The Weight: A Small Book with 167 Drawings of People Waiting, (Paperback)

"Individuality, the essence of our current cities and communal rites / capitalist meaning, is only possible when we see the bigger 'we'." - Terre Theimlitz

The Weight: A Small Book with 167 Drawings of People Waiting, Waiting in a line...waiting on the phone...waiting patiently...working at home, contains 167 wonderfully expressive silhouettes of MP Fikaris's Everyone. The figure stands alone with a phone or shopping bags or arms folded, helpless or eager or inquiring; sits, reading documents held at arm's length, or on an unseen chair in a waiting room; stands in a group, individuality increased by the presence of others. Everywhere the background is blank, subtly encouraging or threatening. The figure always wears a hazmat suit, faceplate serving for a face, air filter serving for a nose.

All these figures are stark and vulnerable, minutely observed and drawn with affection. They are us - they know as much or as little as we do, are as much as the mercy of their bags and baggage, or as hopeful, as we are. They're a silent army of our habits and ways, archetypal as Tarot cards.

The drawings in the Prologue were selected from a number of diary entries Fikaris created during Melbourne's stay at home orders. The four pages shown here have been redrawn and refined from the originals.

The section "Be Meta" was originally commissioned in the early months of 2021 by the Flash Forward project, aimed at revitalizing forty of Melbourne's less-known laneways. The figures Fikaris drew for that project formed a mural and an affirmation chart of ways to be in a pandemic. Each character was drawn from photos people sent to the artist, depicting people at work during the third and longest stay at home order.

"The Weight" was originally commissioned as a set of prints in late 2020 by Backwoods Gallery.

Fikaris describes the Epilogue as "part of a new series of works... not meant to be a negative finish to this small book of illustrations, only a reminder that this pandemic is not over."

The figures on the covers sit on visible chairs, the only figures in the collection with an explicit context. They drip oil they don't seem to see. As if footnoting the epigraph, those two images seem to suggest that communal meaning doesn't only consist of being among other people, but also of being in a physical world, among geological weights and consequences.

File under: Comics; Poetry; Pandemic Funnies