In Erin Morris’ work there is an intentional tunneling of vision to the peripheries of a scene,
eschewing notions of the significant and the insignificant. What is the space of time between a
wedding and funeral made of? Between a birthday and a car crash? Between a job firing and a
breakup? Between Tuesday and Wednesday? Interweaving these more “significant” days are
days of Google Docs, days of Zoloft, days of a broken phone, days of air conditioning and
church wine. A constellation of moments accrues between the creation of the painting and
the final exhibition. These “events,” and the space between the events, lose their hierarchy.
Each moment is flattened and democratized without regard for preciousness, mundanity or
sentiment.
The viewer and the artist are made to fixate on the margins of a scene, creating a strangeness
and affection that results from over-concentrating on a detail or particularity at length—the
experience of the painting becomes something both banal and sacred.