The Eye is Not Satisfied with Seeing

A predictable topic for the inaugural 2022 post would’ve been one on 2021 reflections or New Year manifestations, but I was sick for the better part of the week and quite frankly, in no mood (much less in any condition) to tap into the vulnerability or earnestness required for introspection. (Luckily, it wasn’t Omicron, but rather my first flu in years.) So instead, I’ll share something that moved me before becoming bedridden: Jennifer Packer’s exhibit at the Whitney, which was worth braving the unshakable New York chill for.

The color. The humanity! Packer has an innate understanding of the complexity of being—not quite tender nor wholly raw (a delicate balance, since the latter tends to veer on the exploitative end in contemporary art)—that translates through both her color palette and every paint stroke. The lines are undefined. Vibrational with breath, not for want of certainty. It’s still life that moves. Lives.

Photos don’t do her work justice: time stops when you stand in front of works (the larger-scale paintings in particular).

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xx