TRYST
8 October - 9 November, 2024
William Hine Gallery 311 Camberwell New Rd, London (UK)
William Hine is pleased to present TRYST, a solo exhibition by Manchester-based artist Gwen Evans (b. 1996, Bodelwyddan, Wales) on view from 8 October to 9 November.
Delving into the anxieties of modern relationships, Evans’ latest body of work blurs the lines between courtship, rejection, and obsession. Shadowy figures and peeping silhouettes interrupt the stillness of domesticity, and facial features, a reassuring reference point, are removed or obscured: characters are unreadable, their motives unknown. Viewers are left questioning whether the paintings capture a blossoming love or something entirely more sinister.
Exploring elements of the uncanny, Evans invokes the Lynchian double by way of mirrored ambiguous figures, and goes a step further, extending this doubling to the domestic space. Reading the home as a metaphorical ‘self’, permeable boundaries of hedges, doors, and blinds symbolise equally permeable psychological states: characters are vulnerable to external influences, literally and figuratively.
From the pure white lily of the Annunciation to Socrates' poisonous hemlock, botanical symbolism is an enduring theme in historical storytelling. Here, Evans plucks floral references from across centuries, spanning Greek mythology and Renaissance nuptial portraiture to David Lynch's neo-noir Blue Velvet (1986). Whether revealing virtuous characteristics, signalling a sitter’s status, or foreshadowing events, Evans exploits the often contradictory meanings of botanicals to further blur the boundary between courtship and obsession.
Whether figures are isolated in frames, crossing between spaces, or omitted entirely, their interactions play out across domestic thresholds. This liminality continues beyond the picture plane: extending into the gallery, the fourth wall envelopes us, or, perhaps, walls us in. Whether peeping over a neighbouring hedge or spying through a dimly-lit window, as in The Watch, we wait for the encroaching figures to meet our gaze, rendering us voyeurs – maybe even complicit.
Text by Katie Evans