SCRAPS

GEORGIA BIGGS  

28 Nov - 7 Dec 

2024

"It was formerly a very general belief, even amongst geologists, that the great features of the earth's surface, no less than the smaller ones, were subject to continual mutations, and that during the course of known geological time the continents and great oceans had, again and again, changed places with each other ." 

- Alfred Russel Wallace, 1889

A self-declared Socialist, supporter of women’s suffrage, opponent of eugenics and militarism, advocate for a pure-paper money system unbacked by gold and silver, a Spiritualist in later years, Alfred Russel Wallace was among many things, also the first to uncover the theory of evolution through natural selection. At least he did so independently of Charles Darwin, and whether by chance or by survival of the fittest, Darwin would be the one to take the credit. Wallace appeared to harbour no ill will, although his forays into the spiritual realm probably damaged his reputation and delayed his inevitable recognition amongst the scientific community. A self-saboteur, he was ever willing to embrace radical fringe ideas to his detriment. A kind of 19th century troll, the more people he could piss off, the better.

In 1858, in the Malay Archipelago, Wallace decided that evolution was real. Wondering why the world did not become overcrowded with those species that bred more rapidly, it occurred to him to ask the question, “why do some die and some live?”

Over the years, Georgia has established a little ecosystem in her studio world. Not always a Garden of Eden, often a Slough of Despond, it is populated by an assortment of species whose origins can be traced to that inexplicable primordial urge to create, either in response to the world or in spite of it. Whatever the reason, matter is imbued with intent, a painting is born, and that painting is lumped about from studio to studio, re-stretched, refitted, re-purposed and re-considered. And it evolves to fit the changing situation, the changing attitudes. It grows and grows, but eventually goes to seed, and is broken and dispersed, scattered upon the winds of change. And what are we left with... but scraps. Scraps that the artist can’t help but hold onto. Scraps that germinate, and spread roots, and show up again in strange places. Not the grand majestic Megalosaurus of a painting it descended from, but every bit a part of it. Under a new light, amongst different company, different terrain, the scrap thrives. It finds other scraps to consort with, and a new breed emerges. Blessed are the scraps, for they shall inherit the earth.

Harry Hay, November 2024