A connective and a punctuation all in one breath, this show draws on a phrase from the contemporary photographer Uta Barth – and of time – which Roderico Jose Daroy echoed in his 2010 at The Drawing Room. The punctuation arrests the flow of this enigmatic phrase in mid-course, marking the end of the artist’s physical life a day before he was to turn 60 in 2014.
. . .I’ll fit in the palm of my father’s hand. He would let me down on a blade of grass, quietly whispering for me to stay put. He’d be back, he’d say, puttering away. . .
The cessation is but a long pause – a semi-colon – between movements, an overture to what is possible. . . .
Someday, you’ll tell me that I can fly. And I’ll believe you. . .
Like his works, the title evokes a liminal space where the continuing present [and] persists amidst the tenacity of death and decay [.]
Amongst the faces of wildflowers and the buzzing of insects.
I’ll try to catch verses of my father’s voice from the chiascuro of wind and birdsong . .
This show in The Drawing Room’s new space retrievs a fragment of this flux through works that invite us to linger “on the quiet,” to delay the rush, to
. . .sit down, keep quiet, make something out of the chiascuro of crickets’ballads and fluttering of butterfly wings, waiting. . .
Listening and moving against the beat, suspended in mid-step. . .
I’ll believe you. . .