Four large photographic colour prints depict chalked inscriptions, written on unremarkable urban environments. ‘The storm disappeared and it no longer existed’ reads one, on a grey concrete wall, above a grey pavement covered in dead leaves. In another work, ‘I was happy then’ is inscribed next to a metal gate on what looks like the wall of a commercial yard. The titles refer to the places photographed, such as 41st FDR DR, NYC. The artist spent 3 months in New York, wandering the streets, chalking words on walls and houses and street corners, returning later to photograph them.
We are looking at the photographic record of an individual’s journey. In my own experience, that is a difficult thing to create. Photographs can never be more than flimsy placeholders for the real thing. They might encourage us to reach back in our own minds and hearts to recreate an experience for ourselves, which is, of course, what remembering means. That’s why, for example, other people’s holiday snaps are always so uninteresting: without being fleshed out by recollections of the real thing, they remain images of strangers and strange places, and leave us perfectly cold, unless the scene in the photograph is exceptionally beautiful, or newsworthy, which these are not.
The challenge with depicting memory lies perhaps in evoking a universal, as well as personal, experience. How does one do this without resorting to the obvious, that is, iconic cityscapes or landscapes, or other universally recognisable scenes?
In my view, the strength, and the success, of Yesiltac’s images, lies in the very unspecificy of the places and slogans. Although we know this is New York, the images could have been taken almost anywhere. The artist has intervened in these spaces, but gently – with chalk marks. The language has a particular, everyday type of poetic slant, which sells very well the romantic notion of journeying, of an inward search, and of restlessness. Together the two create a blank canvas for our own imagination, our own imagery.
On my way home on the 55 bus down Hackney Road, I look at the familiar shop fronts and street corners, and I see my past everywhere. That is, I see the places as I did at moments in the past, in daylight, in different seasons, whilst perhaps arguing with someone, or on an errand, when this building was still here, and that one not yet. I notice yet again how quickly the urban landscape is evolving, and think about the nature of remembered space. Sooner or later, almost any space around here will exist only in someone’s memory. At the same time we ourselves are distinctive through our memories, all tied to particular times and places. Perhaps we and the spaces are really the same – made up of layers of history.
In Truman Street/ Seneca Avenue NYC the chalked words ‘I remember’ dissolve into a pink blotch of paint, carelessly slapped onto a concrete wall, presumably to cover another graffiti. According to the notes, this slogan is a homage to the artist Joe Brainard, who in his book of the same title, describes his early childhood in 40’s America, beginning every sentence with the words ‘I remember’. Words and photographs do have this in common – the ability to evoke a whole world with a detail, the right detail.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
THE MONKEY'S PAW (1st version)
The wish was that the text is produced.
The wish was that the text includes three wishes.
The wish was that the consequences of the wishes are twisted from what was intended.
The consequence is that paradoxically third wish is applied by not being applied at the same time, which enables this text to become anything else than it is at present; it cannot represente anything else than the text itself.
The wish was that the text includes three wishes.
The wish was that the consequences of the wishes are twisted from what was intended.
The consequence is that paradoxically third wish is applied by not being applied at the same time, which enables this text to become anything else than it is at present; it cannot represente anything else than the text itself.
THE TALISMAN
Life in the comfortable suburb was straightforward and unexciting, or as the residents would usually describe it, “normal”. Normality overlaid life like a quilt or blanket of snow, suffocating and all enveloping, although everyone knew more or less what lay beneath it. A common consensus ensured that this air of ordinariness was busily maintained by means of household chores, sports fixtures, car maintenance, television and church attendance. Below this stratum of activity lurked superstition, gossip, criminality, domestic violence, fantasy worlds and magic, all kept carefully submerged. Occasionally the equilibrium was disturbed and older, blacker ideas and powers escaped through rents in the surface fabric into the everyday world. So it was, one evening when, secure in his conventional home, the young man greeted his visitor. It was a friend he had not seen for a long time due to work commitments abroad who brought with him the excitement associated with long expat residence. Emboldened by a few drinks, he began showing off about a talisman of supposedly supernatural powers that he had acquired from a colleague in India. Its powers allowed three men to make three wishes and have them fulfilled, although not usually in a straightforward or predictable way. They had a long discussion about this. According to the classical view they would be challenging the Gods whose right it was to decide men’s’ fates. They would be jealous and take vengeance. According to scientific opinion they would be trying to defy the laws of probability. Faced with this temptation the young man’s modern instincts struggled with fears of much older origin. Besides, he didn’t really believe in magic powers anyway, and even though his visitor seemed to take it all seriously he was vague in his warnings and unforthcoming when pressed for details of his own wishes. He at last managed to coax his visitor into handing over the talisman in exchange for some more drinks and a small sum of money.
The next morning in the cold light of day the mundane atmosphere was all pervading and the young man’s fears had subsided. Although he didn’t have any real needs a mixture of curiosity and greed drove him to try out the talisman, so he wished for a thousand pounds. As he shouted his wish in a jocular way he was disturbed to feel the talisman twist in his hand but he put it out of his mind and waited to see if his wish would be granted. It was; by way of the insurance money for his much loved car, written off after being flattened by a heavy lorry. Coincidence or something more? Since he could not replace the car from the insurance claim he used up the second wish to get his car back. At first this seemed to succeed but it was swiftly followed by the insurance company pursuing him for a false claim. The resulting court case, which he lost, cost him a great deal of money.
Now there was only one wish remaining. Dare he use it? He had a brainwave; he would wish for a thousand wishes. That should take care of the future. Amazing that nobody else had thought to do it. Chaos ensued. Not only did every word spoken have to be checked beforehand to be sure it didn’t contain a wish, but also every thought and idea that occurred during the course of the day seemed to trigger action from the talisman. Money, chocolate puddings, hot curry, and bottles of wine rained down on him, whilst the weather changed from hot sun to rain and wind as his thoughts wandered. Trains ran extra fast and crashed, sports results were reversed and television programmes departed from those advertised much to the consternation of everybody else. People began a witch hunt to find the source of these disruptions. The whole episode could be considered as a supernatural attempt to usurp the powers that be, or as an example of the Law of Unintended Consequences. Only one escape presented itself; to wish away the remaining wishes. He did so and once again the suffocating quilt of normality closed around him.
The next morning in the cold light of day the mundane atmosphere was all pervading and the young man’s fears had subsided. Although he didn’t have any real needs a mixture of curiosity and greed drove him to try out the talisman, so he wished for a thousand pounds. As he shouted his wish in a jocular way he was disturbed to feel the talisman twist in his hand but he put it out of his mind and waited to see if his wish would be granted. It was; by way of the insurance money for his much loved car, written off after being flattened by a heavy lorry. Coincidence or something more? Since he could not replace the car from the insurance claim he used up the second wish to get his car back. At first this seemed to succeed but it was swiftly followed by the insurance company pursuing him for a false claim. The resulting court case, which he lost, cost him a great deal of money.
Now there was only one wish remaining. Dare he use it? He had a brainwave; he would wish for a thousand wishes. That should take care of the future. Amazing that nobody else had thought to do it. Chaos ensued. Not only did every word spoken have to be checked beforehand to be sure it didn’t contain a wish, but also every thought and idea that occurred during the course of the day seemed to trigger action from the talisman. Money, chocolate puddings, hot curry, and bottles of wine rained down on him, whilst the weather changed from hot sun to rain and wind as his thoughts wandered. Trains ran extra fast and crashed, sports results were reversed and television programmes departed from those advertised much to the consternation of everybody else. People began a witch hunt to find the source of these disruptions. The whole episode could be considered as a supernatural attempt to usurp the powers that be, or as an example of the Law of Unintended Consequences. Only one escape presented itself; to wish away the remaining wishes. He did so and once again the suffocating quilt of normality closed around him.
New sculpture by Genville Davey
LITTLE EMPEROR: New sculpture by Grenville Davey.
(Sculpture in the Workplace). Curated by Ann Elliott for Canary Wharf Group.
Supported by Arts Council England and PRO ETCH
1 Canada Square, Canary Wharf, E14 5AB.
Free entry
It is quite common to see art on Canary Wharf. There are numerous outdoor sculptures, some for sitting on, and most of the reception areas of the large office buildings feature artworks of some kind. This exhibition, part of Canary Wharf Group’s Sculpture in the Workplace series, is situated on a large, busy, public concourse at the base of the most distinctive building on Canary Wharf. This accommodates both the lifts to the offices and escalators down to a large shopping centre and so is frequented by a large range and number of people. Most are present for other purposes than looking at the exhibition, however some do so, which prompts the question of whether the art is diminished or enhanced by being a part of the everyday business environment. On this occasion it appears to integrate well into the scene.
The artist is Grenville Davey, of Cornish origins, a graduate of Exeter College of Art and Design and Goldsmiths College, London. He is also the 1992 Turner Prize Winner. The title of his show “Little Emperor”, recalls the cherished children of the Chinese government’s single child policy, and can be taken as an indication of the artist’s care and intense feeling for the work. There are ten pieces, all of which were specially made during 2007/08 as a collection for this display.
Two items are very different from the rest. One is a layout of copper floor tiles (Copper Wave Form), etched with wave patterns that give movement when observed from different viewpoints. They make a striking contrast with the dark marble floor on which they are laid.
The other is a black and white cube on which five simultaneous chess games are played using red magnetic metal chessmen (Chess). This piece attracted most attention from the passing crowd, possibly because of its colourfulness and unusual treatment of a familiar subject.
The remaining artworks are all three dimensional structures featuring various industrial elements such as scaffolding poles and clips, rolled steel bars, wooden attachments and twisted metal strips. The materials used are of great importance with much attention having been given to their finishes. Metals are polished, textured or painted and wood polished or oiled. Several sculptures involve circles, drums and discs; forms, which appeal to almost everyone, especially when they are painted in arresting patterns (By Air, and Transformer). In others (such as Ps and Qs) it is the form which is of most interest, whilst two in particular (Selbste Gemachte Hund and The House) remained impenetrable.
It is difficult to interpret almost all of these artworks and possibly it is unwise to try. The titles are displayed on very small plaques and do not seem to help much. It would be better if they had been left untitled as an aid to the imagination. The sculptures are best taken as of having personal meaning to the person who made them, but of interest to others for their own sake, because they are worthy of time spent in looking at them. This intriguing exhibition is therefore recommended to those who like to form their own judgments with minimum input from the artist.
(Sculpture in the Workplace). Curated by Ann Elliott for Canary Wharf Group.
Supported by Arts Council England and PRO ETCH
1 Canada Square, Canary Wharf, E14 5AB.
Free entry
It is quite common to see art on Canary Wharf. There are numerous outdoor sculptures, some for sitting on, and most of the reception areas of the large office buildings feature artworks of some kind. This exhibition, part of Canary Wharf Group’s Sculpture in the Workplace series, is situated on a large, busy, public concourse at the base of the most distinctive building on Canary Wharf. This accommodates both the lifts to the offices and escalators down to a large shopping centre and so is frequented by a large range and number of people. Most are present for other purposes than looking at the exhibition, however some do so, which prompts the question of whether the art is diminished or enhanced by being a part of the everyday business environment. On this occasion it appears to integrate well into the scene.
The artist is Grenville Davey, of Cornish origins, a graduate of Exeter College of Art and Design and Goldsmiths College, London. He is also the 1992 Turner Prize Winner. The title of his show “Little Emperor”, recalls the cherished children of the Chinese government’s single child policy, and can be taken as an indication of the artist’s care and intense feeling for the work. There are ten pieces, all of which were specially made during 2007/08 as a collection for this display.
Two items are very different from the rest. One is a layout of copper floor tiles (Copper Wave Form), etched with wave patterns that give movement when observed from different viewpoints. They make a striking contrast with the dark marble floor on which they are laid.
The other is a black and white cube on which five simultaneous chess games are played using red magnetic metal chessmen (Chess). This piece attracted most attention from the passing crowd, possibly because of its colourfulness and unusual treatment of a familiar subject.
The remaining artworks are all three dimensional structures featuring various industrial elements such as scaffolding poles and clips, rolled steel bars, wooden attachments and twisted metal strips. The materials used are of great importance with much attention having been given to their finishes. Metals are polished, textured or painted and wood polished or oiled. Several sculptures involve circles, drums and discs; forms, which appeal to almost everyone, especially when they are painted in arresting patterns (By Air, and Transformer). In others (such as Ps and Qs) it is the form which is of most interest, whilst two in particular (Selbste Gemachte Hund and The House) remained impenetrable.
It is difficult to interpret almost all of these artworks and possibly it is unwise to try. The titles are displayed on very small plaques and do not seem to help much. It would be better if they had been left untitled as an aid to the imagination. The sculptures are best taken as of having personal meaning to the person who made them, but of interest to others for their own sake, because they are worthy of time spent in looking at them. This intriguing exhibition is therefore recommended to those who like to form their own judgments with minimum input from the artist.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Roman Signer in Hauser & Wirth London Gallery
Walking from the busy Piccadilly Circus Street into the Hauser & Wirth London Gallery space the viewer finds the surprising installation made out of the small automatic lawnmower and fifteen chairs. The lawnmower pushes and knocks the chairs around in a chaotic way, bumps itself between the legs in a constant struggle with the dead objects. The gallery space is interesting itself, or more precisely the way it’s accessed from the main street. Behind the black curtain, which is actually the only element, which separates the chaos of the street from the art products, the little lawnmower can be spotted, which automatically finds its way around the fifteen chairs, constantly pushing and knocking them around. Upstairs three videos can be viewed, “Helicopter on shelf”, “Water” and “Hose”. All three videos document the actions of the objects and mechanism interacting with the flow of the water. The little toy helicopter placed on the shelf drifts on the water surface moving slowly towards the waterfall and as its about to fall it’s suddenly lifted up by someone navigating it from distance and saved from being drawn in the water. Once the shelf is again drifting flat at the bottom of the waterfall the helicopter gently lands up back on it to continue it’s drifting journey. In the lowest level of the gallery the bottle hung on the string is suspended above the electrical fan, which determines it’s spinning movement. In the vault another video can be watched, “Old Shatterhand”, on which artist himself unsuccessfully tries to gun at a target, as the slimming device surrounding his waist, causes the violent vibrations, which unable him to make the correct shoot.
The gallery presents some old and more recent works of Swiss artist Roman Signer, who explores everyday utilized objects and man-made machines in rather intriguing and absurd relation. It is difficult to avoid the smile while watching the chaotic lawnmower or the video works. The functionality of the objects with its relation to our everyday existence is gently laughed at when all those perfectly useful items find their new dimension in rather subverted and ridiculous permutations. The appearance of the objects and through them the appearance of our own everyday life is brought to the level of absurdity and nothingness at the same time, in a rather humorous way. What is even more interesting is the fact that the whole experience could be easily described as pathetic. The boundary between something what represents nothing and something what has a value is very fragile and it is definitely the subject matter of Signers work, however in a less optimistic interpretation it can be argued how successfully the work manifests itself. The question appears; what is the determining factor according to which we are actually able to make a judgment about the work? In terms of Signers work the question is which elements decide about the fact that it is actually as successful as it is pathetic? Aren’t the categories through, which the work is to be decided if it’s successful or not, created by the specific environment, therefore not objective at all? It is difficult to not to think about Fischili and Weiss, when looking at Signers work, it is difficult to not to remember their sophisticated and humorous approach towards the everyday objects. What strength than, in Signers work, makes the viewer to actually stay within the gallery space after being welcomed by the chaotic and ridiculous movement of the lawnmower? Possibly it is the element of surprise, which we often expect when entering any gallery space, the element of surprise in all possible contexts, the ability to notice something what wasn’t pointed at us before, something we wouldn’t get a chance to think of, if not some Swiss crazy guy presenting his absurd within the closed space, called the gallery.
The gallery presents some old and more recent works of Swiss artist Roman Signer, who explores everyday utilized objects and man-made machines in rather intriguing and absurd relation. It is difficult to avoid the smile while watching the chaotic lawnmower or the video works. The functionality of the objects with its relation to our everyday existence is gently laughed at when all those perfectly useful items find their new dimension in rather subverted and ridiculous permutations. The appearance of the objects and through them the appearance of our own everyday life is brought to the level of absurdity and nothingness at the same time, in a rather humorous way. What is even more interesting is the fact that the whole experience could be easily described as pathetic. The boundary between something what represents nothing and something what has a value is very fragile and it is definitely the subject matter of Signers work, however in a less optimistic interpretation it can be argued how successfully the work manifests itself. The question appears; what is the determining factor according to which we are actually able to make a judgment about the work? In terms of Signers work the question is which elements decide about the fact that it is actually as successful as it is pathetic? Aren’t the categories through, which the work is to be decided if it’s successful or not, created by the specific environment, therefore not objective at all? It is difficult to not to think about Fischili and Weiss, when looking at Signers work, it is difficult to not to remember their sophisticated and humorous approach towards the everyday objects. What strength than, in Signers work, makes the viewer to actually stay within the gallery space after being welcomed by the chaotic and ridiculous movement of the lawnmower? Possibly it is the element of surprise, which we often expect when entering any gallery space, the element of surprise in all possible contexts, the ability to notice something what wasn’t pointed at us before, something we wouldn’t get a chance to think of, if not some Swiss crazy guy presenting his absurd within the closed space, called the gallery.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Laughing in a Foreign Language
This exhibition at the Haywood is one of many visits I have enjoyed to the south back in recent times leaving me interested in how humor is interpreted internationally. This question has been raised by the curator putting together artists from 20 different nations with a mix of installation, video, and photographs. As the world becomes more accessible and different cultures come in contact with each other humor may be one thing that links us while at the same confusing us.
This could be seen in Olaf Breuning’s work more than any other as the Swiss born artist makes purposely-bad travel documentaries interacting with different cultures using a very brash and American form of comedy. From this I moved to the adjoining corridor to find Finland’s Janne Lehtinen’s comedic photographs that showed him attempting flight off different objects in beautifully remote surroundings. With the last photograph showing the resulting crash landing he managed to portray a slapstick form of comedy in what where well constructed photographs in there own right. The first piece by the American Doug Fishbone was his Joke Master Jr. 2. A device mounted on the wall that at the push of a button would tell a loud and outrageously obscene joke. For instance "How do you get your wife to scream for an hour after sex? Wipe your dick on the curtains!" What I found most interesting about this piece was the uncomfortable situation it put the viewer in that I could only liken to most rides with a London black cab driver, therefore the situation itself becomes a comedic tale to reminisce over.
Bulgarian artist Nedko Solakov uses doodles in the stairwell of the gallery to intrigue the viewer into investigating what is at first thought to be mindless graffiti. These in fact turn out be well thought out jokes that left me hunting for more and therefore a sense of satisfaction, which became an interesting situation to find myself in at a gallery. The other piece by Doug Fishbone was a video on the ground floor of the exhibition and the format of the film stood out because it is something I have often seen on the Internet. It consisted of a series of images and a voice over that commented numerous issues including culture, politics and sex. The style could only be likened to a mix between a bad comedian a self help tape and a guy sitting next to you in the pub. Although this sounds like a disastrous combination the cultural analysis along with the comedic images gave it a fun and amusing quality.
I couldn’t say this exhibition had me laughing hysterically but as with other good art that uses humor it brightened up my day and gave me something to smile about. It also showed me an intriguing look into the humor of different cultures and also how they perceive us. Showing that despite the differences in humor and culture we are all intrinsically linked by a common desire for laughter.
By Martin
This could be seen in Olaf Breuning’s work more than any other as the Swiss born artist makes purposely-bad travel documentaries interacting with different cultures using a very brash and American form of comedy. From this I moved to the adjoining corridor to find Finland’s Janne Lehtinen’s comedic photographs that showed him attempting flight off different objects in beautifully remote surroundings. With the last photograph showing the resulting crash landing he managed to portray a slapstick form of comedy in what where well constructed photographs in there own right. The first piece by the American Doug Fishbone was his Joke Master Jr. 2. A device mounted on the wall that at the push of a button would tell a loud and outrageously obscene joke. For instance "How do you get your wife to scream for an hour after sex? Wipe your dick on the curtains!" What I found most interesting about this piece was the uncomfortable situation it put the viewer in that I could only liken to most rides with a London black cab driver, therefore the situation itself becomes a comedic tale to reminisce over.
Bulgarian artist Nedko Solakov uses doodles in the stairwell of the gallery to intrigue the viewer into investigating what is at first thought to be mindless graffiti. These in fact turn out be well thought out jokes that left me hunting for more and therefore a sense of satisfaction, which became an interesting situation to find myself in at a gallery. The other piece by Doug Fishbone was a video on the ground floor of the exhibition and the format of the film stood out because it is something I have often seen on the Internet. It consisted of a series of images and a voice over that commented numerous issues including culture, politics and sex. The style could only be likened to a mix between a bad comedian a self help tape and a guy sitting next to you in the pub. Although this sounds like a disastrous combination the cultural analysis along with the comedic images gave it a fun and amusing quality.
I couldn’t say this exhibition had me laughing hysterically but as with other good art that uses humor it brightened up my day and gave me something to smile about. It also showed me an intriguing look into the humor of different cultures and also how they perceive us. Showing that despite the differences in humor and culture we are all intrinsically linked by a common desire for laughter.
By Martin
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
national portrait photography
I walk into town to critique a show. On my arrival at Trafalgar Square, the throng of whinging tourists is waiting. The slightly abstract thought enters my mind that to truly seek to understand the world and by default, the space around me, I need to have a better understanding of myself as an individual and a student within the art world.I ignore my internal nonsense and press on...wax on, wax off...
I choose a group show at the National, well a portrait competition anyway. I wonder if today I will be surprised by either an aesthetic or an approach that deviates from fashion or tradition.
Phones are ringing and people are talking rubbish or at least my interpretation of rubbish. The obligatory, introductory blurb is the first thing I see on the wall and I begin to ingest out of habit. I notice most people give a cursory glance at the script and move on with disinterest. As ever, people seem to be inconsiderate of their surroundings and babble incessantly about anything but the work in front of them.
I use the comments I overhear as I walk through the gallery as markers for my movement. We move clockwise en masse through the white rectangles, making our respective noises as we go. The crowds seem nonplussed by the works in front of them and show no appreciation or emotion-maybe this is a British thing or maybe the work hasn’t the power to produce the romantic reactions to which I hope to bear witness.
The first gem I overhear is from an elderly couple. The man, it would appear, is the art aficionado and guides his compliant partner on a journey through his perspective. “I don’t know what it means,” the man says”, but it’s a great photo”.
The image in question was'Sophia' by Billy and Hells.This was a straight head and shoulders portrait but the artist had tried to recreate a sense of the Dutch masters using an aesthetic particular to paintings of the era. The sitter gave an impression of having an aura of calm and there was a sublime quality to the image as a whole. The style of dress, the make up but more than anything the lighting was key in the successful production of this aesthetic. I continue to follow my old couple on their/our detached critical engagement with the work although at least they are tying to engage which is more than I can say for most of the rest. His next line is pure genius analysis of what I can only assume must N.P.G entrance criteria for young artists; “ you’ve got to take pictures of mainly children or old men then you’ve got it”. I smile as he says this and continue stalking. Their gaze floats quickly past a classically posed, reclining nude which reminds me how as a child, my catholic mother would leave the room each time a scene with nudity came on the Tv screen. The next image they comment on is a couple holding hands in what appears to be a poverty stricken home. The woman decides the couple “ look like desperates” and the man agrees, “yes", he says, "they are a couple of desperates”. On to another image, and another comment. This is a quite beautiful studio portrait of a woman with Thalidomide. The man has another senior moment and says “I thought it was thalidomide, very strange” I am trying to be discreet but I think I’ve been busted which isn’t surprising considering I am standing behind them scribbling furiously.
I find another pair of eyes and rapier mind to be my guide. Two girls in their mid twenties are expounding on landscape/portraits “ it’s so tragic, we are both drawn to the country life photography, god, we are so tragic”. Some of the artists/photographers (I make this distinction because some of the work is pure reportage and it is, after all, a competition) have managed to think outside the box-excuse the pun. In general, they are all relatively traditional with their approach to portraiture, even if the choice of subject steps away from the ‘norm’ for some of them. The obvious backdrops of war, poverty, and disability have been injected a la mode. Most of the subjects are gazing directly at the lens or, in the direction of the photographer with eyes averted. Slightly refreshing is the lack of ‘beautiful people’ and distance from this modus operandi within portraiture. I do wonder just how far one could actually push the subversion envelope in contemporary photography and still be admitted in to play nicely with the other children. All of this would appear to be in the judicious hands of the demigod gatekeepers that are critics. As I gaze into the into the Von Glasow portrait “ no body’s perfect”, I smell the bad breath before I see the man’s reflection in the glass, and I decide it’s time to leave.
… the crack gets a thumbs-up
Having heard quite a lot of second-hand (no slight intended) opinions about the latest Unilever Series installation at the Tate Modern, I finally decided that it was time to see this glorified crack in the floor for myself.
Shibboleth, that of Doris Salcedo, a Columbian sculptor/installation artist who became known in the UK in the late 1980s and 90s, the piece takes the form of a long, jagged fissure which runs along the length of the immense Turbine Hall at Tate. Before actually setting eyes on the piece, I’d heard much about it, with comments ranging from those in complete praise of it, to those with a seeming disbelief that the Tate even allowed such an atrocity though its doors.
In honesty, upon inspecting Shibboleth, I can’t say I believed that the piece ‘strikes to the very foundations of the museum’, as the explanatory leaflet would have you initially to believe. However to be fair, the crevice does appear to be quite deep in places, complete with embedded chain-link wire fence, which, as far as I can tell, seems to be a common feature in much of Salcedo’s work. The crack (now gradually filling with small items of rubbish, sweet wrappers, bits of chewing gum and balls of tumbleweed fluff), seems to me entirely convincing; quite feasibly the result of some minor tremor confined to the gallery. At first I can only guess at how the piece was made – in fact I couldn’t quite believe that the fault line is actually formed within the concrete floor of the gallery. Quite honestly how long will this be here exactly? Will it cause any lasting structural problems? The crevice is in fact a concrete cast, but this has of course had to be lowered into the floor of the museum itself.
Overall I have to admit that, despite the negative comments I’d previously heard regarding Shibboleth, I can’t really find any negative criticism for it; I was quite impressed by it. I recall a recent conversation with a friend who seems not only to disregard conceptual and contemporary art, but to positively repel art altogether, at least, anything that has been made after the 17th Century. “A crack in the floor – how can anyone possibly regard it as art?” came the disapproving utterance, to which I failed to find an answer for.
However for me, it has the monumental feel of certain previous installations within the Turbine Hall, such as Whiteread’s Embankment, for instance. I think that without a doubt Shibboleth successfully deals with the issues that Salcedo regularly addresses, including racism. A shibboleth, by all accounts, is ‘a word used as a test for detecting people from another district or country by their pronunciation; a word or sound very difficult for foreigners to pronounce correctly.’ Indeed, I’m not even certain that I’m pronouncing it properly.
Even still, I’m confident that my art-phobic friend would have to agree at least that the crack is shrouded in a sensation of unrest; it has a resonance with the violent biblical story from which the word ‘shibboleth’ is originally derived. A crack in the ground evokes an image of a powerful, violent happening, such as earthquake; or in Salcedo’s reference, to an artificial catastrophe rather than a natural one.
In conclusion, Shibboleth has become one installation that I’ll never forget; its shadow will probably always remain, when the piece is removed and the floor glossed over, like that scar that Salcedo is reminding us cannot be condemned to history.
I just can’t help but wonder if some poor soul has tripped over it yet.
Shibboleth, that of Doris Salcedo, a Columbian sculptor/installation artist who became known in the UK in the late 1980s and 90s, the piece takes the form of a long, jagged fissure which runs along the length of the immense Turbine Hall at Tate. Before actually setting eyes on the piece, I’d heard much about it, with comments ranging from those in complete praise of it, to those with a seeming disbelief that the Tate even allowed such an atrocity though its doors.
In honesty, upon inspecting Shibboleth, I can’t say I believed that the piece ‘strikes to the very foundations of the museum’, as the explanatory leaflet would have you initially to believe. However to be fair, the crevice does appear to be quite deep in places, complete with embedded chain-link wire fence, which, as far as I can tell, seems to be a common feature in much of Salcedo’s work. The crack (now gradually filling with small items of rubbish, sweet wrappers, bits of chewing gum and balls of tumbleweed fluff), seems to me entirely convincing; quite feasibly the result of some minor tremor confined to the gallery. At first I can only guess at how the piece was made – in fact I couldn’t quite believe that the fault line is actually formed within the concrete floor of the gallery. Quite honestly how long will this be here exactly? Will it cause any lasting structural problems? The crevice is in fact a concrete cast, but this has of course had to be lowered into the floor of the museum itself.
Overall I have to admit that, despite the negative comments I’d previously heard regarding Shibboleth, I can’t really find any negative criticism for it; I was quite impressed by it. I recall a recent conversation with a friend who seems not only to disregard conceptual and contemporary art, but to positively repel art altogether, at least, anything that has been made after the 17th Century. “A crack in the floor – how can anyone possibly regard it as art?” came the disapproving utterance, to which I failed to find an answer for.
However for me, it has the monumental feel of certain previous installations within the Turbine Hall, such as Whiteread’s Embankment, for instance. I think that without a doubt Shibboleth successfully deals with the issues that Salcedo regularly addresses, including racism. A shibboleth, by all accounts, is ‘a word used as a test for detecting people from another district or country by their pronunciation; a word or sound very difficult for foreigners to pronounce correctly.’ Indeed, I’m not even certain that I’m pronouncing it properly.
Even still, I’m confident that my art-phobic friend would have to agree at least that the crack is shrouded in a sensation of unrest; it has a resonance with the violent biblical story from which the word ‘shibboleth’ is originally derived. A crack in the ground evokes an image of a powerful, violent happening, such as earthquake; or in Salcedo’s reference, to an artificial catastrophe rather than a natural one.
In conclusion, Shibboleth has become one installation that I’ll never forget; its shadow will probably always remain, when the piece is removed and the floor glossed over, like that scar that Salcedo is reminding us cannot be condemned to history.
I just can’t help but wonder if some poor soul has tripped over it yet.
William S. Burroughs class on the technology and ethic of wishing
Part 1
http://www.archive.org/details/naropa_william_s_burroughs_class_on7
Par 2
http://www.archive.org/details/naropa_william_s_burroughs_class_on8
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Guido Reni - Dulwich Picture Gallery
I visited 2 institutions this weekend, both slightly comedic. The first was the dementia unit to which my grandma has been moved after a rather dangerous attempt to cook parts of her sofa in an oven. The second was Dulwich Picture Gallery, to see the exhibition of 6 of the 7 St Sebastians created by Guido Reni in the Seventeenth Century.
The dementia ward has an archetypal municipal living room where almost identical old ladies sit around the circumference in high-backed wipe clean armchairs, trying to make sense of what is happening to them. I sat talking with my Grandma, but our conversation was frequently interjected by women boisterously shouting out choruses of fractured memories. A dark playschool dynamic was prevalent, with each woman competitively trying to prove her individuality, trying to prove her worth over the others around her.
Despite the obvious repetition of the frail bodies and minds, the biggest similarity between these inmates was in their failure to recognize their reflection in each other’s eyes. Instead the room was filled with women desperate to prove the mistake that had occurred in placing them there, but mostly forgetting this thought before it could be fully formulated each time.
The Reni exhibition has a similar set up with repetitive images of similar figures around the circumference. The gallery suggests that this exhibition questions contemporary perceptions of replication and originality, showing the art as firmly workshop based and commercial – an image painted to order by a variety of assistants under the guidance of Reni. The curator, Xavier Salomon, suggests that the viewer can play a game of spot the difference, using the proximity to decide which is ‘the best’ St Sebastian.
However the real interest in viewing these paintings in one hang is shared with the dementia ward. In their similarities and repetition these paintings do not speak to each other, more than shout over each other: a loud camp clamor of flailing martyrs. The sainted martyr cannot exist as part of a group. The monolithic truth of the individual is at once amplified and through this clamor is then annulled. By placing these paintings together the individual ecstasy and agony becomes a parody. As a whole however, the hang leaves the room filled with the resonances of something lost: a barely remembered intent and failure that the paintings echo in each other. An interesting show that uses its hang to create new readings and understandings.
The dementia ward has an archetypal municipal living room where almost identical old ladies sit around the circumference in high-backed wipe clean armchairs, trying to make sense of what is happening to them. I sat talking with my Grandma, but our conversation was frequently interjected by women boisterously shouting out choruses of fractured memories. A dark playschool dynamic was prevalent, with each woman competitively trying to prove her individuality, trying to prove her worth over the others around her.
Despite the obvious repetition of the frail bodies and minds, the biggest similarity between these inmates was in their failure to recognize their reflection in each other’s eyes. Instead the room was filled with women desperate to prove the mistake that had occurred in placing them there, but mostly forgetting this thought before it could be fully formulated each time.
The Reni exhibition has a similar set up with repetitive images of similar figures around the circumference. The gallery suggests that this exhibition questions contemporary perceptions of replication and originality, showing the art as firmly workshop based and commercial – an image painted to order by a variety of assistants under the guidance of Reni. The curator, Xavier Salomon, suggests that the viewer can play a game of spot the difference, using the proximity to decide which is ‘the best’ St Sebastian.
However the real interest in viewing these paintings in one hang is shared with the dementia ward. In their similarities and repetition these paintings do not speak to each other, more than shout over each other: a loud camp clamor of flailing martyrs. The sainted martyr cannot exist as part of a group. The monolithic truth of the individual is at once amplified and through this clamor is then annulled. By placing these paintings together the individual ecstasy and agony becomes a parody. As a whole however, the hang leaves the room filled with the resonances of something lost: a barely remembered intent and failure that the paintings echo in each other. An interesting show that uses its hang to create new readings and understandings.
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