I’m thinking of the breath, of the comma. In the title of Kevin Beasley’s exhibition, a comma interrupts the clause “a body revealed” like a fulcrum, delays the revelation, and creates two ideas out of one, aiming them away from each other. “A body” becomes the end of some unknown, unseen phrase; “revealed” begins another. Somewhere between the two, on the precipice of meaning, some body is still its own, and unseen.
I’m thinking of the breath, of the comma. In the title of Kevin Beasley’s exhibition, a comma interrupts the clause “a body revealed” like a fulcrum, delays the revelation, and creates two ideas out of one, aiming them away from each other. “A body” becomes the end of some unknown, unseen phrase; “revealed” begins another. Somewhere between the two, on the precipice of meaning, some body is still its own, and unseen.