The Jurors

They were assembled to pass judgment on images.

Twelve faces pulled from the yellowed pages of a vintage National Geographic — a found grid of quiet authority. Their role was the premise. Their features became the material.

Each portrait was photocopied and enlarged, then cut into horizontal strips. Eyes separated from noses, mouths divorced from brows. The pieces were redistributed across identities, hybridized, layered back into twelve new presences that belong to no one and everyone simultaneously. Over these, alternating washes of white and black paint and ink were built up and obscured, revealed and buried. The binary of judgment made literal, cast back onto the faces that were meant to wield it. Each layer a verdict. Each erasure a stay.

Until each face became a palimpsest, a surface that has passed through other faces on its way to being seen.

No single image tells the whole story. The work demands to be read as a continuous whole. A procession of chimeric identities where judgment has been dissolved into its component parts and reconstituted as something stranger and more honest than the original.

A chimera of identity. A disorder of ideas.