Roxy Walsh paints penises that reproduce, walk meekly into the world and haunt its surfaces in unexpected ways. With pools, pods, ponies, stains, petals, trees without beginnings…. Walsh’s penises are part of the grammar of her sensual and fecund visual economy. With their delicate surfaces, gentle lines and silk satin skin her work is a playful, gender fluid intrusion into turgid and copulant, phallic discourse.
In Roxy Walsh's work the penis is often a proxy, a foil for fluidity and equivocation, becoming and undoing, for desire and it's spending. Initially a player in a sensual, consensual, fecund economy, the penis has grown into a little Robinson out in the world: sprouting and dividing, mirroring and masquerading. Like the individuated nose of Gogol, sometimes reluctant to allow kinship with the body that spawned him.