On Sydney Vize’s Alone in the Elevator Sarah Lisovich
Our language, I have noticed, has become gooey. We find ourselves at a loss digging for the words to express all elements of any given noun, so we transform the words we know. We borrow from other languages or dialects. We use pictures or we leave, defeated. Through shape, space, and texture, Vize creates language in the spots where gaping holes in the English we speak exists. I try to describe her work back to her, but I find myself mostly gesticulating to mimic a form that appears pliable to touch but stationary too. The figures articulate beyond materialistic, aesthetic, and surface level appearances of what is. Instead, they match and elaborate on the core energy that transpires around us and ultimately transmutes us little by little.
Every day in this world I feel less certain about the lines that make up the genders we are familiar with. These seem amorphous and subjective in many ways, transforming intentionally and unintentionally into each other. At the same time I feel attuned to where these lines blur and stand firm. When I think of shock art -- Andre Serrano’s Piss Christ, for instance, there are certain elements that feel particularly masculine: an obtrusive engagement with holy symbolism that bends domineering. To put gender on a linear platform seems reductive, yet Vize’s sculptures feel like they live on the other side of dunking a religious figure in a tub of urine. This work feels inviting and feminine. It says, “I have a story to tell,” but inquires consent before telling it. Equally aware of the space it holds as the negative space it engages with, Vize’s sculptures are approachable, but peculiar. They disturb space in the most appropriate and respectable ways. They are autobiographical and universal, so long as you are attuned to the energy and the consciousness that live beyond the eye’s capacity to note.
Alone in the elevator, option one is what it looks like to be dropped slowly by hidden mechanics -- pulleys and wires cradle your body’s weight momentarily through a building’s skeletal structure, and could give out at any moment. So far so good, but the suspense is everlasting. It dips. It dips again. The viewer is trusted with understanding this pattern. The piece’s intent doesn’t present itself ad nauseam, but gently, flirtatiously to those open to its witty remark. Similarly, Alone in the elevator, option two provides insight into the behind the scenes whispers an elevator shares when found in this scenario: We’ll get you there, most likely. It’s all just a bunch of strings, you know. Silicone’s particular engagement with gravity-- flopping down or sticking upright out of clay punctuate the vibes of these intimate moments that are rarely discussed due not to their taboo nature, but their little and remarkable banality. These seemingly quiet moments that flare the gut are not often given the same attention as subjects or landscapes, perhaps because they are hidden, or hushed.
It’s been a while since I have walked through an art museum, but I remember it being cold. I remember trying to connect and often looking for ways to do so. With Vize’s structures, no effort is required. The shapes are playful, but when linking the forms to the titles, a certain magic happens that makes you feel seen for once from the inside out. Alone in an elevator, you think. Yes. This is exactly it.
Sarah Lisovich is a writer and artist who lives and works in Chicago, Illinois.