Some of these scenes are surprisingly intimate: a fighter grimaces as a blow lands directly on the top of his head; two tired fighters, faces close, lean heavily on each other; a beaten, befuddled boxer tries to gather his wits. Parke keeps reminding us that we are witnessing a spectacle whose moments of pain and struggle are as deeply human as they are brutal.

Parke emphasizes the theatrical nature of boxing by spotlighting her fighters, like actors, against a background of black, with the ring ropes as the only limits to this indeterminate space. With the occasional exception of the referee, other figures are kept peripheral to the compelling focus on the boxers. As viewers, we have ringside seats, looking up at the fighters looming above us. We are so close that we usually cannot see complete figures, only heads and torsos, and sometimes just legs. We are brought into the action, where it becomes for us, as for the fighters, the whole world.

Parke's paintings are fluidly executed, allowing us to follow the progress of her slashing brush strokes. Their energy is cumulative, like a flurry of jabs, giving the paintings a fevered animation. While clearly committed to a level of verisimilitude, Parke permits a gestural abstraction to simplify the light and shadows which play across the bodies of her heroic subjects.