Fitzpatrick works (and lives!) in what she describes as one of Williamsburg’s last remaining “grand dame” buildings, a century-plus-old factory not far from the BQE, which she has inhabited for the last twenty years. The light-filled space is sparsely populated by Fitzpatrick’s sculptures and photographs, but what’s there has an immediate impact, one that is no less unsettling despite the works’ whimsy and evident humor. There’s a human-sized baguette, leaning jauntily against one wall; an oversized nickel embedded into another; a bust of Stan Laurel eternally gazing out a window. The fact that the scale of everything is off to a degree that renders common objects unfamiliar is part of what feels so destabilizing, but there’s also the many found objects that Fitzpatrick has scattered about—some taxidermy here, a photograph of a dead bird there—that make being in the studio such a strange experience, as if you are not just stepping into Fitzpatrick’s work space, but entering her mind.
For more on Daphne Fitzpatrick, visit here.