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Let’s not make anything of the Instagram origins conceptual juicing. Beavers’ shift from edging foodporn to straight porno-esque, the nails, lips, decommissioned musculature of engines, the post-coital stub, phallic carving exposing the more explicitly latent. Pulling from the world’s vast reserve of images made to speak about its desires. Let’s not make much of the countless men sculpting countless phallus. Rounding the lips express the touch, cuuuuuurves, till the last one looks like a butthole. puckered. None of Instagrams perfect white lighting, everything appearing soaked in ink, coated in oil. The dry scrapping of the brush around the curves. Trippy in the battle of discerning what is relief and illusion in image.
See too: Gina Beavers at Retrospective