Kira Scerbin
Mommy’s Big Machine
May 28 - July 3, 2021

_schedule appointment
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Kira Scerbin
Mommy’s Big Machine
May 28 - July 3, 2021
2831 Mission St

* by appointment only


WHY BE HUMAN 



Kira told me that her paintings depict “the faces you see out of the corner of your eye.” The creatures that lurk behind you and on the periphery of your brain, the swirling and engulfing voices you hear telling you to pee on the floor at the supermarket or finger yourself while you're in class. Beings that are stifled by pleasant how are yous and pleases and thank yous. Around every corner are taunting malicious smiles that stretch across into infinity supercharged by their excitement spawned from violence and fear. Sexual deviants birthed from the carpet of excrement that makes up the forest floor and hell bent on inflicting trauma on psyches. These creatures are evil impulses embodied and relatively contained inside their flesh imitating hosts, subdued but confronting you directly, staring hard into you. Letting you know that they are you.

Kira conjured one of these specters and released it into the world. One of her violent doppelgängers malevolently drove behind her smiling wide in what she compared to Aphex Twin-like face and what I assumed to be similar to the screaming figure at the end of the “Come To Daddy” music video. Now that she released this Id, where will it go? In the body of a doll? No, that’s not her style. In the body of the humanoid Sophia or in your big boobied sex doll with a bland robotic voice and a body that so excruciatingly sexualized that she feels neuter. A silicone cocoon that stares back, encouraging you to act out all of your pathetic baby animal needs. Like fucking the shit out of it, or choking her unbreakable rubber neck , or suckling the nipple while you slowly cradle yourself to sleep. So you can ooze oxytocin out from every single one of your pathetic pores, but with no reciprocated bond. Like coming into a sock. You forget you're no better than an adult cat making biscuits on a blanket that stands in as a replacement for mother’s stomach. Mommy’s Big Machine made you a pill and she wants you to choke on it. You’re a fucking animal, bitch. Mommy’s world is psychedelic, like worldviews being ripped out from under you, replacing what you thought was sidewalk with deep wet porous moss. Every single waking moment of your life you excrete hormones and salt and develop and destroy neurons and cells. You know nothing of yourself. Mommy’s world is a neurological world where we see faces in all natural things. Mommy’s world is brain world. A world where you identify with the trees. A place where a nipple is the sun and piss, snot, and shit are all cherished as much as a rare frog.

Isabelle Frances McGuire