Dylan Jones & Molly Shea
July 30-August 27, 2016
No two ways about it, Molly Shea sucks at summer. She will never transcend her day at the beach. Not lulled into paradise; she finds it all a tad oogie. Sand in nether regions, and medical waste lurking in seafoam. All her skin of the sun-don’t-shine variety. Being in the sun too long she breaks out in pimply rashes and the constant threat of melanoma hovers in the air like a hungry seagull. Molly is a plucky gal. Seeks the best manicure and dons the most stylish resort chic wrap. When in Rome has her cast in her own version of a blockbuster and her antagonist is the sun.
You're alone. It's hot and there's no air conditioner and the oscillating fan is just pushing around the heat. The sound of the fan is a kind of violence. Its repetition has erased all of your other thoughts. Heat stroke is setting in, and then it happens. Your grasp on reality slips away and you begin to see things. Dylan Jones' drawings come in at this point. Grimm esque fairytale characters deli sliced and stitched back together. Faces aren't owned by bodies. Noses aren't owned by faces. Lopped appendages aren't gory. They float or wiggle away but they'll be back. They're just off to pick up some milk. This is routine. It's hard to pin down any horror in the gargling limbs, but you sense tension. All is not right.