Corn and quarries
There are few things more soothing than watching the wind comb through field of golden corn, the gently, mesmerizing swaying stalks, the notion of sustenance and abundance, security and prosperity.
But in Sonia Payes strangely epic animation Corn and Quarries (from the Interzone series) those thoughts are banished, replaced by an inexplicable dread.
It opens, and maintains, its narrative from above, recalling the opening scenes of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining as the camera zooms over the landscape. The sounds of icy wind supply a chilling soundtrack. The hillsides are broiling with life, tall stems dancing and swaying.
Payes ‘plants’ are comprised of human faces, or rather a face – that in fact of her daughter – multiplied infinitum. As the viewer is almost forcibly projected over this chilling landscape it becomes apparent that the faces are …all-seeing but arguably, in their crowded mass and buffeted by the wind, not necessarily all-powerful. Indeed, perhaps in waiting for the thrasher machine to reap this strange crop.
At times these totems of feminine perfection carry a stern solidity, as though carved from rock, crafted deities to be worshipped and cherished. But in the open fields they dance hypnotically, creatures of sentient pollen.
Ashley Crawford (excerpt).
But in Sonia Payes strangely epic animation Corn and Quarries (from the Interzone series) those thoughts are banished, replaced by an inexplicable dread.
It opens, and maintains, its narrative from above, recalling the opening scenes of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining as the camera zooms over the landscape. The sounds of icy wind supply a chilling soundtrack. The hillsides are broiling with life, tall stems dancing and swaying.
Payes ‘plants’ are comprised of human faces, or rather a face – that in fact of her daughter – multiplied infinitum. As the viewer is almost forcibly projected over this chilling landscape it becomes apparent that the faces are …all-seeing but arguably, in their crowded mass and buffeted by the wind, not necessarily all-powerful. Indeed, perhaps in waiting for the thrasher machine to reap this strange crop.
At times these totems of feminine perfection carry a stern solidity, as though carved from rock, crafted deities to be worshipped and cherished. But in the open fields they dance hypnotically, creatures of sentient pollen.
Ashley Crawford (excerpt).
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