KATE GROOBEY

 

Essay by Maria Villa

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Angry, but calmer than before – the title of this exhibition – is a formula, a kind of motto that reveals itself to the viewer as soon as they step through the gallery doors. The letters composing this phrase are painted boldly and confidently; not even the inherent transparency of watercolor dilutes their impact. Only the roundness of the script slightly softens the apparent harshness of the mark/gesture, which conveys a sense of conviction—a personal statement defining a precise existential condition.

 

Beneath the phrase stands a heroine on horseback, a kind of contemporary and unarmed Joan of Arc, facing what lies ahead completely naked, her fists clenched and outstretched suggesting the emotional state she inhabits.

 

Some questions arise immediately: what does this "before" refer to? What was the condition that once hindered calm? What remains of that "before"?

 

It becomes clear that the statement refers to something personal—an experience that is not made explicit but merely hinted at, an episode relating to health and survival. Further along in the exhibition, a different emotion is evoked by the works: fear.

 

Fear and anger are the two poles around which the project develops, and are frequently referenced in the works through simple yet evocative images, such as the claw-like hands in Menoclaws or the little ghost figures that, in No fear or Fearless, are symbolically tossed into a trash bin by the protagonist.

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Groobey stages a kind of epic in this new Milanese exhibition—an intensely personal yet universal one—capable of evoking archetypal emotions through a highly recognizable style that dissolves deep and complex themes into irony.

 

The absurdity introduced by the watercolors is both captivating and striking; it raises questions that do not leave the viewer indifferent. It's as if the artworks possess a dynamic force that propels the figure from one sheet to the next, in search of new adventures or grappling with yet another life challenge. The situations depicted originate from the reality of the context in which Groobey herself lives, but then shed any literal interpretation to become autonomous, to unravel, invert, or flip until it's no longer clear who the subject of the narrative is.

 

In Sometimes I bite, where The Female Stallion—the horse, a recurring and symbolic figure—bites the hand of the central character, this reversal is particularly evident. Who is the author of the written statement above the illustrated scene? The animal, indeed portrayed in the act of violence, or the human figure, whose own fierceness could just as easily justify such a gesture?

 

This narrative spiral draws us in through words, images, and a sort of spell, cast on the viewer by the artist's repeated gestures as she becomes, in the video installation on the gallery’s lower floor, the actual interpreter of these episodes. As often happens in Groobey’s complex multimedia works, everything once confined to the space of the page, to the space of the mind—the first output of thought—takes form. In these videos, Groobey takes care of costumes, sets, music, and editing herself, staging nearly cathartic rituals that enchant and embrace even more deeply the existential dimension at the heart of her poetics.

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-for the publication “Angry, but calmer than before” RIBOT, 2025

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