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Over the years Goldenthal has not painted countless canvases, or sculpted hundreds of figures, but one canvas, one figure. That is, aspects of one large work of art, which has merely extended itself out over time, like some fabulous, segmented creature. During the years I have known her, I’ve watched her move from painting flat, two-dimensional canvases, to gluing on them brocaded or brightly patterned pieces of cloth; I’ve seen the paintings ripped and torn, the frames come flying apart, the faces removed and recast into three-dimensional, anguished searching loving staring blinded angular and graceful masks, and there is her Jesus, Krishna blue. They are all aspects of Baila. You come to look at them and say: but of course, how could they be seen any other way. For there she is, Baila, without pretension, armed with paint and brush, hammers and nails, saws, shards of pottery, and snatches of cloth, being Baila, leaving her trail of spirit, presenting some aspects of herself. |