LEIGH JOHNSON
February 24 – March 9 2023
The sky erupts when time rewinds. Vague blue shadows creep across the day that resemble nothing of the whirling clouds above. Fickle clouds care less about what happens below. But it must have kept the pioneers going - a piece of free land with shadows drawn by the gods in disappearing ink. And gold. And who is to blame for the ensuing trail of tears?
He drove this drive before. The weight of the moment seeps through his body, spreads and crumples his organs. His lungs are up against the door to the apartment, the one he put on the market. He never wanted to be a landlord but when his heart became vacant he preferred to rent rather than sell it again. It went up on the ad board for time travelers. There were lots of inquiries. He interviewed a few and chose a girl that was reminiscent of himself before love’s weathering. A long lease was signed with a break clause of one month’s notice - in hope he can use it again when big feelings return. For a moment he thought of breaking the lease. But the moment passed.
He often wished he could get to know his lodger except that would be breaking all the rules. Her resume read a bit like crawling the walls when she could have used a ladder. Definitely a keeper, he hoped she wouldn’t move out.
He rented out half his heart when love broke down. He slid down the Kola Superdeep Borehole, 52 seconds to hit the bottom, after meeting her. It became the deepest hole in history on June 6th 1979. She was his south and he her north, but when they held up mirrors the rule of repulsion won. When looking at photos of her before they’d met he knew they would slip into the future together. It made the thought of growing old less frightening.
They used to draw each other as animals – the only way to understand what was happening. When thinking about being inside each other she was a fox and he an octopus. When shifting bodily fluids they became one giraffe. He sent her a found drawing of a fox wearily carrying an octopus, she didn’t realize he wanted to be carried. She just wanted to become giraffe.
He had tried to jump out the window when she was looking. While weeping for herself he wanted her to weep for him. She wondered how they would have a baby if he flew out the window. His grip wasn’t that secure, nothing was fixed except the gathering of snow below. Six sided snowflakes are capable of absorbing ninety percent of sound waves. They gagged the screams from above. Inside candle wax fizzed and wove its way down to join yesterday’s burning. Driven by the darkness the lamed giraffe was breaking into the next day.
They were living in loops: pulling secrets from their bones, counting the times they were one, stepping on a toe, a confusion unknown, a missing puzzle piece to wipe out their dashed hopes.
The other chamber would never need financing, it was for his son – the one she wanted – so much joy it stung. What a showstopper that ad would read: tidal wave love, 24-hour smile, one ensuite bedroom and a child’s room. A wall was built for the assassins, hijackers and thieves. Not all time travelers play by the rules.
He passes the tractor graveyard – or maybe it’s an old person’s home - with cars zipping by. Basking in the sun and watching shooting stars in crystal black skies they chatter about who drove who and what they built, none of it mattering any longer as they stand together with all their missing parts.
– Leigh Johnson
Leigh Johnson was born in California in 1979. She received a MFA from Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.
Johnson’s solo and group exhibitions include "Come Closer Closer Please" presented by Chloé at Paris Photo in Paris, France (2022); “Lake Placid Ice Show” at Tennis Elbow at The Journal Gallery in New York, New York (2019); “Physical Mind Restless Hands” at Galerie Micky Schubert in Berlin, Germany (2017); “Gospel Oak and Queens Crescent” at Farago in Los Angeles, California (2016); “Object Painting - Painting Object“ at Jonathan Viner in London, United Kingdom (2016); "Hard Shoulder" at The Journal Gallery in New York, New York (2008); and “Filling My Pockets with Empty Spaces” at Rivington Arms in New York, New York (2003).
Leigh Johnson lives and works in London, United Kingdom.
The sky erupts when time rewinds. Vague blue shadows creep across the day that resemble nothing of the whirling clouds above. Fickle clouds care less about what happens below. But it must have kept the pioneers going - a piece of free land with shadows drawn by the gods in disappearing ink. And gold. And who is to blame for the ensuing trail of tears?
He drove this drive before. The weight of the moment seeps through his body, spreads and crumples his organs. His lungs are up against the door to the apartment, the one he put on the market. He never wanted to be a landlord but when his heart became vacant he preferred to rent rather than sell it again. It went up on the ad board for time travelers. There were lots of inquiries. He interviewed a few and chose a girl that was reminiscent of himself before love’s weathering. A long lease was signed with a break clause of one month’s notice - in hope he can use it again when big feelings return. For a moment he thought of breaking the lease. But the moment passed.
He often wished he could get to know his lodger except that would be breaking all the rules. Her resume read a bit like crawling the walls when she could have used a ladder. Definitely a keeper, he hoped she wouldn’t move out.
He rented out half his heart when love broke down. He slid down the Kola Superdeep Borehole, 52 seconds to hit the bottom, after meeting her. It became the deepest hole in history on June 6th 1979. She was his south and he her north, but when they held up mirrors the rule of repulsion won. When looking at photos of her before they’d met he knew they would slip into the future together. It made the thought of growing old less frightening.
They used to draw each other as animals – the only way to understand what was happening. When thinking about being inside each other she was a fox and he an octopus. When shifting bodily fluids they became one giraffe. He sent her a found drawing of a fox wearily carrying an octopus, she didn’t realize he wanted to be carried. She just wanted to become giraffe.
He had tried to jump out the window when she was looking. While weeping for herself he wanted her to weep for him. She wondered how they would have a baby if he flew out the window. His grip wasn’t that secure, nothing was fixed except the gathering of snow below. Six sided snowflakes are capable of absorbing ninety percent of sound waves. They gagged the screams from above. Inside candle wax fizzed and wove its way down to join yesterday’s burning. Driven by the darkness the lamed giraffe was breaking into the next day.
They were living in loops: pulling secrets from their bones, counting the times they were one, stepping on a toe, a confusion unknown, a missing puzzle piece to wipe out their dashed hopes.
The other chamber would never need financing, it was for his son – the one she wanted – so much joy it stung. What a showstopper that ad would read: tidal wave love, 24-hour smile, one ensuite bedroom and a child’s room. A wall was built for the assassins, hijackers and thieves. Not all time travelers play by the rules.
He passes the tractor graveyard – or maybe it’s an old person’s home - with cars zipping by. Basking in the sun and watching shooting stars in crystal black skies they chatter about who drove who and what they built, none of it mattering any longer as they stand together with all their missing parts.
– Leigh Johnson
Leigh Johnson was born in California in 1979. She received a MFA from Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.
Johnson’s solo and group exhibitions include "Come Closer Closer Please" presented by Chloé at Paris Photo in Paris, France (2022); “Lake Placid Ice Show” at Tennis Elbow at The Journal Gallery in New York, New York (2019); “Physical Mind Restless Hands” at Galerie Micky Schubert in Berlin, Germany (2017); “Gospel Oak and Queens Crescent” at Farago in Los Angeles, California (2016); “Object Painting - Painting Object“ at Jonathan Viner in London, United Kingdom (2016); "Hard Shoulder" at The Journal Gallery in New York, New York (2008); and “Filling My Pockets with Empty Spaces” at Rivington Arms in New York, New York (2003).
Leigh Johnson lives and works in London, United Kingdom.