Stretching for my sins
Solo commission for the London Arts Board, 2023
The London Arts Board is a former municipal noticeboard and now an exhibition space centring emerging artists, on the corner of Vestry Road, Peckham, London.
Shaded by the overgrowth around the board, the gothic lines are like the sinews of looming branches. It is intricate and hypnotic. The bolt of white that leaks and bleaches velvety red ink, is inspired by the skin like textures that Maisie has previously worked with – exploring moments of synthesis between carnal skins and the husks and surfaces around them. The pods and hulls that outlive us. “Stretching for my Sins” is illustrative, it feels fabled and ancient. Emulsified cells and the pigments of the earth defy even the tug of Hades.
The medieval folktale “Gertrude's Bird”, recounts how Gertrude, a woman recognised by a red spot in her hair, is punished for her lack of generosity when tested by Jesus. Gertrude is transformed into a bird who has to gnaw at dead trees for food and rely on rain for water. It’s said to be the origin story of a woodpecker. Looking at “Stretching for my Sins” makes me imagine Gertrude's incarnation – harsh and steady, a cigarette burn on leather, her hair coiling into a quill – from a woman into a bird.
Writing from Curator of the London Arts Board, Liza Burton
Stretching for my sins
Hiding in hot red
Pulled from its flesh
Molten lava
Bubbling
Blood boiling
Ruptures
Tiny, insignificant roots begin to wriggle under/between molten flesh
Hiding under/in violent hot red
Slowly stretching my skin, gnawing on my body
Stretching my chewed body
To be seen
All-embracing
But hold me as I fold
Standing on tip toes to reach out, and be caught
Body bending, skin splitting
Spreading/spanning my arms in growth
Still latching on, I can’t quite let go
There’s something holding me back
Binding/rooting me to the ground
(what’s it like to be a tree? I see you, reaching out to grab space, growing as far as you can in order to bathe in the most light, all your fingers and toes pointing towards the sun, tiny hands spreading outward seeing how far they can go)
Tenderly over the edge, just
Clinging
Pulled from its flesh
Yellowing skin curls, snags, warps
Is tired
Edges curling
If I stretch myself enough, I’ll peel away from the past
If I stretch far enough, they’ll see how far I can go and not where I have been
Diluting myself
Exoskeleton
Text by Maisie Maris