Mirages

Stored in our brains are hundreds of millions of memories; fragments of information, many of which can be randomly summoned, whereas others are destined never to surface again. It seems that we have the capacity to recall visual memories much more easily than linguistic ones. A certain physical movement, a particular way of standing, or the facial expression of a stranger can all trigger a memory of someone familiar from the past, but where and when these flashes of recollection enter our consciousness is beyond our control. These fleeting but distinct moments are what artist Sue Rosenberg attempts to capture in her work.

Rosenberg’s long held ambition has been to visually represent fragments of memory and half-remembered images, although a means to achieving her aim remained elusive until quite recently when the solution was revealed to her over the airwaves. When she heard a radio programme about a new type of infrared body scanner that provided three-dimensional images of the surface of the body, it seemed that she had discovered the right technique. Since then, she has created a collection of ethereal imagers that have arisen from a marriage of her creative ideas and a medical imaging technique. Rosenberg believes that medical and scientific technologies have opened up new avenues to artists by providing unusual ways of visualising the human body; one of these technologies has enabled her to develop her artistic vision.

Rosenberg contacted the developers of the scanner and began a creative working relationship with them. They liked her ideas and agreed that she could use the equipment as a starting point for her project. The scanner uses an infrared position-sensitive detector, much like the auto focus on a camera. Infrared beams are bounced off the body’s surface and a sensor detects the returning light rays and calculated the distance between body surface and detector. In this way, the scanner can map terrain in three dimensions and produce an exact digital replica of the external surface of the body. Currently, the technique is being put to various uses, including monitoring postoperative recovery, measuring muscle wastage in people infected by HIV-1, planning maxillofacial surgery, and assessing wounds and burns.

For her own artistic purposes, Rosenberg scanned the exterior bodies of models and then manipulated the images on a computer with graphics software. Rosenberg  describes this process as an evolving and organic one: she worked with an image until it evoked a personal memory which then shaped the form of the work. Thus, the results are spontaneous and random rather than preconceived. Having achieved the right positioning, she used these final images as a template to create pictures on canvas with more traditional media, such as pastel and loose pigments on paper.

The resulting (all female) figures – a series of images called Mirages that Rosenberg completed at the end of last year – are serene and unselfconscious, and adopt modest, slightly balletic poses. They have no facial features and their limbs dissolve in a blurry haze. Just as memories fade and become distorted over time, so Rosenberg presents these images as intangible and unrecognisable. In some of the pictures, she has punched tiny holes in the paper, which give these works a texture and create a way for light to filter through. She layered the pigments and colour, just as memories are multilayered; some of the images are more vivid than others. The shades are pastel, often with a gold or silver wash brushed lightly over them to add to the dream-like effect.

So does Rosenberg’s work trigger personal memories in others? At her last exhibition, many viewers were in fact drawn to particular images, not only because they found them aesthetically pleasing but also because there was something remotely familiar about them. Almost always, the memory was a pleasant reminder of things past – Rosenberg’s images do not inspire nostalgia or regret, a preference that is not only reflected in her art but in her own personal philosophy.

Jane de Burgh

Email: jane@wildwords.co.uk