Laura Holland |
|
More images on Flickr
Early in 2020, I worked on a series of images that looked mostly black and white, but actually weren’t monochromatic. Wandering around the building where I worked, I found pale gray letters looping across a dark-smudged whiteboard; I traced light tubes criss-crossing a white wood ceiling. But I love color—so hints of color crept in. Then came the pandemic. The building locked down. My gaze turned close to home as I discovered small domestic still lifes, and rediscovered intense color in daily clutter. As I focused on “here at home,” my lens became more abstract. With the small accordion books, I push abstraction even further, cutting and folding to take pieces out of order and reassembling them in the new context of consecutive panels.
Early in 2020, I worked on a series of images that looked mostly black and white, but actually weren’t monochromatic. Wandering around the building where I worked, I found pale gray letters looping across a dark-smudged whiteboard; I traced light tubes criss-crossing a white wood ceiling. But I love color—so hints of color crept in. Then came the pandemic. The building locked down. My gaze turned close to home as I discovered small domestic still lifes, and rediscovered intense color in daily clutter. As I focused on “here at home,” my lens became more abstract. With the small accordion books, I push abstraction even further, cutting and folding to take pieces out of order and reassembling them in the new context of consecutive panels.
