Francesca Woodman
then at one point i did not need to translate the notes; they went directly to my hands, Providence, Rhode Island
Photo: Courtesy George & Betty Woodman | Marian Goodman Gallery, New York
Collection
Gelatin silver print
15.9 x 15.6 cm, 41.8 x 41.8 x 2 cm (framed)
Throughout her short yet prolific period of artistic production, ending at age twenty-two when she took her own life, Francesca Woodman continuously explored the genre of self-portraiture through photography. Exclusively shot in black and white film, her photographs wrestle with capturing the female body, oscillating between nudity and veiling, transparency and opacity, as well as stasis and movement. Woodman appears in most of her shots, at times in fragments, covered, refracted through mirrors or blurred due to movement and long exposures. Staged in often empty or semi-abandoned rooms, the body of the artist or of her female models mold into the spaces that frame them, often to the point of dissolution.
In Then at one point i did not need to translate the notes; they went directly to my hands, Providence, Rhode Island Woodman places herself in the image, only she is hiding behind a scrap of wallpaper. Parts of her crouching body can be made out through the cracks in the wallpaper and her hands are pressed against the wall, supporting her weight. The title, handwritten under the image, is drawn from one of Woodman’s poems, where she recalls her piano practice and reflects on instincts and learning, regression and forgetting.
Born in Denver, Colorado, USA, in 1958. Died in New York, USA, in 1981.
15.9 x 15.6 cm, 41.8 x 41.8 x 2 cm (framed)
Throughout her short yet prolific period of artistic production, ending at age twenty-two when she took her own life, Francesca Woodman continuously explored the genre of self-portraiture through photography. Exclusively shot in black and white film, her photographs wrestle with capturing the female body, oscillating between nudity and veiling, transparency and opacity, as well as stasis and movement. Woodman appears in most of her shots, at times in fragments, covered, refracted through mirrors or blurred due to movement and long exposures. Staged in often empty or semi-abandoned rooms, the body of the artist or of her female models mold into the spaces that frame them, often to the point of dissolution.
In Then at one point i did not need to translate the notes; they went directly to my hands, Providence, Rhode Island Woodman places herself in the image, only she is hiding behind a scrap of wallpaper. Parts of her crouching body can be made out through the cracks in the wallpaper and her hands are pressed against the wall, supporting her weight. The title, handwritten under the image, is drawn from one of Woodman’s poems, where she recalls her piano practice and reflects on instincts and learning, regression and forgetting.
Born in Denver, Colorado, USA, in 1958. Died in New York, USA, in 1981.