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Dry Spaces:

Through field work, immortal beings are uncovered.  They are stuck in their perpetual existential terror.

LEGEND.  Ink and Gouache on Paper.  50"x36".
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Slow/Just Death.  Acrylic Ink and Colored Pencil on Paper.  72"x25".
No Mind for Showing, No Kind of Knowing,
No Kind of Knowing.  Ink, Graphite, Gouache, and Acrylic on Paper.  36"x25".
No Sign.  Acrylic, Graphite on Paper.  9"x12".
No Time.  Acrylic, Graphite on Paper.  9"x12".
No Kind.  Acrylic, Graphite on Paper.  9"x12".
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Moving Still.  Acrylic Paint, Ink, and Marker on Paper.  36"x25".
Still It Happens.  Acrylic Paint, Ink and Marker on Paper.  36"x25".
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Farewell Father.  Acrylic, Gouache, and Ink on Paper.  14"x11".
Far Away.  Acrylic, Gouache, and Ink on Paper.  18"x25".
Analysis Fig 1.  Acrylic, Colored Pencil, and Graphite on Paper.  11"x8.5".
Analysis Fig 2.  Acrylic Ink on Paper.  11"x8.5".
This body of work was shown in "Illusionary Worlds:  Kellie Bornhoft and Tedd Anderson," at Artspace Raleigh in 2016.

About the Dry Spaces:

This body of work consists of illustrations created through observation and field work.  A summary of the copious field notes taken:

There are creatures perpetually terrorized by internal conflicts.  Their perception holds them dreamless, lost to circular thought.  And the most frightening of all:  they are immortal.  They are known as Dry Spaces, for their bodies were long ago exhausted of tears; cried at some point along the infinite timeline they’re strung on.  Those gone tears, like the light thrown from a dead star eons ago, stream from their tired eyes.


The dry spaces will never be released from their quarrel: an animal longing to learn the meaning of its life when said life is not a genuine life.  Theirs is a life that is endless.  On an infinite scale, everything drones out into flat gray.  For mortals, seeking a purpose and, subsequently, a meaning, to life is imbued with urgency because our moments are finite.  Our lives are precious to us because they end.  The life of the Dry Space never ends.  The Dry Spaces live anti-lives.


The true sadness of the Dry Spaces is the contradiction of their every moment:  they feel the same urgency a mortal would.  Yet, nothing is urgent.  Everything is monotonous.  The Dry Spaces take every hour in the universe, but don’t want them.   They walk aimlessly through mental fog.  Their worries ebb and flow, at times reaching a crescendo that boils over and scalds everything they know.  The Dry Space will never be laid to rest.

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