PAIGE SILVERMAN
A Quiet Death
2019
Plaster, arylic exterior paint
Installation in Lincoln Heights, Los Angeles, CA
TEXT:
You have made eye contact with someone you vaguely recognize.
Nervously, you stepped backwards, unsure whether to awkwardly engage. You accidentally step into the sculpture behind you and rather than destroying the piece, the sculpture impales you.
You stand there aghast. You cannot be removed or you will surely bleed out and die immediately.
From now on you go where the sculpture goes. Two become one. You become acquainted with the artist’s studio mates. On occasion, you are shown and become close friends with a few art handlers.
Eventually you are bought. To your great dismay, rather than being displayed in a private collection you are put into storage unit in Bellflower, California.
It is very dark and cold and you can hear the 710 freeway from inside the storage container. Eventually your eyes become accustomed to this darkness.
Occasionally you are visited by your art handling friends as they add new pieces to the collection. You discover the artist whose work impaled you went back to school to become a nutritionist and that you are now worth practically nothing, only a little sentimental value.
You have become very disheartened and in the darkness, between the wooden crates, you slowly, painfully dislodge yourself from the piece. You die almost immediately. The sculpture you were attached to goes on to fight another day and finally, you can rest.
You have made eye contact with someone you vaguely recognize.
Nervously, you stepped backwards, unsure whether to awkwardly engage. You accidentally step into the sculpture behind you and rather than destroying the piece, the sculpture impales you.
You stand there aghast. You cannot be removed or you will surely bleed out and die immediately.
From now on you go where the sculpture goes. Two become one. You become acquainted with the artist’s studio mates. On occasion, you are shown and become close friends with a few art handlers.
Eventually you are bought. To your great dismay, rather than being displayed in a private collection you are put into storage unit in Bellflower, California.
It is very dark and cold and you can hear the 710 freeway from inside the storage container. Eventually your eyes become accustomed to this darkness.
Occasionally you are visited by your art handling friends as they add new pieces to the collection. You discover the artist whose work impaled you went back to school to become a nutritionist and that you are now worth practically nothing, only a little sentimental value.
You have become very disheartened and in the darkness, between the wooden crates, you slowly, painfully dislodge yourself from the piece. You die almost immediately. The sculpture you were attached to goes on to fight another day and finally, you can rest.