[no title] 1993

Curator: Ian McKeever, born in 1946, created this intriguing piece. It's part of the Tate collection. The stark contrasts really struck me. Editor: It’s like a visual poem. One half is this overwhelming darkness, a void almost. The other, a fragile, snowy landscape with suggestive text. Curator: Exactly! The text, "in such light one might sleep, in such cold never wake," feels like a dark lullaby against the looming black form. Then there is a poem evoking animal footprints and marks in the snow. Editor: Snow has always been a powerful symbol of purity, but also of isolation. McKeever is playing with that, isn’t he? It makes me think of the fragility of life against the unknown. Curator: The juxtaposition of the two halves creates a tension. It speaks to the dualities of existence, perhaps, the seen and unseen, the known and the unknown. Editor: It invites contemplation. What do we choose to focus on? The darkness, or the delicate beauty that persists even in the cold? I lean to the later. Curator: Yes, I think it speaks to the enduring hope in even the bleakest landscape of our minds.