Quinha Faria: Receptors

The body doesn't ask to receive. Sound enters the ear and is heard; scent moves through the nasal passage and is known; skin is pierced and bleeds. Reception happens without consent, before thought. Receptors begin here.

Lengths of red PEX tubing hang from the ceiling, twisted and bound with sisal twine and beaded metal roller chains, their looping forms resembling the curved passages of the ear and nose.

Paintings composed of cotton bandages soaked in red and yellow pigments, the color of blood and plasma, are woven into grids. Their color scheme echoes blood and plasma, the fluids that sustain life and circulate whether we will them to or not.

Thin wooden door skins, painted and carved, hover between image and specimen. Built up in washes of Sumi ink, marble dust, fabric dye, acrylic, tempera, silver, and surgical skin marker before being cut into. The marks on these sculptures follow the grain or resist it. The scratches are jagged, primal.

Begin with looking — the one sense you can choose. Your body is already doing the hearing, smelling, and feeling.

Quinha Mukai Faria (b. 1988, Campinas, Brazil) lives and works between Portland, Oregon, and New York City. She holds degrees in nursing and human physiology. Before turning to art, she worked as a critical care nurse, witnessing the body at its most vulnerable. She recently completed an MFA at Bard College. Receptors is her first solo exhibition in New York City.