Each of the twenty-five Resin Heads are constructed in the simplest possible way, a minimal depiction of a human face, merely the eyes and mouth. They are reminiscent of childhood renderings, with only the most basic information being portrayed. Remarkably, each of these individual two-foot square paintings has a distinct persona. Their presence is emphasized by the physicality of the thick layering of paint, and the two-to-three inch depth of each piece. Diverging from the direct encounter of the gaze of the portrait figure, as in the Mona Lisa, each of these characters looks off to the left. So, unlike the modern portraits of, say Manet, where the gaze of the subject draws us into the world of the sitter, here we are excluded, cast askance. It is as if someone is trying to avoid of ignore us. Worse still, in this room with these numerous faces looking off to the figure on their immediate left, it becomes as if we are the only persons in the room that don’t get it — as if we are unintentionally guilty of a nasty faux pas. One may try to return the look of these figures, but they refuse to compromise or communicate. They continue to give us the brush off. The only confidence building from the encounter is that each of these figures also looks uncomfortable with themselves, looking to their neighbors for reassurance. In the corners and doorways of the room, the continuity of the relationship between the series is disrupted. It becomes clear that they are as uncomfortable as we are.“It gradually becomes clear that Meigs’ work is a study of the cruel potential of society, excluding and editing what is acceptable, while cutting us to the quick. In a state approaching paranoia, we rally to reaffirm our individual significance, otherwise we are defeated. After all, they are only resin heads. This aspect of confrontation and encounter in Meigs’ work forces us to not only evaluate the art, but the re-evaluate ourselves.