The house, situated in the village of Haworth, and once home to Britain's most celebrated literary family, seems a serene one. A grandfather clock ticks in a stairwell; polished floorboards gleam. But it was also home to turbulent spirits: Heathcliff, Cathy and poor, mad Mrs Rochester also lived here, and the distance between the calm house, its long-dead occupants, and their undying creations is central to Parker's interest in this place on the edge of the Yorkshire Moors.
Working in a dazzling variety of media, Parker's work is a process of meticulous revelation. She blew up a garden shed (Cold Dark Matter: An Exploded View, 1991) and recreated the moment of its explosion; she has excavated feathers from Freud's couch (A Feather From Freud's Pillow, 1997) and, in a collaboration with Tilda Swinton, she exhibited the actress in a vitrine (The Maybe, 1995).
Similarly in Haworth, Brontëan Abstracts vibrates with ideas. Many of the abstracts are electron microscope scans: Branwell Brontë - the brother of Charlotte, Emily and Anne - has his wallet examined. The inky blobs marking Charlotte's blotting paper rise and fall in a manner that anticipates the enigmatic queasiness of the work of the French painter Odilon Redon.
It's in these inner spaces that Brontëan Abstracts comes alive: everything offers a creative possibility. So the handwritten manuscript of Jane Eyre is studied for deletions: 'hand' becomes 'heart'; 'rest' becomes 'sleep'. These changes signify the process of work, and, like the shards of Parker's exploded shed caught in an eternal stasis, they are freeze-framed.
Looking for inner lives leads in various directions, the most audacious aspect of which must be the comments of two psychics who visited the museum and recorded their impressions. The two women can be heard on headphones installed in the various rooms.
'I hadn't realised how unhappy Charlotte was, how lonely,' says one in the room that belonged to the creator of Jane Eyre. Anne's writing desk in the corner of the dining room is still 'fizzing with energy'.
Contemporary links to the Brontë's are also considered with the addition - via a video and psychic annotation - of Phyllis Cheney, a Londoner who may be the descendant of Branwell. Or not.
The Brontë Parsonage Museum is undertaking a vigorously active programme of visual arts. In 2005, Simon Warner's video installations filled (and, projected onto the facade of the house) covered the parsonage.
This is all to be applauded, but an extra clap is deserved for attracting Parker. In inviting her humane and speculative enquiries, the museum has demonstrated a generosity and adventurousness not common in heritage collections.
Louise Gray is a freelance arts journalist
Brontëan Abstracts is at the Brontë Parsonage Museum until 31 December 2006
www.bronte.info
Working in a dazzling variety of media, Parker's work is a process of meticulous revelation. She blew up a garden shed (Cold Dark Matter: An Exploded View, 1991) and recreated the moment of its explosion; she has excavated feathers from Freud's couch (A Feather From Freud's Pillow, 1997) and, in a collaboration with Tilda Swinton, she exhibited the actress in a vitrine (The Maybe, 1995).
Similarly in Haworth, Brontëan Abstracts vibrates with ideas. Many of the abstracts are electron microscope scans: Branwell Brontë - the brother of Charlotte, Emily and Anne - has his wallet examined. The inky blobs marking Charlotte's blotting paper rise and fall in a manner that anticipates the enigmatic queasiness of the work of the French painter Odilon Redon.
It's in these inner spaces that Brontëan Abstracts comes alive: everything offers a creative possibility. So the handwritten manuscript of Jane Eyre is studied for deletions: 'hand' becomes 'heart'; 'rest' becomes 'sleep'. These changes signify the process of work, and, like the shards of Parker's exploded shed caught in an eternal stasis, they are freeze-framed.
Looking for inner lives leads in various directions, the most audacious aspect of which must be the comments of two psychics who visited the museum and recorded their impressions. The two women can be heard on headphones installed in the various rooms.
'I hadn't realised how unhappy Charlotte was, how lonely,' says one in the room that belonged to the creator of Jane Eyre. Anne's writing desk in the corner of the dining room is still 'fizzing with energy'.
Contemporary links to the Brontë's are also considered with the addition - via a video and psychic annotation - of Phyllis Cheney, a Londoner who may be the descendant of Branwell. Or not.
The Brontë Parsonage Museum is undertaking a vigorously active programme of visual arts. In 2005, Simon Warner's video installations filled (and, projected onto the facade of the house) covered the parsonage.
This is all to be applauded, but an extra clap is deserved for attracting Parker. In inviting her humane and speculative enquiries, the museum has demonstrated a generosity and adventurousness not common in heritage collections.
Louise Gray is a freelance arts journalist
Brontëan Abstracts is at the Brontë Parsonage Museum until 31 December 2006
www.bronte.info
