Family photos carry memories but also, inevitably, baggage. Terri Lloyd has found a way to deal with this baggage with an innate sense of whimsy and, ultimately, a resolve to make the imperfect enjoyable. Her ongoing series “In the Court of the Easter Queen” posits specific memories imbued with a clumsy magic, replacing wistfulness with the colorful pride of just having survived it all.
While Gerhard Richter spent the first half of his career rendering photographs as paintings to reveal their inherent unreality, Terri Lloyd abstracts from photography because the memories they carry are all too real. By composing figures without faces she connects to the awkward internal history all viewers carry. Within our intimate biographies, some things are too terrible to be confronted. The redemption here is the joy in seeing this miasma conquered through painting. When Terri Lloyd alters a bad memory, she does it for all of us.
Confronted with my own aging and the limitations of arthritic hands, I’m no longer interested in the pain of technical excellence. Telling a story with as little noise as possible provides me a clarity of feeling rather than photographic or historic accuracy.
In The Court Of The Easter Queen, is a retelling of my functionally dysfunctional childhood. Exploiting old family photos which are quirky and often lack photo composition pushes me to take risks of my own, often pealing away what or who isn’t necessary.
My lens of our family history is very different from that of my siblings. The old photos aging in yellow or orange tones hit me with the warmth of a nostalgia that never existed.
Who is present and who is not present is equally important and provides a glimpse into our dynamics individually and collectively.
Facelessness is a way to protect and project the innocence. Facelessness also gives the viewer a place to insert themselves into the stories depicted.
The neckless child is a reflection of things that were said to me, about me. I suppose if my head weren’t attached, I would indeed lose it.