Demers, Isabelle

I have made several lame puns this past month. My favorite went unnoticed (someone even told me I misspelled the french idiom). The very last artwork of this curatorial selection bears a title so close to the theme that I’ll allow myself to reuse this wise french jest and finally give it the attention it deserves: 

“Un bolet piqué par les vers est une œuvre très piquée des vers.” Un bolet piqué par les vers could be translated as either. A mushroom “picked by” worms, or “stolen from” worms. My terrible pun is on the expression “pas piqué des vers” which simultaneously means “untouched by worms” and “not stolen from worms” and “ fancy”. Torn from the darkness of the woods, burned and then pierced, this bolete has been through a lot. This mushroom is celebrated for its imperfections, for its shadows and, above all, for its resilience. Much like the works of Catherine McInnis, Isabelle’s work sometimes comes close to vanity. Still lifes that show the passage of time and remind us that death is inevitable. 

The works of this selection were stolen from the worms. They are not noble and are proud of it. They have dirt under their fingernails, burns on their fingers and ants in their pants. They are the fauna. Fauna was waiting for you. She showed you her agonizing light and shared her inferno with you. She is now gone forever. Are you going to spend the rest of your life yearning for the taste of its sweet venom again? - Sevia Pellissier