Artist Highlight: Marie Bannerot McInerney

In a dimly lit corridor, 67 silk panels hang in a convex arc between two contrasting walls: one black and one white. A large, concrete-covered textile hangs in the middle of the dark wall. Across from it, obscured in part by silks, is an equally scaled square of light. A chorus of voices draws guests in and pulls them around the curve of fabric. Like others before her, Marie Bannerot McInerney uses myth to contend with life’s biggest, most unanswerable questions. In Trace Me Back, she confronts the unknown, creating a moment of respite while guided by the threads of a single story.

McInerney references the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, an ancient Greek myth that. Following the marriage of the musician Orpheus to the nymph Eurydice, a viper bite tragically kills the newlywed bride. Devastated by the loss of his wife, Orpheus journeys to the land of the dead to retrieve her. Moved by the beauty and anguish of Orpheus’ songs, the underworld rulers Hades and Persephone offer him the chance to take Eurydice back to the land of the living. He can bring her home, but only if he resists looking at her as they leave. Thrilled by his luck, Orpheus leads Eurydice to the exit. Just as she is about to cross the threshold, he looks back, damning her to spend eternity below. The myth is a cautionary tale about actions that cannot be undone underscoring how fleeting moments decide our present and echo into our future.

Fittingly, time is a major element in Trace Me Back. The space is 80 feet long, and the fabric arc requires guests to travel through the gallery to peek around the curve. The sound component builds over an hour, an amalgamation of notes pulled from three operas based on Orpheus and Eurydice. One voice becomes two, two becomes three, growing in number until there is a swell of young and old voices in a beautiful—if slightly haunting—melody. The song then returns to a single voice, starting the cycle over. The sound component synchs with a wall-bound light. This light gradually changes color from a warm, soft sunrise to the harsh white of midday to the welcoming glow before sunset. Ironically, these elements highlight the ceaseless march of time, yet also create the perfect place to pause.

That push and pull of contradictions extends to the materials. On one side, a concrete-covered textile; on the other, a hard-edged wash of light. They represent extremes: weightless and heavy, presence and absence, light and dark. But if these two wall-bound components are at different ends of the spectrum, the space between them becomes neutral ground.  

Yards of silk organza hang suspended perpendicular to the walls. The breathable fabric exists both as a physical, touchable barrier and a sieve for air to move through. The silk reflects and redistributes the light even as it dampens its brightness. A guest can look back through the panels and see ghostly blurs of people on the other side of the room—present but obscured by material.

This interstitial space invites the viewer to gaze through, step between, and (gently) brush their hand against the fabric panels. That invitation to touch is a rarity in an art museum. It introduces the tactile into an experience typically reserved for the eyes. Here, McInerney enters the guest’s space and extends the engagement from something seen from afar to something felt. She invites the guests to truly understand the work as present and real.

But reality makes for crummy myths. Our greatest epics and beloved parables exist in an exaggerated version of the real. These stories simplify ideas to the extremes to prove a point or rationalize the unexplainable. Helios never pulled the sun across the sky, but that explanation satisfied legions of ancient Greeks. A tortoise never faced off against a hare, but their race teaches children the value of slow and steady consistency. The biggest issues that face us: who we are, how we live life well, or how we understand concepts too big for us—these are assuaged by simple stories that offer comfort.

McInerney’s use of myth stems from this search for answers. At a time of climate crisis and societal reckoning, we recognize that the most concerning issues of our day are the result of past human actions. We are all Orpheus. We live as witnesses to the moments we can’t take back—even as we continue to move forward.

However, in the gallery space, McInerney offers a moment of respite. The walls become a blank canvas for guests to project the vast, abstract concepts that plague them onto a simple arrangement of materials. Trace Me Back does not endeavor to resolve these problems. Instead, when someone stands between light and dark—past and future—there is a momentary pause, a new distance from the issue, and an opportunity to find comfort even amidst the unknown.