A little science before bedtime.
In a narrow, wallpapered alcove, a blue-haired member of the Grimsby household sits beside an antique radio, its painted grin illuminated by a warm lamp. Two televisions frame the scene, transmitting black-and-white medical imagery into the surrounding room. From behind the doorway, a tall figure repeatedly leans into view, extending long, articulated fingers toward its seated companion. Their exchange unfolds through small gestures: hands drawn toward a face, a head inclined, an arm reaching across the threshold.
For a family with a fondness for science and oddities, this is a comfortable arrangement. The mysteries of the body arrive through familiar household appliances, sharing space with lamplight, worn furnishings, and an evening spent together. The broadcasts offer something absorbing to watch, perhaps even something to discuss. Whatever unease they inspire in us seems absent from the Grimsbys’ understanding of home.
The doorway gives their encounter a peculiar intimacy. One figure occupies the small illuminated space while the other appears from its edge, partly concealed. We cannot quite determine whether we are witnessing a visit, a lesson, a shared joke, or a playful interruption. The seated character’s smile offers the same cheerful answer to every possibility. Its moving hands and changing posture complicate that expression, inviting us to look more closely for signs of excitement, uncertainty, or recognition.
Across the television screens, clinical images expose what ordinarily remains hidden. Beside them, the characters present another kind of mystery: bodies whose surfaces we can study, but whose inner lives remain inaccessible. That relationship between looking and understanding runs through the piece. Seeing more does not necessarily resolve our curiosity. Each glimpse offers another detail to examine.
Karen Jerzyk handmade every character and filmed the work herself, combining stop-motion animation with live-action performances by people in costume. The physical qualities of these methods remain central to the Grimsbys’ world. A constructed face acquires a personality through posture; an exaggerated hand becomes expressive through movement. The characters begin to feel like inhabitants with familiar habits and private relationships.
The scene invites us to linger at the edge of their household. Its warmth is persuasive, its strangeness matter-of-fact. Gradually, the question shifts from what these figures are to what they might be enjoying together. We find ourselves sharing their attention, drawn toward the same flickering screens, becoming another curious presence in the room.
Part of The Grimsbys, a moving-image series by Karen Jerzyk following a peculiar household united by science, oddities, and the pleasures of unusual company.
