Pores and skin is the principle barrier between our insides and the skin world. It’s variously powerful and penetrable, neatly containing our blood and guts whereas additionally being susceptible to exterior prods and pressures. In Elsa Rouy’s new work (at GNYP in Berlin), the pores and skin is rendered viscerally in thick paint. Typically it appears waxy and stretched, as if her figures are wrapped in plastic packaging or hovering someplace between dwelling, respiratory human and inanimate doll; in different works, it’s damaged and bruised, slashed via with skinny streaks of paint, effervescent up from layers beneath, or flushed from burst capillaries beneath the floor. She additionally performs with gadgets of clothes – faraway from particular markers of time or tradition – which grasp from the physique as if a pure a part of it, pulled and tugged, concurrently revealing and concealing the shape that lies beneath.
Her figures invite the viewer right into a tantalizing, twisted sport, wherein we’d guess who’s in cost and who’s submissive. Sadistic and masochistic traits might be witnessed in the identical determine, suggesting an inner wrestle that the thoughts finds itself twisted up in, as completely different elements of the psyche vie for management. There’s a stronger sense of isolation than in lots of Rouy’s earlier items. Quite a few work deal with particular person folks, who act out on the canvas for an unseen viewers, or huddle into themselves defensively. Whereas some look like aggressors, there’s a fragility to every of them of their emotionally secluded state. The violence in these new items is extra refined than her earlier our bodies of labor, a fancy power that simmers beneath the floor. Viewers may first be drawn to the psychological unrest that runs via them, slightly than extra overt gore, solely discovering their injured or twisted elements on nearer inspection.
Even when pictured collectively, her figures typically appear misplaced in their very own thought, slightly than merging into one. Some figures gaze straight on the viewer with sharply glistening eyes. Others direct their glassy stares to at least one aspect, as if fixated upon one thing within the gallery house. A lot of their stances are uncomfortable; a lady poses with legs vast open as if emulating a place of empowered sexuality, however there’s something awkward in her physicality, as her prime half slumps in on itself. One other determine tumbles to the ground, and it’s unclear whether or not these round her are pushing her down or serving to her up. A pregnant lady glares with a fiercely self-possessed expression, her uncovered child bump protruding proudly.
Males’s our bodies don’t at all times function in Rouy’s work. Right here they’re susceptible. A nude male determine hangs the other way up by his toes, devoid of identifiable options, maybe useless already, or an lively participant in an influence sport. Others are curved over, with gentle varieties and flaccid genitals. The one muscular male physique within the exhibition leans protectively in on himself, solely his bruised again and shoulders seen throughout the limits of the canvas. Throughout the works, the ladies are larger bodily, maybe having fun with moments of vengeful aggression in direction of the boys. Is it left ambiguous whether or not their violence is warranted or welcome. Her figures at instances really feel trapped inside their pores and skin containers, whereas others appear able to burst out, as their exterior edges blur into the house round them. The thoughts’s darkest elements seem in the end uncontainable by the physique, it psychic mess threatening to devour every part in sight. —Emily Steer
