Special to the Mirror-Spectator
There is a unique sensation one gets from riding the window seat of an airplane. You are granted a view that, up until about a hundred years ago, no mortal in history had previous access to. Above the clouds you are able to gaze outwards at the heavens, and up to an untouched sky. The sun’s rays cast mile-long shadows across thick, pillowy clouds that are too unfathomably vast. This is a God-like position.
From these heights you can, if the conditions allow, look down too. Vast swaths of land, stretching out as far as the eye can see, trick the brain by their apparent infinitude. Mountains are flattened. Lakes and rivers are compressed. The millions of people below, impossible to see, are squeezed into nothing. From forty-thousand feet the world becomes a sea of abstraction.
Meghan Arlen’s new show, Obscured Geographies at Atamian Hovsepian Curatorial Practice, mirrors the distinct sensation of gliding across the sky and awing at the world below. But while this sensation can manifest in feelings of serenity, it can also be a potent reminder of humanity’s severe impact on the landscape. From this near transcendent perspective, so close to the heavens, Arlen reminds us of these very human concerns.
Through a variety of materials, mediums, and methods Arlen constructs modules of space that resemble patches of earth scarred by the marks of mankind. The world presented is not an idyllic Eden, unspoiled. These geographies are much more ambiguous.