Smac Gallery is proud to present Mirror Me This, a solo presentation by Frances Goodman at Investec Cape Town Art Fair 2025.

Frances Goodman has, for a long time, been interested in surfaces––both literally and metaphorically. Literally speaking, Goodman is probably best known for her meticulously-constructed acrylic nail sculptures as well as her hand-sewn sequin paintings. Both materials have surfaces that are shiny, brightly-coloured, mirror-like––surfaces that are, by nature, meant to catch the eye. These adornments are often seen, by turns, as fabulous or frivolous, depending on the eye of the beholder. The ambivalent attitude with which our culture views these materials––as either spectacular or superficial––is the perfect platform for Goodman to launch an inquiry into industries of superfice––namely, the beauty industry.

Take, for instance, Pink Eye, Bat For Lashes, Seeing Green and Shady Fade. These images closely resemble advertisements for cosmetics brands. They fragment and isolate parts of the body––the eyes, the lips––in order to vault the real star of the show: the product. In these advertisements, the body loses its intrinsic value, becoming mere canvas for eyeshadow, mascara, or lipstick. Goodman wants us to wonder, what does this sort of fragmentation do to a person? To put it another way, what sorts of images become marginalised by the ideal of the advertisement? To this end, Goodman juxtaposes these sequin paintings with sequin paintings of a different variety: women who have dressed and posed themselves––such as the figure in One for the Road––or women in unposed settings––such as Dancing Shoes, which seats its figure on the toilet. If some discordance is felt between the glamorous, glittering sequins and the scene they depict––which some might think vulgar and taboo––that’s because Goodman wants to draw our attention to the admiration-desire we feel for women when they are on display and the shame-disgust we feel when they are not. The acrylic nails that Goodman employs in her work are, commensurately, sculpted into snakes––the symbol that has been, for centuries, associated with misogynist fears, from Eve to Medusa.

In addition to these works, Goodman has, in the last few years, introduced a new medium into her practice: ceramics. As a medium, ceramics are rather contrary to what she has used before––that is, synthetic, throw away materials: sequins, acrylic nails. Goodman notes that the sculptures resulting from these materials are more constructed, whereas the ceramic work is more sculpted. The process of the former is more related to pattern making and upholstery; the latter is an additive, alchemical process. This process, she says––and the fact that she became interested in it during the COVID-19 pandemic––gave rise to a new subject of inquiry: pills.

The sculptures, which Goodman refers to as pillars, are totemic-like structures fashioned from dozens of hand-built ceramic pieces which are then fired and glazed. This alchemical process––which almost magically transforms lumpy, malleable pieces of mud into hard, shiny, colourful forms––parallels the alchemical process of pills, which are meant, by nature, to alter one’s state. If sequins and acrylic nails are meant to augment their wearers on the outside, then pills are meant to augment from the inside. Pills, too, whether prescription or homeopathic, are products that fragment the self, isolating the so-called problem areas and smoothing them out to fit normative expectations.

This is not to say that pills are gratuitous; we are incredibly privileged, I think, to live in a world that can mitigate suffering––and even forestall death––with medicine. Nevertheless, implicit in Goodman’s work is a suspicion of our culture’s obsession with optimisation, our desire for a panacea that will cure not only ills but insecurities, and our compulsive reach for a quick fix that often belies the root of the problem. This critique is evident in Goodman’s use of glaze: Yummy Gummies and Powder Puffery, for instance, use candy-coloured and powdery pastel colours to question the ways in which pills can sometimes sell themselves as sweetie-like, sugar-coated miracle drugs. Sculptures like Hard Pills (To Swallow) and Golden Pill, on the other hand, make use of metallic glazes that recall the finish of coins. Works like these signal a critique of the pharmaceutical industry, whose profit-driven, ethically dubious practices (such as their contribution to the opioid crisis) have been widely documented.

Unique to this presentation are several pillars––Teetering Tower and White Out among them––that are less symmetrically rigid than previous bodies of ceramic work. They have a sense of movement to them, as well as a sense of precarity, as if the structure could, at any moment, collapse. Beyond experimentation with more ambitious constructions, what Goodman wants to convey in this work is the fragility of our bodies and the regimes that we use to better them, sometimes in vain. The real work, she says––facing who you are, changing what you can, accepting what you cannot––is harder and slower. Goodman’s slow way of working––whether it’s constructing ceramic sculpture or hand-stitching sequins or gluing each individual nail to fibreglass––reinforces this notion. As Goodman puts it, “If you want to work on yourself you have to give yourself time.”

In accordance with its title, Mirror Me This is presented in a booth that is completely covered in mirrors, from wall to plinth. With the many bright colours and shiny surfaces that characterise Goodman’s work playing off one another, the overall effect is that of a funhouse––a harmonious addition to the theme of ICTAF 2025: PLAY. PLAY, moreover, encourages “challenging traditional boundaries” and “inviting active participation.” Not only does this booth’s design invite the viewer into the chemist or cosmetics shop, but it also bids the viewer to engage in self-reflection––again, literally and metaphorically. To Mirror Me This is to look in the mirror and ask oneself: “Do I want to work on myself? Am I willing to put in the time?”