Horror Vacuui

A year ago, we had a fabulous trip to Turkey. It quickly resulted in a photo essay called "Pattern Exhaustion" for the Dallas KERA Art & Seek site (archived in here somewhere). And now, I proudly unveil the porcelain version of this, "Horror Vacuui"...a 42 inch tall vacuum cleaner that looks like it has a full body tattoo .

It could disappear totally in one of those silk scarf stores in Bursa. Or in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. Or in a mosque, where the idea was actually conceived, when I had a glimpse of a big honkin' vacuum cleaner laying in wait.I snapped a blurry iphone picture of that one in the Uli Camii, and have found some elegant pictures online of vacuum cleaners in the Blue Mosque (above). I admire the devotion of Muslims--everywhere we went, people were at prayer. Most mosques now have wall-to-wall carpet instead of individual prayer rugs, and in some of them it is the largest expanse of carpet you'll ever see. All day long men and women pray (in segregated sections) on hands and knees, their breath and bare feet touching the rug....then the residual of prayer is vacuumed up.

First I had to find a vintage vacuum for a muse, and it showed up in a junk store in Leakey, TX...a classic Kirby with enough attachments to fill the back of my car. Remember those old ads of women in high heels and pearls, merrily attached to their big vacuums?

Thinking of the term "horror vacuui"--which simply means fear of emptiness, and is used to describe the busyness of Rococo art-- I knew the whole piece needed to be covered with pattern. With a nod to Islamic metalwork, the heavy metal motor took on imagery from a glorious 14th c. basin in the Louvre. It was nicknamed the "Baptistery of St. Louis" as it was used for baptisms of

of French royalty at Versailles and later Notre Dame Cathdral. Imagine being baptized in a huge bowl full of hunters and wild animals.

After the term "Arab Spring" was coined, my piece in process took on the idea of spring cleaning...thus, Botticelli's Primavera landed on the handle. That gorgeous carpet of flowers in the painting is another example of "horror vacuui". Here's Flora herself from Primavera....

Flora meets Chlora? The pattern on the vacuum's bag is adapted from a Islamic prayer rug in the Met's collection...my detail from it goes around the bag...carpetbag, obviously!

My friend Jamie, who was on this eventful trip to Turkey, suggested that the vacuum be scarfing up scarves....we'd gotten quite concerned for the Turkish women who were covered head to toe in the hot summer, albeit in lovely silk patterns. And Anne and Sarah Jane went to great lengths to get into a classic Turkish bath in Istanbul. So, for them, I added two scarves, one of Ingres' Turkish Bath, and one of Picasso's Demoiselles d'Avignon.

Not that the women depicted look like Anne and Sarah Jane, of course! Turns out, though, that Picasso was influenced by this Ingres, which is pretty cool since both of them influenced me. As the piece neared completion, another idea jumped aboard. The highlight of the trip had been our last day's visit to the Chora Museum (the Kariye Djami) in Istanbul, which I'd studied in grad school and have never seen. The mosaics and frescoes there are splendid examples of late Byzantine art. The chapel there culminates in an apse with a mandorla shaped fresco of the Harrowing of Hell or "Anastasis". That story is suggested in the Bible in the emptiness of Holy Saturday, the day between crucifixion and resurrection. and is of deep importance to the Eastern Orthodox faith. In it, Jesus descends into hell and cleans it out, so to speak, sucking out Adam, Eve, and other old faithfuls. The vacuum cleaner needed a hose extension. Those boxes of vacuum attachments had been lingering in my carport, and I rummaged through them to find a detachable hose with a long skinny nozzle. I made it with coils of clay and then managed to break the nozzle. That was probably a good thing, because it had a penile shape, and I didn't want it going after the women on those scarves. So I remade it into a small triangular thing--what are those called--designed to get into nooks and crannies, deep down into the upholstery. And the wonderful Anastasis fit on it
just fine.
Assembling this thing was a challenge, accompanied by epoxy and grout, after all the metallics and overglazes were fired on various parts. All it needs now is a roaring sound effect, and then it'll scare my dog, who likes to bite the front rubber bumper when I vacuum.

Also, I have a pristine old Kirby for sale...and it's a beauty!