The Colby Echo

Issue date: 2/9/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment

Media Credit: Molly Warren

Tiny glass legs buckle in the center of the room. There is no physical torso, but the haunting phantom of one lurches forward, yearning and threatening to fall to the ground. These are sad, twisted legs that alone would only be reminiscent of the fragility of the body and the inevitable flaws that taint it. Instead, however, these legs seem to have grown wings.

"currents 3" by Lihua Lei is part of the annual series exhibiting emerging artists in the Museum Davis Gallery. Upon entering the room the room, it almost takes your breath away. Huge, white, billowing wings stretch and twirl like a parachute across the ceiling. In the center of the ceiling there is a window through which light cascades down onto the fabric. The wings curl and float there in the air, distracting you- if only for a moment from the crippled legs in the center. My heart felt lighter as I first took in these wings with their softness and their flight. It then tightened, however, with curiosity as I noticed the legs, which were cut off at the hips. These are casts of the artist Lihua Lei's legs. They are Lei's scar, a reminder of the polio that struck her as a child and changed her body and world forever. The feet are creased with lines that create the image of a person. They are imprinted with delicate scratches that show they belong to somebody, though the only thing they seem to belong to in this room are the huge, ethereal, butterfly wings.

Lei's work is meant to explore how our bodies sense the world. What does it mean to gain something, and if we lose it, do we remember the state in which our body once was? How does the body feel, process, and remember the world? For the "currents 3" exhibit, Lei use glass, colored thread, cloth winds, and the knotty bark of trees to form images of humanity and the physical world in which we exist. How can a pair of legs rendered hopeless from polio learn to fly again, or at least remember how to? The wings are a simple memory of motion, but perhaps their presence alone is enough to mask the emptiness. As Lei says in her artist's statement, "Does my body remember what it has lost? Do the cells and nerves still hold these imprints? … The emerging butterfly or moth from the chrysalis is only accessible in that floating place of dreams, wishes and memories."

Lihua Lei's "current3" exhibit was aesthetically beautiful and moving. It featured three installments in the Davis Gallery, Johnson Pond, and the museum lobby. Though it was intended to evoke emotions in relation to the physical body, it also trapped traces of the soul. Though the pieces showed the flaws and scars that are inherent in the body, it hinted that despite the weight of these imperfections, it is still possible to fly. When the body is defeated, we can conjure our own flight. This is what makes this world beautiful, and Lei was able to capture this in one room by simply displaying an image of her past. If our bodies can not remember the movement that was once in them, art such as this can help us to create new sensation.

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