Visitors to the Jack Fischer gallery this month may feel as if they’ve stumbled into a menagerie — of sorts. Large slouching figures built of recycled cloth greet you near the entry, while “limbs” and “body parts,” executed in miniature, occupy several tables toward the rear. In all, there are more than 60 objects. Together they form a taxonomic snapshot of DiCioccio’s abundant imagination and an expansion of the material inventiveness she’s displayed over the past decade. Now, instead of making trompe-l’oeil replicas of books and other forms of printed matter, DiCioccio’s begun creating anthropomorphic sculptures out of found and fabricated objects. These she bulks up with stuffing and wraps in cloth salvaged from fabric stores. The only remnants of her previous work are dangling threads, signposts of their humble origins.
You feel it in the tension between the truncated body “parts” (torsos, buttocks, breasts, balls) and the myriad associations given off by the fabrics in which they’re wrapped. In the large figures, for example, strips of colored cloth stream out from where feet would normally appear, producing a carnivalesque aura countermanded by a tight weaving of those same tendrils into bodies, their colors and grids reminiscent of potholders that children make on small looms. In the tabletop works, we see wrapped anatomical
shapes with wooden protuberances and others of similar construction supported by bent wire to resemble large insects. That they read as a neo-dadaist/surrealist exercise shows the margin by which the artist sidesteps the cuteness and craftiness that so often besets textile-based sculpture.