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Ron Linn


Drawing is a sort of sympathetic magic, in which the act of mark-making mirrors the act of traversing space itself, the pencil becoming a stand-in for myself across the terrain of the paper. This results in a direct relationship between my hand and eye and the forming image, allowing me to attempt to call back lost time, things that I haven’t experienced, places I haven’t been, and also those that I have but cannot return to. Like walking, the locus of drawing is found in desire for or lack of; of wanting to take the next step, to experience the changing vista, to see where the line will lead.

In this series of drawings I was exploring the almost mythological narratives of heroic Antarctic exploration, calling into question the idea of claiming a landscape that by nature refuses such an act. Engaging in a slow and meditative translation of photographic record into drawing, I attempted a connection with these old explorers, as well as the vast austere Antarctic wilderness itself. With increasing reports of climate-based change in the eco-system and landscape of the arctic regions, the drawings also became a study in the dislocation or disappearance of a place that has long held to our collective imaginations, mourning its loss even while celebrating the wonder it has long inspired in us.