyes and shoulders. (These “Heads” were also shown at Dieu Donne Papermill, which published them in editions of 25.)
In recent years, Dill has created a number of public projects that, while exploring themes of personal interest, also involved community participation. Her return to the studio has yielded a body of work whose intensity is often joyous, sometimes alarming and almost always–to use a word she favors–radiant.