
Cig Harvey British, b. 1973
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40.6 x 50.8 cm / 16 x 20 in
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Edition of 7
76.2 x 101.6 cm / 30 x 40 in
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Edition of 3
106.7 x 142.2 cm / 42 x 56 in
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Midnight velvet unfurls across the frame, a dark tide that absorbs every stray glint. From this hush of indigo rises a trowel, its handle matte and utilitarian, yet its blade cradles an impossible treasure: a crystalline wedge of cake embedded with the luminous fragment of a butterfly wing. The scene is simple, almost still-life, yet it pulses with quiet wonder, inviting the eye to drift between tangible weight and dreamlike lightness.
Cig Harvey's lens turns common objects into charged talismans. Here, the trowel suggests labor, excavation, the slow unearthing of memory. Yet it carries sweetness rather than soil, a slice seemingly carved from moonlit sugar. Frosted strata catch bluish flare, as if harboring glacial secrets. The trapped wing, cerulean and veined, hovers in suspended metamorphosis, promising flight even while sealed in silence.
The photograph feels steeped in coastal Maine dusk. One senses the nearby Atlantic breathing salt into the night, the lingering scent of pine, the rustle of tide-polished stones. Darkness is not emptiness here; it is depth, a womb in which color and story gestate. The radiant triangle becomes a beacon, guiding the gaze through shadow toward revelation.
Time turns liquid. The blade's edge recalls archaeological shards, while the confection evokes childhood celebrations. Past and present converge, asking which experiences we bury, which we preserve beneath translucent glaze. Harvey offers no answers, only atmosphere. Viewers supply their own histories, pressing them against the chill surface like fingerprints on glass.
Despite its contemplative hush, the image vibrates with anticipation. Light presses outward from within the cake, as though soon to fracture its sugary prism. The butterfly's wing—once engine of motion—now powers the imagination, whispering of departures, returns, and the fragile sweetness found between. In this alchemy of humble tool and luminous relic, Harvey suspends a heartbeat, reminding us that the extraordinary often lies half-hidden in the dark, waiting for a careful hand to lift it into view.