Plinth

Sigmund Freud – the Austrian neurologist who would eventually develop talking therapy, averting many people from more invasive physical treatments – was a student of Charcot. The latter is shown through Proudfoot’s ceramic works to view his patients as mannequin-like. Her intricate wall-hung pieces present the pliable female body being shaped and embellished by a controlling force that exists mostly out of sight. In Threaded, for example, deep red veins are pulled elegantly along a spine and laid out across perpendicular ribs, calling to mind the thin black digestive tract that is plucked out of a prawn before cooking. In Emotional Anatomy (II), a set of ribs is covered in organic forms that could be read as fingernails or bristly scales.

Her imaginative pieces are drawn from Charcot’s techniques, which to a modern viewer sound absurd. Plume, for example, depicts a hand embellished with delicate ceramic feathers stretching from the ends of all five fingers. This connects with a method used in the doctor’s Tuesday Lectures, in which feathers were attached to patients’ fingers to highlight the trembling of their hands and the subsequently calming effect of hypnosis. While the piece itself is visually enchanting, it highlights the objectification of these women’s bodies, which were adorned to demonstrate their agonising internal state to a captive audience; they were specimens to be studied rather than minds to be expressed and understood.

Unfinished Painting also plays with a conflict between serenity and mind-control, as a woman who initially seems to be in a moment of peaceful sleep is prodded in the face with a fine metal implement. Look closer at the piece, and her hypnotised state begins to feel sinister, as the pen she holds to the open page of a book spills out a pool of spidery black ink. The line here between peacefulness and mental collapse is narrow – does she have any of her own mind left? The hand that prods her is notably female in appearance, with perfectly painted red nails, but it’s coldly cut off at the wrist, appearing throughout the exhibition in different pieces where it engineers or commands the activities of the women within them.

So, who are these women? The majority of the works focus on body parts; backs, ribs and hands separated from a recognisable whole. When the figures are shown in their entirety, there is an ambiguity around the clothing that could place them in multiple time periods. The shirt with its long collar and playful pattern in Unfinished Painting could just as easily be tucked into a Victorian skirt as a pair of jeans if the viewer was able to see beneath the waist. Likewise, the billowing top in Everybody Has Their Own View feels timeless and romantic, while the socks with colour-blocked toes and heels are undeniably contemporary. The title of the exhibition references Freud’s famous work with his hysteria patient “Dora” (real name Ida Adler) and Hélène Cixous’ narrator ‘The Voice of the Play’ in her Portrait of Dora. Cixous’ 1976 production compares the theatrical setting of the therapy room with the literal stage and gives a feminist voice to one of psychoanalysis’ most well-known case studies. But these women could be seen as more than Dora. While Charcot perhaps viewed his patients as interchangeable specimens to be studied, Proudfoot’s women could be seen as stand-ins for the countless patients who have found themselves objectified and silenced by the medical profession over the centuries.

Proudfoot has been honing her technique in recent years, and her newest works appear to be feats of craftsmanship – one can only imagine how many of these brittle pieces don’t make it past the kiln. Inspired by her background in textiles, many of her works utilise a pattern-cutting technique, with individual pieces attached to the wall using shiny gold fixings. The ornate barbs of a ceramic feather or fluffy insect antennae belie the medium they were formed from, and the tussle between their hard surface yet ultimately fragile nature raises interesting parallels with the body. While the fleshy human form is in many ways the opposite of ceramic as a material, it combines both frailty and strength. The mind, like these ultimately breakable pieces, can also feel close to sudden, irreversible annihilation at times.

The artist plays with the viewer’s expectations of her materials. Three pegs appearing to hold up Unfinished Painting are in fact made from glazed clay. The outline of an unbelievably fine pair of ceramic insect wings is filled with thread and mesh fabric, combining hard but destructible forms with pliable yet tough stitching. The fabric folds of a shoulderless top in Everybody Has Their Own View are ceramic, but with a matte glaze that sits in stark contrast to the surrounding sheened surfaces, looking not unlike the weathered exteriors of historic marble sculptures.

The materials also render these human moments frozen. Proudfoot’s figures appear to have been caught in a split second of movement – in Everybody Has Their Own View, for example, a lipstick is midway through writing on a woman’s back – but they are stuck in this position forever. These works call to mind the eerie fantasy tradition of unsuspecting victims being turned to stone, the ultimate entrapment, where the body is left without words, movement, or future narrative. They become solid objects to be viewed and poked, unable to respond or retaliate, much like the spirited women who were hospitalised and diagnosed with hysteria. The containment of these figures is heightened by the box room of the Annexe, which has no windows except for a rooflight in the ceiling, with the sun beaming through into the centre of the gallery. In the context of these works, it creates a cell-like feeling, as though they are held within an underground space from which only the sky is visible above.

By Emily Steer