Brooke Didonato

New York-based artist Brooke DiDonato's production is something you don't just have to see, you have to look at; it's pleasing to the eye at first glance, but it's also deep in meaning when you really contemplate it. Its 1950s-style décor and soothing landscapes evoke a strange sense of danger lurking behind the intriguing scene. Everything seems oddly out of place, even after a second look it's not clear what we're supposed to feel, we don't even dare blink when our eyes land on one of her photographs. There is more to them than just uncanny eye candy, behind the cleverly humorous title often lies a trauma, a twisted and unhinged perspective on the subconscious of the human psyche. To deconstruct is to question, and by analyzing each element of a Brooke DiDonato image, we begin to unravel the hidden thread of a story we suddenly realize we're in the middle of.

 

In the work presented, for example, the title "Pillows Don't Talk They Listen" makes us wonder what it is that this person can't say for fear that it will be repeated. Pillows are cozy, couches are comfortable, and yet we can't help but feel suffocated by this image... The presence of unobscured nudity (which is not a constant in Brooke's work) makes us think that this is intentional, those legs thrown over the model's hips pushing the mountain of pillows further down, those hands clinging to the couch, the windows obscured by curtains, that little empty ball, an ashtray? My personal interpretation of this piece is that it is the story of a middle-class housewife in the second half of the twentieth century, the victim of abuse, allegedly by her husband... I see someone both resigned and angry, a frozen woman whose perspective of escape is blocked by society's traditional moral and familial obligations.

 

Her condition as a woman in that era bound her to speak softly, to smile, to be beautiful, and to keep quiet. To escape, she screams into pillows so that no one can hear her, for the walls have ears. She can't tell anyone what happened to her because only pillows listen without repeating what they hear. Every once in a while she lights a cigarette and for a brief moment considers leaving everything behind. Without getting into numerology, the specific number of the pillow, 6, might help us with our interpretation. Six as in the Six Stages of Express Trauma Integration, a conceptual framework for understanding and responding to trauma, an approach designed to help survivors describe their experience in stages of 1-Routine, 2-Event, 3-Withdrawal, 4-Awareness, 5-Action, 6-Integration. 

 

Who knows if what I'm saying is what the artist intended? Brooke's art is certainly disorienting, and the thought I've stumbled upon in my trepidation could very well be wrong. As always with Brooke, things may not be what they seem, a house may not be a home, and soothing floral wallpaper may stalk you... Regardless, we go on with our day, and yet, from time to time, we look back and can't help but think, maybe this wasn't a coincidence, maybe this really was out of the ordinary, and maybe you'll spontaneously experience a light bulb moment that makes you see the world in a new perspective.