There is something outside the Grimsbys’ window.
Seated in a small, patterned alcove, a blue-haired figure faces a brilliant blue window. Its oversized head rests at an angle, a tooth-filled grin fixed beneath spiral cheeks and a small red nose. A checked jacket lends the character the appearance of someone dressed for an ordinary day, passing a quiet moment at home. Nearby, vintage televisions carry black-and-white medical imagery, while pale, bubble-like forms drift through the room.
The window offers little explanation of what lies beyond it. Its surface carries wavering lines and saturated color, making the view feel closer to another transmission than an opening onto a recognizable landscape. The surrounding televisions extend that uncertainty. Screens and windows become neighboring surfaces through which the household encounters the world, each offering images whose meaning remains partly concealed.
The framing moves between intimate views of the character and wider glimpses of its surroundings. Close up, the handmade face commands our attention: sculpted blue curls, painted details, an open mouth whose expression cannot change. From farther away, the figure becomes a solitary presence within a carefully furnished interior. Patterned wallpaper, a decorated ceiling, dark wood paneling, and old electronics establish a home dense with texture and peculiar comforts.
That changing distance affects how we read the character. Its grin might suggest delight, but its inclined head and seated posture leave room for other feelings. It could be waiting, watching, or simply enjoying the view. The piece allows that uncertainty to remain. We are given time to study a face without being granted access to the thoughts behind it.
The drifting forms introduce a lightness to the enclosed space. Passing between the figure, the camera, and the room’s surfaces, they suggest an atmosphere governed by its own quiet rules. Alongside the clinical imagery on the televisions, they bring together two kinds of fascination: the impulse to investigate living things and the pleasure of watching something inexplicable float by. Both belong naturally within the Grimsbys’ fondness for science and oddities.
Karen Jerzyk made the character by hand and filmed the work herself. Within a series combining stop-motion animation and live-action performances by people in costume, this piece gives particular attention to the relationship between a constructed face, a physical presence, and the space it inhabits. Details of costume and gesture allow the figure to emerge as someone with private habits—a member of a household whose life continues beyond our visit.
Part of *The Grimsbys*, a moving-image series by Karen Jerzyk exploring the domestic lives of peculiar characters united by science, oddities, and their own ways of seeing the world.
