Join us as for A.R. Tallman's latest exhibit, Going to Pieces. Perhaps her artist's statement describes her work best...
I have a terrible memory.
My few memories as a child are blurs of light and shapes, alternate reality and nearly dreamlike. These partial recognitions of old moments in time allow me to remember the feeling— sense and impression— rather than specific time and place. I recall feeling safe and protected in my own skin, feeling blissful without reason, bonding with my dad without words, feeling free before being on my own.
I take advantage of this intoxicating simplification to create a set of pixilated imagery. I want the viewer to make their own assumptions and use it to relocate their own deep-set memories. When I study these pieces, from the quiet tones to jumbled space and undefined lines, I am reliving a less cluttered time—watching the pleasing soft focus memories of my childhood unfold. It reminds me of seeing the world with fresh eyes...appearance only relative to pure imagination.
The media I use are spray paint, ink, acrylic, sharpie, cut up magazines, foils, tissue paper, and photographs (or anything else I can find in my workspace) assembled and sealed with adhesive. I begin by cutting and tearing hundreds of half-inch, irregular pieces of paper and pile them in sections according to color, texture or subject. Once I open the adhesive, I work continuously and randomly until the final product appears. These pieces do not begin with a sketch or a concrete plan, but rather I let them come to life, uncontrollably more than if I was painting in the lines. Flashes of memory are my muddled sketches in a way.
