by Marisa Crane

Both strange and at home in their surroundings, Marisa’s sculptures in truth don’t really belong anywhere- except they do…


Plaster, toilet paper, joint compound, flour, PVA glue, acrylic paint, wire, newspaper, chalk 

Freshly hatched yokey fingers creep across the broken shell and across viscous egg white.

Searching.     Reaching.

They don’t know that they look out of place here; that they don’t belong.  But that’s because they do…

The dichotomy of it all is that they are born from a memory of a space.

This memory germ collides with others,      swarms


Into the body of a piece which is specific to the landscape in which the memory was first thought (before it was even a memory at all…)

And so these creatures appear to be at once strange and at home in their surroundings. They don’t really ‘fit’ anywhere. Not indoors. Not out.

They are curiously at ease with themselves- it’s you who’s the voyeur- not them.

They have adapted and you will grow incurious and will turn away (maybe you already have) and they will continue to exist; like the spotted and striped animals in a zoo, driven past many times . A mundane feature of the landscape, just like a lamppost or a roundabout, on the commute home from work.