Jodi Boatman, Even on a Clear Day, I still Cannot Find You.

This exhibition presented in conjunction with: International Women’s Day (8 March), a global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future. more at here

Boatman’s photos lyrically evoke her grandmother’s life with both loss and longing and establish a bond between their disconnected lives.

Jodi Boatman re-creates a photographic narrative of the life of her grandmother, by standing in for her; an abandoned war bride who came to the states to find the American GI husband who had abandoned her and their child.

The photographs depict the significant and mundane elements of her life, based on stories about her that the artist has collected.

“I have been focusing on creating a character derived from memories of my grandmother through the display of three photographic projects. These projects construct a landscape of memory for the viewer in which the character of my grandmother is both visually present (where I become a stand-in for her) and where my longing for her is explored through spaces that evoke a perceptual connection to her home. The exhibition constructs an intimate entrance into my grandmother’s life, as well as a feeling of loss and longing on my part, as I explore the connections between our disconnected lives.

Image: detail from “Even on a Clear Day, I Still Cannot Find You” Jodi Boatman

“In this project I am using myself as a stand-in for my grandmother. She was a war bride from Cornwall, England who arrived in central Pennsylvania with two children and a husband who chose not to recognize their marriage. As a character, she is fascinating. Her displacement was not uncommon. During the years following World War II, the largest immigration of women and children flooded rural communities around the US. Their perception of America was that of Hollywood movies. I have read numerous accounts of women arriving at farming communities to be with the fathers of their children, only to be disappointed and eventually return home. My grandmother did not leave however, she found a new husband and had six more children.

This project uses the medium of photography to examine truth, nostalgia and memory. The work asks, what happens when the photograph becomes a simulation of a real event, one that was never photographed or written down and is remembered through the severed connections of time? How do I, as the image maker, reconcile my presence in a place of absence? “This will be a Long Lonely Year. ” In this project I juxtapose close up interior shots of textured wallpapers, curtains, lights; spaces where we look to avoid eye contact with etchings of floral patterns digitally drawn onto plexiglass above the photograph. I am interested in how the initial desire to photograph these places becomes yet another attempt to re-inhabit my grandmother’s home (to remain in the past). The floral patterns become a reference to an uncertain future, their origins derive from websites meant to educate soon-to-be brides on the meaning of flowers given to them. The relationship between the photographed interiors and my choice of etchings are the negative “meanings” given to the flowers, such as hydrangea, meaning frigidity and heartlessness.

I use these descriptions to create titles that both specifically address the flower’s meaning with additional text, addressing failed relationships and uncomfortable conversations in my own life. This work is a glimpse into the disappointment and isolation of my grandmother, exposed in the photographs by worn textures, awkwardly close framing and closed drapery, all made present by titles that address my current circumstance.”

I Noticed your Limp as you got up to Leave the Kitchen.

“In this work I explore similar theme as in This will be a Long Lonely Year though the use of the diptych. I contrast two images, a static interior that recalls the home of my grandparents paired with a fleeting and unstable photograph from a moving car. I create titles that are confessionary in nature, punctuating the photographs with (sometimes embarrassing) introspection.” -Jodi Boatman