You know how in Jurassic Park that mosquito is trapped in the amber, preserved and still in tact, DNA-wise? That’s the sort of vibe I get when I look at Dustin Yellin’s Psychogeographies. The series features life size humanoid forms created from various scraps of miscellany stuck between layers and layers of individual panes of glass. The process is a complex one; there are a number of technical aspects merging with an even larger number of philosophical aspects to create these figures.
The result is a claustrophobic, eerie and unsettling but also beautiful, riveting and thought provoking. Psychogeography 33 is particularly haunting; the figure seems to have very un-human like horns protruding from its head and has a black, cloudy mass in place of a face. One of its arms and one of its legs seems to be vanishing mid-air and through it all, there it stands, impassive against any of the strangeness happening to it. The figures feel alive but are essentially entombed – it’s a creepy and weird juxtaposition.
In Psychogeography 34, the figure has leafy twigs growing out of the sides of its head. The rest of its body also seems to be covered in moss or some other kind of living, natural element. Again, there’s a dichotomy between the natural world and death. There’s a message of decomposition here and its mildly terrifying. I mean, Psychogeography 45’s head is exploding, one of its arms has turned red and still yet the other hand is deteriorating!
Yellin’s work goes beyond meticulous. He has honed his craft – and his intended message – so throughly through so many years of work, these Psychogeographies are fully realized and whole sculptures that demand multiple viewings.