In 2005, we opened Zoe Keramea: Geometry of Paradox, featuring two- and three-dimensional works on paper by the under-recognized New York-based artist. The exhibition reflected Keramea’s sense of delight in visual challenges as she invited viewers to involve themselves in the mental “unfolding” of the work. The drawings she produced for the exhibition used deceptively simple motifs, such as lines, knots, and geometrical shapes, to challenge spatial conventions.
Keramea has been exploring enfolded surfaces through sculpture, printmaking, drawing, and ceramics. Her work is deeply rooted in the history of geometrical figuration as a system of both logical and metaphorical thought. For the artist, geometry proposes an array of conceptual potentialities with internal logics that are available to be analyzed, recontextualized and turned inside out or upside down. Although lines have strong cultural associations for Keramea (she was born in Athens and raised in an environment full of shipping lines and fishing nets), the lines in her art function as conceptual problems. For her, lines not only reflect the path between two points, but are elements project space, define context and imply volume.
Knots II, IV, VI, VIII, X, 1990. Zoetype, each 7” x 40“
Spikey Moebius, 2002. Paper and thread, 8” x 8”” x 4 ½”
Noutilus Antecedent, 1998. Graphite on paper, each 7 ½” x 7 ½”
You’d left Natas Tower shortly after with nothing but a crisp
white business card, the word NATAS etched in smooth black ink on one side and
a phone number on the other. You’d been given strict instructions by Nara not
to call that number unless you hadn’t heard from either of the brothers within
seven days. You’d stared at the business card all the way home, and even now,
as you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop reading the secretive
number. You were also instructed to keep this new arrangement top secret; in
the name of confidentiality and all. You placed the card in your bedside drawer
and flopped backwards into the soft duvet; what a day. You were exhausted and
it was only three in the afternoon. The brothers had tired you out emotionally
and left you with an irrepressible heat in your lower region.
“What the fuck…” you murmur to yourself as you press your thighs
together. Nobody had ever had that sort of effect on you; let alone two people
at once. You couldn’t decide who was worse; Song Minho or Woo Jiho. Mr Song was
warm like fire, strong and determined. Whereas Mr Woo was elegance incarnate;
his icy demeanour demanding your attention. You lay there frustrated; biting
your lip in a bid to control your urges. In the end you decide on a very cold
shower and a glass of wine before slipping into a blissful sleep.