December 17 2008

Text By Greg Fallis

It occupies the landscape like a sore tooth. This squat, bilious green, bunker-like garage belongs more in the realm of hallucination than the mundane world of the back yard.

What makes this work is the intimation of people. Even though there is nobody in the frame, the presence of people is palpable. Somebody built this garage. Somebody used it. Somebody deliberately painted it that alarming shade of green. And somebody abandoned it. We sense the shades of those people, and wonder what they were like. We sense they must have lived Eudora Welty lives.

There is nothing welcoming about this structure. Its presence is as distressing as a crow at a winter funeral, and as beautiful. It belongs now to mice and the smell of dead leaves.