Ian In­gram presents new paint­ings and his first three-di­men­sional works in an ex­hi­bi­tion at Di­men­sion Gallery in Austin, Texas.

American Art Collector - - Contents - By John O’Hern

The more Ian In­gram ex­plores the in­ti­macy of the self-por­trait the more he finds within and be­yond the self. A jun­gle wasp made its way into his Mex­i­can stu­dio in a con­verted ship­ping con­tainer. The fear­less artist “bat­tled the wasp and emerged vic­to­ri­ous,” he boasts. “I picked up its body and saw that it was a mag­i­cal jewel of black iri­des­cence and had the same pat­terns I had found on my own skin. He was a brother.” The en­counter in­spired his paint­ing Mino­taur—half man, half beast.

Mino­taur will be in the ex­hi­bi­tion Five Skin Ten Skin at Di­men­sion Gallery in Austin, Texas, Novem­ber 15 through Jan­uary 5. The ex­hi­bi­tion presents his emer­gence from two-di­men­sional work into three-di­men­sional. He and his wife, Jeri Lynn, and their two chil­dren lived among the Hui­chol peo­ple in Sayulita, Mex­ico, for two years. “Their cul­ture has a re­mark­able bound­ary­less­ness,” In­gram ob­serves. “They call peo­ple ‘brother’ and ‘sis­ter.’ They wor­ship pey­ote as a de­ity. We put peo­ple in jail for that.” The Hui­chol may be our last con­nec­tions to pre-Columbian cul­tural tra­di­tions.

“I find the bound­ary around me is chang­ing,” he says. “My skin is not the bound­ary of me, but we have to be­have as if we’re bound by it. Science has shown us that solid mat­ter is 95 per­cent noth­ing­ness,” he con­tin­ues, “that the ‘skin’ of an atom is a perime­ter of ir­ra­tionally bounc­ing elec­trons in the va­lence shell. Cells have a semiper­me­able mem­brane sur­round­ing them, and or­gan­isms have an epi­der­mis to reg­u­late

1 Mino­taur, oil on panel, 76 x 47" 2 Boarder, wood, cop­per and epoxy resin clay, 40 x 109 x 10"2

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