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Leo Tolstoy believed the real work of art is to destroy, in the consciousness of the receiver, the separation between himself and the artist. It’s in the destruction of boundaries that you can place yourself within the art, blurring the lines between the viewer and the viewed. Maria’s art explores this liminality between the subject and the object of art, choosing a style that is recalcitrant, defiantly refusing to acquiesce to the roles prescribed by society.
Her solace lies in the abandoned alleys of Redhook, in the solitary cafes in Williamsburg, and in the gait of the people in Harlem. This is where her heart lies, and that’s where her stories emerge. From the chained bicycles. From viewer’s benches at the Met, facing away from the art. From the steel beams underneath the Manhattan Bridge, bearing the burden of millions of wishes, hopes, and dreams.
Here’s where the untold stories emerge, and become art- inexpugnable and disruptive, but beckoning the viewer with their familiarity. Maria’s work does not promise comfort, but merely, a chance to open your mind, and heart, and listen.