02_Kadie Salmon

Fred Mann and New Art Projects are delighted to launch the second of our series of artist publications, conceived as a critical reaction to the restrictions of lockdown. This beautiful book is a monograph of the work of Kadie Salmon, and fully illustrated. We are very grateful to the authors of the supporting essays: Emma Wilson of Cambridge University and Maria Walsh of Chelsea College of Arts. This book continues in our aim of matching the best in critical dialog with the artists we support. We would also like to thank Christian Kusters and Barbara Nassisi of CHK design for their beautiful and sensitive design.

Fred Mann and New Art Projects are delighted to launch the second of our series of artist publications, conceived as a critical reaction to the restrictions of lockdown. This beautiful book is a monograph of the work of Kadie Salmon, and fully illustrated. We are very grateful to the authors of the supporting essays: Emma Wilson of Cambridge University and Maria Walsh of Chelsea College of Arts. This book continues in our aim of matching the best in critical dialog with the artists we support. We would also like to thank Christian Kusters and Barbara Nassisi of CHK design for their beautiful and sensitive design.


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Emma Wilson




Asked in interview which work of art she would like to own, Kadie Salmon

selects A Girl with a Dead Canary by eighteenth-century French artist

Jean-Baptiste Greuze. The painting currently hangs in the Scottish National

Gallery. A girl rests her head on her hand, a small bird lying out before her.

The soft feathers on the canary’s breast show its fragility. Tiny pink flowers

and blue fronds encircle the bird. The strange feelings around this once

living pet, now morbidly still, are at the centre of this picture of innocence

and experience. The girl’s delicacy is felt in the textures of her see-through

scarf, the silk of her sleeves, and the blush of her cheek. Her feelings of

sorrow, heightened sensation, and languor, look forward to the unreal,

diaphanous worlds of Salmon’s art. As a photographer, sculptor, and

moving image artist she offers new images of young women, their pleasure,

fear, and imagining. Her latest two projects, Moon Bathing (2018) and

Hunting Razorbills (2019–2020), which I focus on here, come after three

further series, Don’t Know How to Tell (2013–2014), Pale Yellow

(2014–2015), and Blue Grey (2016–2017), all of which in different ways

pursue a fascination with imagining girls in uncanny settings.

Salmon graduated with an MFA from Edinburgh College of Art in

2009, after winning the Tempest Photography Graduation Prize (2007)

and the Andrew Doolan Award for Sculpture (2007). Her work has been

funded by scholarships and awards for the last decade, including support

from Arts Council England, Freelands Foundation and The Henry Moore

Foundation. She works in a variety of media, including photography,

moving image and sculpture. Residencies have been important creatively

in her work and she has undertaken projects in the Arteles Creative

Centre, Haukijarvi, Finland (2013), in Berlin as part of the Artist Studio

Exchange programme (2014), at the Edinburgh Sculpture Workshop


(2015), at Lademoen Kunstnerverksteder (LKV), Trondheim, Norway (2016),

in London at the Florence Trust (2016–2017), at Can Serrat, Barcelona,

Spain (2018), and in the London Creative Network, Space Studios

(2019–2020). Her next residency is at Artexte, Montreal (2021). These

residencies, the related displacements, have offered new settings, and real

and sometimes dreamlike landscapes for her projects. The collaborations

they facilitate are also important to Salmon’s ethos. One important meeting

came at Can Serrat where she began working with Canadian-South African

poet Klara du Plessis, whose work, like Salmon’s, is alive to the sensory

world, and, for example, to small changes in light and time. Du Plessis

wrote a series of poems in response to Hunting Razorbills and Salmon

recites one of her poems in moving image work Moon Bathing. Salmon is

also part of an art collective, Captain Lightfoot, she set up with two other

Scottish artists, Emma Pratt and Anneli Holmstrom in 2012, curating

group shows in different cities, including the work of other artists. Meeting

in person, and on location, has been readily supplemented by document

sharing and virtual meetings.

The history of art is also important to her. Salmon has said she is

inspired by the feeling of voyeurism that comes from witnessing intimate

encounters in the opulent landscapes of eighteenth-century French art.

She speaks of her love of visiting The Wallace Collection in London.

This gallery houses Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s The Souvenir and The Swing

with their young girls in rose pink, and Le Petit Parc where figures sit idly

on steps in a pleasure garden. Nearby are François Boucher’s paintings of

nymphs and shepherdesses, and Antoine Watteau’s ethereal fêtes galantes,

their figures almost spectral in the landscape. The Rococo hedonism of

Sanssouci, the summer palace in Potsdam, conceived for pleasure, is also


a point of reference for Salmon. Her works uniquely respond to these

eighteenth-century worlds, newly giving them over to female (cis and trans)

imagining. The spaces of her photographs yield access to a strange, pure,

girl imaginary, rarely caught in art, that is indulgent, vivid, and immemorial.

Like filmmaker Maya Deren, or artist Ana Mendieta, Salmon uses

herself, her own body and changing poses and gestures, in her art. She

choreographs herself, attends to herself, appearing, like Deren, sometimes

more than once in the same frame. The effect is uncannily intimate,

eliding the difference between photographer and model, illustrating some

slip or split between images of the self. Salmon explains that there is a

performative aspect to the photographs where she moves in a sequence of

different poses. She says: ‘I often imagine these female figures in tender or

sexualised relationships’. Her images evoke contact, touch, erotic longing,

yet the moments of intimacy they apparently index are illusory, imagined,

existing only in the mind’s eye and through the image’s manipulation.

Beyond the serial images of the motion studies in nineteenth-century

photography, Salmon finds a visual form for wishfulness, experiment,

the shadowy happenings of fantasy and the imagination.

Such images first appear in Don’t Know How to Tell in long-exposure

C-type photographs, taken in Finland, in Barcelona, and in Scotland. In

Don’t Know How to Tell (Record Room), from Barcelona, two girls are

on a bed in an attic room with blood red walls, a scarlet carpet, and record

designs on the ceiling. The girls appear blurry, more diaphanous than their

surroundings. A girl sits back, her hair falling, a pale blouse shielding her,

her thighs bare and legs open. A girl kneels up in front of her, poised to

kiss her. The instant is created in the double exposure of the image, its blur

leaving the feeling that the girls may or may not exist, that this is an image


in a hallucination or a dream. These young women, always Salmon and

herself, are glimpsed in other Don’t Know How to Tell photos, in a love

story that seems to take form in these images, relics of imagined encounters.

In a nocturnal resort the girls sit in the distance on the edge of a pool,

reflected in indigo clear water. In a picture taken in Finland they are on a

landing dock, one sitting up and one perched behind her. The midnight sun

is seen above a lake, its water azure like the midsummer night sky.

Salmon returns throughout these works to liquid images and liminal

times and moments. In Don’t Know How to Tell (Scotland), a girl lies out

on the rocks of a Highland stream, and a girl stands above her. The girls

are tiny in the landscape, the image seems hidden, undisclosed, as the forest

around them is wild and remote. They are in natural dusk light that is

blue and silvery. This is the light Salmon prefers, as she captures the ‘last

moments of natural light’, attracted to the moment ‘when our familiar

environment disappears and the relationship with the landscape changes

as visibility vanishes and our other senses are heightened’. The gash of

water between the rocks makes the image the most erotic of the group.

In these photographs, Salmon reimagines, naturalises, Renaissance and

Victorian pictures of water nymphs, showing modern naiads in their own

pristine worlds.

From Pale Yellow on, Salmon hand colours her long-exposure

photographs adding a further layer of tactility and illusion. Tactility has

been important in her work in the large-scale and fragile sculptures that

are part of her practice, where photographs are manipulated to become

three-dimensional forms. She sees photographs and physical structures

supporting each other in a balancing act. Such careful attention to the

handmade, to touch, is there in handcoloured works both sculptural and


latterly two-dimensional. The practice of handcolouring dates back to

the nineteenth century and is particularly associated with the labour of

female ‘colorists’ (as Nicole Hudgins has recently explored). By acting

as both photographer and colorist Salmon cuts across the traditional

gendered division of labour, valuing both processes, the capture of the

image and its tinting by hand. This delicate work allows the realising

of an imagined world of colour, adding another layer of illusion and

wishfulness to the photographs. Salmon revives an old technique, in

keeping with her nostalgia for the past, for eighteenth-century painting

and nineteenth-century photography, but imagines it anew as a part of

a personal, intimate, fantasy-inspired practice. Contrary to the search

to make black and white photographs closer to the real by colouring,

Salmon’s art shows how the real can take on the colours of daydream

and illusion.

In Blue Grey, a project realised in Norway, a girl returns, sometimes

with another girl, sometimes with two. In Blue Grey (Sula) a girl lies out

on a plank, her reclining figure imaging sleep or death. She is like a child

who has fallen. Two girls watch over her, one crouching, one standing.

This is a serial image of a single girl in three poses, the figures above the

girl prone make it seem as if she is attended by spirit selves. This is an

experience between living and dying, one of splitting or levitation. These

other selves seem to creep around her. The jerseys they wear are coloured

a pale acqua blue. A girl in other images is in the same garment of baby

blue. These are the pale blues of childhood, of the blue hour of the

morning before sunrise, blue the first colour seen on the retina. A girl in

a pale blue jersey waits alone by a picket fence. In another she is joined

by herself, as if they are friends waiting and talking. In Violet (Rooftop)


the girls are now in pale blue dressing gowns, on a roof, by a chimney

stack, one lying, one kneeling. They are like lost children, ghosts living

a hidden life in this urban space. Blue Grey stretches the range of feelings

from the desire of Don’t Know How to Tell to a world of friendship,

alliance, dreamy imaginary games.

This register is found again in Moon Bathing holding her most

compelling works to date, a moving image work and a series of handcoloured

photographs developed during a residence at Can Serrat in Mont

Serrat, Spain. In her artist’s statement Salmon references works of female

madness, doubling, vicariousness, and longing, Daphne du Maurier’s

Rebecca, Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea, with its reimagining of the first

wife in Jane Eyre as Creole heiress and its postcolonial critique. Moon

Bathing follows in this line of female dispossession, between sensuality and

grief. As if it creates a spell, it has nine long-exposure photographs, and

in each there are three images of Salmon, some fully realised, others more

vestigial and phantom, as if only her aura or spirit remains. The coherence

of the series and its visual repetitions, differing poses and gestures, look

out to the images of women’s bodies taken by Charcot at the Salpêtrière

hospital in Paris as he theorised hysteria (worked on so distinctively by

Georges Didi-Huberman). But Salmon’s young women are not incarcerated

and controlled, but alone with themselves in a derelict landscape, lying

exposed at dusk under the light of the moon. They court the surreal light,

lying out perversely, as day moves into night. They are bathed by the moon,

ravished, tranquil, ecstatic.

A girl lies out lounging in the first light of the moon, asleep, enclosed

in ‘a sublunary world’ (to borrow words of Jean-Luc Nancy). The fall

of her head, her wrapped demeanour, suggest abandonment. She is


a Pre-Raphaelite girl with dark hair, pallor, dreaminess. Ghostly selves

are beside her, shadowy, indistinct, reaching toward her. The erotic and

childhood others, doubles, in the earlier series, are here almost monster

selves in their formlessness. In one image the girl is missing, her reclining

bed empty, while the others lie back, more fully formed, as if they’ve

absorbed her. Reappearing she is caught in the twists and turns of disturbed

sleep. They wait and watch beside her. In other images she is in repose, the

girls beside her more restful, brooding, stretching out a hand towards her.

The images have the unreal idleness of the end of a long summer day, girls

stilled by the heat now leaving. The hand-colouring brings warm rose to

the seats where the girls lie, flecks of yellow, flowers, to the grasses, and a

silver light to their skin. The reclining images hold all the ambivalence and

strangeness of lying out prone: eroticism, dreaminess, idleness, morbidity.

The images are soothing and disturbing, conjuring hidden rituals, a strange

amphibious world, far from the confines of the madhouse and the strict

male gaze.

Salmon’s newest project is Hunting Razorbills (2020), a series of

multiple exposure hand-painted photographs, black and white

photographs, and a moving image work. Here Salmon works in the

Highlands of Scotland where she is from (she has described her work as

‘site-responsive’). Wild populations of razorbills live in the subarctic waters

of the Atlantic Ocean. The razorbill is the closest living relative of the

extinct great auk. Its distinctive black beak and shape look out to that other

extinct bird the Dodo, the bird encountered by Alice in her adventures in

Wonderland. The razorbill is missing in Salmon’s pictures, only imagined.

It recalls extinct and storybook birds, the dead canary in the Greuze

painting, and even the white feathers that Ana Mendieta sticks to her naked


body in Blood and Feathers. In Hunting Razorbills Salmon pursues fluid

naiad images, as did Mendieta, and her images recall the basking in the

waves and on the shore in Deren’s At Land (1944).

In one image, a woman is in cold flowing water, colour drained out

of the picture, her limbs long, her hand at her throat. She is absorbed,

in shock, in this flow, with selves, or others, beside her, reaching to her,

watching her. In another image, this one softly coloured, the folds of

the drapery and clinging hair, the weed on cold limbs, draw a picture of

coiling in the water. In another, the woman is rescued, hands reaching

her, her face in layers of liquid shade, as if this is a memory, an image just

surfacing or covered over. The images of Hunting Razorbills are wilder,

more mercurial and death-driven, than the pictures in the earlier series.

They claim a space for imagining, for survival of a species, of an

unspoilt landscape.

Salmon’s photographs draw on the awareness, after Barthes’s Camera

Lucida, of photography as a medium that passes through death, holding

a moment that existed, was present, and is now irrevocably past.

Photography allows that cherishing of a self, an adored other, a species,

a world, that no longer exists. For Salmon photography is a medium

which allows the conjuring of spirits, of imagined girls, the emotions

they channel part of a wish to feel and be otherwise, with new alliances,

a new sensitivity.

Salmon’s images, and the unreal worlds they conjure, seem if anything

the more ethereal, tantalising, seen at a remove, in repose, at home.

Her young women, their serial images, continue to exist on their own,

serene, in their own time and space.



1. Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections

on Photography, trans. Richard Howard

(London: Cape, 1982)

2. Georges Didi-Huberman, Invention of Hysteria,

trans. Alisa Hartz (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008)

3. Jean-Luc Nancy, The Fall of Sleep, trans. Charlotte

Mandell (New York: Fordham University Press, 2009).

4. Nicole Hudgins, The Gender of Photography:

How Masculine and Feminine Values Shaped

the History of Nineteenth-Century Photography

(London: Bloomsbury, 2020)

5.WIA Artist Q&A, Kadie Salmon,


6. Emma Wilson, The Reclining Nude:

Agnès Varda, Catherine Breillat and Nan Goldin

(Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2019)





Through my eyelids

my eyelashes

my eye mask

and the thin starched sheet desperately

wrapped around my head

seeps the source of another sleepless night

Up and down this cool light skips;

gleefully mocking in its persistence

No chatter

no car

no birdsong

and no battery

distinguishes this hazy hour


Clear blue

I turn over

Don’t Know How to Tell (Finland)


Long exposure photograph

Gliclee print

97 x 130 cm

Don’t Know How to Tell (Scotland)


Long exposure photograph

Gliclee print

97 x 130 cm

Don’t Know How to Tell (Barcelona)


Long exposure photograph

Gliclee print

97 x 130 cm


Don’t Know How to Tell (Record Room)


Long exposure photograph, C-Type print

76 x 102 cm

(Edition of 10+2AP)


Don’t Know How to Tell (Boat House)


Gliclee print, MDF

91 x 61 x 40 cm

Pale Yellow (Beer)


Mixed media sculpture:

giclee print, c-type print,

wood, emulsion

110 x 45 x 45 cm

Pale Yellow (Columns)


Mixed media sculpture:

giclee print, c-type print, wood

160 x 140 x 40 cm

Violet (Rooftop)


Long exposure hand painted black

and white photograph, oils


Pale Yellow (Seated)


Hand painted black and

white photograph, oils

130 x 101cm


Pale Yellow (Chair)


Black and white photograph,

130 x 101cm

Pale Yellow (Standing)


Hand painted black and white

photograph, oils

160 x 120 cm

Blue Grey (Mountains I)


Hand painted black and white

photograph, oils

18.5 x 25.5cm

Blue Grey (Lighthouse I,II,III)


Mixed media sculptures

Blue Grey (Lighthouse III)


Mixed media sculpture: Hand

coloured giclee print, C-type print,

wood, coloured pencil

173 x 132 x 60 cm

Blue Grey (Lighthouse Figures)


Multiple exposure black

and white giclee print

45 x 22 cm

Blue Grey (Sula)


Multiple exposure hand painted

black and white photograph, oils

125.5 x 133cm

Blue Grey (Dusk)


Long exposure black and white


23 x 19cm

Edition of 10 ( + 2 AP)

Blue Grey (Church I & II)


Multiple exposure hand

painted black and white

photograph, oils

117 x 125cm

Blue Grey (Landscape)


Mulitple exposure hand painted

black and white photograph, oils

112 x 122cm

Hunting Razorbills (close up)


Multiple exposure black

and white photograph

40 x 40 cm

Hunting Razorbills (close up)


Multiple exposure black

and white photograph

40 x 40 cm

Hunting Razorbills (close up)


Mulitple exposure hand painted

black and white photograph, oils

40 x 40 cm

Moon Bathing


Hand painted black and white

photograph oils


Maria Walsh

Kadie Salmon’s

Moon Bathing

Performative Self-othering

in a Lunar Landscape


In a half dream-state, she twisted and turned. She arched and turned

again; her movements posed from a deckchair bathed in twilight

beneath the magic mountain of Montserrat.

As the film’s stills flit past, she appears to be in two or three places

simultaneously, her body replicated as shadowy others communing

between the three deckchairs that compose the mise-en-scène.

What is unfolding here? What is being delineated?

In the series of photographic stills that comprise Kadie Salmon’s short film

Moon Bathing, the artist’s poses initially seem to be self-contained gestures.

However, akin to the nebulous shapes that morph and mutate at dusk,

these stilled gestures are full of another kind of motion. Made from long

exposure durations in the course of which Salmon performs a series of

movements, her replicated figures belie surface legibility, their overlapping

contours delineating her poses as continuous, rather than discontinuous,

actions in time. What is lost to the eye in the snap of the shutter reappears

to the sensibility by means of Salmon’s post-production artistry on the

original photographic negatives. Painstakingly hand-painting and rescanning

them, she tenderizes the cinematic image so that past gestures

are not only excavated, but new configurations are created, in which

the self becomes edged with its other selves, the others that make it up.

Salmon refers to these others as ‘lovers, family, friends’, the process of

hand-painting lending another kind of visibility, a palimpsestic one, to the

‘acts of intimacy’ performed between them. 1 A visionary, interior sense

of visibility rather than the exterior gaze of ‘un visuel’, as Jean-Martin

Charcot, the nineteenth century French neurologist famous for his work

on hysteria, referred to himself. 2 63

Hysteria has long been a metaphor for artistic fantasy, its production

of bodily contortions and gestures simulating the possession of the self

by spirits or others. Hence the ancient theory of the wandering womb

whose animalistic travelling through the female body was thought to be

the cause of a bodily and psychic excess deemed irrational by patriarchal

culture. Moving away from this mythology, Charcot, the scientist, used

photography to classify the poses of female ‘hysterics’. He also used

drawing to supplement the static capture that gives lie to the body in

motion. Such a diagnostic gaze looks at the pose from the outside, cutting

it off from its labile interiority. While not referring to this history directly,

Salmon’s performative poses and her methods of reanimating stasis

nonetheless recall it to mind, but here, the one who looks and captures

is one and the same, and the one who looks does so from within the

voluptuous interiority of a generative female body.

Feminist philosophers such as Luce Irigaray proffer the idea that if this

generative body could be symbolized, it might reorient the phallocentric

logic of self and other by which the other is considered an inferior or

feared object. The generative female body implies a different kind of self/

other relation in which they are always in intimate correspondence with

one another, being mutually constitutive rather than oppositional entities.

It is from this place of interior intimacy that Irigaray calls ‘self-affection’

that Woman might go out to meet the other of herself. However, according

to Irigaray, the voice of self-affection, neither active nor passive, but

in-between, has been colonised by a masculinist imaginary which categorises

Woman as a passive object or a revolting hysteric. By contrast, to other

herself on her own terms would be to enact a self-affection in which

‘[s]ensation would have neither an object nor a moment but it would take


place only in the intervals between, through difference, succession’. 3

Rather than the arrest of the pose which cuts duration, in the

performative mode of self-affection sensation transitions between

phrases and states of desire touched by the imaginary others that

co-constitute a self.

This movement undoes the false hierarchy between the fluidity

of duration and the stilled capture of the photographic image.

In her use of photography, paint and digital film, I read Salmon’s

palimpsestic replications of herself as an intermedial space of

self-affection akin to that described by Irigaray as ‘the pleasure

of endless exchange with the other in a (self-) touching that no

privileged identification arrests by re-absorption. Neither one nor

the other being taken as a term, nor the supplement of their passing

one into the other’. 4 Salmon’s recitation of an excerpt from Klara

du Plessis’s poem ‘Someone other than else’ towards the latter part

of Moon Bathing underscores this generative sensory embodying.

my body drops like a wave,

breasts trickling off my chest, thighs fighting

then collapsing, spreading, expanding

and thinning out, limpid and clear,

before retracting, climbing into themselves,

refining their pores

a pool of water collecting itself solemnly

to return to solidity.


In Moon Bathing, imaginary others are not simply human, but

elemental. As well as registering the traces of her performative microactions,

the camera also captures the rustling of the surrounding foliage

whose leaves caressed the air. In Romantic literature, lush wild landscapes

or atmospheres are often falsely projected as a cause of female malady

and madness. Touched by the magical lunar lit landscape of Montserrat,

she doesn’t lose her mind. Unlike the rewriting of the deranged Romantic

heroine of Emily Bronte’s Jane Eyre in Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier, 1958)

and Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys, 1966), both authors inspirations

for Salmon, the allure of the wild is less a threat than a fluid caress that

blurs boundaries between self and other while generating difference

in conjunction with, rather than in opposition to, the sensible world.

The emergence of this difference is resolutely material and premised on

the technical.

Salmon’s application of colour to her photographs relates to its use in

Victorian photography in which tinting black and white negatives returned

the illusion of life to the inanimate, giving its subjects a delicate but sickly

blush. Colour was also added to early black and white film, the first being

dance films, e.g. Annabelle Serpentine Dance (1895) from Edison Studios,

in which vibrant colours were added to the dancer’s billowing costume.

One also thinks of the infamous footage of Loie Fuller’s serpentine

dances by the Lumière brothers, their work also being a reference for

Salmon. While these experiments were partly motivated by a desire for

realism, colour was primarily added for its sensuous and metaphorical

effects and its incitement to fantasy. 5 In early film, the vivid hand-painted

colours seemed to emanate from the dancer’s sensate interiority, their fiery

flames prosthetically extending her body into voluptuous, not ‘hysterical’


morphologies beyond anatomy. While Salmon’s colourations are more

like the tinge of a blush than an electric strike, their dissipation of contour

has a sublimity of its own. As her shadowy replicated figures gaze upon

or touch one another, their gestures, always on the verge of coming into

being or disappearing into the dusk, incarnate ‘acts of intimacy’ that keep

their secrets even as they are being revealed.

This sublimity incorporates rather than transcends labour. In contrast

to the tumultuous colourations of the dancing women in early film, the

labour of hand-painting them was done by women in almost Fordist

assembly line workshops. Women could be paid less than men and so

were cheap labour for what was, at the time, a very expensive process.

This labour also capitalises on the association between women and the

decorative, the meticulousness of hand-painting being considered an

extension of women’s crafts such as painting glass or china. 6 Women’s

ornamental arts also include the acts of concealment involved in

the application of make-up, a surface decoration of one’s face and/

or body that expresses fantasy others as well as being hard work. In

Moon Bathing, Salmon has re-appropriated the labour and delicacy

of handicraft and surface decoration to express a self-affection that

reanimates the static pose, her labile ‘dancing’ body becoming a threshold

between self and/as other, inside and outside, gesture and voice.

The image track ends, while Salmon’s recitation of du Plessis’ poem

continues over the darkness of a blank screen. Her words speak of the

barely discernible difference between ‘inundate’ and ‘undulate’, the

resonant syllables reverberating like an echo of the image that continues

to unfold in the intervallic space of self-affection continually being

delineated here.



1. Kadie Salmon, Moon Bathing notes, June 2020.

2. Debora L. Silverman, Art Nouveau in

Fin-de-siècle France: Politics, Psychology,

and Style, Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford:

University of California Press, 1992, p.94.

3. Luce Irigaray, An Ethics of Sexual Difference,

[1984], trans. Carolyn Burke and Gillian C. Gill,

London: The Athlone Press. 1993, p.158.

4. Irigaray in Whitford, M. (ed) (1991),

The Irigaray Reader, Massachusetts and Oxford:

Blackwell Publishers, pp.1-60.

5. For more on this point, see Tom Gunning,

‘Colourful Metaphors: The Attraction of Colour

in Early Silent Cinema’, Fotogenia (1994)

: 55–249. Also see Wendy Haslem, From Méliès

to New Media: Spectral Projections, Bristol, UK;

Chicago, USA: Intellect Ltd., 2019.

6. See Amanda Scherker, ‘The Forgotten Women

Who Hand-Painted the First Color Films’,


[Accessed 8 June 2020].


To view the

Moon Bathing film


Password: MoonBathing

Kadie Salmon

Born Scotland, 1986

Lives and works in London


Artist Residencies









Artexte, Montreal, Canada

London Creative Network, Space Studios

Artist in Residence, Can Serrat, Barcelona

Artist in Residence, The Florence Trust, London

LKV Residency Programme, Trondheim, Norway

Edinburgh Sculpture Micro Residency Programme, Edinburgh

Artist studio exchange, Berlin

Arteles Creative Centre Artist Residency Programme, Finland















2015 & 2013


2008 & 2006



Freelands Foundation Emergency Grant

Artexte Research Centre

A_N Artist Bursaries

Arts Council England DYCP Grant

London Creative Network, Space Studios

Public Choice Awards, Photofusion, London

Shortlisted, Metro X Satori Award

Ministry of Culture Czech Republic

European Cultural Fund-Step Beyond Travel Grant

Academy of Performing Arts, Prague

The Henry Moore Foundation

The Eaton Fund

Edinburgh Sculpture Workshop Artist Funding

The Hope Scott Trust Funding

Andrew Grant Scholarship Award

The Helen A. Rose Bequest

Andrew Doolan Award for Sculpture

The Tempest Photography Graduation Prize


Selected and Forthcoming Exhibitions




























Skin and Meat Sky II, Artexte, Montreal

Skin and Meat Sky, Tempsspace, Montreal

Kadie Salmon, New Art Projects, London

Kadie Salmon, SPRING/BREAK Art Show, New Art Projects, New York

Settle Doon, Place and Platform, Edinburgh

Landscapes in the Mind, New Art Projects, SPRING/BREAK, New York

Salon/18, Photofusion, London

Memory Palace, Captain Lightfoot, Gallery Amu, Prague

Odd Space, Hewing Wittare, London

Living For Art, Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler, London

Kadie Salmon, New Art Projects, London

The Florence Trust Summer Show, The Florence Trust, London

The Florence Trust Winter Open, The Florence Trust, London

Strange Loop, Captain Lightfoot, Babel Gallery, Trondheim, Norway

Place and Platform, Edinburgh Arts Festival, Edinburgh

Here’s To Us, Gallery Gro, Finland

MONO6 (Touring) The Courtyard, London

MONO6 (Touring) Rijskademie, Amsterdam

MONO6 (Touring) Blockbuster Exhibitions, Berlin

MONO6 (Touring) Gottwood Arts Festival, Wales

Strange Loop, Captain Lightfoot EX14, Dresden, Germany

As Document, Summerhall, Edinburgh

The Usher, Captain Lightfoot, Galleri Gro, Finland

Concrete Fictions, New Art Projects, London

Flat Land, Edinburgh Sculpture Workshop, Edinburgh

Captain Lightfoot Presents...The Glasshouse, Edinburgh

Everything Stuck to Him, Captain Lightfoot, The Vaults, Edinburgh







Don't Know How to Tell, New Art Projects, London

Something Old, Something New...., Fred[London] Ltd, London

Viewing Room, Fred[London] Ltd, London

Arteles Residency Exhibition, Haukijarvi, Finland

No Heroics, Please, Captain Lightfoot,

The Crypt Gallery, London




MFA Sculpture, Edinburgh College of Art, Edinburgh

BA (Hons) Sculpture (1), Edinburgh College of Art, Edinburgh

Web Links






This publication is funded

by New Art Projects


New Art Projects

Fred Mann

Tim Hutchinson

6D Sheep Lane

London E8 4QS


+44 (0)20 7249 4032

Designed by

CHK Design


All works by Kadie Salmon

and remain her copyright

Additional installation photography

on pages 36–37, 38–39, 44–45 & 50

by Yoi Kawakubo


Kadie Salmon and New Art Projects

would like to thank CHK Design and

Emma Wilson and Maria Walsh for

their brilliant essay contributions

[ISBN 978-1-5272-1123-0]

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