Essay by Wren Fleming
Consider repetition. You’ve done it before. Now do it again.
Repetition is a given when it comes to visual art. Patterns. Cycles. A series. It’s in nature, it’s in our biology. There’s an aspect of Kathranne’s work that makes us listen to the patterns, too. Counting Syllables is the best example, as it’s the manifestation of the beats of a poem on paper, though her other works invoke a sense of familiar beats, as well—rain, wind, stars.
Purple Rain has a clear-cutting line running diagonally across the front. It brings the other sharp lines to our attention as well, not only creating depth but inviting us to hear the rhythm of the rain.
Kathranne told me that in her studio, all the panels were lined up side-by-side. Like a long scroll. The panels can be arranged in any which way—the convenience of rippling shapes and colors: it all connects. The common thread is repetition, of course, but also interruption. The middle, diagonal line in Purple Rain is so clean, it interrupts everything behind it, every cloudlike, haybale-shaped object receding into the horizon.
In the Counting Syllables series, if you stand back and look at the panels you can see a single shape (I almost want to call them stanzas). And yet these shapes are still being interrupted—there’s a defined, darker vertical line—a vibration—close to the middle of the shape. It’s as though that’s where the poem, being read out loud while the marks are made, strikes a specific feeling. Though individually, each line (each beat) is still different. Kathranne says that “though I make the line again and again, and have familiarity with it, I never think I know the line.”
Echo and disintegration are themes that carry into the curated show, as well (this show is displayed side-by-side Kathranne’s as a companion). This is prevalent in Catherine Reinhart’s The Mother Rubbings, one of the artists included on the curated side. The charcoal words “mother,” and some “baby,” echo down a long, rolled-up sheet. The words ought to remind us of life, but actually these are outlines of titles on gravestone. Life and death is a known cycle to us—and it fades. Fades in vitality, fades in memory.
Especially interesting are the crocheted rings by Rachel Merrill. The green reminds us of grass, or moss. The shapes inspire imagery of collars or crowns. There’s a sort of domestic feel to it, too, as it makes me think of hand-me-down clothes, things worn by several people until its purpose is exhausted.
The great thing about this show is that you can look at it again and again and notice something new every time. In her most recently published book, Maggie Smith writes, “I believe our thoughts are rooted in poetry—fragments, images, and patterns that grow into something larger.” We may not even realize it, but we crave repetition. So, if you haven’t seen this show yet in person I recommend you do so.
And then look at more art. Think about what repeats in your world. Read your favorite poem—do it again. You’ve done it before.
Exhibit through May 10, 2025
VIEW WORKS INCLUDED IN THIS EXHIBIT
Kathranne Knight | Recurrence
Oh, Repetition! | Curated by Kathranne Knight
Curated artists include: Tibi Chelcea, Angela Johal, Larassa Kabel, Ruben Sanchez, Linda Coletta, Pref, Charoula Nikolaidou, William Downs, Sean Greene, Michaela Mullin, Catherine Reinhart, Rachel Merrill, and Adele Renault.
