Published by The Bulletin September 17, 2008.
The Architecture of a Community
By: Melinda Steffy, for The Bulletin
Art rarely feels so personal. Few artists walk through galleries singing softly to their creations. Few collectors share gentle hugs and familial affection with their protégées. But when the artwork currently hanging on museum walls previously kept bodies warm on cold nights, when the vibrant colors and textures used to be someone’s everyday clothing, the personal element becomes unavoidable. Although most viewers won’t have the opportunity to meet the quilters themselves or hear their heartfelt spirituals echo through the gallery rooms, the Gee’s Bend quilts currently on display at the Philadelphia Museum of Art “speak for themselves,” as quilter Louisiana Bendolph put it.
Gee’s Bend, a small rural town (population 750) in Alabama, remained relatively isolated through the 20th century, thanks in part to geography and partly to politics. Many of the residents trace their ancestry to slaves who worked the cotton fields and became sharecroppers after the Civil War, eventually acquiring land through Roosevelt’s New Deal programs in the 1930s. In the 1960s, Martin Luther King, Jr., arrived in Gee’s Bend, inspiring voting rights activism which led to the arrests of a number of protestors, losses of jobs and bank loans, and the cancellation of the town’s most direct access to the outside world – a ferry that crossed the Alabama River. Confined to a river-bound peninsula with only three cars to traverse the long, unpaved road, Gee’s Bend’s isolation increased the community’s need to share the burden and make do with what was available. In the midst of political turmoil and subsistence living, quilt-making traditions thrived.
Mary Lee Bendolph says, “We didn’t know we was [sic] doing artwork; only thing we was doing was making quilts to stay warm and keep our families warm.” Although women made “pretty quilts” to sell, using popular quilt patterns, and entered into business deals with major department stores to provide fashionable patchwork quilts and corduroy pillows, they continued expressing their creativity in the unique quilts they made for their own families. When art collectors began seeking out the “everyday” quilts, many quilters couldn’t believe that their private visions would attract such universal acclaim. Mary Lee didn’t accept that her quilts were artwork until she first saw them on display in the landmark 2002 exhibition The Quilts of Gee’s Bend at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston. In Gee’s Bend, neighbors would visit each other when they had quilts hanging outside to air – quilters enjoyed seeing what others were creating – but it took seeing her own quilts hanging on gallery walls rather than fencerows to convince her that they were indeed impressive visual expressions. Since the 2002 show, younger quilters have joined in the art-making, crafting a new wave of quilts that continue to push and expand the Gee’s Bend tradition.
The PMA’s show Gee’s Bend: The Architecture of the Quilt covers a range of Gee’s Bend quilt-making, combining antique quilts with contemporary ones, looking at visual relationships across generations and highlighting the oeuvres of several important quilters. Although individual working styles emerge, the communal vision of the quilts stands out as the close-knit, often related, quilters share ideas and materials. As a whole, the quilts demonstrate a love of organic geometry, with many “Blocks and Strips,” “Housetops,” and “Bricklayers” expressed through irregular edges and un-square corners. The quilters favor asymmetry and unusual juxtapositions of shapes, so that an otherwise rectangular layout of blocks often contains a striking lone triangle out or an irregular pattern variation. They use color with the vivacity of an abstract expressionist painter, with accent colors that slice through monochromatic fields and layers of unrelated tones that blend into complex harmonies. Drawing inspiration from the world around them, many of the quilters abstract landscapes and architectural structures, resulting in quilts that share affinities with paintings by Mondrian, Klee and Diebenkorn.
In an art culture that routinely revisits the discussion about the relationship (or lack thereof) between crafts and fine arts, the quilts erase those theoretical boundaries, managing to marry craftsmanship with concept, community with individuality, materiality with essence, functionality with transcendence. The quilts are stunning, exuberant, the strong voices of a vibrant community.
(Image: Irene Williams (American, born 1920), Blocks and Strips, 2003. Polyester double-knit, 100x72 inches. Collection of the Tinwood Alliance. Photo: Steven Pitkin, Pitkin Studio, Rockford, IL.)
Gee's Bend Quilts at the PMA
Installation shots at the Sam Quinn Gallery
A few images of my show "Particular Memories (Amid the Vast Emptiness of Forgetting)," on display at the Sam Quinn Gallery through June 13, 2008.
20th Century Kimono at the PMA
Published by The Bulletin on April 29, 2008.
Beauty From a Bygone Era
By: Melinda Steffy, for The Bulletin
Vibrant colors, intricate handiwork and stunning patterns all characterize the collection of early-20th-century Japanese kimono on display the PMA’s Perelman Building, as do historical references, shifting culture and the global exchange of ideas. The 80-some kimono reflect the final era of kimono-wearing, when the kimono still existed as a functional, everyday garment, just before the proliferation of Western wear. Although the exhibition contains a variety of kimono, from formal dress pieces to traditional men’s wear to children’s ensembles, the majority are casual women’s kimono that reveal the dramatic changes in culture and technology that made kimono both affordable and very modern.
The kimono are clustered around the gallery in thematic groupings, highlighting visual trends and design motifs rather than chronology or production technique, a wise curatorial decision that allows the kimono to be in conversation with one another throughout the room. It keeps the exhibit from feeling like a historical display and allows the kimono to exist in all their artistic glory. Beginning with the most traditional imagery of realistically depicted cranes and flora, temples and landscapes, the exhibit explores the diversity of popular motifs that range from organic arrangements of swallows, bamboo and chrysanthemums to abstractions of water; geometric stripes, pinwheels and blocks; polka dots and expressionistic color fields; and newly prevalent modes of transportation. Although many of the pieces in the exhibition might functionally have been the “blue jeans” of kimono, the potential for individual aesthetic expression in the most casual of garments is astounding. One can imagine the stunning visual effect of a room full of kimono-wearers as the distinctive colors and patterns would interweave in the midst of a social gathering, making everyday life perpetually beautiful.
Japanese textile production in the early 20th century benefited from new technologies, as new types of silk, simpler weaving processes and commercial dyes made kimono easier to mass produce and thus more affordable. Designers transformed traditional motifs into large, striking patterns that appealed to modern women, who could now shop for kimono at department stores. Kimono design from this time period reflects a cyclical relationship with Western design, particularly Art Deco and Art Nouveau movements – As North American and European artists and designers drew inspiration from historic Japanese sensibilities, Japanese artisans borrowed back the decorative rhythmic geometry of Art Deco and stylized naturalism of Art Nouveau. Kimono throughout the exhibition point to this international transfer of information, including one piece covered with abstracted Empire State Buildings.
Additionally, several of the kimono seem reminiscent of traditional textiles from other parts of the world, with patterns similar to the brightly dyed boubous of western Africa or geometric Navajo weavings. Clearly globalization and the growing spread of information allowed kimono-makers to pull from a wide range of design possibilities and adapt non-Japanese imagery to their own context.
The striking stylistic differences among the different kinds of kimono (particularly women’s, men’s and boys’ – girls’ kimono look very similar to the women’s kimono, pattern-wise) suggest the gender stratification of society. While the women’s kimono consist of bright colors and decorative patterns, clearly social wear, the men’s kimono are very plain and austere, usually entirely black on the outside, the equivalent of a Western business suit. However, the lining of men’s kimono frequently contains hand-painted mythological scenes or depictions of famous monks, and so in the exhibition the men’s kimono are displayed inside-out to allow the viewer to appreciate the hidden beauty of these functional garments. The boys’ kimono on display suggest a global male fascination with transportation, with several pieces portraying airplanes, automobiles, battleships and tanks in astounding detail (apparently, one kimono is detailed enough to identify the specific models of the depicted airplanes). They also reveal the growing military-industrial might of Japan in the advent of World War II and point to the Japanese patriotism of the time.
Although representing a particular country’s fashion from a specific time-period, the exhibition remains accessible to contemporary North American viewers, who will appreciate the exquisite craft of these textiles (be sure to look as closely as you can at the fabric itself) and who might experience a pervasive nostalgia for bygone eras and vanishing traditions. The method of display removes the human figure from the kimono and flattens them into abstracted fields of color and form, a vibrant tableau of gorgeous design that invites inspection, appreciation and awe.
(Image: Woman's Kimono, 1920s-30s (late Taisho-early Showa periods). Machine-spun silk plain weave with stencil-printed warp and weft threads (meisen). 61.26x43.25 inches (155.5x110cm). The Montgomery Collection, Lugano, Switzerland. [Cat. no. 90])
Beauty From a Bygone Era
By: Melinda Steffy, for The Bulletin
Vibrant colors, intricate handiwork and stunning patterns all characterize the collection of early-20th-century Japanese kimono on display the PMA’s Perelman Building, as do historical references, shifting culture and the global exchange of ideas. The 80-some kimono reflect the final era of kimono-wearing, when the kimono still existed as a functional, everyday garment, just before the proliferation of Western wear. Although the exhibition contains a variety of kimono, from formal dress pieces to traditional men’s wear to children’s ensembles, the majority are casual women’s kimono that reveal the dramatic changes in culture and technology that made kimono both affordable and very modern.
The kimono are clustered around the gallery in thematic groupings, highlighting visual trends and design motifs rather than chronology or production technique, a wise curatorial decision that allows the kimono to be in conversation with one another throughout the room. It keeps the exhibit from feeling like a historical display and allows the kimono to exist in all their artistic glory. Beginning with the most traditional imagery of realistically depicted cranes and flora, temples and landscapes, the exhibit explores the diversity of popular motifs that range from organic arrangements of swallows, bamboo and chrysanthemums to abstractions of water; geometric stripes, pinwheels and blocks; polka dots and expressionistic color fields; and newly prevalent modes of transportation. Although many of the pieces in the exhibition might functionally have been the “blue jeans” of kimono, the potential for individual aesthetic expression in the most casual of garments is astounding. One can imagine the stunning visual effect of a room full of kimono-wearers as the distinctive colors and patterns would interweave in the midst of a social gathering, making everyday life perpetually beautiful.
Japanese textile production in the early 20th century benefited from new technologies, as new types of silk, simpler weaving processes and commercial dyes made kimono easier to mass produce and thus more affordable. Designers transformed traditional motifs into large, striking patterns that appealed to modern women, who could now shop for kimono at department stores. Kimono design from this time period reflects a cyclical relationship with Western design, particularly Art Deco and Art Nouveau movements – As North American and European artists and designers drew inspiration from historic Japanese sensibilities, Japanese artisans borrowed back the decorative rhythmic geometry of Art Deco and stylized naturalism of Art Nouveau. Kimono throughout the exhibition point to this international transfer of information, including one piece covered with abstracted Empire State Buildings.
Additionally, several of the kimono seem reminiscent of traditional textiles from other parts of the world, with patterns similar to the brightly dyed boubous of western Africa or geometric Navajo weavings. Clearly globalization and the growing spread of information allowed kimono-makers to pull from a wide range of design possibilities and adapt non-Japanese imagery to their own context.
The striking stylistic differences among the different kinds of kimono (particularly women’s, men’s and boys’ – girls’ kimono look very similar to the women’s kimono, pattern-wise) suggest the gender stratification of society. While the women’s kimono consist of bright colors and decorative patterns, clearly social wear, the men’s kimono are very plain and austere, usually entirely black on the outside, the equivalent of a Western business suit. However, the lining of men’s kimono frequently contains hand-painted mythological scenes or depictions of famous monks, and so in the exhibition the men’s kimono are displayed inside-out to allow the viewer to appreciate the hidden beauty of these functional garments. The boys’ kimono on display suggest a global male fascination with transportation, with several pieces portraying airplanes, automobiles, battleships and tanks in astounding detail (apparently, one kimono is detailed enough to identify the specific models of the depicted airplanes). They also reveal the growing military-industrial might of Japan in the advent of World War II and point to the Japanese patriotism of the time.
Although representing a particular country’s fashion from a specific time-period, the exhibition remains accessible to contemporary North American viewers, who will appreciate the exquisite craft of these textiles (be sure to look as closely as you can at the fabric itself) and who might experience a pervasive nostalgia for bygone eras and vanishing traditions. The method of display removes the human figure from the kimono and flattens them into abstracted fields of color and form, a vibrant tableau of gorgeous design that invites inspection, appreciation and awe.
(Image: Woman's Kimono, 1920s-30s (late Taisho-early Showa periods). Machine-spun silk plain weave with stencil-printed warp and weft threads (meisen). 61.26x43.25 inches (155.5x110cm). The Montgomery Collection, Lugano, Switzerland. [Cat. no. 90])
Press Release: Melinda Steffy at Sam Quinn
April 18 to June 13, 2008
Opening reception: Friday, April 18—6:00-8:00 p.m.
Opening reception: Friday, April 18—6:00-8:00 p.m.
4501 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, PA 19139
The Sam Quinn Gallery is pleased to announce the opening of “Particular Memories (Amid the Vast Emptiness of Forgetting)” by Philadelphia artist Melinda Steffy. The show metaphorically reclaims fleeting memories before they disappear, creating a “memory room” of small mixed-media pieces separated and enhanced by the empty space of the gallery setting. Homemade pigments, secondhand fabrics, found objects, family keepsakes, and re-purposed paintings combine into abstract painting/textile/objects. The rhythmic visual compositions integrate Ms. Steffy’s interests in geology, mythology, alchemy, family history, and music, and they address broad questions about memory and its loss, particles and the void around them, structure and formlessness, purpose and accident.
Ms. Steffy received a Master of Fine Arts degree in painting from the University of the Arts and a Bachelor of Arts degree in religious studies from Eastern Mennonite University. Her work has recently been on display at the Delaware Center for Contemporary Art, the Lancaster Museum of Art, Rosenwald-Wolf Gallery, Highwire Gallery, and the Court Gallery at William Paterson University. Additionally, Ms. Steffy’s artwork has taken her to other parts of the world such as South Africa, where she gave bead-working classes for small-business ventures and constructed a mural with homeless adults, and Guatemala, where she studied Mayan back-strap loom weaving. Ms. Steffy works part-time as the concert manager for The Wilmington Music School/Delaware Music School and also does freelance art reviewing, primarily covering contemporary art in the Philadelphia region.
Labels:
exhibitions - past,
press releases
Three Thousand Daughters
Song for the Morning
The Seventh Day
Marking the Passage of Time
dimensions variable
92 used teabags embroidered with dates and dipped in latex house paint, antique and new quilting pins
In Search of Stone (solid form)
Things Fall Apart
The Puppet Show at ICA
Published by The Bulletin on March 5, 2008.
Puppets, In All Their Glory
By: Melinda Steffy, for The Bulletin
“What can puppets do that humans can’t?” queries the stuffed-cat-with-movable-arms moderator of “Puppet Conference,” a film by Christian Jankowski, on display at the Institute of Contemporary Art. “The Puppet Show,” ICA’s current first-floor group exhibition, explores the range of puppet imagery and ability through puppet-inspired artwork, films of various forms of puppetry, and of course, actual puppets. It’s a quirky mesh of limbs and armature, sculpted heads and exaggerated expressions, which together take on a life of their own.
“Puppet Storage” opens the show, a backstage closet of historical and contemporary puppets, props and images. From traditional Indonesian shadow puppets used to enact epic Hindu stories to Andy Warhol’s hand-puppet models of Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew, the selection of items points to a diverse world of puppetry, full of sarcasm and social commentary as well as careful handicraft and attention to detail. The collection of puppet paraphernalia sits on innocuous wooden shelves, inanimate objects so full of latent personalities that a viewer can’t help feeling watched. Many of the objects relate to the artwork in the main gallery, with artists providing preliminary sketches or actual props used to create their artwork. This self-reflective background information reveals the ubiquitous human behind every puppet and enhances the theatricality of the performances.
The main gallery space hosts a mix of video works and sculptural installations with occasional photographs and drawings. The various pieces embody both the movement and narrative of theater and the still abstraction of an art gallery, so that puppetry emerges as a mixed-up blend of visual and dramatic arts, a combination of the abstract and the representational. By using constructed, artificial characters, the stories remove themselves slightly from the realm of reality and yet, from that distance, comment so pointedly on human experience. Although Lambchop and the Muppets make occasional appearances, the exhibition has a decidedly adult spin, removing puppetry from mere childhood entertainment and using the medium to explore complex concepts.
In Cindy Loehr’s video installation “The Colloquy,” the most basic of hand-puppets – bare fists with rhinestone eyes and a thumb jaw-line – carry on a subdued lovers’ quarrel, with one hand doing all of the talking while the other emotionally withdraws. Shown on such a large scale, these simple characters take on surprisingly human characteristics in their enactment of a plausible conversation.
Guy Ben-Ner’s film “Elia: The Story of an Ostrich Chick” bizarrely merges puppet and actor, as humans dressed in ostrich costumes act out a coming-of-age story about an adolescent ostrich and her ostrich family. The costumes only cover the lower halves of the actors’ bodies, with the ostrich heads moved by sticks held in the actors’ hands, so human torsos and heads overlap with ostrich bodies and legs. Since the costumes face backwards – the actors walk in reverse to make the ostriches appear to go forward – the distinction between bird and person becomes even more distorted. Often, the human facial expressions, especially on the younger children, mimic the actions of the ostrich characters, further blurring the boundary lines between real and artificial.
Kiki Smith turns human into puppet in “Nuit” by dissembling the human figure and suspending arms and legs from the ceiling, stopping inches from the floor. The white plaster casts are empty of pulse or energy, unable to move unless someone would tug on the ropes. Even then, in the absence of body or face, the limbs resist anthropomorphizing, remaining devoid of the personalities typical to puppets. The effect is both elegant and faintly disturbing.
From Dennis Oppenheim’s mechanical puppet clones in “Theme for a Major Hit” (the suited men periodically jitter around the floor) to Kara Walker’s paper silhouette film confronting the history of racism and its lingering violence, the range of puppet-imagery is engaging and challenging, drifting from whimsical to disconcerting, simple to astoundingly complex.
Puppets, In All Their Glory
By: Melinda Steffy, for The Bulletin
“What can puppets do that humans can’t?” queries the stuffed-cat-with-movable-arms moderator of “Puppet Conference,” a film by Christian Jankowski, on display at the Institute of Contemporary Art. “The Puppet Show,” ICA’s current first-floor group exhibition, explores the range of puppet imagery and ability through puppet-inspired artwork, films of various forms of puppetry, and of course, actual puppets. It’s a quirky mesh of limbs and armature, sculpted heads and exaggerated expressions, which together take on a life of their own.
“Puppet Storage” opens the show, a backstage closet of historical and contemporary puppets, props and images. From traditional Indonesian shadow puppets used to enact epic Hindu stories to Andy Warhol’s hand-puppet models of Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew, the selection of items points to a diverse world of puppetry, full of sarcasm and social commentary as well as careful handicraft and attention to detail. The collection of puppet paraphernalia sits on innocuous wooden shelves, inanimate objects so full of latent personalities that a viewer can’t help feeling watched. Many of the objects relate to the artwork in the main gallery, with artists providing preliminary sketches or actual props used to create their artwork. This self-reflective background information reveals the ubiquitous human behind every puppet and enhances the theatricality of the performances.
The main gallery space hosts a mix of video works and sculptural installations with occasional photographs and drawings. The various pieces embody both the movement and narrative of theater and the still abstraction of an art gallery, so that puppetry emerges as a mixed-up blend of visual and dramatic arts, a combination of the abstract and the representational. By using constructed, artificial characters, the stories remove themselves slightly from the realm of reality and yet, from that distance, comment so pointedly on human experience. Although Lambchop and the Muppets make occasional appearances, the exhibition has a decidedly adult spin, removing puppetry from mere childhood entertainment and using the medium to explore complex concepts.
In Cindy Loehr’s video installation “The Colloquy,” the most basic of hand-puppets – bare fists with rhinestone eyes and a thumb jaw-line – carry on a subdued lovers’ quarrel, with one hand doing all of the talking while the other emotionally withdraws. Shown on such a large scale, these simple characters take on surprisingly human characteristics in their enactment of a plausible conversation.
Guy Ben-Ner’s film “Elia: The Story of an Ostrich Chick” bizarrely merges puppet and actor, as humans dressed in ostrich costumes act out a coming-of-age story about an adolescent ostrich and her ostrich family. The costumes only cover the lower halves of the actors’ bodies, with the ostrich heads moved by sticks held in the actors’ hands, so human torsos and heads overlap with ostrich bodies and legs. Since the costumes face backwards – the actors walk in reverse to make the ostriches appear to go forward – the distinction between bird and person becomes even more distorted. Often, the human facial expressions, especially on the younger children, mimic the actions of the ostrich characters, further blurring the boundary lines between real and artificial.
Kiki Smith turns human into puppet in “Nuit” by dissembling the human figure and suspending arms and legs from the ceiling, stopping inches from the floor. The white plaster casts are empty of pulse or energy, unable to move unless someone would tug on the ropes. Even then, in the absence of body or face, the limbs resist anthropomorphizing, remaining devoid of the personalities typical to puppets. The effect is both elegant and faintly disturbing.
From Dennis Oppenheim’s mechanical puppet clones in “Theme for a Major Hit” (the suited men periodically jitter around the floor) to Kara Walker’s paper silhouette film confronting the history of racism and its lingering violence, the range of puppet-imagery is engaging and challenging, drifting from whimsical to disconcerting, simple to astoundingly complex.
Tibetan Buddhist Mandala at Philadelphia Cathedral
Published by The Bulletin on January 29, 2008.
Tibetan Buddhist Mandala in Process at Cathedral
By: Melinda Steffy, For The Bulletin
It’s not a typical artwork. It doesn’t fit into contemporary models of abstraction, representation or self-expression, drawing instead on 2,500-year-old traditions and symbolism. It contains no paint, no paper, no clay, just careful layers of brightly colored sand. The highly trained artist did not attend a top-tier art school, but studied at a monastery in India. And no conservationist will ever worry about the artwork’s longevity; in another week it won’t exist.
The “Wheel of Life” Tibetan Buddhist mandala in process and on display at the Philadelphia Cathedral defies most modern Western notions of art-making, particularly ideas of permanence and personal attachment to one’s creation.
For two weeks, Losang Samten, a Tibetan Buddhist monk, has been rasping fine lines of sand out of a metal tube to create careful images that portray the frailty of the human condition and the consequences of giving in to the “poisons” of ignorance, greed and anger. Every image carries symbolism, from the trio of animals at the center (pig, pigeon and snake, corresponding to the three poisons) to the six surrounding landscapes to the evolving love story around the perimeter. The images cycle from infancy through death, tying together pain and joy, yin and yang, and showing the consequences of giving in to the three poisons. According to Buddhist beliefs, in order to cure suffering, one must train the mind to notice and eliminate the poisons, and so the “Wheel of Life” provides a tool for meditation and contemplation on this life-long journey.
The detailed workmanship is astounding. Using varying finenesses of sand, Samten outlines bricks, miniscule arrows and the decorative trim of a woman’s dress and sculpts buildings, mountains and rivers. He blends colors, so a band of yellow fades to green to meet the dominant blue of the largest circle. Although the overall effect is two-dimensional, Samten periodically turns off the overhead lights and uses a side-light to highlight the sand’s relief, and suddenly ocean waves and fruit trees come to life with depth and shadows.
The overall concept and symbolism of the “Wheel of Life” remain the same each time it is created, but individual artists add their own variations and interpretations. In this case, Samten whimsically includes a tiny dog that runs from scene to scene, appearing in the midst of a tale of human relationships. In other panels, Jesus and Buddha appear next to each other, a nod to the ecumenical relationship that brought this Buddhist mandala to an Episcopal cathedral, and a church building takes its place alongside a pagoda as diverse cultures intersect in Samten’s vision.
The profound awareness that an untimely gust of wind or a careless visitor could damage the mandala heightens its meaning and sense of value. The mandala embodies the very frailty it portrays, and so the active processes of creation and destruction become, in some ways, more important than the ancient symbols themselves. Since this particular mandala will soon be gone and no future incarnation will be exactly the same, viewing takes on a sense of pricelessness. After just two weeks of creation and one week on display, another monk will arrive to ritually sweep away the mandala, obscuring the image and returning the sand to the cosmos (via the Schuylkill River) in recognition of ultimate impermanence and natural cycles.
One visitor, clearly moved by the transient construction, asked, “Don’t you worry about it?” Samten paused for several seconds, observing his delicate creation, and smilingly shrugged his shoulders, “Not really.”
Tibetan Buddhist Mandala in Process at Cathedral
By: Melinda Steffy, For The Bulletin
It’s not a typical artwork. It doesn’t fit into contemporary models of abstraction, representation or self-expression, drawing instead on 2,500-year-old traditions and symbolism. It contains no paint, no paper, no clay, just careful layers of brightly colored sand. The highly trained artist did not attend a top-tier art school, but studied at a monastery in India. And no conservationist will ever worry about the artwork’s longevity; in another week it won’t exist.
The “Wheel of Life” Tibetan Buddhist mandala in process and on display at the Philadelphia Cathedral defies most modern Western notions of art-making, particularly ideas of permanence and personal attachment to one’s creation.
For two weeks, Losang Samten, a Tibetan Buddhist monk, has been rasping fine lines of sand out of a metal tube to create careful images that portray the frailty of the human condition and the consequences of giving in to the “poisons” of ignorance, greed and anger. Every image carries symbolism, from the trio of animals at the center (pig, pigeon and snake, corresponding to the three poisons) to the six surrounding landscapes to the evolving love story around the perimeter. The images cycle from infancy through death, tying together pain and joy, yin and yang, and showing the consequences of giving in to the three poisons. According to Buddhist beliefs, in order to cure suffering, one must train the mind to notice and eliminate the poisons, and so the “Wheel of Life” provides a tool for meditation and contemplation on this life-long journey.
The detailed workmanship is astounding. Using varying finenesses of sand, Samten outlines bricks, miniscule arrows and the decorative trim of a woman’s dress and sculpts buildings, mountains and rivers. He blends colors, so a band of yellow fades to green to meet the dominant blue of the largest circle. Although the overall effect is two-dimensional, Samten periodically turns off the overhead lights and uses a side-light to highlight the sand’s relief, and suddenly ocean waves and fruit trees come to life with depth and shadows.
The overall concept and symbolism of the “Wheel of Life” remain the same each time it is created, but individual artists add their own variations and interpretations. In this case, Samten whimsically includes a tiny dog that runs from scene to scene, appearing in the midst of a tale of human relationships. In other panels, Jesus and Buddha appear next to each other, a nod to the ecumenical relationship that brought this Buddhist mandala to an Episcopal cathedral, and a church building takes its place alongside a pagoda as diverse cultures intersect in Samten’s vision.
The profound awareness that an untimely gust of wind or a careless visitor could damage the mandala heightens its meaning and sense of value. The mandala embodies the very frailty it portrays, and so the active processes of creation and destruction become, in some ways, more important than the ancient symbols themselves. Since this particular mandala will soon be gone and no future incarnation will be exactly the same, viewing takes on a sense of pricelessness. After just two weeks of creation and one week on display, another monk will arrive to ritually sweep away the mandala, obscuring the image and returning the sand to the cosmos (via the Schuylkill River) in recognition of ultimate impermanence and natural cycles.
One visitor, clearly moved by the transient construction, asked, “Don’t you worry about it?” Samten paused for several seconds, observing his delicate creation, and smilingly shrugged his shoulders, “Not really.”
Each One Individually (Nine-Patch)
Consolation/Remembrance
Legacy
8"x3"x3"
African violet cutting from my grandmother's plant, seashell from my grandmother's collection, dirt
Monument
4"x4"x2"
river stones collected the day my grandfather with Alzheimer's disease didn't recognize one of his own children
The Beauty of Memory
Pieces Too Short
Nine-Patch, Blue
Untitled (Over the Piano)
In Search of Stone (Liquid Form)
Mineral (Orange)
Mineral (Yellow)
Untitled (Orange Trail)
MFA Thesis
Click here for the full text PDF.
Introduction/Conclusion
Visual art emerges from a chain of discontinuous ideas – areas of interest that cannot always be cognitively linked but that function together to create cohesive representations of scattered thoughts. In my work, considerations of chemistry, alchemy, geology, music, family history, spirituality, environmentalism, materiality, and domesticity merge into painting/textile/object combinations. Like a collection of discarded remnants, the various themes exist incompletely, perhaps out of context, but are recombined with other ideas to make a patchwork of visual expression. Old and familiar topics take on different meanings in their new iterations.
Textile work, particularly hand-stitching crafts like needlepoint or counted cross-stitch, results in the emergence of a distinct frontside and backside. The front is the presentation; it hangs on walls and is admired by visiting friends. The backside, however, is what wins awards, as the level of meticulous attention to detail determines the overall quality of the handicraft. In writing about my artwork, I found this distinction to be a useful framework for organizing my thoughts. The “frontside” describes the actual work I have completed and often references other artists who have been influential. In the “backside” section, I provide the background themes and information that I think about in relation to my work. Occasionally, the background thoughts are a jumbled mass of knotted threads that I struggle to untangle; other times I am able to produce a beautiful arrangement of ideas to complement the visual work that emerges.
Just as my work demonstrates an inherent rearrangeability and fluidity of structure, so the format of my writing allows for an interchange of ideas as the sections can be read in any order. Four overarching themes emerge as central elements of my artwork, although each theme is itself a combination of several concepts that can be reshuffled into new configurations. In the section “Liquids, Molecular Structure, and the Manifestation of the Formless,” I consider the importance of the particle-void relationship and the implications of absences in visual work. “Snappy Musical Rhythms and Subtlety Geological Time” looks at underlying rhythmic structures and elements of time. In “Remnants, Alchemy, and DJ Sampling,” I explore the ethical re-purposing of discarded or familiar materials and the importance of material memory. “Disturbed Domesticity and the Informe” examines the bending of rules and unexpected uses of materials and techniques.
Introduction/Conclusion
Visual art emerges from a chain of discontinuous ideas – areas of interest that cannot always be cognitively linked but that function together to create cohesive representations of scattered thoughts. In my work, considerations of chemistry, alchemy, geology, music, family history, spirituality, environmentalism, materiality, and domesticity merge into painting/textile/object combinations. Like a collection of discarded remnants, the various themes exist incompletely, perhaps out of context, but are recombined with other ideas to make a patchwork of visual expression. Old and familiar topics take on different meanings in their new iterations.
Textile work, particularly hand-stitching crafts like needlepoint or counted cross-stitch, results in the emergence of a distinct frontside and backside. The front is the presentation; it hangs on walls and is admired by visiting friends. The backside, however, is what wins awards, as the level of meticulous attention to detail determines the overall quality of the handicraft. In writing about my artwork, I found this distinction to be a useful framework for organizing my thoughts. The “frontside” describes the actual work I have completed and often references other artists who have been influential. In the “backside” section, I provide the background themes and information that I think about in relation to my work. Occasionally, the background thoughts are a jumbled mass of knotted threads that I struggle to untangle; other times I am able to produce a beautiful arrangement of ideas to complement the visual work that emerges.
Just as my work demonstrates an inherent rearrangeability and fluidity of structure, so the format of my writing allows for an interchange of ideas as the sections can be read in any order. Four overarching themes emerge as central elements of my artwork, although each theme is itself a combination of several concepts that can be reshuffled into new configurations. In the section “Liquids, Molecular Structure, and the Manifestation of the Formless,” I consider the importance of the particle-void relationship and the implications of absences in visual work. “Snappy Musical Rhythms and Subtlety Geological Time” looks at underlying rhythmic structures and elements of time. In “Remnants, Alchemy, and DJ Sampling,” I explore the ethical re-purposing of discarded or familiar materials and the importance of material memory. “Disturbed Domesticity and the Informe” examines the bending of rules and unexpected uses of materials and techniques.
Book Review: Armed and Ready
Published by The Bulletin on August 10, 2007.
Armed And Ready - And Wondering Why
Before I launch into the substance of this book, I must admit two things. One,I get a little squeamish about the idea of owning a gun, for reasons I won't delve into here. And two, Philadelphia-based photographer/author KyleCassidy is a friend of a friend, and so I had heard tales of the book-to-be long before it officially emerged. However, my choice to write about Armed America has nothing to do with cronyism or any ideological stance; instead it is based on my complete absorption in the book each time I pick it up. I find myself peering into every corner of the richly detailed portraits, laughing at absurd scenes and out-of-control pets, marveling at the diversity of human self-expression and questioning my own perceptions of guns and gun ownership.
Evening gowns, easy chairs, combat boots, kilts, crosses, parrots, banjos, and yes, guns - the diverse portrayal of human experience is refreshingly unexpected with a pervasive sense of humor. Cassidy knows how to make the ride fun, expertly balancing a fun-loving, go-with-the-flow perspective with a clear appreciation for the people he photographs. In one image, a platinum-blond woman in a polka-dot dress leaps into the air, arms outstretched, adding a surreal slant to an otherwise straightforward family portrait. Several pages later, a shaggy-haired youth sits in a stark white room, 10 guns spread on the table and as many pizza boxes stacked in the corner. A camera-loving dog hogs the spotlight in another photo, center stage and drooling, while the owner chuckles in the background. A few images even have the theatrical vibe of a detective movie, mysteriously dark with fedoras and leather sofas, neon signs and smoky cigarettes.
Of course, not every image is otherworldly. There are plenty of the expected taxidermied animals and American flags. Entire families of gun-lovers pose in their living rooms, fathers with hunting rifles, children with air rifles, cats lounging on the carpet. People are surrounded by everyday objects in ordinary rooms, doing the sorts of things people usually do when pictures are taken. By avoiding studio contrivances, Cassidy allows the subjects to remain real people - they haven't cleaned off tables or put on their best outfits. The cluttered (or in some cases, desolately bare) ordinariness of the scenes makes them fascinatingly compelling, because the ubiquitous guns seem ordinary as well, blending in as just another utensil or picture on the wall.
Each portrait is accompanied by a caption that gives people's responses to the question, "Why do you own a gun?" From the very basic,"I like them," to drawn-out descriptions of personal biographies, historical significance and political treatises, prevalent themes of second amendment rights and self-defense give way to the subtle differences of personal preference and social context. A history teacher likes having tangible artifacts to inspire his lectures. A chef wants to be able to hunt his own Thanksgiving turkey. Police officers and military personnel own weapons as a natural extension of their careers. People living in cities and suburbs alike feel safer having guns intheir homes and knowing how to use them for defense. There are collectors, target-shooters, hunters, people whose families have always owned guns, people with intense patriotism and a sense of entitlement as American citizens, people who like having a powerful "last resort." As with the images, some of the responses are surprisingly comical or unexpected. A non-violent Buddhist sitting lotus-style with his AK-47 explains that he owns a gun so that he can confront his own nature and choose not to be violent. One young man only became interested in guns after seeing "Bowling for Columbine," wanting to break the stigma attached to this inanimate object. A few frightening responses reflect the militant extremism of people exhorting their absolute right to armed rebellion in the face of socialists or fascists or their own government. And one woman, after her husband's reply, says baldly, "I hate guns. Don't get me started."
The prevailing mood of the book, even with its range of visual and verbal expression, is one of moderation, of tolerance, of patriotic commitment to upholding founding principles. The juxtaposition of intricate portraits and thought-provoking statements creates a coffee table book that is both beautiful and highly relevant to current discussions, regardless of one's opinions about violence or gunregulations. By placing weapons in a holistic context of home life and family and broadly considering the "Why?" of gun ownership, Armed America presents the possibility of dynamic engagement with a complex issue, rather than continuing a polarizing and stagnatingd ebate. The people become REAL, while the guns, in spite of their omnipresence, fade into a comfortable background.
©The Evening Bulletin 2007
Armed And Ready - And Wondering Why
By: Melinda Steffy, For The Bulletin
Before I launch into the substance of this book, I must admit two things. One,I get a little squeamish about the idea of owning a gun, for reasons I won't delve into here. And two, Philadelphia-based photographer/author KyleCassidy is a friend of a friend, and so I had heard tales of the book-to-be long before it officially emerged. However, my choice to write about Armed America has nothing to do with cronyism or any ideological stance; instead it is based on my complete absorption in the book each time I pick it up. I find myself peering into every corner of the richly detailed portraits, laughing at absurd scenes and out-of-control pets, marveling at the diversity of human self-expression and questioning my own perceptions of guns and gun ownership.
Evening gowns, easy chairs, combat boots, kilts, crosses, parrots, banjos, and yes, guns - the diverse portrayal of human experience is refreshingly unexpected with a pervasive sense of humor. Cassidy knows how to make the ride fun, expertly balancing a fun-loving, go-with-the-flow perspective with a clear appreciation for the people he photographs. In one image, a platinum-blond woman in a polka-dot dress leaps into the air, arms outstretched, adding a surreal slant to an otherwise straightforward family portrait. Several pages later, a shaggy-haired youth sits in a stark white room, 10 guns spread on the table and as many pizza boxes stacked in the corner. A camera-loving dog hogs the spotlight in another photo, center stage and drooling, while the owner chuckles in the background. A few images even have the theatrical vibe of a detective movie, mysteriously dark with fedoras and leather sofas, neon signs and smoky cigarettes.
Of course, not every image is otherworldly. There are plenty of the expected taxidermied animals and American flags. Entire families of gun-lovers pose in their living rooms, fathers with hunting rifles, children with air rifles, cats lounging on the carpet. People are surrounded by everyday objects in ordinary rooms, doing the sorts of things people usually do when pictures are taken. By avoiding studio contrivances, Cassidy allows the subjects to remain real people - they haven't cleaned off tables or put on their best outfits. The cluttered (or in some cases, desolately bare) ordinariness of the scenes makes them fascinatingly compelling, because the ubiquitous guns seem ordinary as well, blending in as just another utensil or picture on the wall.
Each portrait is accompanied by a caption that gives people's responses to the question, "Why do you own a gun?" From the very basic,"I like them," to drawn-out descriptions of personal biographies, historical significance and political treatises, prevalent themes of second amendment rights and self-defense give way to the subtle differences of personal preference and social context. A history teacher likes having tangible artifacts to inspire his lectures. A chef wants to be able to hunt his own Thanksgiving turkey. Police officers and military personnel own weapons as a natural extension of their careers. People living in cities and suburbs alike feel safer having guns intheir homes and knowing how to use them for defense. There are collectors, target-shooters, hunters, people whose families have always owned guns, people with intense patriotism and a sense of entitlement as American citizens, people who like having a powerful "last resort." As with the images, some of the responses are surprisingly comical or unexpected. A non-violent Buddhist sitting lotus-style with his AK-47 explains that he owns a gun so that he can confront his own nature and choose not to be violent. One young man only became interested in guns after seeing "Bowling for Columbine," wanting to break the stigma attached to this inanimate object. A few frightening responses reflect the militant extremism of people exhorting their absolute right to armed rebellion in the face of socialists or fascists or their own government. And one woman, after her husband's reply, says baldly, "I hate guns. Don't get me started."
The prevailing mood of the book, even with its range of visual and verbal expression, is one of moderation, of tolerance, of patriotic commitment to upholding founding principles. The juxtaposition of intricate portraits and thought-provoking statements creates a coffee table book that is both beautiful and highly relevant to current discussions, regardless of one's opinions about violence or gunregulations. By placing weapons in a holistic context of home life and family and broadly considering the "Why?" of gun ownership, Armed America presents the possibility of dynamic engagement with a complex issue, rather than continuing a polarizing and stagnatingd ebate. The people become REAL, while the guns, in spite of their omnipresence, fade into a comfortable background.
©The Evening Bulletin 2007
Illustration Exhibition at the Brandywine River Museum
Published by The Bulletin on September 11, 2007.
'Flights Into Fantasy' Captures Imagination Through Illustration
'Flights Into Fantasy' Captures Imagination Through Illustration
By: Melinda Steffy, For The Bulletin
A young child, nestled in bed under a graceful pink quilt, all golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, reads “The Bed-Time Book,” whose cover shows the same image in miniature, shrinking to an implied infinity of golden-haired children, beds, and nightly stories. Fantasy is eternal.
The Brandywine River Museum’s current exhibition, “Flights into Fantasy,” captures the innocent effervescence of childhood imagination with over 100 images of fantasy by American and European illustrators from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including The Bed-time Book by Jessie Wilcox Smith. Characters as familiar as the pied piper and Babar the Elephant combine with fantastical fairies and mischievous elves, scenes of wonder and of exploration. They reveal mysterious lands, drenched in nostalgia and patterned with snippets of stories we still tell our children as they fall asleep.
Collector Kendra Daniel explains that rather than gathering a historical survey of illustrations, she selected works that are “artistically sensitive and conceptually imaginative.” The result is vibrant, entrancing. Each exquisite illustration deserves careful viewing, with an eye for delicious detail, abundant creativity, and technical mastery.
Kay Nielsen’s striking illustration And Flitted Away as Far as They Could from the Castle that Lay East of the Sun and West of the Moon (1914) turns imagination into mythology, as a young couple rides down a rainbow/bridge away from a fire-breathing sun/dragon across a stormy sea. Nielsen expertly balances a wash of rich blue sky with illustrated-manuscript-like patterns and an Asian sensibility of emptiness and line, visually infusing the tale with magnificent drama and poetry. Prince Charming becomes Apollo; folklore becomes liturgy.
In contrast, Ida Rentoul Outhwaite creates delicate scenes where fantasy gently brushes the familiar world. Fairies, Elves and Sprites Meet a Boy in the Woods (c.1910) depicts the intangible moment when reality melds into imagination, as a young boy and a line of winged wonders peer at each other through the trees. Outhwaite meticulously forms every figure, tree leaf, and blade of grass from untouched white paper surrounded by a black ink background, so the drawing itself feels as elusive (and astounding) as the scene it depicts.
A playful sense of humor pervades many of the pieces. Charles Broughton’s He Refused to be Entangled in the Concerns of Fairyland (c.1900) shows a young boy staring sulkily into the distance, a book in his lap, while Little Bo Peep, Red Riding Hood, the Big Bad Wolf, a wicked witch, and a few Arabian Nights characters frolic around him. Even the boy’s most concentrated denial cannot eliminate the fantasy world he has created.
Although the artists’ names may not all be familiar, many of their stylized characters have become iconic. Grace Drayton’s Kindness to Animals (1923) features “Dotty Dumpling,” a wholesome paper doll with all of the round-cheeked, wide-eyed goodness of Drayton’s Campbell’s Soup kids. Panels from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, brought to life by artist Peter Newell, and Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline show storybook scenes familiar to children today. And although the circle of malicious tin-men-gone-awry might be more frightening than the Wizard himself, John Neill’s “You!” They Yelled (1909) clearly references his more well-known Oz characters.
The Brandywine River Museum’s current exhibition, “Flights into Fantasy,” captures the innocent effervescence of childhood imagination with over 100 images of fantasy by American and European illustrators from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including The Bed-time Book by Jessie Wilcox Smith. Characters as familiar as the pied piper and Babar the Elephant combine with fantastical fairies and mischievous elves, scenes of wonder and of exploration. They reveal mysterious lands, drenched in nostalgia and patterned with snippets of stories we still tell our children as they fall asleep.
Collector Kendra Daniel explains that rather than gathering a historical survey of illustrations, she selected works that are “artistically sensitive and conceptually imaginative.” The result is vibrant, entrancing. Each exquisite illustration deserves careful viewing, with an eye for delicious detail, abundant creativity, and technical mastery.
Kay Nielsen’s striking illustration And Flitted Away as Far as They Could from the Castle that Lay East of the Sun and West of the Moon (1914) turns imagination into mythology, as a young couple rides down a rainbow/bridge away from a fire-breathing sun/dragon across a stormy sea. Nielsen expertly balances a wash of rich blue sky with illustrated-manuscript-like patterns and an Asian sensibility of emptiness and line, visually infusing the tale with magnificent drama and poetry. Prince Charming becomes Apollo; folklore becomes liturgy.
In contrast, Ida Rentoul Outhwaite creates delicate scenes where fantasy gently brushes the familiar world. Fairies, Elves and Sprites Meet a Boy in the Woods (c.1910) depicts the intangible moment when reality melds into imagination, as a young boy and a line of winged wonders peer at each other through the trees. Outhwaite meticulously forms every figure, tree leaf, and blade of grass from untouched white paper surrounded by a black ink background, so the drawing itself feels as elusive (and astounding) as the scene it depicts.
A playful sense of humor pervades many of the pieces. Charles Broughton’s He Refused to be Entangled in the Concerns of Fairyland (c.1900) shows a young boy staring sulkily into the distance, a book in his lap, while Little Bo Peep, Red Riding Hood, the Big Bad Wolf, a wicked witch, and a few Arabian Nights characters frolic around him. Even the boy’s most concentrated denial cannot eliminate the fantasy world he has created.
Although the artists’ names may not all be familiar, many of their stylized characters have become iconic. Grace Drayton’s Kindness to Animals (1923) features “Dotty Dumpling,” a wholesome paper doll with all of the round-cheeked, wide-eyed goodness of Drayton’s Campbell’s Soup kids. Panels from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, brought to life by artist Peter Newell, and Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline show storybook scenes familiar to children today. And although the circle of malicious tin-men-gone-awry might be more frightening than the Wizard himself, John Neill’s “You!” They Yelled (1909) clearly references his more well-known Oz characters.
“Flights into Fantasy” offers a not-to-be-missed visual story-telling experience. In the Brandywine’s galleries, the world becomes friendly, strikingly free of fear or discomfort as charming children confront the unfamiliar with wonder and amusement. Latent stories beckon from each image, a beautiful library of folktales and whimsy that will capture your attention and spark your own imagination.
©The Evening Bulletin 2007
Daring, Deafening, Different: ICA's New Exhibit...
Published by The Bulletin on September 13, 2007.
Are you tired of hands-off, eyes-only art? Do you enjoy architecture, unexpected juxtapositions, or pirate jokes? It might be time to check out the current set of exhibitions at the Institute for Contemporary Art (ICA), featuring solo shows by Eileen Neff and Jay Heikes, an installation by architecture studio Taalman Koch, and a group show of sound artists called “Ensemble.” A stroll through the galleries takes you on a multi-sensory experience—as captivating for the ears as for the eyes—and highlights excitingly diverse moments in contemporary art.
Consider it a symphony in four movements, if you will.
Movement I: “Ensemble”
Strike up the band! Just don’t be startled by the air raid siren. It will temporarily drown out all other noises and might cause your fingers to move towards your ears (pity the poor security guards), but you can hardly expect to have a show of kinetic sound sculptures without exploring the full range of audible sound. You will find, if you stop to pay attention, that the intervening silences aren’t really silent at all, but filled with the clink of glass, the thump of a mop, and an occasional rattle of garbage bags. Hopefully you’ll go at a time when other visitors participate in the interactive cacophony by pulling creaking levers, ringing glass bells, and wandering through the enormous bamboo wind chime.
It all looks as fantastic as it sounds. Mineko Grimmer’s Bamboo Forest (1995/2007) provides the perfect prelude to the gallery experience, with a series of thick bamboo poles hanging over the doorway that require gallery-goers to push the poles aside and walk through the rustling “forest”. The viewer participation, physicality and creation of sound introduce themes present throughout the gallery. Doug Aitkin’s K-N-O-C-K-O-U-T (2005) combines the smoothly varnished wood of an elegant table with the percussive melody of a marimba. A grand piano gone awry, an interactive dinner table. AND you get to strike it with mallets. The whimsical glass bells of Jim Hodges’ the bells/black (2007) hang from the ceiling, strings dangling just above your head, like a wild instrument from Alice in Wonderland or a troupe of flying bats. The bold color supersedes the material fragility and invites viewers to give it a try. Nearby, the wobbly wooden floor tiles of Staccato (americano) (2004/2007) by Katja Kölle rattle and thump with every step.
Not every piece is interactive. Keep your eyes open for the do-not-touch signs that mark many of the self-propelling kinetic sculptures. Céleste Boursier-Mougenot sets up a plastic swimming pool with a small motor that circulates floating ceramic bowls in Untitled (series #3): 7 (1999). The bowls gently collide with tinkling clinks as the water swishes and swirls. Terry Adkins’ oversized player piano roller Off Minor (2004) produces a non-musical scraping sound as flexible tubes perpetually rub against the playing mechanism. And David Ellis’ Trash Talk (2007) uses hidden devices to rustle and bang his convincingly nonchalant pile of garbage.
Movement II: “Fly Through” by Taalman Koch
Enter the silent portion. The current installment of ICA’s ever-inventive ramp projects (making use of the sloped walkway between the first and second floors), features the life-size architectural renderings of studio Taalman Koch. Inside becomes outside becomes inside again in the lattice of perspectival line drawings and vibrantly colored floral motifs. Based on a two-dimensional representation of a glass house, the drawings situate the existing architecture of the ramp within a new contextual possibility. Sol LeWitt’s wall drawings meet Escher’s skewed perspective and Matisse’s love of pattern.
Movement III: Jay Heikes
Watch out for the punch line. With all of the hyperbole and comic tension of a good joke, Jay Heikes presents the latest in a series of installations based on a joke about a parrot and pirate. You won’t see specific representations of the joke itself, but you will sense the exaggerated absurdity and developing suspense characteristic of such humor. In rules of attraction, a large Looney-Toons-like weight hangs inches above a hunk of cheese, daring a mischievous rat/mouse/human hand to reach for it. It brings up futility, danger, and the disturbing suspicion that a falling anvil might be good for a laugh. 6:30 today, tomorrow, and the day after that, an enormous non-functional cuckoo clock complete with pinecone weights, rests with flaccid hands at a dismal hour, gravity forcing time to perpetually stand still.
Movement IV: “Between Us” by Eileen Neff
A cloud doesn’t belong in an empty room or nestled next to a shrub in a manicured garden. Forests don’t grow out of antique chairs. One tree doesn’t cuddle up to another… Or do they?
The cleverly subtle juxtapositions of natural images and interior scenes in Eileen Neff’s photography/collages create a gently surreal world where assumed boundaries dissolve in the face of unusual relationships. Often digitally manipulated, sometimes found and photographed as they naturally occur, the images radiantly encompass all of the grandeur and minutia of the natural world with sprinklings of ironic humor.
At first, you might assume that Summer: The Couple (2007) is a simple photograph of a tree in a field. But look closely and you’ll see one tiny cedar leaning against the trunk of an enormous walnut tree—tenderness oozing from the image. In the spirit of Marcel Duchamp’s “ready-made” sculptures, Neff captures exquisite moments, revealing her own amusement and appreciation for small surprises.
Other works showcase the clever fusion of disparate situations. In The Visit, a lone evergreen makes a yearning bedside visit in a seemingly empty room. The eerie anthropomorphization recalls both grainy horror movies (What would you do if you awoke to find a tree staring at you?) and poignant sickbed scenes. One of a series of works paying homage to Neff’s favorite writers, Thoreau (2004) encloses a faded dirt road within a large canvas propped on an old wooden table in a white room. It appears both stark and minutely detailed, as the dominant whiteness gives way to faint impressions of forest and distant sky.
Finale
Together, the four shows, with all of their differences of media and technique, of interaction and observation, create an exhibition that distills the essence of contemporary art. Interactive, multi-sensory, and site specific with subtle twists and a sense of humor, ICA puts on a good show.
Daring, Deafening And Different: ICA's New Exhibit An Interactive Romp Through Artistic Imagination
By: Melinda Steffy, For The Bulletin
Are you tired of hands-off, eyes-only art? Do you enjoy architecture, unexpected juxtapositions, or pirate jokes? It might be time to check out the current set of exhibitions at the Institute for Contemporary Art (ICA), featuring solo shows by Eileen Neff and Jay Heikes, an installation by architecture studio Taalman Koch, and a group show of sound artists called “Ensemble.” A stroll through the galleries takes you on a multi-sensory experience—as captivating for the ears as for the eyes—and highlights excitingly diverse moments in contemporary art.
Consider it a symphony in four movements, if you will.
Movement I: “Ensemble”
Strike up the band! Just don’t be startled by the air raid siren. It will temporarily drown out all other noises and might cause your fingers to move towards your ears (pity the poor security guards), but you can hardly expect to have a show of kinetic sound sculptures without exploring the full range of audible sound. You will find, if you stop to pay attention, that the intervening silences aren’t really silent at all, but filled with the clink of glass, the thump of a mop, and an occasional rattle of garbage bags. Hopefully you’ll go at a time when other visitors participate in the interactive cacophony by pulling creaking levers, ringing glass bells, and wandering through the enormous bamboo wind chime.
It all looks as fantastic as it sounds. Mineko Grimmer’s Bamboo Forest (1995/2007) provides the perfect prelude to the gallery experience, with a series of thick bamboo poles hanging over the doorway that require gallery-goers to push the poles aside and walk through the rustling “forest”. The viewer participation, physicality and creation of sound introduce themes present throughout the gallery. Doug Aitkin’s K-N-O-C-K-O-U-T (2005) combines the smoothly varnished wood of an elegant table with the percussive melody of a marimba. A grand piano gone awry, an interactive dinner table. AND you get to strike it with mallets. The whimsical glass bells of Jim Hodges’ the bells/black (2007) hang from the ceiling, strings dangling just above your head, like a wild instrument from Alice in Wonderland or a troupe of flying bats. The bold color supersedes the material fragility and invites viewers to give it a try. Nearby, the wobbly wooden floor tiles of Staccato (americano) (2004/2007) by Katja Kölle rattle and thump with every step.
Not every piece is interactive. Keep your eyes open for the do-not-touch signs that mark many of the self-propelling kinetic sculptures. Céleste Boursier-Mougenot sets up a plastic swimming pool with a small motor that circulates floating ceramic bowls in Untitled (series #3): 7 (1999). The bowls gently collide with tinkling clinks as the water swishes and swirls. Terry Adkins’ oversized player piano roller Off Minor (2004) produces a non-musical scraping sound as flexible tubes perpetually rub against the playing mechanism. And David Ellis’ Trash Talk (2007) uses hidden devices to rustle and bang his convincingly nonchalant pile of garbage.
Movement II: “Fly Through” by Taalman Koch
Enter the silent portion. The current installment of ICA’s ever-inventive ramp projects (making use of the sloped walkway between the first and second floors), features the life-size architectural renderings of studio Taalman Koch. Inside becomes outside becomes inside again in the lattice of perspectival line drawings and vibrantly colored floral motifs. Based on a two-dimensional representation of a glass house, the drawings situate the existing architecture of the ramp within a new contextual possibility. Sol LeWitt’s wall drawings meet Escher’s skewed perspective and Matisse’s love of pattern.
Movement III: Jay Heikes
Watch out for the punch line. With all of the hyperbole and comic tension of a good joke, Jay Heikes presents the latest in a series of installations based on a joke about a parrot and pirate. You won’t see specific representations of the joke itself, but you will sense the exaggerated absurdity and developing suspense characteristic of such humor. In rules of attraction, a large Looney-Toons-like weight hangs inches above a hunk of cheese, daring a mischievous rat/mouse/human hand to reach for it. It brings up futility, danger, and the disturbing suspicion that a falling anvil might be good for a laugh. 6:30 today, tomorrow, and the day after that, an enormous non-functional cuckoo clock complete with pinecone weights, rests with flaccid hands at a dismal hour, gravity forcing time to perpetually stand still.
Movement IV: “Between Us” by Eileen Neff
A cloud doesn’t belong in an empty room or nestled next to a shrub in a manicured garden. Forests don’t grow out of antique chairs. One tree doesn’t cuddle up to another… Or do they?
The cleverly subtle juxtapositions of natural images and interior scenes in Eileen Neff’s photography/collages create a gently surreal world where assumed boundaries dissolve in the face of unusual relationships. Often digitally manipulated, sometimes found and photographed as they naturally occur, the images radiantly encompass all of the grandeur and minutia of the natural world with sprinklings of ironic humor.
At first, you might assume that Summer: The Couple (2007) is a simple photograph of a tree in a field. But look closely and you’ll see one tiny cedar leaning against the trunk of an enormous walnut tree—tenderness oozing from the image. In the spirit of Marcel Duchamp’s “ready-made” sculptures, Neff captures exquisite moments, revealing her own amusement and appreciation for small surprises.
Other works showcase the clever fusion of disparate situations. In The Visit, a lone evergreen makes a yearning bedside visit in a seemingly empty room. The eerie anthropomorphization recalls both grainy horror movies (What would you do if you awoke to find a tree staring at you?) and poignant sickbed scenes. One of a series of works paying homage to Neff’s favorite writers, Thoreau (2004) encloses a faded dirt road within a large canvas propped on an old wooden table in a white room. It appears both stark and minutely detailed, as the dominant whiteness gives way to faint impressions of forest and distant sky.
Finale
Together, the four shows, with all of their differences of media and technique, of interaction and observation, create an exhibition that distills the essence of contemporary art. Interactive, multi-sensory, and site specific with subtle twists and a sense of humor, ICA puts on a good show.
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