DANIEL DOMIG - Where Hopes Infest

Diana Lowenstein Gallery is pleased to present Where Hopes Infest, a solo exhibition of Canadian-born and Vienna-based artist Daniel Domig . This will be the second time the artist's work is presented in Miami.
The exhibition will be on view through September 12th till November 15th., 2020

Is hope a lonely thing? A single figure making his way towards a promised land of gold?

One broad brushstroke of yellow, a beam in a dark place?
Or is hope found in community, in the intersection of dreams, in the tangle of limbs––a hand, a heart, saying ‘I’ll help you out!’?
What do we see when we look at the world; when we look at a painting?
What creeps out at us?
What creeps out of us?
There is an interface, a place where the out and the in meet––the coalface of feeling, somewhere between the mind and the hovering monitor, where images of brutality, of fire and flame and destruction flicker out at us, singeing the soul.
The painting pulls you in, asks you to share in an embrace.
Asks whether or not you believe.
The worst of us is very close to the best of us. Are we looking at a deathly struggle, or a deep embrace?
What is the face, hidden behind the face, we seem to see in the mirror?
O you poor sops at the human masquerade!
We are painted over with so many layers, color swimming upon color, the past diaphanous, ghosting in and out of consciousness.
We cannot ignore it. It won’t go away, merely because we wish it to.
Better to let it swim into us, be a part of us.
To give it new color, new form.
Close your eyes. Don’t let panic seep into the blackness of your mind. The blackness is the eternal womb. At every second something might bud, bloom and be born.
Forgetting, and then begetting, and then forgetting again.
An arm might reach out to you. Across the void an arm, first, then a leg––bridging, now engulfing, seeking out new space in which to overflow.
Now a smile seems to swell out of the canvas, sulphurous.
Organs disgust us, digest us, humour us, support us, remind us that we are vital. Swollen sacks that give, and share, and reciprocate.
First you linger on the dark spaces, but the colour overtakes, the sensuous depth of colour overspreads, and fills you, the space, the interface.
Who are we? What is this?
Where do we go? Where do we grow?
And how do we begin?
Bent over almost double, how do we carry this load, how do we
Go on up the road?
Hope. Hope is best. Hope to understand––to figure the question being asked. Hope is the life-vest thrown, when once again we feel lost in familiar places.
But hope is also fear: it arises from a negative space.
Out of the chaos, love emerges like a glue, coagulate, resolving, binding us together.
We are all entangled.
To pretend we aren’t is a kind of violence.
Text by author Ross Ludlam