Cruickshank brings the domestic object into a new space somewhere between its origin and end. Here, turning a brush into whistle, the usefulness of the former Is celebrated (when at rest) by the beautiful uselessness of the latter. Unrelated tasks are joined and whatever the small impediment, a marriage of true minds.
Will Cruickshank invents things that although not strictly necessary (is that in any case a proviso for art?) elucidate the complex functions and substructures of the physical world. As a fabricator he skillfully brings to life a series of unlikely yet delicate contraptions, twisting the real world’s truth into an endearing lie.A car without a driver circles round and round in a field, but even (or especially) driverless it is led by the topography to migrate narturally and gradually downhill. The driver is the revolving earth – gravity. Gravity – and levity – are the motor forces in Cruickshank’s art.The record player, once positioned to revolve on its side entails a new solution, an elaborate system of weights to restore its functional equilibrium.Another car is flying a kite, itself becomes an aspirant bird, doors outstretched to catch the wind as much as to hold the strings. That hope is a vain one as the sheer stretch of sky reveals.Function is dis-assembled then re-engaged differently.There is an emotional charge in the grace with which the world’s order is subverted, while left intact; changing the means without harming the end-function. Small events are suggested whose life is fleeting yet vital.