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L A D Y M c C R A D Y . . . r e d i s n e u t r a l
b i o . . . . |. . |...| v e r t i g o. . .. | ||. f e e l s l i k e . .r. .e s s a y s. |r. ||..p. |r. |sip r e s s
November 1985: LADY McCRADY is presented in Paris by OLIVIER RENAUD-CLEMENT, Galerie J & J Donguy.
Catalogue essay by Claudia PALUEL-MARMONT, Paris. Translated from the original French
She walks, strides the city walkways, the zebra warning barriers, the danger signals of precipitous edges. . Fast, from one capital to the next, New York, London or Paris, Cairo, Tokyo, proving she was born in Speedway City: .perhaps it is this name inscribed in the cavity of her veins that makes her traverse the roads, the axis, the senses. . She sees, or rather, records hastily the incidental manhole, a little nothing that she seizes and (unknown to her) that seizes her, for her series of archaeological digs.. . |
Here in the smoking cities, on the glistening slate pavements, the reflective beacons encircle a gaping spot, an area under construction: .the drain plate lifts, leaving you to see the glowing embers.. It is this chink in the slick surface that steals her. .Here is an improper flaw, a troupe of guideposts warning you of the brink. .She pursues it, forgetful of the railing.. Notice that her gesture on the canvas enlarges on the vivid color relationships, in sympathy with the majestic rhythms of her fevered body. . In red, in orange, she pulses the smothering light from underground, vibrant, strident, with an air of jazz that insinuates itself louder and louder. .Backstage in the wings since she was three years old, she fell asleep listening when her father rehearsed his orchestra. .One calls her Lady, perhaps she tossed a pebble on a child’s hopscotch grid between Heaven and Hell. . Today for this first exhibition in Europe, Lady McCrady as she plays again, opens sealed containters, uncaps, adds color to her excavations, these fires .next to where we walk, calmly . . .