Looking at the overlooked
By Becca Costello
Photo By Larry Dalton
When I arrived at M. Parfitt's
house, the first thing she did
was unroll the poop quilt. The
piece, titled Wilbur's Opinion
after
a cherished pet, is composed of
hundreds of photos of dog
droppings. She
explained that she documented her
dog's backyard visits for a year
to get
the pictures and that no two are
alike. She chose only the most
interesting
shapes and even fed Wilbur corn
and carrots to influence his
"artistic
process." Once I got over my
initial "I can't believe I'm
studying
poop" reaction, I started to
appreciate the astonishing variety
of
shapes and textures, which is
exactly the point. Parfitt's art,
created
with hair, blood, forgotten
photos, lint and other typically
discarded objects,
invites the observer to take
another look at things that almost
never get
a second glance. It's an approach
that won her the $1,000 first
prize at
the 73rd Crocker-Kingsley
exhibition last month at the
Crocker Art Museum.
Were you surprised you won
first prize?
I was totally shocked. I wasn't
even sure my piece was in the
show. First,
there's a round of judging by
slides. Then, they tell you to
bring your
piece in for the second round, so
I did, and they said, "If we don't
accept it, we'll let you know." I
never heard from them. I assumed
it got in, but I didn't really
know. I thought maybe I'd missed a
phone
call. So, we went to the
reception, and they handed us the
catalogs, which
we didn't even open. If we'd
opened them, we'd have seen a
picture of the
piece right inside. We wandered
back, and there was my piece. I
said, "Oh,
there it is! It actually made it
in." Then, I noticed the sign that
said first prize, and I just
dropped everything. I couldn't
believe it.
I never thought I would win,
especially with Gladys Nilsson
being the juror.
I've admired her work for years.
She's an excellent painter and a
very interesting
artist. For her to pick my piece
just shocked the hell out of me.
What was the winning piece?
I collect old photographs and
books. I took about 70 old
photographs
of women, and I found little bits
of text to put under each one. I
tore
the pages and smeared blood all
over them, so a lot of it's
blocked out
and other words are emphasized.
You can't get a complete story out
of each
piece of text, but you can get an
idea by reading a couple of words.
Each
piece of text was about
constrictive behavior--how you're
supposed to dress,
how to wear your corset, how to do
your housecleaning, how to behave
for
your husband, how to behave in
public. It's all about behavior
women were
supposed to fall in line with. I
combined the two and added rows of
lint
vertically, throughout the piece.
I like working with lint because
it's
something people throw away. They
don't notice it, but it's really
interesting
material, the colors and the
textures. It ties in with how
these women were
treated. They were sort of ignored
and invisible, unless they
followed these
behaviors. Their lives were
insignificant, just like the lint.
But, if you
look at the lint, it's really
interesting, so maybe these women
had interesting
lives, too. So, I sewed all that
up as a quilt.
Victoria Dalkey, who reviewed
the Crocker-Kingsley exhibition
for
the Sacramento Bee, criticized
the use of text in art. Why do
you use text
in your work?
I think it adds another
dimension. You can read as much as
you want.
You can look past the blood and
try to figure out what the words
are. You
can glance at it and read a few
words or just look at it visually,
as part
of the composition. I like to hint
at ideas from books, throw in
ideas that
might not be apparent if it was
just photos and color.
What's the most unusual thing
you've used in your art?
I used to save my dog's nail
clippings. I used them in a house
sculpture.
They kind of formed a path and
looked like pebbles.
You use a lot of blood.
I started using it maybe seven
years ago. I wanted to make a
quilt that
looked like it was stained with
blood. I tried acrylic paint, silk
paint
and watercolors. Nothing looked
like blood. It looked like paint.
Finally,
one day I had my period, and I
thought, "Well, why not try
blood?"
and it worked. I like the way it
looks. You get thick clots and
little runny
bits and chunks. It changes color
when it oxidizes. It's fun to work
with
because you really can't control
it.
Do people assume you're going
for "shock value" in your
art because of the blood?
Some people don't even know what
they're looking at. Other people
don't
know it's menstrual blood, and
they assume I cut myself to do it.
It doesn't
have any real deep significance
for me other than the fact that I
like the
color and the texture.
What inspires you?
I like looking at things that
people throw away or overlook. I
pick things
up from the gutter on my way to
work--scraps of paper and stuff.
I've always
liked ... the idea of recycling
things and making them useful
again.
What is the role of the artist
today?
Art, to me, is fun. I don't
believe in suffering for it.
Artists who
are tortured should be a in a
different business, obviously. I
make what's
fun to me, and I hope people like
looking at it. I like to see
people laugh
at my work. That's my role
as an artist, to have fun.
copyright 2002 Sacramento News
and Review
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