Aside from the occasional eerie light through a window or half-open door, the outside world barely intrudes. Once the curtains open, the only character inhabiting this claustrophobic world is the artist herself, accompanied by an array of stage-props: dark wardrobes and chairs; dolls, toys and strange animals; clothes draped over furniture; open boxes and rotting flowers. There is no attempt at psychological penetration in her self-depiction. The face is as impenetrable as a mask, the expression no more readable than that of the doll or the cat. A greater clue to an interpretation is provided by the protective costumes and the choreography of the body language - the half-turned stance or recurrently clasped hands.
We may never unravel the mysterious events in these paintings. The dream doesn't end and time is frozen. The child haunts the adult, the adult the child. We are left to wonder what makes what we are and whether we are ever really able to escape our childhood experiences.
Francis Mallett - July 2003.
