Showing posts with label Installations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Installations. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Half A Dozen Crotchets From The Pudenda Cadenza




Fig. 1. Judy Chicago - Virginia Woolf plate (The Dinner Party), 1974–79



Fig. 2. Tracey Emin - Self-Portrait, 12.11.01, 2001



Fig. 3. Patty Chang - Doll, 2001



Fig. 4. Vanessa Beecroft - VB45.900.ali, 2001



Fig. 5. Tanja Ostojic - After Courbet, L´origin du Monde, 2004



Fig. 6. Marlene Dumas - Skaam, 2009


Pudenda Agenda by Jerry Saltz

Vagina envy. Everybody knows it's as prevalent as penis envy and probably more intrinsic, given that the mother of all envies may be caused by the inability to give birth. To settle a wager about which gender has better sex, Zeus and Hera asked Tiresias, who for reasons I won't go into here had spent seven years as a woman. When he chose women by a ratio of nine to one, Hera was so enraged she struck him blind. Zeus took pity and gave him the gifts of prophecy and long life, and the rest - as we know - is Oedipus.

Nowadays vagina envy has been joined by pudenda power. One famous expression of it is Courbet's 1866 spread-eagle crotch shot, The Origin of the World, which scandalized not only because it displayed a flash of pink, but because it portrayed the female sex in its full hairy glory, rather than classicized and bare. Then there's real life: John Ruskin, who on his wedding night fled at the sight of his wife's pubic hair. This was before photography (and Courbet's painting), and the only female nudes he'd seen had been in art, and carefully tonsured. He thought his wife was grossly deformed, a freak.

Today, Ruskin might have been much more at ease, and Courbet's canvas might be viewed as unkempt. After all, we live in the age of Xtreme grooming, and it's been pioneered by women. Or I think it has. As a straight male art critic, I may not be qualified to say much on the subject, but it's become all but unavoidable. From private parts on figures in the work of Tracey Emin, Su-en Wong, Sarah Lucas and Marlene McCarty to those in the photographs and self-portraits of Patti Chang, Malerie Marder, Katy Grannan, Kembra Pfahler and Vanessa Beecroft, hairless pudenda are popping up in art galleries all over town.

The shaved, waxed, trimmed and otherwise depilated female pubis that has become a cultural norm might be called a Pandora's box of conflicting fears and desires. On the one hand, there's the fear of hair or chaetophobia. Hair is a sign of maturity and strength, which far too many men find scary in women. Removing pubic hair may be a wish to infantilize women - to make them look more like little girls. Which, if taken further, comes uncomfortably close to pedophilia.

For their part, women may internalize a distaste for hair and develop a love of bareness. Some would say this is self-exploitation. But it seems to me - and I'm sure I'm not alone - that women are turning something that objectifies them into a tool of empowerment. This is consistent with lowered waistlines and bared midriffs, which may be surrogates and pointers for the pudenda below. A woman I know describes the bared-belly look as "a way of showing more skin without revealing more breast or being tacky." Either way, visibility is power. The male anatomy has already taught us as much.

But in fact what we're learning is ancient wisdom. Women's vulvae have been represented both accurately and abstractly in Eastern art for centuries, especially Indian art. Think of the carved stone yonis or the illuminated manuscripts depicting couples in flagrante delicto. There may be more images like this in Western art than we know about, but recent exposures have made me see Georgia O'Keeffe's work, for example, in a more explicit light. I always thought of O'Keeffe's undulating landscapes as genital-like, but thinking of them as hairless anatomy is really tantalizing.

Kembra Pfahler, the former lead singer of the notorious cult performance group the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, explained her shaved privates by saying, "I do it because it looks good. Which," she added, "is my basic motivation for everything."

On the night of her opening, a few weeks back, as a crowd pressed close to a makeshift stage at American Fine Art at PHAG, that motivation was on vivid display. Pfahler and the seven members of her band arrived at the gallery wearing only black wigs, body paint and boots, flaunting their bare yonis like crazy.

Striding to the stage, they performed the circus-meets-de Sade "Wall of Vagina," which culminated in all but one of the group lying facedown, in a stack, butts toward the audience, legs spread. The remaining member squirted white liquid from a turkey baster into this seven-layered crack, from the top down. It was an outrageous money shot à la Julia Child - one that evoked the Vienna actionists, Annie Sprinkle, Jack Smith, Leigh Bowery and Carolee Schneemann. The group then stood up, walked out and disappeared naked down 22nd Street.

Things are a bit drier at Deitch Projects (18 Wooster Street), where Vanessa Beecroft is once more proffering an irksomely shallow yet strangely illuminating mirror, reflecting her narcissism, our voyeurism and the world's fixation on the female form. This time she's doing it with enormous, history-painting-sized color photographs of her signature naked-lady-as-mannequin performances.

The latest images show groups of more than a dozen models, all white in one performance, and all black in the other. With a noticeable difference: The white models are completely nude and waxed, while the black models wear strip-like bikinis. Interestingly, they all wear full-body makeup and high heels, as if an unaccessorized woman is still off-limits.

Beecroft's regimented models, and her predilection for beautiful, blond Aryans, have always made us think beyond the nude, to type; now she introduces race. But with the black women clad, the suggestion is that we're not ready to handle this particular truth - which is that the power of the shaved pudenda increases in direct proportion to the "otherness" of the woman in question. Or does it? After all, the more you see of the female anatomy, the less "difference," "otherness," or "mystery" you can project on it. When difference is accented, it is sometimes reduced.

When it comes to nudity, women have always been in the artistic vanguard, whether they liked it or not. The female body has been presented much more naked, much more often than the male body. It's anyone's guess what could happen next. But if men follow in these footsteps it could lead to our particular last frontier: the visible hard-on.'

NB Jerry Saltz is art critic for the Village Voice, where this review first appeared.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

That Night, Goldilocks Dreamt She Met Proust In Hell




Fig. 1. Claude Lévêque - Le Grand Sommeil, 2006


'True paradises are the paradises we have lost.'

Marcel Proust

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Eugene and Caspar Jump Through Plato's Window




Fig. 1. Caspar David Friedrich - Sunrise over the Sea, c. 1826


EDMUND: You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself - actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! ... Then another time, on the American line, when I was lookout on the crow's nest in the dawn watch. A clam sea, that time. Only a lazy groundswell and a slow drowsy roll of the ship. The passengers asleep and none of the crew in sight. No sound of man. Black smoke pouring from the funnels behind and beneath me. Dreaming, not keeping lookout, feeling alone, and above, and apart, watching the dawn creep like a painted dream over the sky and sea which sleep together. Then the moment of ecstatic freedom came, the peace, the end of the quest, the last harbour, the joy of belonging to a fulfilment beyond men's lousy, pitiful, greedy fears and hopes and dreams! And several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or lying alone on a beach, I have had the same experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see - and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason! (He grins wryly.) It was a great mistake, my being born a man. I would have been much more successful as a sea-gull or fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!

From Long Day's Journey Into Night by Eugene O'Neill






Fig. 2a. & 2b.


Addendum #1:



Interview with Bill Viola at the Venice Biennale, 2007 (TateShots)


Addendum #2: Katie (thanks!) and ESVM's poetry corner...

Even though I live close to the Pacific ocean, seeing this Friedrich and reading the O'Neill passage (I so need to re-read Long Day's Journey!) make me think of the Atlantic ocean, and how much the sea meant to my Grandfather. I'm sure he had a similar sense of a bigger belonging when out at sea.

I'll lay off the ESVM for a while as I'm sure you're tiring of her, but she had such strong feelings about her beloved Maine coast, and I think she and Edmund would have been a good match:

Inland

People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound

Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore, -
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?

People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbour's head,
What do they long for, as I long for, -
Starting up in my inland bed,

Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning, -
One salt taste of the sea once more?

Addendum #3: Anonymous' (thanks!) poetry corner...

L'Homme et la mer

Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroument infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer

Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image;
Tu l'embrasses des yeux et des bras, et ton coeur
Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur
Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage.

Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets:
Homme, nul n'a sondé le fond de tes abimes;
O mer, nul ne connait tes richesses intimes,
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!

Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables
Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remord,
Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort,
O lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables!

Charles Baudelaire (Les Fleurs du Mal)

Sunday, March 15, 2009

There The Noble Grotesque Will Exist In Full Energy*




Fig. 1. Liu Zheng - The Four Beauties 1/4, 2004


'I believe that there is no test of greatness in periods, nations or men more sure than the development, among them or in them, of a noble grotesque, and no test of comparative smallness or limitation, of one kind or another, more sure than the absence of grotesque invention, or incapability of understanding it.'

John Ruskin


* 'Wherever the human mind is healthy and vigorous in all its proportions, great in imagination and emotion no less than in intellect, and not overborne by an undue or hardened preeminence of the mere reasoning faculties, there the grotesque will exist in full energy.' (John Ruskin)


Addendum: The Sunday Six - Gooey Grotesqueries: Ernesto Neto - Leviathan Thot, 2006 (Pantheon, Paris [Photos: Rion Nakaya])



Figs. 2. & 3.



Fig. 4.



Fig. 5.



Fig. 6.



Fig. 7.

Erin Manns: Leviathan Thot at the Pantheon in Paris is an enormously ambitious work, encompassing the length, breadth and full height of the vast space. I'm interested in how the project developed, and how you accomplished the realisation of the work?

Ernesto Neto: I was invited by the Festival d'Automne organisation to make a site specific piece. I saw the space, and I began to plan a project for the Pantheon. I showed it to the people from the festival and they liked my proposal. They asked me to do a detailed plan to present it to the Pantheon and MONUM administrations. When I was preparing these final plans, I woke up with a dream, and it was pieced together with the word "leviathan". In three days I developed the basic plans for a second work. I sent both and they decided to move forward with the new idea - Leviathan Toth. Even though it looks very complex, the principle is very simple - it's a geometric plan that falls down with gravity, using the "buttons" columns [the elements of the installation that are filled with sand, or at times polystyrene beads] as counter weights. The effect of gravity acting on the content gives form and spirit to the skinlike surface.

EM: Your work is as indebted to philosophy, metaphysics and linguistics as it is to the corporeal, the sensual, the sensorial. The Pantheon, in many ways a temple to French intellectualism (interred there are figures including Voltaire, Rousseau, Emile Zola and Marie Curie), seems an appropriate context. Was this a consideration in locating Leviathan Thot?

EN: The fact that all of these great people are interred there is not exactly the direct influential point - they are part of it and they represent it, but besides the architecture, the Pantheon's history is very important. The building was built as a church, and just before it was completed, the French Revolution occurred, after which the structure was transformed into a mausoleum temple to great men. Then twice more it alternated between church and temple over many years, depending on the political system - monarchy or republic. This transitional point from mediaeval times to the present day, after the growth and the crash of modernism, became very interesting to me. Also located there is the Foucault pendulum, so, as the building has in its history political change it has also a poetic monument to modern science. These two situations represent, in a way, the great people who are there, the political philosophers and the scientists, so I didn't feel their influence directly but they represented this history and the fight between rationalism against mediaeval obscurantism, as well as the passage from old times to modern revolution. In a way I think this circumstance represents a bit the shock we have now between the contemporary world and the pre-modernist time.

EM: The iconic neoclassical architecture of Pantheon, and the strict formalism of the statues and columns and decorative wall frescoes within, contrast quite beautifully with the elegance of the organic visual language of Leviathan Thot. With this project, but also in your work generally, significance is as much about space and the visitor's relationship to the work in the space as it is about the work itself. Do you find it particularly challenging to negotiate the aesthetic differences of various architectural spaces you present work in?

EN: As you may know I had first been invited by the Festival d'Automne to make a piece for the Chapelle Saint-Louis de la Pitie-Salpetriere, where they had been doing shows for many years. After the great work by Nan Goldin, I was supposed to be the next artist to produce a major project there. It would have been realised last year, but the priests of the chapel became unhappy with Goldin's work, and turned their back on the project after many years of collaboration with the festival. As a first decision they cut or censored my piece, even though the work was different for the Salpetriere. I would say that the chapel of Saint-Louis is a naked building regarding decorative elements in relation to the Pantheon, and much more feminine. When I arrived at the Pantheon (I had been there years before to see the pendulum) I was quite surprised again by the strong decorative presence. For my preparations I decided not to concern myself with the gigantic void in the Pantheon; I didn't want to fight with it, but rather be a bit indifferent, use what it could give, as with the holes from where the piece comes down, and let the art establish its own dialogue with that framework. In fact there was one consideration - I thought about making the piece in pink and soft blue-green, some complementary polarities that I've been working with in both a colour and symbolic sense, but, with the amount of decorative information around it and to respect the history of the building, I decided to do it in off-white (marfin as I prefer to say) in order to be more aligned with the classic side of my work, and to blend with the neoclassical responsibility of the architecture.

EM: Do you have an ideal place (piece of architecture or a location) in mind for which you dream about producing and siting a work?

EN: Inside of a cave!

EM: I've always found intriguing in your work the possibility to explore dialectics of lightness and weight, balance and suspension, translucence and the opaque, interior and exterior, physical and philosophical, structural and corporeal. Perhaps you can talk a bit about the importance of these elements to your practice, how they inform your work conceptually.

EN: I think this is life, we walk on a string, and I like to be in balance between these conflicts. Even though we all, or some of us, want peace, our state of living is a continuous conflict. This is our condition in life and I believe that if we accept this basic and inexorable fact, we would be much more open to consider and respect others, to be open to discuss new ideas, to understand ourselves better and to deal (not in the sense of better or worse) with the many different cultures that exist on our big and small home planet.

Regarding my practice itself, I always wanted to develop some works that could stay in a state of balance, that the viewer, mentally, could deconstruct and reconstruct again. The process should be simple, direct and visible - this always has been an ethical position. For me to do art is to think about relationships. Every work I make is always about a relationship: one element interferes with the other element, and the result is a sociability from one to the other, so you should have an interaction that achieves a limit - a precise balance before equilibrium is lost. This interaction creates an internal habitat based on a mutualism where every part can express itself. This concept of mutualism is a main concern of my work.

EM: Is Leviathan Thot in any way a culmination of a recent body of work, or related to the major exhibitions you've had earlier this year at Malmo Konsthall, Sweden and most recently at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York?

EN: Leviathan Thot is a consequence of some branches of works that I've been developing for some years -- following on from the dangerous logic of wooing I made for the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculptural Garden in 2002. This year I did another hanging polystyrene beads piece at Bob Van Orsouw's gallery in a show titled how to put it up, dulcieneia. This was an independent work, but also a study for Leviathan Thot. The Creature (from The Malmo Experience) came from a different branch -- it's a cotton opaque "relax piece", where I create an environment in which visitors can take off their shoes and enter different naves. This kind of piece takes you completely out of the ambient space [the gallery] by generating a particular organic, and perhaps utopian, atmosphere. The energy is much lower than Leviathan Thot; for example, to provoke a serene habitat, there are organs and organelles inside (smaller sculptures) which people can interact with. What we are made of of, the piece at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, was a colourful environment, derived from the work in The Malmo Experience.

EM: Language, rhythm and, in many ways, poetry seem to occupy an understated, yet significant place in your practice, would you agree? Your titles for works and exhibitions alone often elicit a certain musicality. Words at times seem to appear as much as for how they sound as for what they mean.

EN: That's the same with the works themselves. I think my work is a dance and I believe that our society, as a sculpture, is a dance. Dance is symbolically the transcendence of the relationships we have in our day to day life, as with Brancusi's Kiss I think all the relations we have are a kind of dance. Every art manifestation is an expression but most people try to not express anything by their actions (maybe, unless they are in love, where the level of subjectivity gets much more intense). We are trained from birth to control our expression, or to objectify it, but when people dance or just move a bit with any music or sound that comes out, there is an expression of themselves also. Our body, it's an organic dance; the scientists say that the internal communication of the peptides, the relation between the key and the keyhole, is a kind of dance. There are meanings and concepts within the structures of my works but the surface carries the dance, the musicality. About the titles, sometimes I condense meanings in order to create an onomatopoeic significance, or to create a kind of confusion of meaning, which can be read some ways towards an understanding of the work, but also keeping open the possibility of the viewer establishing his or her own interpretation of both the work and the title independently.

EM: Speaking of dance, a few years ago you worked on a piece for a Merce Cunningham production. Was that process a complete collaboration, working together to conceive both the dance and the work - for example how the work would contribute to the dance and vice-versa? And was this the first time you'd worked with a choreographer in this way?

EN: The way Merce Cunningham has worked for a number of years with many artists is to commission the artist to create the set and the company develops the dance, then the two are put together. So when they invited me, they sent me some videos of some dance pieces and two books, one of their history, and another of his animal drawings, then I met his team. I decided to be more sculptural then scenographic, and the key for the collaboration was the practicality of putting it up and down, as well as the animal book, so the piece was conceived as a hanging "flying" organic abstract animal. Some dancers said that it felt good to dance under and they used it to have a better sense of space, to know where they were while they were dancing. I only met Merce in Paris, when everything was already finished and the work was combined with the choreography. It was a very emotional moment. In the end I think it was a dance between me and them. It was the first time I worked with a choreographer.

EM: I'm interested too in your other activities, such as the gallery you've been operating in Rio de Janeiro for the last few years. What was your motivation for opening a space, and how do you organise your programme there? Do you find it contributes to your artistic practice in any way?

EN: A Gentil Carioca is three years old now. It was created to be a communication channel between the artists and the community, so we do solo shows and we look after some artists to help them grow and develop their work. We also make group shows, generally of younger artists, or work with more established artists when we think there is a subject to be discussed in a more political way. We think also that as an artist the gallery can became a political tool because it subsumes the subjectivity of each one of us to the objectivity of the institution that can act without the precision of the personality of each one of us.

It's amazing though to see the artists developing their work, bringing it to the gallery and thinking about how to show it, how to develop an idea for the frame of the gallery and which kind of frame we want the gallery to be. Ultimately we like the gallery to act as a meeting point for the artists. It's also extremely interesting for the three of us - me, Laura Lima and Marcio Botner - to be showing and talking about the work of the others for a general public, to put our own artist side away and to open space to promote the work of others.

EM: It's interesting that you are at times using A Gentil Carioca in a way that might be considered political, or to perhaps convey a political message - can you discuss this a bit more? Is it for the immediate context of Rio de Janeiro or more globally political?

EN: It's more in a context of Brazil and Rio de Janeiro, that's the size of our voice right now. It happens through our dialogue of how to exhibit art and how things are going on in this country. We live in a socio-political catastrophe and we believe that the only way to change all the problems, like the heavily corrupted institutional culture, the economic knot, productive action and social violence in every sense, is through the educational system that had been destroyed by the military dictatorship. Politicians don't talk about education here; in fact nobody does. So, we have done some group exhibitions that can open some space to talk about these issues. We also have a specially commissioned shirt called educacao for each new show. An artist develops it and can do or say whatever he or she wants as long as the word educacao appears on the shirt. Sometimes there are localised concerns that we address through Gentil. For example, when the Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, a important cultural institution in Rio, was censored during an exhibition earlier this year and had to remove a controversial work by artist Marcia X, through Gentil we organised a movement against this action, and support for our movement grew around the country. It's a small thing, but what we realise is that with Gentil, as an institution, we can operate these kind of things, in a productive way.

EM: Finally, how do you imagine the future development of your practice?

EN: My future! What for? I don't really think very much about the future, and I never really know where the art is taking me. Live!

Friday, March 13, 2009

If There Is No Light In Your Tunnel, Switch Tunnels!




Fig. 1. Jenny Holzer - Monument, 2008


'And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.'

Abraham Lincoln


Addendum: Katie (thanks!) and ESVM's (thanks!) poetry corner...

What a neat-o Holzer! It would be very trippy to hang out in this tunnel. I saw a Holzer exhibit at the Walker in Minneapolis in the early 90s, and I'm really bummed I didn't keep the set of Holzer ink stamps that I bought. My favorite said, "A lot happened before you were born".

Lincoln, meet ESVM:

Midnight Oil

Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,—
The years that Time takes off my life,
He'll take from off the other end!

Sunday, January 4, 2009

The Eternal Recurrence Of M. Marcel Duchamp



The Sunday Six #7: Relatively "Now"



Fig. 1. Ori Gersht - Still from Pomegranate, 2006



Fig. 2. Gao Xingjian - Lightning, 2006



Fig. 3. Jean-Louis Schuller - Dis-Connection I Shanghai, 2007



Fig. 4. Jürg Hassler - Slaver, 2007



Fig. 5. Dirk Pauwels - The Absence of Mark Manders, 2008



Fig. 6. Mark Leckey - Cinema In The Round, 2007/08


'I don't believe in art. I believe in artists.'

Marcel Duchamp


Addendum #1: An Art History Lesson - Nothing More




Interview with Marcel Duchamp: Part One




Interview with Marcel Duchamp: Part Two


Links:

Marcel Duchamp In His Own Words: Part 1
Marcel Duchamp In His Own Words: Part 2
Marcel Duchamp In His Own Words: Part 3



Addendum #2: An Art History Lesson - Nothing Less




Marcel Duchamp - Anémic Cinéma, 1926 (with contemporary soundtrack)

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Editors Are The True Handmaidens Of Creativity*




Fig. 1. Reiner Ruthenbeck - White Paper Heap, 1979


'Creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties.'

Eric Fromm


* 'Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity.' T. S. Eliot

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Une Semaine De Simplicité Avancée




Fig. 1. Michael Hutak - Dead Aphorism, 1991 - 2006



Fig. 2. Tracey Emin - It’s Not the Way I Want to Die, 2005



Fig. 3. Julius Popp - bit.fall, 2006




Fig. 4. Oliver van den Berg - Cameras, 2007



Fig. 5. Sophie Calle - Breast Cancer, 2008



Fig. 6. Anish Kapoor - Memory, 2008



Fig. 7. Diana Larrea - Electrocosmos 2, 2008


'Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.'

Antoine de Saint Exupéry


Addendum: Is this a case of irreverent one-upmanship or simply a humorous homage? Either way, it's amusing, and I thank Elise for having made and posted it (on the quiet).