Sophia DeLeon-Wilson
Common sense, perfection, definition, names.
the section, the simplified, the flattened:
the stories we re-tell, and the stories that,
when re-told, create us.
VS
Entropy, permutation, spread.
the organelle, the atom, the cosmic, the fractal:
an all-consuming absence of meaning.
TWO ENTER, ONLY ONE LEAVES
ONE:
the unifier, the universal, the imperfect un-perfectible,
unconstrained nuance, ripping and tearing, the ever-changing,
the empathetic, the leaky, the bloody,
the incomprehensibly big, the incomprehensibly small:
the infinite chain reaction.
I am intrigued by what humans think about. Or more specifically, what we don't think about. A quiet and nebulous battleground, easily ignored, is raging at the edges of our stories, our definitions, and our simplifications. We set up linguistic walls to section off bits of the universe, and pretend that things can be meaningfully distinct. that there are things, plural. But these walls comprehend or for language to express.
My artwork comes from a frustration, not with this complexity, but with our constant and desperate attempts to compartmentalize and reduce. From this reduction emerges an illusory concept of purpose. Of function and malfunction. Evolution—the cumulative result of an infinite chain of small coincidences and accidents—is treated like an international force guiding life toward perfection. Perfection is a delusion.
Through paintings, prints, and drawings, I weave and unravel narratives, and place moments under the microscope. Imagery from my own life and organisms from other dimensions collide in explosive color. I poke holes in the boundary between individual and environment, between body and self-concept, to challenge hierarchy and scale, to elicit empathy for the gross and uncanny.
