unknown necessity to form the shape of Devil’s Tower out of any material at hand. Likewise, Linville’s sculptures come from a place of urgency and instinct, as well as whim. Her objects grow into structures that are neither body, nor architecture, but some combination of the two that makes something truly other. While there is that impulsive side to her work, the elements in Linville’s sculptures are also highly considered. Every tiny detail down to the end of a thread that has been left unsnipped is important. This is where the slowing down and noticing kicks in. As you move around (and through, in some cases) Linville’s forms - her hanging bulbs, wall growths or standing structures - details begin to catch your attention. An opening that was disguised by fabric on your first pass now reveals a tunnel burrowing into a deeper cavity. What looked like an uneven pillow lump (upon closer inspection) is actually a sculpted pile of cupcakes used as filling. In Rainbow Edges, Sophomore Year a pointer finger from a yellow housewife’s kitchen glove pokes out of a crevice formed by the meeting point of two rolls as if she is telling you to “hang on a sec” while she’s being sucked away. What is surprising about the work is how its clunky handiwork and impertinent shapes are finessed into striking and nuanced forms. Linville’s skills as an artist/builder are highlighted when it comes to organizing the jumbles into compelling abstractions that defy easy categorization, but reference pods, limbs, torsos, fungi, cocoons, organs with arteries, tents and towers. They are also (at times) complicated by the materials; while bedazzled in places with sequins, colorful sewing pins or metallic pipe cleaners, the work shows both an amusement with those materials and a darker sensibility with their use. The reference to “women’s work”
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