Essays about the Artist

From the Exhibition - Circling : Deanna Sirlin - Notes to Self # 1-42 (2006) - Mixed Media on Mylar - 12 X 10 inches each - Installation View C4RD

Dear Deanna

My grandfather was a professional painter and I am blessed with portraits in oil of various members of the family that carry his hand. I love art. I collect it but despite what should have been an art gene in the family, I have to admit to having absolutely no skills in that direction. When I was 16 I took 'O' level art. In the practical exam we were required to complete a pencil drawing of either the white skull of a small deer or a stick of pink rhubarb complete with a vast green leaf. I chose the fruit and sketched away for some time. When the art mistress called time she stood at my shoulder and examined my work. ‘A very creditable skull,’ she muttered. I wrote the word ‘skull’ beneath my depiction of rhubarb and went on to claim my qualification.

The upshot of my singular lack of talent is that I approach most artists with a slight streak of jealousy. I first met Deanna Sirlin in the woods outside Atlanta, Georgia. She was a friend of a friend and the first piece of work I was shown was a joint work they had done of a mannequin wearing a Gone with the Wind style gown that had been charred and burnt. It was bizarre and mesmerising. Deanna took me into her studio where she showed me the techniques that had turned some of her small paintings into massive installations. I was instantly hooked – not just by her art but by her. If there is something more attractive in this life than passion than I have yet to discover it. Passion spills from Deanna and the saints be praised, she has the skill to capture her zest for life on paper or canvas or giant bands of see through cellophane. I watched her walk the field by her house and talk to her horses. I saw a woman alive with enthusiasm. I have enjoyed time in London with her where she has stayed at my house but hardly ever settled as she zooms about seeing and doing everything.

I remember being angered as a teenager when I discovered a swathe of women artists who no one had ever mentioned to me. Women like the impressionist Mary Cassatt whom the other male artists of her generation, men like Monet, thought more talented than themselves. Perhaps no one had taught me about Cassatt because she was an artist who necessarily at the time dwelt in the familiar landscape of the domestic. Writing about her own art Deanna describes her natural tendency toward round, soft shapes which strike me as intensely female. Yet there is something so vibrant and bold about her art that it requires a public and not a private forum and in that sense it defies many preconceptions of female art. This is work that strides out in the world and demands both attention and space. The new banners which hang from the ceiling may hold the circles of womanhood but their triangular form points directly at you and will not allow you to pass by unnoticed.

I am thrilled that Deanna is having this exhibition in London and will come to the attention of a wider audience. She deserves it and her art will enrich the lives of those who visit. I remain however, slightly jealous. I no longer wish I could create these works myself for I see that is in the safe hands of a talented woman. There is a bit of me, however, that wants to keep my delicious discovery of Deanna to myself. So if you enjoy the exhibition or are privileged enough to own one of her pieces for yourself do bear in mind that I am proprietorial and will tell anyone who cares to listen that I saw her first.

Sandi Toksvig
September 2006

DEANNA SIRLIN

Essays about the Artist