2731 Prospect Contemporary Art permanently closed on April 22, 2017
Birchfield’s subjects and the concentration of her technique also recall the rudimentary, overlapping stages of invention that gave birth to photography, to the study of biology, and to the technology of mass production. If these processes, historically, have objectified the real world, her own haptic recapitulations of that tendency restore subjectivity and mystery to such scientific measurements and gauging. Influenced by such diversely expressive artists as Helen Frankenthaler, Morris Lewis, Cornelia Parker, and Dieter Roth, Birchfield generates works made on the basis of found objects and materials, which waver like ghosts in transit between identity and eternity.
DNA could be extracted from a Birchfield, and a talented biological technician could perhaps build a new organism; to whatever extent her works are pictures, they gain crucial visual and psychological gravitas from the fact that they are also relics. Like Dieter Roth’s works made from food, Birchfield’s flowers invent a beauty for themselves in the shattered, garbage-strewn landscape of late modernity, a sense of beauty and identity that is crucially determined and nourished by the consequences of boundaries and breaches.
—Douglas Max Utter
Christi Birchfield was born in 1983 in Cleveland Ohio, where she currently lives and works. She received her BFA from The Cleveland Institute of Art, her MFA from Columbia University, both with concentrations in printmaking. Christi attended Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in 2010. Her work is part of the permanent print and drawing collection at the Cleveland Museum of Art, the Cleveland Clinic Foundation, and the Westin Hotel in downtown Cleveland. She has exhibited her work both nationally and internationally in cities such as New York, New Orleans, and Qijiang, China. Notable recent exhibitions include Women to Watch Ohio as well as How to Remain Human at MOCA Cleveland.
Indra K. Lacis writes about Christi’s work stating: “This defiantly wounded work, with its pure physicality and the abject absurdity of its brittleness, confounds our processing of its shape and contour with a dose of sly, sad humor, the kind of irony Hesse might have admired.”