As other artists predict the digital euphemizing of the body, Wekua’s re-tensions corporeality, hanging by threads of Narcissus's new glass pond. It’s both a romanticization of the body’s haptic analog in space - space that Wekua is so good at making uneasy - and, in young women’s endangerment, a slasher-flick mockery of it, the body.
Wekua re-updating the same threatening social moralism of horror movies and fairy tales, though the girl in the other room now riding triumphant over what originally made her a meal.
The spooky-ghost paintings are bad, acting as installation markers, nowhere near as stellar as Cathy Wilkes iron-dense versions.
See too : Cathy Wilkes at Tramway
