“Mudar” Objetos Metal, madera, espejos, botella, termómetro, labial 45 x 35 x 30 cm aprox. c/u. Año 2010

Dibujos, objetos e instalaciones; ése es el universo de la cordobesa Marisol San Jorge  formada en Dibujo Publicitario en la Escuela Provincial Lino Enea Spilimbergo y Arte en la Escuela Provincial Dr. José Figueroa Alcorta. Marisol logra hacer convivir en su obra el plano de lo racional con la espiritualidad, volcando sus conocimientos trabajos que van desde las ilustraciones hasta las instalaciones con objetos ready made. 

Su obra se expuso en espacios culturales y museos del país tales como el Museo Emilio Caraffa, el Museo Genaro Pérez, 220, CACC, la Sala Farina, el Palacio Ferreyra en Córdoba y el Palais de Glace, FNA, Bienales Gráficas ArteBA en Buenos Aires. Ha obtenido becas de Fundación Antorchas y del Fondo Nacional de las Artes para perfeccionamiento y producción y paralelamente ha desarrollado la identidad visual para las ciudades de La Rioja, Rosario y Posadas y para las provincias de Misiones, Mendoza, Catamarca, y Santa Fe, también para Anses y el Ministerio de Transporte de la Nación. Su obra integra varias colecciones privadas.

“Mudar”, Objeto instalado. Metal, correas, espejo. 250 x 100 x 30 cm c/u. Año 2010

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Si algo destaca en tu trabajo es ese diálogo permanente entre binomios como por ejemplo: + racionalidad/espiritualidad, vida/muerte, luz/oscuridad, entre tantos. Me gustaría empezaras compartiendo un poco de ese universo que fundamenta conceptualmente tu obra.

Marisol San Jorge: Ese diálogo veo que aparece en mi intento de posarme en un territorio e instante intermedio. La dualidad es una ficción que hemos construido entre todos. No hay ni cielo, ni tierra y existe algo anterior, una tensión animal que nos atraviesa, una amoralidad primordial. Me interesa sobremanera la potencia de ese territorio y también el instante imposible de congelar el movimiento, el tráfico que acontece allí entre lo dado y lo construido.

“Profanando” Objeto instalado Sopapas, goma y madera quemada 100 x 130 x 30 cm Año 2016

 

MCB: La materialidad, el cuerpo, los objetos, las instalaciones son las formas plásticas más afines a tu sensibilidad artística. Y todo eso atravesado por una mirada que combina el aspecto ritual, mítico, mágico y al mismo tiempo lógico. Continuando la pregunta anterior, ahora te pregunto cómo se plasma esto en la práctica, de qué recursos plásticos te vales

MSJ: Comienzo con un acto de picardía y violencia hacia cada universo, realizo recortes en ellos, apostando a un suspenso, a un movimiento por acontecer con mayor peso que la pérdida. Intentando construir brevísimos instantes poéticos que deshagan la dinámica del drama o reduzcan la fuerza de los límites. Tomo objetos cotidianos elaborados la industria, también material orgánico, modifico algunos, también construyo dobles de sí mismos, varío sus escalas, cambio sus sustancias, a otros los dibujo. Elaboro también piezas con esos fragmentos. Cada fragmento pasa a ser un símbolo, o una señalética de su propio universo.

MCB: Dibujos, ilustraciones se asocian con objetos cotidianos, domésticos que intervienes mínimamente pero que resignificas en esa intervención. Materiales tales como las cenizas, tierra, piedras, carbón, madera, arcilla, dientes, insectos, combinados con otros tantos de una factura industrializada: terciopelo, ropa, cintas de tela, tinta china, lápiz. Una vez más, aquello manipulado por el hombre sumado a lo que escapa a su pequeño círculo de control. Contanos sobre la elección de los materiales y soportes 

MSJ: En la elección de los materiales me guían dos formas de encuentro, a veces se desencadena del simple roce con un material, con su temperatura, con su textura, y otras veces, aparece una imagen sin cuerpo en el aire que ya viene con su “lista de materiales”. A partir de allí se suma mi pensamiento, razón y acción que me lleva a elegir objetos “genéricos”, con menor rastro de estilo, con mayor ausencia de tiempo y contexto.

“Mudar” Objetos Metal, madera, espejos, botella, termómetro, labial 45 x 35 x 30 cm aprox. c/u Año 2010

 

MCB: Tomando un ejemplo que quieras de una muestra en particular -donde el foco esté puesto en el espacio-, contanos sobre el proceso de trabajo para llegar al resultado final.

MSJ: En Topología Asterisca, trabajé con la arquitectura del lugar, dispuse objetos, que como dije anteriormente, construyo a partir de la suma de diferentes fragmentos: un objeto dado por la industria, un objeto que reinterpreto y otro que dibujo en la pared, que puede ser leído como silueta, sombra o hueco del mismo, este último inclusive podría estar más próximo a una simple proyección lumínica. Hay escalas disonantes, volúmenes disonantes y variaciones de sustancias en ellos. En este caso particular, el dibujo de algunos de ellos ganó volumetría gracias a la arquitectura y en otros objetos suceden nuevas capas de profundidad. Cada objeto está construido con la premisa de que una toalla, por ejemplo, sea sólo una señal de toalla, una botella de botella, un collar un collar y así. Conformo narraciones de instantes con los roces entre cada fragmento, quizás algo similar a signos de una escritura volumétrica.

“Profanando” Objetos instalados 600 x 1500 x 50 cm Año 2018

 

MCB: Siempre me interesa saber sobre la decisión del artista de salir del plano –y en tu caso esto es notorio dado que vienes del campo de la ilustración. En tu caso ¿por qué crees que necesitas pasar del papel o la tela a la tridimensionalidad? 

MSJ: Al venir de la ilustración y el diseño, en realidad siempre tengo presente tanto el diseño de una imagen como el diseño de un objeto. Cuando veo una imagen, mi mente comienza a divagar, a hacer asociaciones con ideas, sensaciones, etc., y si bien puede haber extrañeza, la voy llevando hacia el terreno de mis experiencias vividas. Cuando una idea tiene más masa, cuando es más lenta en el tiempo, uno se ve compelido a estar más presente con el cuerpo, el proceso mental se ve interferido o más desligado de la razón. Encuentro allí un recurso vital. Además siento que esto me devuelve continuamente una pregunta sobre mi propia existencia, al pensar cuál es la intención que nos convierte en cuerpos.

Maria Carolina Baulo

ENTREVERADOS, de la serie Germinal 2013 – Técnica mixta. 60 x 16 x 5 cm (medidas variables, según sea obra de apoyo, o mural horizontal o vertical) Mdf, alambre forrado con hilo de algodón, anudado

Dedicada desde 1977 a las artes visuales –y con estudios previos como profesora nacional de inglés- Noemí Schneck se formó en los talleres de Tana Sachs, Cristina Dartiguelongue y Luis Negrotti, donde experimentó con distintos materiales como los metales, fibras, papel, telas endurecidas, fibras plásticas y diversos materiales industriales aplicados a la pintura, la escultura y las instalaciones pero fundamentalmente al arte textil.

Oportunamente dije sobre la obra de Noemí que “la organicidad de los materiales, la profunda necesidad de reelaborar el pasado y transitar las experiencias amorosamente, el recurso de los sintético como herramienta creativa pero sin por eso perder de vista la influencia de la naturaleza –inclusive la humana-, crean un  estado de situación donde la obra de Noemí Schneck se siente cómoda para emerger. Todo refiere a la naturaleza directa o indirectamente porque el hogar que habitamos, el mobiliario que utilizamos, son elecciones del orden de nuestros deseos, de nuestra esencia y a partir de ellos creamos el entorno donde vivimos”.

ESTAR, de la serie Mudanza, 2013 – in progress – Técnica mixta. 14 x 7 x 6 cm. Mdf, alambre forrado con hilo de algodón, anudado

 

Y fue ese camino el cual la llevó a obtener –entre otros-, el Gran premio adquisición del Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales (2010) y el 1º Premio. Salón Minitextiles del Centro Argentino de Arte Textil (2008). Su obra participó de muestras en el Museo Sívori, Palais de Glace, Centro Cultural Recoleta, Museo de Arte Moderno, Fondo Nacional de las Artes, Centro Cultural Plaza Defensa y otros, en Buenos Aires; en los museos Mariano Moreno, Bernal; Castagnino, Mar del Plata; Latin American Museum of Textile Art, Miami; Museo de Arte Moderno, Chile; Central.Museum of Textiles, Lodz, Polonia.  

Serie MUDANZA , 2013 – 2018 – Políptico de 6 piezas – Técnica mixta. 12 x 18 x 10 cm cada pieza, medidas aproximadas. Madera, alambre forrado con hilo de algodón, anudado

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Una constante en tu trabajo es la economía de recursos, la preponderancia de la monocromía, la producción en serie y el uso de materiales industriales. Contanos sobre estas elecciones formales y estéticas que haces.

Noemí Schneck: La apropiación de materiales que, en su cotidianeidad, no se utilizan para hacer arte me atrae profundamente. Ver un hierro oxidado en la calle, un material interesante en una zinguería, un rollo de alambre o de tanza, una maraña de estopa, etc. implican la urgencia de tenerlos y manipularlos para que devengan en arte. Con respecto a la producción en serie, tomé conciencia de ello cuando analicé mi producción para organizar mi sitio web. Y es que cuando un tema que se apodera de mí, necesito varias etapas para su completitud. Un objeto encontrado o un material diferente pueden dar origen a la primera obra. Luego sucesivas expresiones del mismo tema aparecen en forma de objetos, esculturas, instalaciones hasta que siento -y es un sentir- que cerré el tema, que dije o hice todo lo que podía decir o hacer con respecto a él. Esto no significa que, en algún futuro mediato, no pueda retomarlos y seguir diciendo/haciendo lo que necesite completar.

DESCENDENCIA, 2015 – Técnica mixta. 200 x 70 x 200 cm. Esferas de red de tanza trabajada como masa, termofusión para instalación eléctrica, cable

 

En cuanto a la monocromía, puedo decir que me excede la riqueza del material como para agregarle color. En alguna oportunidad me propuse especialmente utilizar color para “descansar” de la monocromía, pero no hizo falta demasiado. Una pequeña interrupción lúdica fue suficiente para volver al monocromo tranquilo y poder agotar las posibilidades formales del material.

MCB: Objetos, esculturas e instalaciones, así como el cambio diametral de dimensiones en los formatos, son características de tu obra. ¿Por qué la elección de lo tridimensional, de tomar el espacio? 

NS: No elijo lo tridimensional. La tridimensión se apodera de mí. Más aún, cuando hago obra mural -poca hasta ahora- no puedo quedarme tan sólo en la bidimensión sin emerger hacia el espacio. Tengo que referirme nuevamente a mi necesidad, mi sentir, mi casi única manera de utilizar el muro cuando lo hago. O, en su defecto, volar libremente con forma de objeto o de piezas de una instalación o con la intervención de algún objeto encontrado o buscado. No puedo hablar de una elección consciente. Es visceral.

Serie MUDANZA , 2013 – 2018 – Políptico de 6 piezas – Técnica mixta. 12 x 18 x 10 cm cada pieza, medidas aproximadas. Madera, alambre forrado con hilo de algodón, anudado

 

MCB: Las series “Nidos” y “Mudanza” son buenos ejemplos para abordar el contenido simbólico de tu obra. Como artista, ¿crees que es importante que la parte conceptual se vea reflejada –aunque sutilmente – en el trabajo per se?

NS: Afirmar dogmáticamente sobre la importancia del concepto en la obra de arte puede llegar a ser un exceso de soberbia. Hay obras no conceptuales que son excelentes. Por otra parte, el concepto es inherente a mi obra. Trabajo con un ideario conceptual que surge en mí naturalmente. Es decir, para mí sí es importante que el concepto se refleje en la obra, pero es fundamental que el artista sea libre para expresar su idea de manera intelectual o visceral o ambas y que, si esa libertad implica un reflejo conceptual en el trabajo per se, entonces importa. Es fundamental que prime la libertad en la creatividad del artista. Personalmente, considero que el símbolo está siempre presente en la concepción artística. Puede reflejarse de manera más o menos intensa. Lo importante es la libertad para emerger de la manera que sea. Ambas series mencionadas en la pregunta, “Nidos” y “Mudanza”, son el resultado de procesos personales que se reflejaron en los objetos/obras producidos e intervenidos, inconscientemente en un principio y conscientemente a medida que fui avanzando en el proceso creativo de las series.

Serie MUDANZA , 2013 – 2018 – Políptico de 6 piezas – Técnica mixta. 12 x 18 x 10 cm cada pieza, medidas aproximadas. Madera, alambre forrado con hilo de algodón, anudado

 

MCB: Sobre la obra ganadora del Salón Nacional 2010: “Glaciares II, díganle a alguien que estamos acá…” Contanos sobre esta obra, su proceso creativo y cómo impactan las cuestiones sociales en tu producción.

NS: Los temas sociales, así como los procesos intelectuales personales, son disparadores presentes en mis obras. Es imposible para mí escindirme de la realidad social circundante o de procesos íntimos. Así, a partir de una convocatoria para un concurso en la Patagonia argentina, surgió mi primer “Glaciares…”. Pero este tema no me abandonaría. Siguió vivo en mi inconsciente y en mi consciente también y, poco a poco los módulos (así los llamo) que componen la instalación fueron apareciendo, de a cientos, de a miles quizá. Y apareció, entonces, mi concepto de glaciar. Partía de la pared, pero era aéreo, etéreo y, al mismo tiempo, presente. Para los módulos concebí estructuras piramidales partiendo de una base triangular en algunos y cuadrangular en otros, en tres medidas diferentes: pequeños, medianos y grandes, piezas que no exceden los 25cm de base y de altura, los más grandes, y van reduciendo su tamaño proporcionalmente en los medianos y en los más pequeños. Cada módulo se construyó en alambre forrado con hilo de algodón de diferentes grosores, con técnica de plegado y anudado en cada uno de ellos y entre sí para armar la instalación. Los módulos más grandes se unían primero para ir en orden decreciente de tamaño hacia el espacio. El resultado fue una cascada blanca, de 200cm de altura, que parecía desintegrarse en su blancura para volverse a integrar en su totalidad, sin perder su cualidad etérea. Me importa la ecología. Me importa mi país. Y creo que tenemos que cuidarlo en la medida de nuestras posibilidades y en el lenguaje que nos es más cercano al corazón.

Maria Carolina Baulo

The Other End of the Line, 2010 interior with work by DeWitt Godfrey, Gina Occhiogrosso, Margo Mensing, Richard Garrison, Matt Harle photo Paul Kennedy

Francis Cape’s straightforward-appearing art communicates a world view that is complex and sophisticated. As the son of a British diplomat, Cape was born in Portugal and grew up in major cities all over the world. This, and his apprenticeship to a wood carver in York, England from 1974-79 are early markers that led to his life with artist/wife Liza Phillips.  Their innovative yet traditional art practices enliven the light-filled rooms of their renovated home and studios in Narrowsburg, New York, a low-income Republican area of Sullivan County that was recently devastated by a derecho, a kind of horizontal tornado. Cape told me that thirty trees were down on his land, and I could see he was already in the process of turning some fallen trees into firewood and hauling others away. In Narrowsburg, Cape serves as a volunteer ambulance driver and head of the Democratic Party and considers this his “social practice.”

The Other End of the Line, 2010 mobile home, curated exhibition 12 x 60 ft photo Paul Kennedy

 

Cape’s upcoming exhibition at Esther Massry Gallery, The College of Saint Rose, in Albany NY (October 5-December 8, 2018) is part of the Gallery’s tenth anniversary celebration, and the works that Gallery Director Jeanne Flanagan has chosen are thought-provoking once the viewer tunes into their histories. Cape exhibits in a range of countries (see www.franciscape.com/) In New York, for his 2013 solo show at the Murray Guy Gallery, Roberta Smith reviewed his re-creation of seventeen backless Utopian Benches  from intentional communities who held property in common (NYTimes, 7/19/2013).  In 2010, he and his students re-purposed a used mobile home into an art gallery The Other End of the Line at the foot of the Highline while the Whitney Museum was under construction. By the way, that mobile home –a bit like some on the Whitney Museum construction site — is once again a family’s home in upstate New York. Cape’s art wryly comments on its own design –from hand-hewn community benches to low end housing – as it also contrasts how each object’s original era, design, and geophysical location differs from 21st Century exhibition venues.

Utopian Benches, 2011. Conversation on the benches

 

For this exhibition, Wait, Wainscot VI, Cabinet 58, and On Main Street are fragments that each suggest something unexpected. Wait, 2002 seems like a corner with a single seat and a closed window. Cape told me, “I was thinking of (Michelangelo’s) Medici tomb and chapel in Florence, so it’s a metaphorical reference to a seat in a funerary chapel.”[1] In this context, the enclosed white space acquires somber overtones.

Wait, 2002. wood, paint 108 x 142 x 48 inches

 

Cabinet 58, 2005 is part of a series of 60 functional cabinet doors in a frame—except the finely-crafted working doors on hinges are sealed shut. Doors that will never open are a literal reminder that appearance differs from reality. Sealed doors suggest a range of premises from “nothing there” to “dark secrets.”

Wainscot VI, 2003 is a trope or play on seventies mass-produced panels for the lower parts of walls. The fragment suggests a part of a room. The bright yellow paint is a perky concealer of thin faux panels imprinted with photos of wood grain. Paint hides the fact that today’s “wainscot” is a fiction alluding to its British solid wood ancestor made of fine imported oak.

On Main Street, 2005 wood, paint, framed photographs 72 x 54.5 x 29 inches

 

On Main Street, 2005 refers to the architectural fragments that Gordon Matta Clark rescued from old buildings. Above the desk is a photo of the image directly across from the desk –an object outside of itself that situates the viewer between the photo and the object in the photo. While this corner desk is trying to “fit in” to its space in the Esther Massry Gallery, the photos on the back wall show the views from two other locations where it was shown –Sullivan County and New York City. So this work simultaneously suggests that it does and does not belong to the space it’s in.

The three tables in the center of the gallery connect Cape’s art to the world at large. Night Table, 2007 invites us to not get stuck in corners of our own making, to dive into our dreams without bedside props or pills. Occasional Table, Model 7, 2008 is either incomplete or already falling apart. It is a weak copy of a Utopian model as it relates to the photo at its base –one frame of the massive devastation in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.

Oil Table, 2010. wood, paint 28 x 26.5 x 21 photo credit: Warren Wheeler Colgate University

 

It also reminds us that Puerto Rico and its citizens have not yet recovered from hurricanes Irma and Maria that destroyed basic services over a year ago.  Oil Table, 2010 is a table from New Orleans that conjures the massive BP Deepwater Horizon gulf oil spill that year: due to the rig’s cost-cutting design, profits got in the way of safety standards.[2] The loss of eleven human and countless marine lives has been literally covered up with a decorative swirly oil paint surface.

Each work brings together and comments upon the hidden histories of objects we take for granted. Francis Cape’s art asks us to pay close attention to how things are made, their life stories, if and how they function, and what this tells us.

By Jan Garden Castro

[1]  All quotes from Castro-Cape conversations on 5.24.18.

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deepwater_Horizon_oil_spill

FABIANA LARREA- El Mensaje en la botella – Intervención en el paisaje – Puerto Tirol – Chaco 2016 2017-baja resolución

Artista Visual, oriunda de Puerto Tirol, Chaco, Fabiana Larrea formó su carrera estudiando el Profesorado de de Grabado y Dibujo en el I.S.P.E.A.B.A. Alfredo Pértile de Resistencia. Como gestora de proyectos, coordinó Encuentros Nacionales y Sudamericanos de Grabado en Resistencia y en la sede del Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes René Brusau, fue co-fundadora de Grabar, asociación para la difusión del grabado con el apoyo de Fundación Antorchas y coordinó el Proyecto de Intercambio Lingüístico Cultural Argentina-Francia (P.I.L.C.A.F.). Sus intervenciones textiles se expusieron en espacios tales como la Casa de las Culturas de la provincia del Chaco, Facultad de Arte, Diseño y Ciencias de la Cultura dependiente de la Universidad Nacional del Nordeste en Resistencia, en el Teatro Oficial Juan de Vera de la ciudad de Corrientes, Fundación Federico Klemm en Buenos Aires y el Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes Juan Ramón Vidal de la ciudad de Corrientes.

Un trabajo elegante, delicado, donde la trama atrapa mucho más que las fibras que la componen.

FABIANA LARREA-Sin título -Intervención Teatro oficial Juan de Vera – Corrientes- 2012

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Me gustaría empezar conociendo sobre tu proceso creativo y el lugar que ocupa en el concepto en la construcción de la obra.

Fabiana Larrea: Generalmente comienzo haciendo un conjunto de trabajos. A medida que voy avanzando, cuestiono mí propio hacer hasta que hay un momento en el que creo que hay algo para mostrar. Es ahí cuando me muevo hacia el objetivo y es cuando pienso en el espacio, sala, institución que albergue mi propuesta. Mis procesos a veces se demoran hasta llegar a dar con una obra que me genere algo de certeza.  De a ratos escribo mucho, intento capturar cada idea por absurda que parezca. A veces intento retener las últimas palabras de mis sueños, aunque no siempre lo logro.  O a la mañana, luego de mi meditación cuando me dedico a estar con las plantas, en ese momento aparecen ideas o afirmaciones que las tomo como hipótesis sobre las que luego comienzo a escribir, siempre con tinta muy aguada, nada tan firme. Entiendo a los tejidos como una forma de escritura que luego intento leer y transcribir.

FABIANA LARREA-Protegerte de mi-Acción-Parque Cambá cuá-2- Corrientes- 2012-baja resolución

 

MCB: Y ¿cuáles son los materiales que te permiten plásticamente ejecutar todo ese proceso que elaboras mentalmente? Sería interesante conocer un paso a paso de tu técnica tomando como ejemplo una obra textil de interior.

FL: Actualmente trabajo con hilos (monofilamento de nylon, pet, silicona, hilos de coser, alambres) o con todo tipo de materiales que puedan ser hilados (retazos de telas, botellas, tallos vegetales, azúcar). Elijo materiales que están en mi entorno próximo, que son propios del lugar donde vivo o que encuentro frecuentemente en mi hogar.  Prefiero aquellos que son neutros, transparentes o monocromáticos.

En 2014 comencé a trabajar con las sombras proyectadas por hilos de coser blancos. En estos casos, realizo tejidos en ganchillo que luego son tensados, en algunos casos, sobre estructuras de acero inoxidable, conformando una especie de urdimbre sobre la que luego puedo bordar. Estos tejidos son casi imperceptibles a la vista y al ser expuestos, generan sombras que se dibujan sobre las paredes. En 2015, para realizar la obra “Todo Duerme”, coloqué en un rincón de mi taller una trama alabeada sobre la que durante las siestas de invierno fui calcando con hilos blancos el paisaje interior de ese espacio, como evidencia de las siestas del norte argentino.

FABIANA LARREA-La invención del silencio – Espacio Osde -Resistencia -2013-baja resolución

MCB: Contanos sobre la experiencia en Puerto Tirol.

FL: Desde mediados de 2016 hasta principios de febrero de este año, estuve dedicada a concretar una obra en Puerto Tirol que se llama El mensaje en la botella: Un amigo que comenzaba a incursionar en la fotografía buscaba lugares para hacer sus imágenes y yo lo invité a que venga a, Puerto Tirol. Al tiempo le pido ver su trabajo y me encuentro con imágenes de botellas tiradas en el rio, la laguna y en casi todo el paisaje. Sentí una sensación extraña.  Me preguntaba cómo habían llegado cada una de ellas a esos lugares. Como habría sido el momento en que alguien las arroja, que pensamientos atravesarían las mentes de esas personas en esos instantes. Veía una modificación colectiva del paisaje y sabía que había allí alguna punta para empezar a trabajar. No tenía forma de seguir el rastro de cada envase para saber cómo llegaron allí, pero la huella estaba. Entonces me propuse hacer un desplazamiento de esas huellas hacia un lugar en el que fueran más evidentes, para eso pedí la colaboración de los habitantes de puerto Tirol. Fue un trabajo muy vincular con la gente, visitaba casas, escuelas, radios. Me interesaba propiciar ese contacto.  Durante un año recolectamos botellas y deseos. Empleé ese material para intervenir el paisaje en un espacio ubicado en el ingreso al pueblo. En diciembre de 2017 habilité el ingreso al público. La gente podía ir a compartir el espacio, llevaban sus sillas, mate y tereré, mientras Claudio Rossi   improvisaba mezclando sonidos propios del lugar con  guitarra y dispositivos electrónicos. El público durante todo ese tiempo, continuaba  renovando sus deseos en las botellas. Actualmente éste trabajo continúa colgado, no está abierto al público. La vegetación va recuperando su lugar y el viento norte va haciendo que los tensores vayan venciéndose. Periódicamente voy al lugar a registrar este proceso.

FABIANA LARREA-Sin título 3 -de la serie Ahoras 2008.

 

MCB: Casos como el de Puerto Tirol se vinculan con las acciones, las intervenciones urbanas o en la naturaleza y en este caso del orden de lo efímero. ¿Cómo te relacionas con esta idea de la obra que desaparece físicamente más allá de un registro fotográfico o filmación de la acción?

FL: Las obras efímeras, generalmente son proyectos que se realizan con la colaboración de mucha gente y en éste sentido, yo pienso que la materialidad desaparece, pero los vínculos afectivos dejan huellas. Creo que son gestos para recordar nuestra impermanencia en esta vida (porque, aunque creo que hay otras, no puedo tener certezas). Pienso cada obra como un recordatorio de cosas como el cuerpo, la vida o el amor que, por simples, olvidamos y por frecuentes, descuidamos. Me interesa construir espacios que invitan a explorar la potencia del silencio, y la conciencia de presente. Lugares que puedan ser habitados, aunque más no sea, por periodos de tiempo breves. Busco generar experiencias afectivas.

Maria Carolina Baulo

FIN. Del Infinito. 2018. Mano con cadenas. Yeso, cadenas y perlas de plástico.

Formada en el Instituto Nacional de Arte (IUNA) en artes visuales, con talleres y clínicas de obra realizados con artistas como Hernán Marina, Fabián Burgos, Carlos Huffman y Elsa Soibelman, Luciana Rondolini tiene una carrera que se va abriendo paso sólidamente. Además, sus estudios incluyen programas y becas para artistas tales como el Taller Anti-proyecto de la Universidad Torcuato Di Tella (2011); la Primera edición de las clínicas curatoriales Fundación PROA (2014); Proyecto PAC, Prácticas artísticas contemporáneas (2016), todos ellos en Buenos Aires. Sus obras se exhibieron en galerías del exterior –especialmente USA- como The Mission Gallery (Chicago) y Fu art gallery (Miami) y localmente en el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Fundación Proa, galería Miau Miau, el Centro Cultural San Martín, el Palais de Glace, Buenos Aires, entre otros. En 2012 fue finalista del Premio Petrobras Arteba y recibió el Premio en obra Barrio Joven por la Fundación Arteba, 2013 y participó en las Ferias Art Berlin Contemporary, Miami Project, Expo Chicago, Parc, Peru y Swab, Barcelona.

Cabeza. Enduido, pelas de plástico y adorno de metal.

 

Todo lo que desaparece con el paso del tiempo, es material sensible para la creatividad de Luciana Rondolini. Una obra de lectura “fácil”, accesible para el espectador, cercana a la cultura pop y que apela a la participación de todos los sentidos para tener una experiencia completa frente a ella. La mirada de la artista se centra en cuestionar aquello que el mercado nos vende, donde el “tener” es sinónimo del “ser” y los productos que creemos consumir, a veces no son todo lo que parecen. “La decadencia de todo aquello que uno quiere es la etapa más temida. Y revertirlo esta fuera de nuestro alcance, simplemente porque desafía todas las leyes de la naturaleza. Todo indicio de agotamiento, de senilidad y de fatiga producto de la disolución y la descomposición de la forma, su olor y color, provoca una reacción de disgusto seguida por la angustia y cierta repulsión. Por eso lo nuevo, lo lindo y lo agradable es lo que vende y lo que uno compra con absoluta convicción”, dice.

FIN. Del Infinito. 2018. Trenza. huesos y letras de arcilla y cadenas.

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Todos los sentidos se ven comprometidos frente a muchas de tus obras. Y si sumamos el factor tiempo, la obra muta segundo a segundo: todo se descompone, se desintegra, desaparece. Contanos sobre la elección de los materiales de trabajo y porqué esta búsqueda que se desentiende de la conservación material -sin dejar de lado que tu obra se comercializa en galerías de arte-.

Luciana Rondolini: La elección de materiales responde a un espíritu de disidencia, el de no comulgar con los valores del materialismo impuestos por el mercado. Es un intento de devolver el foco de atención a la experiencia sensorial. Confrontar a la imagen dominante cotidiana con La naturaleza y sus procesos naturales. No hay mejor maestra que ella, es la que nos recuerda quién pone las reglas. He vendido cascaras de banana cubiertas con gemas de plástico que con el tiempo se fueron achicharrando, aunque siendo artista vender obra dentro del mercado del arte es aceptar esta misma lógica capitalista. Por suerte el arte, así como la naturaleza, son y serán independientes del mercado.

FIN. Del Infinito. 2018. Guante. Enduido y piezas de fantasía sobre telgopor tallado.

 

MCB: Un texto de Marcos Kramer para ARTE AL LIMITE (2015) cierra con una reflexión sobre tu trabajo con las frutas encerradas en gemas o las fotos personales relacionadas con famosas celebridades. Me gustaría nos contaras sobre estas series.

LR: Las frutas simbolizan lo ilusorio, la esperanza sin fundamento real de conseguir algo que anhelaba pero que era imposible de conservar. Mis frutan no han sido mordidas, recubiertas por gemas de plástico se van pudriendo sin haber sido probadas. Son alimento que no alimenta, solo brillan por un escaso periodo de tiempo. Me di cuenta que esta situación que había surgido de un sentimiento personal podía aplicarse al manejo de la ilusión que el mercado hace a través de sus iconos y estrellas pop. En nombre de la perfección y la facilidad de la vida y usando como arma el lenguaje y la falsa imagen nos fuimos condicionando y limitado en la búsqueda de la eternidad y la belleza como fuente de poder y sacralidad. En estado material la eternidad no es física y la belleza no es un patrón comparable que te acerca o te aleja del promedio explotable comercialmente sino que es algo que cada uno tiene que descubrir.

My Silver Path. La tensa calma de la superficie curada por Mariano Soto. Centro Cultural San Martin. 2012. Cofre de acrílico y metal. Collares de perlas. Frutas recubiertas de gemas de plástico. Arena y espejos.

 

MCB: Es interesante el contrapunto entre la escultura del 10 metros de un helado hecho en acero y plástico, montado en un edificio de Colonia, Alemania, y la escultura de hielo, efímera, seleccionada en el Premio  Petrobras-2013 para mostrarse en el contexto de una feria de arte internacional como arteBA. ¿Qué nos podes contar de estos trabajos?

LR: “Calamidad cósmica” era una serie de esculturas de hielo con forma de helado de palito que medían un metro ochenta  haciendo referencia a la altura promedio de una persona. Es una metáfora sobre el paso del tiempo y la desintegración del cuerpo dentro del contexto de una feria de arte donde las obras son objetos a la venta. Comparto con el Pop el uso que hace de las estrategias básicas de publicidad para que la obra sea atractiva al que la mira. Si bien sus colores brillantes y la imagen atrayente es una referencia muy presente, mi interés no fue simular la realidad sino que el público estando en la feria pudiera experimentarla, oler el aroma del helado, sentir el frio del hielo y verlo derretirse.

Ultimas Revelaciones. 2015. Instalación. 7 x 2 x 1.5 m. Oleo sobre madera calada. Cadenas con perlas y bijouterie. banana sobre el piso

 

MCB: ¿Porqué tu obra alude tanto a la comida?

LR: El hecho de trabajar con comida tiene que ver con la nutrición. Lo que consumimos diariamente de la realidad que nos rodea. Esa que muchas veces está decorada como una torta de casamiento.

MCB: Tu última muestra “FIN” en la galería Del Infinito se concentra en el fin de las utopías ligadas a los conceptos de belleza, juventud, bienestar adquirido mediante los bienes materiales. ¿Cuál es la manera que encuentras para seguir expresando una inquietud constante en toda tu producción sin repetir fórmulas y siempre buscando un nuevo formato, materiales y hasta estética?

LR: Esta inquietud constante va evolucionando a medida que pasa el tiempo. Comencé trabajando con la idea de la desintegración entendida como lo que se echa a perder inevitablemente, hasta que me di cuenta que mi interés tenía que ver con una potencialidad desperdiciada, que en gran medida era culpa de la manipulación mediática ejercida. Descubrí entonces que es necesario despertar del sueño que nos venden diariamente para encontrar un sentido que sea propio. “Fin” simboliza el final de una antigua búsqueda y el comienzo de un nuevo sentido que al mismo tiempo se convierta en un nuevo fin.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Passeo di Palmyra ’18 concrete and animal skull 22’h x dim var. Photo Cervin Robinson

After I missed seeing Lucy Hodgson’s solo show Hail and Farewell: Tyrants at Play at SOHO20 in Bushwick, I saw the work installed in her studio. I was drawn there, in part, by the passion in her artist statement excerpted here:

As a sculptor and printmaker, my three dimensional works and etchings express outrage at the ongoing obliteration of antiquity due to warring factions. The ingredient that motivates the carnage is, of course, not religion — the trope used to manipulate war— but petroleum. In the Middle East, monuments that took centuries to plan and build have become rubble and dust.  Since the need for fuel – primarily for military purposes at first – arose at the beginning of the 20th century, we have seen ancient cultural heritage sites become magnets for foreign greed and for despotic acts of wanton destruction.

See the Conquering Hero Come, 2018, concrete and steel app. 80’hx 24’w x 30’d photo L. Hodgson

 

My latest constructions represent the ruined temples of Syria and the treasures of Iraq. Hail and Farewell: Tyrants at Play at the SOHO20 Gallery (April 19 – May 20)  is an exhibition in which I try to evoke the senses of desperation and futility that come from seeing beautiful, civilized, cleverly engineered structures wantonly destroyed for political gain. Tiny hands — whose you can guess  — ballooning from the rooftops, salute, wave goodbye, give and revoke assent, and otherwise manipulate the future.  Twisted pipes, wires, rusted bedsprings and machine parts sprout from miniature buildings and columns made from cast concrete. Black “oil spills” made from polyester seep up through the floors threatening to obliterate the whole structure.

In my past work I have protested the extraction and processing of fossil fuels by hydraulic fracturing, or fracking, and drilling– processes which destroy most of the surrounding environment…. 

Farewell to Aleppo 2018, concrete and Envirotek, 24’h ( w. pedestal 72′) x 14′ x 14′ Photo Kate Milford

 

Hodgson’s statement expresses her passion about her subject and what, how, and why her art about ancient art is vital to her. Hodgson presents her themes, materials, and contexts directly yet leaves viewers room to see the metaphors, synecdoches, humor, irony, and shadows:

1. Each art work addresses an aspect of the larger, universal problem, making each
   1. SYNECDOCHE (part of a whole): Hodgson’s pipes and columns symbolize systemic destructions of particular ecosystems and cultures.
   2. extended METAPHORS (direct comparisons). Architectural fragments denote both world heritage sites and human lives.
   3. SYMBOLS: Hodgson’s plumbing pipes symbolize oil pipelines and fracking as well as the resultant pollution of water, air, and land.
2. The installation uses light and shadows to double and triple the drama/impact of the art.

Good to the Last Drop 2011 sassafrass pine and steel 90′ x 14′ x 8′ Cervin Robinson photo

 

The studio is in transition since the artist is moving to Rhode Island soon. Her huge press is already gone. However, she has set up lighting so that I can see Paseo to Palmyra, 2018 (concrete and rodent skull), the passageway of double columns with the same tiny hand on top of each column. These create taller shadows whose symbolism could mean anything from hello to goodbye to “Heil, Hitler”: a multivalent message. The small hands allude to a key authority figure. Hodgson tells me the title and art refer to the Temple of Baal (1st C. A.D.) in Palmyra, Syria, the most important temple in the Middle East, which was destroyed by ISIS in August, 2015. Online images show dramatic pictures of Isis literally blowing it up and also beheading the 82-year-old Director of Antiquities.

Taking it All to a Higher Power, 2017 is a curious tower structure of concrete, wire, Envirotek, and steel pipe. It alludes to the mud towers in Yemen that Freya Stark writes about her 1937-8 accounts in her book A Winter in Arabia.  Clearly, Hodgson’s mud tower alerts us about the country’s poverty as it reminds us of the ongoing civil war.

See the Conquering Hero Come, 2017 could be a horse’s head or a camera; its triple shadows allude to those cast worldwide by the oil industry. The head with curious nobs and pipes stands on a slender pipe with tripod camera legs.

Farewell to Aleppo, 2017 is a multi-column building with a hand waving atop its domed roof. This mourns the destruction of another temple leveled by bombs and war and also represents the thousands of deaths in the region. The hand suggests that the United States, rather than acting like the voice of reason, shares responsibility for the region’s devastation.

Where the Wild Goose Ends Up 2013, goose breastbone and wings, Envirotek, painted wood. 14′ x 14′ x 3′ photo Cervin Robinson

 

Earlier sculpture in the studio includes Good to the Last Drop – from a series on trees being destroyed by fracking, and Where the Wild Goose has Gone – a framed goose breast bone with wing shoulder bones in a wire cage on a black oil (Envirotek) background.

In the studio, some tools are still in their places, but Hodgson’s pending move is forecast in a labyrinth of empty bookcases. These plus three walls of windows at the far end of the studio suggest an artist whose large body of work encompasses a compassionate world view beyond the neighborhood.  See LucyHodgson.com for a fuller picture.

By Jan Garden Castro

Aimee Gilmore, Milkscape (Chamber). Courtesy the artist.

Aimee Gilmore is an artist based in Philadelphia whose current work is intimately connected with her experiences as a mother. Working across a variety of media, from breast milk and baby clothes to neon and rubber, she oscillates between the miraculous moments and the banal aspects of motherhood. Turning over ideas of time and nostalgia, Gilmore’s work deals with the emotions and objects of motherhood by giving voice to an experience that is so often taken for granted. In this interview, Gilmore shares about the trajectory of her work, nostalgia, and the marginalization of motherhood.   

I’d love to know a bit about your work before you became a mother and how the shift in subject played out in your practice. Was it sudden or a slow trickle? A surprising deviation or a logical continuation?

It was definitely a logical continuation to my work, a slow trickle for sure. The work was always focused around the idea of a personal narrative, and I’ve also always looked to my (female) body as a source of inspiration, as I admire and am mystified by its deep complexities. I see the inherent cyclical nature of my (female) body as relating very directly to the ways that I work in my studio; the ebbs and flows of an idea transitioning into reality, the highs and lows of successes and failures, etc. Even before becoming a mother I saw my (female) body as having potential to be a medium or tool for making.

Aimee Gilmore, Chromes. Courtesy the artist.

 

Your work is so tied to your lived bodily experience. Do you see a separation between the two?

I see the two as being very harmoniously connected. My lived, bodily transition into motherhood radically transformed every aspect of my life. Maya was three months old when I started my MFA program. My body was still evolving through the ‘fourth trimester’ of pregnancy, so I was still in recovery mode both emotionally physically. The labor of motherhood lingered in a way I was not prepared for. After a woman gives birth, some of her baby’s cells remain inside of her. Forever. She now carries a piece of that child with her for the rest of her life. I can’t think of a more potent and beautiful metaphor describing the lived, bodily experience of motherhood.

Aimee Gilmore, Milkscape. Courtesy the artist.

 

Your current work seems to be primarily focused on body, objects, and lineage, particularly looking at the materials of mother/childhood that are often treated as vapid or overly nostalgic. How have you co-opted these predominately negative connotations and turned them to your use?

During our collective (and greatly overdue) societal shift towards reassessing national monuments–who they’re for, who they’re of, what they represent–I started connecting how I viewed the material trace of motherhood to monuments. I view the objects that I choose to work with as relics. Relics of smallness and vulnerability but ones that are often discarded or devalued because they are explicitly mundane and evocative of nostalgia. Instead by preserving, coating, encapsulating and highlighting these objects I strive to honor this time in motherhood when you can become so dependent on an object to soothe or comfort or get you through a rough night–monuments to motherhood.

In a similar line of thought, what is your relationship to the idea or process of an archive in terms of nostalgia? From previous conversations, it seems like some of your work almost acts as an archive of your daughter’s life, which can certainly bleed over into questions of sentimentality.

I think we collect and hold into things to allow ourselves the permission to feel reflectively sentimental. A personal consent to relive those memories that maybe we didn’t even realize were so precious while we were experiencing them. Seemingly mundane objects transform when they’re given time to be missed or forgotten. I’m really interested in the negative connotations that exist around objects of motherhood. They’re often referred to as overtly sentimental. But for whom is an object sentimental? And why are they viewed negatively? I find power and comfort in this collective nostalgia shared by mothers. Once you become a mother you will never look at a pair of teeny-tiny socks the same way.

Aimee Gilmore, Mom of the Year. Courtesy the artist.

 

Women and children have traditionally been marginalized and systematically removed of agency. Do you think that this compounds when it comes to motherhood and the societal place of the mother-child relationship?

Absolutely. As a society we still have a lot of work to do in regards to the value, or rather lack thereof, that we place on the labor of motherhood. Mothers and children aren’t granted the space they need to be protected. One example of this bias can be found surrounding breastfeeding. Instead of being acknowledged for what it truly is: a beautiful connection between mother and child, pressed body to body in an intimate exchange, breastfeeding is still treated as something that should be hidden. Designated breastfeeding spaces are often dark, dismal closet-sized rooms meant to hide, not highlight the beauty and raw power of a woman’s body nurturing her child.

Aimee Gilmore, Rubber Dog. Courtesy the artist.

 

I was drawn to this excerpt from your artist statement, “As my body grew through connection, her body grew in preparation to separate. For nearly a year, one person exists as two people.” The way that you write about your work, particularly in terms of your experience as a mother, brought many new layers of poetry and perspective about the constant necessity of building up and letting go involved. How does writing play into your process?

This was actually a huge shift in my studio practice, which started in grad school. I found myself being increasingly dissatisfied with my previous methods of brainstorming. I felt that sketching did not allow my ideas to arrive in their clearest form, so I transitioned into writing as my first step. Initially I saw it as a way of freeing my thoughts from my own judgment. Now the writing at times exists as the work itself. I’ve found that sometimes the words need to be their own thing, co-existing with a piece instead of transforming into one.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Currency Converter, 2016. Various objects, pigment print on archival paper. Courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York . Photo: Jean Vong

Agnieszka Kurant discusses the concept of collective signatures, including one for the façade of the Cleveland Museum of Art. She is the Ida Ely Rubin Artist in Residence at the MIT Center for Art, Science, and Technology.

Agneiszka Kurant:  As we have learned, Facebook gave away personal data of 50 million citizens to Cambridge Analytica for targeted political propaganda purposes. So these theoretically harmless exploitations may not only bring profit to private corporations but also destabilize our democracies. The A.A.I. project allowed me to think about how societies, communities and social movements are creating collective personalities that are like super-organisms with one collective personality/identity. I was inspired by a collective intelligence organism called the slime mold, which despite the lack of any nervous system becomes intelligent in aggregate: if in danger, millions of disparate cells come together and move as one unit. I also thought about the fact that contemporary production is based on crowd creativity. Internet memes resemble the monuments of human imagination such as the Bible and mythologies, which were also created collectively and anonymously. Today these new quasi-monuments circulate and mutate like viruses.

The End of Signature, 2013. LED light sign, housing projects, central Utrecht. Courtesy of TAAK Utrecht. Photo: Jannes Linders

 

The project The End of Signature reflects further on this train of thought – this phantom, dormant capital that can be aggregated when people get together for a social movement or a common cause. I was also thinking that, especially here in America, people are thinking about how little impact they have over politics and over what’s happening in this country. The last presidential election made people realize that actually, even people who are dispossessed, in aggregate, do have an impact and can possibly make a change. It’s not necessarily a change for good but perhaps these aggregated energies can be captured for a good cause, as with the collective intelligence of Wikipedia, where hundreds of thousands of people contribute their work for the common good.

Since 2013, I’ve been creating collective signatures for various communities and social movements. The first time I did it was in Utrecht in the main public square, where a disturbing thing was happening. The center of the city was mostly privatized, but a thousand people were living in a housing project on that formerly public square.  The building is from the ‘70s and three generations are living there, but it became an island of public property in the middle of private property. There was a conversation about whether the space still belonged to them or not. I generated a collective signature by collecting all the signatures of people who lived in this building – of various ethnicities, backgrounds, and ages.

The Half Life of Facts, 2017. Pigment print on archival paper. Courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York and Galeria Fortes D’Aloia and Gabriel, Sao Paulo. Photo: Jean Vong

 

Further on, I have generated signatures for various communities joined by a common cause or a protest movement. For example, I did one for the protest movement last year in Poland against the fascist government, and one for some representatives of the Occupy Wall Street and the Indivisible movements.

In Cleveland, the subject for the 2018 Triennial is: an American City. Cleveland is part of the rust belt, and there’s a conversation about what agency people have in this city, how many are left out, and what is the role of public institutions and the cultural, financial, and intellectual capital that can be harvested. So for this iteration I am generating the collective signature out of the signatures of all the people that contribute to the cultural, financial, and intellectual capital of the Cleveland Art Museum – from the guards, cleaners, and temporary workers to the curatorial staff to the board of this museum. As in earlier instances, I worked with a computer programmer to generate this form using an algorithm created especially for this purpose. The signatures are scanned and then this custom-made program fuses all the signatures into one averaged aggregated form. It will be displayed on the façade of the Cleveland Museum of Art.

Assembly Line, 2017. Realized with the participation of the workers of the Amazon Mechanical Turk online crowdsourcing platform
3d-printed resin, copper, nickel. Courtesy of Tanya Bonakdar Gallery
Photo: Jerry Liu

 

Castro: What is the process for displaying it?

Kurant: I developed a system which allows for rendering visible the flows of energy. In my practice, I collaborate constantly with various professionals, including engineers. I’m working with a high-end light studio in New York. We developed a form which imitates the flow of ink with light. It’s going to be an LED light sign, but it looks like a flow of black ink — as if an invisible hand was perpetually signing the museum wall. It’s all done with light technology. The previous iterations of this piece were done with actual liquid inks .

Castro: This is a further advance of the technology.

Kurant:  Yes. I have been interested in how, in the contemporary world, social energies can be compared to and converted into other forms of energy, e.g. kinetic or electrical. The contemporary economy, in which both money and labor are undergoing gradual dematerialization, relies more and more on the circulation and transformation of energy into and out of form. Economists since middle 19th century have been comparing the principle of conservation of energy in thermodynamics to the conservation of value in economics. A Ukrainian socialist, Sergiey Podolinsky, unsuccessfully tried to persuade Engels and Marx that energy was a more correct value principle than embodied labor. He anticipated that in the future energies will become currencies. After Nixon and the end of the gold standard, the value of money is no longer guaranteed in gold.  Since then, people are looking at energies to see what can guarantee the value of money. A few days ago, Venezuela created a crypto-currency, the value of which is based on their oil resources. The only thing needed to power a digital crypto currency such as Bitcoin is electrical energy, since even the management labor is automated. In the contemporary world, social energies are being mined in the same way that oil or gas or gold were mined before. Today, we no longer know when our labor or social capital is being harvested. Private corporations use behavioral forecasting to capitalize on predictions of our future decisions, movements, and habits. Our interactions are a dispersed social factory. This is complemented by all the trumped up waves of social unrest caused by the bots, the click-farms, troll farms – fake social energies, positive or negative.

Untitled , 2014 . conveyor belt and mirror Courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York Photo: Jean Vong

 

Castro: What are click farms?

Kurant: Entire warehouses stuffed with people who spend all their time clicking and liking pages for money. Troll farms are similar warehouses, in Russia, for example, that are creating dis-information — fake news – and posting it to generate waves of positive or negative energy. All this is being harnessed and harvested by algorithms. In the collective signature, algorithms allow quantification and valorization of social energy. My work is about how aggregated social capital can be used for good causes. Its value can even be calculated.

By Jan Garden Castro

Read more about Kurant.

Boarding Pass. Expo individual, Galería 90, Rio de Janeiro. 2006. Foto: Davy Alexandrisky

Mitad brasilera, mitad argentina, Ileana Hochmann transitó toda su vida los caminos marcados entre el Rio de la Plata y Rio de Janeiro. Con formación en la Escola de Artes Visuais Parque Lage, su obra lleva la impronta de la inmigración/emigración, la fuerza de lo ritual y a su vez se asocia a la generación de los artistas latinoamericanos -más específicamente aquellos contemporáneos al Tropicalismo- y a la renovación que sacudió la idea del objeto artístico tradicional proponiendo una estética propia de la identidad latinoamericana. En este contexto, la obra de Ileana Hochmann indaga sobre su historia personal plasmada en un trabajo autorreferencial sin por ello desconocer el contexto en el cual se inscribe su discurso. La obra muta, se adapta a las posibilidades plásticas y estéticas que ofrece la contemporaneidad, insertándose naturalmente en el contexto internacional, manteniendo su producción consecuente en cuanto a contenido y multidisciplinaria en lo referente a presentación formal de la obra.

Sus obras han sido expuestas en  Galerías y Salones de Arte en Buenos Aires, Copenhague, Roma y Rio de Janeiro. Sus trabajos forman parte de la mayor Colección de Grabado y Objetos de América Latina y varias Colecciones particulares.

Maria Carolina Baulo: Me gustaría empezar con tu relato sobre la importancia que tienen en tu trabajo la “condición carioca”, el judaísmo y la inmigración/emigración, los cuales se ven reflejados en tu obra desde los inicios. 

Ileana Hochmann: La “condición carioca” o también para mí “la condición solar” implica haberme nutrido en mi formación, desde muy joven, en sintonía con los cambios de la década del ’70 en Rio de Janeiro. En lugar de la preeminencia de la forma, se planteaban nuevos estados del arte: el objeto, el concepto y el cuerpo. En cuanto al judaísmo de los antepasados (Rusos), el llevar la palabra escrita bajo el brazo por la prohibición de poseer tierras, ese texto, ese contar (storyboards), esa letra, no necesariamente literal, esa “condición de exilio/pasión” está presente en mi obra. Sobre la inmigración/emigración: En ese flujo de aguas y puertos (Odessa-Rio de Janeiro-Buenos Aires) descubro que las experiencias dejan huellas que intencionalmente, o no, pueden aflorar. Cuando aparece una orilla, desaparece la otra. En ese ir y venir, mi obra alterna entre lo que se ve y la reversibilidad de lo invisible.

Língua de fora com nozinho na caixa. Técnica mixta. 40 x 22cm. Van Riel, 2008. Foto: Davy Alexandrisky

 

MCB: La serigrafía es una de las técnicas que más te definen como artista. Sin embargo la obra no se agota allí: trabajas con fotografía, textiles, objetos e instalaciones. Contanos sobre la elección de la serigrafía como base de tu trabajo y la necesidad de pasar a otros soportes.

IH: La propuesta que elegí desde un principio fue la técnica de serigrafía; rompe con la función de la mera reproducción y repetición de una matriz. Para mí la serigrafía es hoy la técnica más contemporánea ya que permite imprimir sobre cualquier tipo de superficie, ampliando las posibilidades en mi obra, experimentando sobre fotografías, acetatos y otros materiales que me conducen a la tridimensionalidad y a la instalación.  La fotografía está muy presente, a veces como punto de partida para iniciar una serie, como una de las “capas” de mi trabajo. Siendo intervenida, reimpresa y vuelta a intervenir. Finalmente la fotografía de la obra deviene la propia obra. 

Nozinho com a língua de fora. Nudo de papel papiro impreso con serigrafia. Lengua de banano disecada. 10 x 15 cm.
Fotografía: Davy Alexandrisky

 

MCB: Tu obra pareciera estar siempre reelaborando los mismos contenidos pero presentándolos desde distintas perspectivas, cada vez más sintéticos y conceptuales, siempre guardando la estética y el misterio pero en definitiva, contando la misma historia. ¿Cómo se logra sostener esa búsqueda en el tiempo sin que el artista se repita? 

IH: Creo que el hilo conductor de la obra ha sido, al inicio una “analogía histórico-arqueológica” familiar y de la condición femenina. Esa mirada y ese método de producción continúan vigentes, transformándose con el tiempo en acciones poéticas, instalaciones, performances donde el cuerpo, un pájaro, un nudo o un osobuco reelaboran y exceden el ámbito personal de mi obra. Una está siempre diciendo lo mismo, de formas diferentes. A ver, cuando algo me despierta curiosidad, interés, la foto analógica del parto, una letra, seguramente aunque no lo sepa de inmediato ya son elementos de mi vocabulario / lenguaje que subyacen y luego afloran en mi obra.

MCB: Me gustaría que contaras cuáles son los elementos iconográficos que aparecen sistemáticamente en tu trabajo y que dieras un ejemplo de su reelaboración en la presentación plástica, por ejemplo, pasando de lo bidimensional a la tridimensionalidad.

IH: Como te comenté anteriormente, un  pájaro se transforma en sello y deviene ícono. Un texto que se transforma: La materia impresa sumergida en el agua, anudar la palabra, deviene en nudo, un objeto, un ícono. De la imagen impresa bidimensional, surge el objeto tridimensional. Tanto los “rollos” que nunca podemos descifrar completamente, como los acetatos que se retuercen y bailan con la humedad del ambiente, son tridimensionales y son un ejemplo de la reelaboración en la presentación plástica.

11- Tríptico Duro por fora, mole por dentro. Fotografía impresa sobre papel de algodón. 170 x 75 cm. Expo SUB_19. Palacio Pamphili, Roma 2012. Fotografía: Davy Alexandrisky

 

MCB: Sobre tu último proyecto en curso: “Fiz das tripas, corazón”. En esta oportunidad aparece la performance donde te apropias del espacio poniendo tu propio cuerpo en cuestión y donde la obra se completa con una instalación de objetos y fotografías. Contanos sobre este trabajo y esta nueva mirada que asumís.

IH: Hay en mi trabajo siempre una forma de expresarme a través de rituales que resultan en objetos, en obra. “Fiz das tripas, corazón” propone una suerte de “ritual antropofágico”: un video en loop da cuenta de una danza donde se revela parte de una imagen protagonizada por mi donde mi rostro se despliega en el tiempo partiendo de una foto-performance que todo lo que contiene es una imagen tomada en el momento de parir a mi hija hace 40 años. El sonido que acompaña el video es fundamental porque se compone del canto del Uirapurú, cuyo canto es clave en el concepto que integra la obra. Según la leyenda, el canto de este pájaro del amazonas trae bendiciones a quien lo escucha; se oye durante algunos minutos y solo unos 12 días por año, el tiempo en que construye su nido. Cuando canta, los otros pájaros se callan para oírlo trinar, dejando casi en silencio la ruidosa Selva amazónica. Esta obra integra distintos aspectos donde se entrecruzan experiencias concretas con leyendas y estéticas propias del movimiento antropofágico brasileño.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Galeria Schlifka Molina 2014

Nacida en Buenos Aires, Cecilia Mendez Casariego es escultora y docente, formada en Escuela de Bellas Artes “Manuel Belgrano” como Maestro Nacional de dibujo (2002) y Profesora en Artes Visuales (2012). Su formación se completa con las clases de dibujo con Marcia Schvartz en la Escuela de Bellas Artes Ernesto de la Cárcova así como las clínicas de obra con Sergio Bazán y Silvia Gurfein.

CMC se cuestiona sobre las identidades, las apariencias, aquel rostro que nace con uno y aquel que se va transformando con el tiempo en la interacción con el entorno que habita. Y se preocupa por entender cuál de todas esas caras es la verdadera, o quizás todas ellas lo sean. Como escultora, se apoya en la figuración contundente de los gestos expresados en los rostros de los niños, en escalas totalmente disonantes con la realidad lo cual nos permite tomar cierta distancia pero aun así sentirnos tocados, identificados. Dice la artista: “El rostro humano se convierte en superficie de proyección de temas existenciales como la búsqueda de significado e identidad personal, proponiendo una reflexión sobre la persistencia de la existencia humana”.

Diámetro y Caída, Galería Schlifka Molina, 2014 (2)

 

En el 2013 es seleccionada para participar en la Bienal de Arte Joven de Buenos Aires. Participa en diferentes muestras individuales y grupales siendo las más destacadas de la última década: “Los infantes en el paraíso”, Centro Cultural Recoleta (2015); “Diámetro y Caída”, Galería Schlifka Molina (2014); Bienal de Arte Joven, Ciudad Cultural Konex (2013); “Vistiendo época”, Mito Arte Contemporáneo, Uruguay (2013); “Tópica dérmica”, Mito Arte Contemporáneo, Uruguay (2012); “Las Octavas”, La Fábrica Perú (2011); “Verano”, Galería Jardín Luminoso (2010).

Maria Carolina Baulo: Cabezas: el tema principal de tus esculturas ya desde 2012. Aunque creo que sería más exacto hablar de rostros y expresiones, específicamente canalizados a través de la figura de los niños. Contanos sobre esta búsqueda. 

Cecilia Mendez Casariego: Diría que me interesan mucho las personas. Trabajar con rostros es una manera de acercarse, de comprender. Observar niños, bebés, me permite conocer algo oculto, quizá no visible hoy. Es el comienzo de alguien, en un estado de pureza, de no contaminación, previas a su construcción social. Creo que ese fue el punto de partida de mi trabajo. Recopilar fotos de recién nacidos y observar.  Quería descubrir cuáles serían los primeros gestos inherentes a todos los humanos. Nuestros primeros pasos de comunicación. Ese primer diálogo que establecemos me obsesionaba, creo me obsesiona todavía. Al no existir el lenguaje, la comunicación está dada por lo visual.  Trabajo con la fantasía de que el rostro es completamente móvil, se va modificando con nuestras vivencias. La decisión de volverlos volumen es una manera de capturar esa trasmutación. Volver rígido lo móvil. Trabajar el movimiento de la forma.

Saltar con su propio explosivo, porcelana fría, 62 x 55 x 60 cm, 2013, Bienal de Arte Jóven

 

Mirándolas hoy, ya no sé exactamente qué son. A veces me preguntan si son personas muertas. No fueron pensadas de esa manera, pero podrían ser seres previos a la existencia o posteriores. Son rostros que habitan objetos. 

MCB: ¿Qué técnicas y materiales utilizas?  

CMC: La mayoría de las obras están modeladas con porcelana fría. Me interesa este material porque me permite trabajar directamente, sin moldes. Es de secado rápido, no es tóxico y es suave al tacto. Además es ¡bastante económico! El interior de las obras tiene de todo un poco, lo que encuentro para generar volumen. Me divierte mucho construirlas de este modo. Me gustan los accidentes que producen en la forma final estos materiales improvisados. No sé si es importante saber esto para leer la obra, pero a mí me estimula trabajar de esta manera. 

MCB: Renato Rita escribió: “Las inusitadas cabezas que Cecilia apoya en el cuerpo de la imaginación, incitan a una percepción interrogante: ¿podemos sostener ya en este mundo el exacerbado propósito de nuestros sentidos?”. ¿Cómo se identifica tu obra con esta definición?

CMC: Mientras trabajo me hago ese tipo de preguntas. Un conjunto de preguntas sobre el destino, el sentido de la vida, la identidad. Cuáles y cómo son las formas que vamos teniendo. Qué cosas afectan esa transformación. Cómo nos formamos afecta nuestra forma, O siempre hubiéramos sido los mismos. Elijo la cabeza y la escultura para canalizar estas preguntas.

Galeria Schlifka Molina 2014

 

MCB: Sobre la muestra colectiva (Cecilia Méndez Casariego, Cintia García y Sofía Reynal) “Diámetro y Caída” en la galería Schlifka Molina (2014). ¿Cómo funcionaron tus esculturas en diálogo con el trabajo de otros artistas?

CMC: Me gustó cómo se vieron las obras en ese espacio. Estaban desparramadas aleatoriamente por el piso de la galería, por grupos. Interrumpían el paso, aparecía alguna detrás de una pared, miraban por la ventana. No había un diálogo directo con las otras obras, y a la vez sí lo había. Intuitivamente funcionaban bien juntas. Quizá algo de la energía con que habían sido hechas.

MCB: Siguiendo la pregunta anterior, quien fuera el curador de la muestra, Sergio Bazán, calificó tu obra como una suerte de barómetro de los estados de ánimo infantiles que se hace presente tanto en los colores como en los volúmenes. Me interesa especialmente conocer cómo expresas plásticamente estas percepciones.

Esmeralda, porcelana fría, 67 x 62 x 75 cm, 2015

 

CMC: En esas primeras esculturas aparecía más visible la intención de capturar expresiones determinadas. Para mí esos gestos iban teniendo un color. En mi obra actual los gestos y los colores se fueron borroneando. Cómo si ya los hubieran transformado, dejando sólo la huella. Las cabezas se parecen más entre sí, pero a la vez cada una es única y diferente. Como una idea de inventario humano. Me interesa mucho la idea de unicidad de cada uno. Paradójicamente la idea de comunidad también está presente. Siempre pienso las obras como un conjunto.

MCB: ¿Cuáles son los planes para el futuro; ¿ pensás seguir profundizando esta línea de trabajo, tanto en tema como en estética o se te presentan nuevas inquietudes para empezar a desarrollar?

CMC: Estoy preparando una muestra para el Hospital Muñiz, encuadrado en un proyecto que se llama Museo Urbano. Tienen vitrinas en varios hospitales públicos de la ciudad de Buenos Aires. Es un proyecto que valoro muchísimo. Me parece muy loable tener la intención de acercar arte a donde  no llega con un ánimo de sanar. El vínculo entre arte y salud me interesa. Estoy trabajando con figuras humanas en escala real materializadas en algodón. Estas figuras estarán ubicadas en una caja de vidrio. Uno cae y el otro quiere escapar. También haré una muestra para Fundación Osde. Al estar sobre la calle, será vista por un público masivo. Me resulta un desafío trabajar en esculturas de mayor escala. Entre mis primeras obras había retratos de personas cercanas a mí, otras no tanto.  Tres de ellas poseen hoy en día una condición, cada una diferente pero que requiere un tratamiento, una atención especial. Tengo la intención de volver sobre esas imágenes ahora atravesadas por un proceso de recuperación. Estoy trabajando con otros materiales para simbolizar ese proceso. Los rostros poseen parches, cascos, máscaras, interrupciones. Un rescate.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Agnieszka Kurant A.A.I (10-15) 2017 Termite mounds built by colonies of termites from colored sand, gold and crystals .Courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York . Photo: Dylan Wilson

“My work is about how aggregated social capital can be used for good causes. Its value can even be calculated.” – Agnieszka Kurant

Agnieszka Kurant  is preparing to install one of her collective signatures on the façade of the Cleveland Museum of Art. She is the Ida Ely Rubin Artist in Residence at the MIT Center for Art, Science, and Technology. Her commission for the SFMOMA was launched earlier this month.  In 2017, Kurant’s recent exhibitions include a solo show at SCAD MoA in Savannah and at the CCA in Tel Aviv and commissions for Guggenheim Bilbao and for Bonner Kunstverein. In 2015 she did a commission for the façade of the Guggenheim Museum, New York. In 2013-2014, the artist presented a major solo exhibition at the Sculpture Center, New York.

The End of Signature. Guggenheim Museum facade. sight specific light projection, 2015_ variable dimensions

 

Kurant was born in Łódz, Poland in 1978. She gave Sculpture the following exclusive peek at the science and thinking behind some of her innovative projects.

Jan Castro: When did you come to the United States?

Agnieszka Kurant: I came here six and a half years ago, first on an artist’s residency. Very early on, I was lucky enough to meet the curators of the Guggenheim Museum and started working on my commission for the Guggenheim in New York, which was exhibited in 2015 on the museum’s façade and inside the rotunda. And so I stayed.

Castro: Your works are technically sophisticated. How did you get started as an artist?

Agnieszka Kurant A.A.I. System’s Negative, 2016. Zink. Courtesy of Tanya Bonakdar Gallery. Photo: Dylan Wilson

 

Kurant: My background was in philosophy and in curating. I never studied art. I was always interested in complex and hybrid forms and structures and in complex systems in both nature and culture. The piece you told me you like, The Phantom Library, is a good example of what I’m talking about. It consisted in conducting an extensive research into fictional books that were invented by various writers and described in their books.  For example, Kurt Vonnegut or Philip K. Dick would describe a fictional book written by a fictional writer. Sometimes these books were described in great detail, yet they were not written.  One master of these kinds of reviews of nonexistent books was Polish science fiction writer Stanislaw Lem whose whole book called Perfect Vacuum consists of reviews of nonexistent books that he invented. I started thinking: this is frozen, potential, phantom capital — like frozen patents for unrealized products, which technology calls “vaporware”. I extracted the descriptions of these fictional books, and I produced volumes that were designed and printed. I acquired ISBN numbers and bar codes for these books to give them an economic identity. They were fabricated as mass produced objects but the printing press was stopped after one copy. So they are mass produced unique multiples. I gave some of these books to the Library of Congress and to other libraries.

Castro: Is anything inside the books?

Kurant: No. They have elaborate covers with any information that we can deduct about their possible content from a given source book, but they are empty inside. I invited a number of writers to actually write these phantom books. They have been working on their books for a few years now and hopefully these books will be published one day and replace the empty pages. Some writers who heard about the project have contacted me.

Castro: I’ll write one!

Kurant: Everyone’s invited to do it. My piece consists of fragments of content that were envisioned by all these writers. I’m aggregating these concepts invented by different authors into a new hybrid form. This piece has a hybrid status on multiple levels. I have been invited to talk about it at conferences about art and law because of its complex copyright status. It’s also open-ended, so we may be adding other books to it. Of course, I’m the author in terms of curating it and co-designing it, but essentially, it has a wide input from various agents, and many of my works operate this way. I use aggregation and amalgamation methods fusing or morphing together molecules or identities and labor of human and non-human agents.

Castro: Let’s now move to your signatures piece. You’ve done iterations of it at the Guggenheim Museum and you’re doing one at the Cleveland Museum this summer. Would you talk about the collective nature of the signature and the technological aspect.  At your solo exhibition, I saw the moving pen that signs and erases itself. Such a beautiful tromp l’oeil.

Agnieszka Kurant The End of Signature. 2014 Glass tubing, water pump, ink, water

 

Kurant: My practice of the past few years has been centered around this phenomenon called collective intelligence — a property of the so-called complex systems. A complex system can be a colony of termites, a city, a society, the Internet, the human brain. Complex systems have a multiplicity of agents or units or elements that, in aggregate, produce an unexpected, nonlinear result that is impossible to foresee. It’s an emergent result. The project you saw at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, entitled A.A.I. started a few years ago and continues until today. A.A.I.  stands for artificial artificial intelligence – a term introduced by Amazon founder Jeff Bezos to describe online labor on a crowd-sourcing platform which he established. I basically set up what I call a “soft exploitation” factory in Florida, where, together with an entomology lab, I am outsourcing my sculptures to colonies of living termites. Termites are an interesting species because they have the most complex social structure after humans. They are more complex than apes, bees, and ants.

Castro: How did you discover this?

Kurant: I read a lot about science and social science, so it was fascinating to me to learn that termites have a social structure like a class society that consists of various strata of farmers, soldiers, nurses, and foragers. Entire groups of farmer termites cultivate mushrooms inside the termite mounds. What distinguishes them from other species like bees and ants is that they build sustainable monumental abstract shapes that resemble pyramids or temples of human civilizations.

Agnieszka Kurant Phantom Library , 2011-2012 embossed canvas, silkscreen on paper and cardboard, thermochromic pigment on paper, gold leaf, silver leaf, offset print on paper Courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York and Galeria Fortes D’Aloia and Gabriel, Sao Paulo. Photo: Jean Vong

 

Something really interesting happens. Each colony that consists of about a million species produces some kind of collective personality that is distinct and different from other colonies. We can think of the shapes and forms of the termite mounds as a product of what each personality is like – fast and mobile or sluggish and non-curious. Each shape is different and unique.  This was perfect to use as a system of production of sculptures where a single artist is replaced (or helped) by a multiplicity or non-human agents. The termites are almost blind, so you can give them other materials to work with – pigmented sand, broken crystals, gold particles.  I work with Dr. Paul Bardunias, and we sectioned off part of a lab at Florida University in Fort Lauderdale.

Over the course of a few months, each termite colony built its own monument.  At the end, we let the termites leave, we seal the structures with resin, and then I exhibit the finished termite mounds-sculptures. This is an ongoing factory of sorts since 2014. I am using this experiment to talk about different kinds of very soft and invisible exploitations that happen in human societies. For example, our data is being exploited by corporations and platforms such as Google, Amazon or Facebook who sell our personal data to advertising companies. We’re not really being harmed by it in a similar way that these termites were not really harmed by me. The termites didn’t see the difference between ordinary sand and building sculptures for me that I could exhibit in museums and galleries and sell. It’s a model of soft exploitations that we witness constantly in our societies.

By Jan Garden Castro

Shezad Dawood (b. 1974, London); Kalimpong; 2016; virtual reality; © Shezad Dawood; courtesy of Timothy Taylor, London/New York

Shezad Dawood’s neon “Wrathful Activity, Fierce Energy,” his bronze and cement digital sculptures, his virtual reality work “Kalimpong,” and his de-materialized collage/paintings at the Rubin Museum  are worth visiting through January 28, 2019. They add up to a spectacular show in many media. This London-born and London-based artist has a Ph.D. from Leeds Metropolitan University and is a research fellow in experimental media at the University of Westminster. His feature film Piercing Brightness (2013) has been shown at film festivals and at the Museum of Modern Art, New York; Dawood has also published two books and many articles. “Kalimpong”  was a physical and psychological thrill to experience.

Jan Castro: How did you decide to create a wrathful deity for the Rubin Museum lobby?

Shezad Dawood: Thinking about the world situation, it needed something iconic and playful that would, in a tangential way, address the moment.

Castro: Is a wrathful deity’s third eye in the forehead different from other deity third eyes?

Dawood: The wrathful deity isn’t actually bad. It’s almost akin to homeopathy where you take poison to fight poison. Wrathful deities, although they have a demonic form, are considered guides and not obstacles. Instead of using you as a doormat, they help you transcend obstacles.

Shezad Dawood (b. 1974, London); Wrathful Activity, Fierce Energy; 2018; neon on black painted board; 112.6 x 66.9 in. (286 x
170 cm); ©Shezad Dawood; courtesy of Timothy Taylor, London/New York

 

Castro: Perfect! You told me you were brought up with a healthy relativism – a combination of…

Dawood: Sufism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and a touch of Christianity.

Castro: And your background is Pakistani…

Dawood: Indian, Pakistani and British.

Castro: Were these sculptures made using CAD programs?

Dawood: Exactly. In all of my work, I’m interested not in the binary of figuration or abstraction but being more in the middle. I like that tension between aspects of figuration and abstraction that co-exist. So, hence, even using a seemingly figurative wrathful deity in the neon is representing an abstract state of consciousness, state of mind.  Similarly, with these [portrait busts of Alexandra David Neel and Ekaik Awaguchi, a Japanese monk].

Shezad Dawood (b. 1974, London); Kalimpong (Alexandra David-Néel); 2016; bronze and concrete; 63 7/8 × 11 7/8 × 13 in. (162.24 x 30.16 cm); THE EKARD COLLECTION

 

Castro: I was reading Alexandra David Neel when I was your age.

Dawood:  She was like my Indiana Jones. I started reading her as a teenager.

Castro: What a beautiful construction – her face from three different ages…

Dawood: …which you can see as you move around the bust.  These are what I term “quantum busts” because they try to depict somebody not just at one isolated point in their life—I always had a healthy skepticism of the Western portrait bust tradition where it’s isolated at one point in time whereas we’re constantly evolving, morphing beings through the experiences we have, through our interactions—we’re not static. I’m very interested in how you move from a static to a more kinetic art work.

Castro:  And the material is…

Dawood: That’s also quite interesting. In the same way I’m interested in the tension between figuration and abstraction, I’m interested in a tension between the digital and the traditional. Actually, the upper part of the sculpture is bronze, and you can see that I’ve gone to great lengths to conceal that it’s bronze.

Castro: You have.

Dawood: And the base is concrete. I like to combine these multi-layered tensions.

Castro: How did you treat the bronze to make it look so matte and granite-like?

Dawood:  Because of the whole Himalayan setting, I was interested in having the mountain come through Alexandra, and a lot of her writings that I was influenced by as a young man were about her journeys in the mountain ranges above Kalimpong and I wanted something of that crystalline tesseract geometry that’s in natural rock formations. Alexandra and the landscape became inseparable. It was also a way to think about the movement between her different ages and the ages of rock, stone, and the mountain itself. It’s quite a labor to turn the bronze that way; it is coated, sprayed, layered, and, because I wanted it to have something between the texture of compacted snow and ice, I worked on it very delicately with a brush all over adding little crystalline synthetic elements to give it that combination of matteness and reflectivity.

Castro: Wow. Again, ironic to make a bronze that looks like compacted snow.

Dawood: And to make a bronze from something that began digitally. I love all those contradictions.

Castro: Did you fabricate it in London or here?

Dawood: In Madrid. I go there to finish all my sculptures.

Shezad Dawood (b. 1974, London); Kalimpong (Ekai Kawaguchi); 2016; bronze and concrete; 63 1/10 × 12 4/5 × 13 in. (160.27 x 32.51 cm); © Shezad Dawood; courtesy of Timothy Taylor,
London/New York

 

Castro: Your other sculpture is Ekai Kawaguchi (1866-1945).

Dawood: He was a Japanese Buddhist monk who found Japanese Buddhism not austere enough, so he snuck across into Tibet and became very close to the thirteenth Dalai Llama, and he set up Alexandra David Neel’s first meeting with the Dalai Llama. I wanted the two of them speaking to each other across this space. Then, somehow, as viewers, we’re between them and in conversation with them. Sculpture is part of the human need to fight materiality: to take something static and make it dance.

Castro:  And you designed this tantric wall paper?

Dawood:  Yes, it’s part of a conversation about figure and ground; this push-pull dynamic.

Castro:  In your collage/painting, House I, are you de-materializing the landscape?

Dawood: It is a deconstruction of landscape.  To really understand the work is to understand how a similar process is happening though different media. I generally am interested in pulling the rug out from under binary thinking, and more interested in seeing opposites as a spectrum along which, as an artist, one can move—and in using that movement to interrogate the materiality that one is working with—both the materiality of the medium, whether painting or sculpture, but also philosophical materialism—you know, to what extent we exist.

Shezad Dawood (b. 1974, London); House 1; 2016; acrylic, screen print, and textile on canvas; 63 x 43 3/4 in. (160.02 x 111.13 cm);
© Shezad Dawood; courtesy of Timothy Taylor, London/New York

 

Castro:  Let’s discuss the aspects of House I.  The bottom is hand-sewn quilting of found fabrics?

Dawood:  Yes. This one is a vintage piece of Nepalese origin. Above it, you can see  raw unbleached canvas. A mixture of stitching, printing, and painting come together to create the final bricolage result in the painting. It’s about questioning the whole picture plane in the painting as a kind of stretched object on the wall. It’s also de-materializing the subject matter at the same time — as you picked up on. Kalimpong is an obscure, forgotten town in India, but in its day, there was a lot going on there.

Castro: Have you been there? What was its symbolism for you?

Dawood: It’s in West Bengal. A number of things led me there, and the first was that Alexandra David Neel met the thirteenth Dalai Llama above Kalimpong in 1912. She also talks about meeting sorcerer monks in the caves above Kalimpong. I discovered other narratives around Kalimpong…  I’m interested in its layers—one of my books  explores the narratives of Kalimpong—that’s how I keep a set of dialogs from the past into the present. My books manifest the process and the thinking in a different way.

By Jan Garden Castro

Vista de exposición “Maleza sin pies ni cabeza” en Machete, galería de arte contemporáneo. 2017

La artista argentina Sol Pipkin, con 34 años, despliega una interesante trayectoria. Luego de distanciarse del diseño gráfico se formó de manera autodidacta y en diferentes talleres de artistas y teóricos como Diego Bianchi, Eduardo Navarro, Mónica Girón, Santiago García Navarro, Carlos Huffmann, Pablo Siquier, Ernesto Ballesteros y Karina Peisajovich.  También fue becaria del Programa de artistas 2010 de la Universidad Torcuato Di Tella. Su obra fue exhibida en museos y espacios culturales tales como el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Rosario, Centro Cultural de España en Buenos Aires, Centro Cultural Borges, Museo de la Lengua y Centro Cultural Recoleta; en 2014 expuso su trabajo Piltriquitrón Inside en el Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires. En 2011 fue seleccionada para los Premios Andreani y Curriculum 0 y en 2012 para el Premio Lucio Fontana del Consulado de Italia. En el 2013 ganó el premio Estímulo Coleccionistas Argentinos del Salón Nacional de Rosario y en 2014 el Premio Artista Joven de arteBA. En 2013 junto a Flor Caterina creó En el piso de arriba, seminario de experimentación e investigación en las metodologías de trabajo de la producción de obra. En 2015 fue seleccionada para la residencia coordinada por Móvil en San Martin de los Andes, Patagonia Argentina. En 2017 fue una de las artistas seleccionadas para ARCO Madrid en la sección Focus, con curaduría de Inés Katzenstein. En septiembre comenzó una residencia de trabajo en el Museo Experimental del Eco en la Ciudad de México, la cual termina con una exhibición titulada Maleza sin pies ni cabeza en Machete.

Sol Pipkin Escuche el pulso de la tierra 2017 Papel maché y témperas 36 x 26 cm

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Cuando empecé a leer sobre tu trabajo me llamó la atención que hagas hincapié en las malinterpretaciones, los descubrimientos insólitos, el lado poético de la materia más que el plástico como punto de partida o inspiración para la reflexión. ¿Cómo se plasma ese “malentendido” en la obras?  

Sol Pipkin: Para mí el arte es la mejor herramienta que tenemos para modificar en nosotros mismos la percepción y el entendimiento cotidiano de la realidad y como nos movemos en ella. Cuando trabajo intento correrme de la lógica habitual, ampliar mi conciencia de todo lo que puede decir una ramita por ejemplo o escuchar lo que hablan las piedras, para eso los caminos de la incerteza, de lo erróneo, de lo que no tiene sentido aparente son mejores que lo aprendido. Correrse de la “correcta” interpretación del mundo es la única forma de ganar terreno a la invención. Confío en que esa forma de trabajar queda plasmada en lo que hago dando lugar a los que se acercan a buscar sus propias formas de entenderlas. 

MCB a Domitila Bedel (Directora de Machete): ¿Qué hace que una galería apoye a un artista; qué tipo de conexión estética y ética vincula a las partes? Además tengamos en cuenta que estamos hablando de una artista argentina siendo representada por una galería en México y no en su país de origen, algo más habitual de lo que solemos imaginar… 

DB: Creo que cada galería tiene su propia visión. La mía es vincularme directamente con los procesos creativos detrás de cada artista. Al trabajar con artistas emergentes o comenzando a ser referentes contemporáneos, me interesa que hablen de su propia visión del mundo a través de sus obras y sus procesos y creer en esa visión del mundo y parecerme necesaria para una conversación mas grande.

Sol Pipkin Mensaje literal 2017 Hoja de plátano seca y pintura acrílica 27 x 48 cm

 

MCB: Sobre la muestra en el MAMBA, “Piltriquitrón Inside” –que significa “montaña colgada de las nubes”-(2014). Entiendo que la presencia de la montaña tiene un atractivo especial sobre tu obra. En esta muestra se combina un homenaje con el paisaje que contiene al cerro Piltriquitrón; contanos sobre esta experiencia. 

SP: Esas montañas enmarcan el lugar donde nací y me crié, y ese paisaje tan especial está repleto de sabidurías silenciosas: gente que hace en su cotidiano solitario en el campo, con muy pocos recursos y sin medios de comunicación más que una radio, pero con mucha creatividad y respeto por la tierra que habitan. Es a eso que siento un profundo agradecimiento y siento el deber de honrar y defender frente a los indiscriminados negocios inmobiliarios, la minería y venta de tierras con reservas de agua a extranjeros. Así fue que en Piltriquitrón Inside me inspiré en el trabajo de un gran maestro para la zona que revalora las viviendas de adobe, Jorge Belanko. Y en la vida y obra de Fidelia Aillapan, campesina que recuperó tierras estatales que iban a ser convertidas en campos de golf, para que regresen a ser una escuela pública, además de increíbles cultivos. 

Sol Pipkin Deje una señal de silencio para otra persona 2017 Jícara, cuerda de ixtle, hojas de elote, hilo de algodón, semillas y témpera Medidas variables, aprox. 29 x 15 x 290 cm

 

MCB: La última muestra individual en la galería Machete en 2017, “Maleza sin pies ni cabeza”, involucra activamente al espectador, lo invita a poner el cuerpo y relacionarse con los elementos –orgánicos en su mayoría- que forman las obras. Dice el texto de Domitila: “Muchas de estas obras no resistirán el paso del tiempo, y no tiene importancia. Su existencia material es una excusa: el deseo que las nace y las hace es permanecer para siempre en un cuerpo que fue transformado por la experiencia”. Cuéntennos sobre este trabajo. 

SP: Ampliar el entendimiento es fundamentalmente para nosotros, occidentales de este tiempo, alejarnos de lo intelectual, de la experiencia mediatizada, para dar lugar a otras percepciones: recuperar el cuerpo! Cerrar los ojos, escuchar, oler, sentir y que las imágenes que se formen dentro nuestro luego de esa experiencia no sean el rapidísimo y ultra codificado signo de lo visual. Despertar la sensibilidad y empatía con la materia orgánica que es la misma de lo que estamos hechos y que como la cascarita seca, tampoco durará para siempre, pero que aquí y ahora, es una frágil belleza inspiradora. 

DB: El trabajo de Sol siempre invita y considera “al otro” se completa siempre con el espectador. La mirada, la presencia del otro complemente y aumenta. En este caso cuando Sol llego a Mexico a hacer su residencia en el Museo experimental El Eco que daría fruto a esta exposición vivimos en Mexico dos terremotos muy grandes. El último nos dejó de cabeza literal y Sol tuvo la sensibilidad para poder crear en el espacio expositivo de la galeria un refugio para estos cuerpos movilizados y necesitando un remanso y a la vez activar belleza. 

MCB: Para ARCO 2017, Sol presentó una obra que pareciera tener más que ver con un espacio ritual, natural, místico que con el mundo tecnológico que nos desborda; una suerte de revalorización de la percepción. ¿Cómo recibió la gente este trabajo en el contexto de una feria de arte? 

Sol Pipkin Deje una señal de silencio para otra persona 2017 Jícara, cuerda de ixtle, hojas de elote, hilo de algodón, semillas y témpera Medidas variables, aprox. 29 x 15 x 290 cm

 

SP: Es difícil generar espacios de conexión y sensibilidad en un espacio de feria de arte, pero creo que le sacamos partido a eso mismo. Teníamos un stand con grandes paredes en el que pusimos pequeñísimas obras, y en el centro del espacio una gran escultura que funciona como puerta giratoria tejida en cobre y bronce, como un atrapa sueños. La gente se veía atraída primero a la escultura y luego se acercaba a esas silenciosas paredes con pequeñas obras, y ahí se producía esa intimidad con la materia. Me puso feliz ver a muchas personas quedarse contemplando de cerca y seguir caminando más despacio que como habían llegado.

DB: La recepción de esos trabajos – que fueron presentados por la galería Sly Zmud- fue maravillosa.

MCB: Para Sol: ¿Cuál es tu relación con los materiales, cómo los elijes para integrarse en un todo en tus instalaciones, dado que tu obra en general, supera la instancia del plano? Tomemos por ejemplo tu última muestra en Machete.

SP: En general trabajo con materiales de la naturaleza que mezclo con materiales industriales como metales o tejidos. La mayoría de los materiales aparecen en caminatas y en México aparecieron de los recorridos por los increíbles mercados y caminatas por las calles. En las veredas me encontré con señoras que vendían sus frijoles recién desenvainados o sus tejidos hechos en el momento. La forma en que se integran en una instalación depende del espacio y el trabajo de montaje, que es en sí misma otra obra, para lograr esa integridad trabajo de la misma forma que en cada una de las pequeñas obras que realizo: intuición y escucha.  Puede sonar un poco idealista, pero realmente funciona… si no me creen pruébenlo!

MCB: En mínimas palabras, ¿qué dirían cada una de ustedes que la obra nos quiere transmitir, contar, su idea, su concepto primordial?

SP: Intento que mis obras digan lo que yo no puedo decir. Que digan lo que cada uno necesite escuchar para despertar algo dormido.

DB: Para mí la obra de Sol quiere despertarnos con una mirada holística (no me gusta esta palabra pero la necesito) del arte en esta vida digital y a veces demasiado controlada y controladora. Adoro la libertad que Sol tiene como bandera, es una postura estética, ética y política que creo totalmente necesaria.

Maria Carolina Baulo

The Bomb, 2018. Wood, metal, paper, styrofoam, paint. (13.5in x 6in x 8.5in)

Tmima is an internationally renowned Israeli artist. At sixteen she was accepted to the Bezalel Academy of Arts in Jerusalem on a full scholarship, where she ultimately graduated. After graduating she received the American-Israeli Cultural Foundation Scholarship and moved to Europe, following the stirring urge of a friend to showcase her work around France, Italy and Switzerland. Tmima is a prolific, disciplined and talented artist who has been exhibited in many museums, galleries and permanent collections around the world. She left Paris to live in SoHo, Manhattan, where she increased her focus on sculptures.

Perfect Storm, 2018. Wood, metal, paper, leather, plastic. (44.75in x 15.5in x 9.75in)

 

Tmima’s artwork forces the contemporary eye and mind to deal with personal experiences. Her approach to the subject matter in her sculptures advocates fluctuation and originality as she never creates the same piece twice; her sculptures shift from historical events to themes like war, religion, loss, abuse, survival and memory, as well as modern socio-political issues. Influenced by Bauhaus, Arte Povera and Abstract Expressionism, her sculptures and paintings reveal the truth behind mundane materials and traditional craftsmanship using simple forms that seem to be reproduced with ease, although her processes and techniques beg to differ.

Payment In Full, 2018. Wood, paper, metal, styrofoam, paint. (32in x 11in x 10in)

 

Tmima is drawn to various and often unusual materials for their symbolic potency which references time and patterns of life, death and decay. Stones have a resonance for the artist both as a material and a subject matter, as her paintings constantly draw geometrical stone-carved people, or animals, and her sculptures utilize the organic shape of the stone to express a vitality, or suffering, intrinsic to her past memories. Also, derived from her interest in history and knowledge, Tmima often uses books in her sculptures to create a dialogue between the artwork and the viewer. The books function as containers of meaning which portray the civilizations’ political silenced issues. Her use of unconventional materials in her sculptures exposes a revitalized awareness of the symbologic ideas of everyday non-art resources in order to express the remembrance of her past.

The Invisible Wall, 2017. Wood, metal, fabric, paper, resin. (34.5in x 13in x 12in)

ML: When did you start making art?
I can’t remember not. I had to express myself through art. It was the only way to survive.

ML: What were you painting back then?
I was painting the whole neighborhood. I was commissioned to paint graffiti. It was always a way of survival.

Joseph Hirsch, 2016. Stone. (22.2in x 11 x 7.5in)

ML: How do you transform your materials?
I stress them by carving, dissolving, cutting and painting, but you need to know when to stop.

ML: What is the meaning behind working with stones?
I love stones. Stones for me are living things. The stones I choose have the feeling that I need, that I can see myself or that have the shape which I can mold.

Exposed, 2016. Metal, wood, fabric, paper. (11in x 11.5in x 8.75in)

 

ML: Why did you build such big studio spaces in your house to showcase your art?
You can judge your work the best in a large studio. Art completely changes as soon as you put it in wide and tall space.

Seasons, 2009. Oil, pastel on museum board. (4.12in x 4.75in)

 

Tmima’s art will be showcased on April 28th at ISC’s 4th annual International Sculpture Day.

Michele Lorusso is a writer and photographer based in New York.

Idem

Maria Santi, artista visual, es Lic. en Artes Plásticas por la Universidad de la Plata con un posgrado en el UNA Visuales en Especialización en Medios y Tecnologías para la Producción Pictórica. Su obra se vincula con su entorno inmediato el cual está inserto en un ámbito que gravita entre lo citadino y lo natural y donde tiene oportunidad de trabajar en contacto con esa naturaleza que la remite a cuestionamientos sobre el origen. “Trabajo creando una estructura en la que se lleva a cabo un dialogo entre el poder del material, la imagen visual y la experiencia personal. En particular estoy interesada en la fusión de representaciones de imágenes de la naturaleza como también en explorar el sexto sentido o instinto que posee el mundo natural, así como el sentido primordial de la pureza y la belleza. Este instinto se relaciona directamente con el proceso intuitivo que está activo en mi pintura”, dice Maria. Su trabajo parte de la organicidad de la materia y se transforma mediante la pintura.

El Ultimo Día del Verano. Video. 2015.

 

Maria Santi desarrolló una carrera que la ha llevado a exponer en prestigiosas galerías internacionales así como centros culturales y la habilitó para participar de residencias internacionales principalmente en Finlandia y Alemania. Expuso en Galería Praxis (New York), HotHouse-Pilotenkueche (Leipzig); en Buenos Aires: Galería Praxis, Fundación Lebensohn, Museo de Bellas Artes Bonaerense en La Plata, Fondo Nacional de las Artes, Galería Arte x Arte, Galería Isidro Miranda, entre otros. Su obra ha sido seleccionada y premiada en salones, concursos y bienales entre las que se destacan en la última década la Bienal Nacional de Pintura Rafaela (2017), VI Salón Nacional de Pintura Vicentín (2017), Summa Madrid, Galería Casa Cuadrada. Madrid (2014), Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales. Dibujo. Palais de Glace, Bs. As (2014), Concurso ‘200 años La Moneda’ Gran Premio Banco Provincia. Dibujo. Bs. As. (2013), Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales. Pintura. Palais de Glace.Bs. As. (2012), Premio Estimulo Bonifacio del Carril. Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes.(2009), Bienal Premio Federal. Bs. As. (2008). Su formación es contante, tomando clínicas con teóricos y artistas de trayectoria ebtre los que se destacan Tulio de Sagastizábal, Fabiana Barreda, Escuela de Proyectos. Galería Arte x Arte, entre otros. Desde el 2009 pertenece al staff permanente de artistas de Galería Praxis International Art, Argentina y New York.

True Color. Painting and object. Oil on canvas. 260 cm x 100 cm. 2017

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: El punto central en tu obra estaría dado por la relación que se establece entre la naturaleza, el paisaje interior y cómo eso se traduce plásticamente; “GonnetLandscape” pareciera ser un buen ejemplo para ilustrar esta relación. 

María Santi: El paisaje interior, la sensación del entorno natural, es lo que construye las obras. Más que la representación del paisaje, estas obras intentan captar fenómenos de la naturaleza que existen, y relacionarlos a otros inventados, exponiendo materiales y tiempos. Haciendo prevalecer lo intuitivo por sobre lo premeditado.

MCB: Contanos sobre los procesos técnicos y los materiales 

MS: El uso de técnicas mixtas en mi practica, crea un dialogo entre la imagen pintada y la marca hecha a mano y la mezcla de materiales dispares. Soy muy libre y experimento con materiales diversos a la hora de proyectar una obra o un cuerpo de obra. En cuanto al la técnica utilizada, también forma parte de un proceso de prueba donde el material o materiales usados refiere al concepto y se enlaza con el material base, como la mejor alianza posible. 

Idem

 

MCB: “Camouflage” permite ver el pasaje de la pintura en un formato instalación. ¿Cuál es el desafío y la necesidad que se te presenta para salir del plano? 

MS: Este proyecto surge de la idea de realizar una instalación, pensada desde el lenguaje de la pintura y la exploración sensorial propia. Poniendo de relevancia las formas o modos de ver y los modos de percibir. Transitando la pintura desde una multiplicidad de posibilidades matéricas, e incluyendo el video en loop. Implicando el cuerpo del espectador,  generando una experiencia de alta visualidad en donde el hipnotismo se transmuta y proyecta en imagen. Provocando la interpolación de sentidos en el mismo instante en la cual la obra se construye y se transforma en vivo.

MCB: Una vez más, poner el cuerpo teniendo jugando con el entorno, el paisaje, los materiales el espacio y tiempo donde todos los elementos se ensamblan, es la estrategia en obras como “Lo eterno y lo efímero”, “The Common Place can be Extraordinary” y “Timeless Path: To make visible the invisible”. Dibujo e instalación se fusionan en tu trabajo. Contanos sobre estas experiencias desarrolladas en el marco de las residencias internacionales.

MS: Las primeras dos son instalaciones de dibujo, sobre grandes soportes de papel espejado que implican al espectador haciéndolo ingresar en la obra de una manera distorsionada.  En cuanto a Timeless Path, es un work in progress que comenzó en una residencia en Finlandia. En este proyecto trabajo mediante la hibridación  del lenguaje fotográfico, el dibujo y el video. Es un trabajo que se inicia como proyecto en residencia con la flora autóctona de Finlandia, con la característica de trabajo inacabado, sin forma definitiva, como álbum de hojas móviles.

Armadura /Encarnadura. Performance. 2015

 

MCB: A tu trabajo “True Color” lo defines como “la pintura es pensamiento”…

MS: La serie True Color se fue gestando en una residencia en Berlin. En esta serie de obras cuestiono la pintura como preocupación en sí misma y su anatomía, explorando y desarrollando mi propio idioma con un vocabulario que espero mantenga la voz de mi pintura en curso. La pintura es pensamiento 

MCB: Contanos sobre tu producción actual y el video “El último día del verano”

MS: Esta presentación forma parte de una sucesión de trabajos de valor performático en los que opero sobre la naturaleza a partir de una acción pictórica. Utilizando un material pictórico biodegradable, pinto a lo largo de un jornal cada hoja, cada tallo, cada rama de un recorte de la naturaleza. En el trayecto de esta labor, me relaciono con el entorno, experimentándolo desde la resistencia, tanto física como emocional; también repensándolo en una narrativa desde su mismo centro, viviendo el paisaje a partir de lo íntimo.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Round About (detail). Steel, Acrylic. 66 x 60 x 13 1/2. 2018

Miriam Ancis is among the dozens of artists whom curators and artists recommended to me in January. I first met Miriam at the New York Foundation for Arts in 2017 when she showed me abstract conceptual work she was developing. We exchanged twenty-seven emails as I also exchanged countless emails with other innovative artists.  More on my artist selection process at the end.

Ancis, who has an MFA from Parsons, had her first solo show in 1995. Just prior to Parsons, she was ordained a reform rabbi where she focused on the anthropology of visual symbols. After years of intertwining sculpting with teaching and officiating at life cycle events, Ancis gave up the rabbinate and now works exclusively as an artist. Ancis’s early art includes Hearth, a primal working fireplace in her studio with 13-foot-high ceilings and great natural and electric light. Hearth’s sides are giant round coats of arms or breasts. Roots or hair-like protuberances sprout beneath the mantle, and a giant bone-shaped club rests on top. The fire-darkened void for wood gives Hearth further sexual nuances. Nearby, another early piece, Spool, 1993, spins fine mohair into a waist-high pear shape.

Hearth: Plaster, Metal armature over brick. 106 x 53 x 8. 2000

 

In 2014, Ancis’s open geometries burst forth in the Quantum Confetti series; it plays with the outlines and shadows of organic and geometric forms. The work streamlined into the Around Corners series. As a 2016 resident at the Golden Foundation in New Berlin, New York, Ancis began to experiment with paint as sculptural form (see Rust Houses and Continental Divide).  After the residency, Ancis put together a crit group which, this year, has successfully mounted two group shows.

Round About: Steel, Acrylic. 66 x 60 x 13 1/2. 2018

 

To create metal outlines that seem to climb walls or stretch to the horizon, Ancis photoshops her ideas and makes small steel or cardboard models which she scales up. Color plays an important role in each sculpture. In 2018, Ancis has been in group shows at Site Brooklyn and MC Gallery. Round About is on view at Artists Equity, 245 Broome St through March 31 and Around Corners 6 and Rust Houses are showing at 100 11th Ave, opening March 11, thereafter by appointment.

Jan Castro: Is there a unifying theme? How did you come up with this direction?

Miriam Ancis: It’s always meaningful to step back and see the history. My overarching theme is playful engagement with geometric shapes and planes. My sculptures interact with architectural features— corners, planes of floor and wall. Some pieces include a wheeled element that refers to tools, machines, toys and hints of figuration. The wheels are not perfect; the surface can be pink or a bit mottled, suggesting the figure. In the here and now, everything we meet has contradictory elements. My sculptures meet the viewer in a manner that’s open and friendly but also preposterous, unsettled, caught mid-step.

Spool: 35 x 17 x 17, Plaster, encaustic, wool, 1993

 

Most or all of my sculpture engages the body metaphorically through size and line. The flat bar draws lines in space, suggesting volume and creating an illusion of what’s inside. By painting the pieces, the metal becomes something softer, like skin on bones. This work evolved from paintings I made from 2011–2014. I collaged painted elements that were abstract but also had recognizable symbols—fence posts, a heartbeat line.

Q: Could you talk about your steel construction process?

Ancis: My construction process begins with flat steel bar and sheet steel. The curves are bent through hammering both “against the grain” of the metal —the edge of the bar— and curved along the width. The round “wheel” elements are cut from sheet metal. The segments are welded and ground smooth. I work in a metal shop for this part of the process; then typically, I lug the pieces back to my studio where I resolve composition and color issues. Occasionally, I still use enamel, but mostly, I paint the pieces using various acrylic colors, gels and mediums I became familiar with during my residency at Golden.

Q:  Any artists you’ve followed? Sandback?

Ancis: I look to many for different solutions: Sandback, yes— what volume he captures with a thread! Puryear for symbolic, single element sculptures; Gruber for his use of architecture; Murray for her uses of form, scale and color; Tuttle, for honesty and surprise, and Calder for comingling the sublime with fun!

Simplicity of form now is a goal of mine, as is a sense of play.

Jan Castro note: Ancis’s abstract art somehow incorporates nature, human nature, industry, environment, and the figure.

Quantum Confetti 5: Steel, Enamel. 26 x 24 x 20 ½. 2014

 

I spent January having conversations with many artists.  I look for: art being shown in public places made by living artists using innovative concepts, processes, and/or materials. It’s important to physically see the work and, when possible, visit the artist’s studio. For example, I met Magdalene Odundo at the Yale Center for British Art. I appreciated seeing the deep and nuanced physicality of her work; talking with her was also revelatory. My January post on Arte Povera was based on the historic importance of this movement’s off-the-wall uses of common materials. My December post on Ai Weiwei differed from the subsequently-expressed views of four Artcritical experts; even though Ai Weiwei has some misses, he is a master at addressing contemporary issues. These are troubling times. Artists often lead us toward new ways of seeing.

Around Corners 6: Steel, Enamel. 36 x 17 ½ x 5 ½. 2015

 

What sculpture issues do you address or want to discuss?

If possible, please add YOUR comments ONLINE after this and each post! I appreciate your views and news. In January, I received  over 100 personal emails and no comments on my post! Thanks for reading and for posting feedback!

www.miriamancis.com
Insta @miriamancis

Jan Garden Castro

Banh-Mi. Photography: Richard Wotton, Courtesy of the Sarjeant Gallery, Te Whare o Rehua, Whanganui.

Erica van Zon is a multimedia artist based in Wellington, NZ working between a variety of media and taking inspiration from local histories, popular culture, jumble sales, and everything in between. She was gracious enough to share about her process, relationship to nostalgia, research, and more.

GL: Talk a bit about your interests in materials and processes, particularly in relation to craft and scale.

EVZ: I’ve always been a maker and always found inspiration in the world around me, I’m obsessed with recreating and re-presenting what I see. I think I’ve got a pretty straight forward way of expressing this with craft based materials and processes (I love plain, accessible materials) but then it gets skewed, I start to get addicted to certain way of making. For example, working with wool tapestry to represent something abstract and then it becomes more representational and I start to think in tapestry. Scale-wise, I always have some sort of logical strategy such as the scale that something is in real life, working 1:1, or photocopying a pattern to reduce it to half its original size…

Opal Moon Local Lime. Courtesy the artist.

 

GL: Your work is heavily informed by history and in some ways steeped in nostalgia: how do you think about these two ideas? Secondarily, what does your research process look like?

EVZ: I prefer to look back rather than forward, using known imagery or references, there is a certain bond, or collective memory between me and the viewer/s. By employing recognisable motifs or imagery we can find our own thoughts and narratives within the work. It’s not a blank slate. I’m a nostalgic person, I’m always going over the past in my head rather than planning for the future. I like flicking between different time periods and showing the links I make within the soup of the past and the now. Perhaps there’s a safety in that.

Terracotta Steel Frame. Photography: Richard Wotton, Courtesy of the Sarjeant Gallery, Te Whare o Rehua, Whanganui.

 

I start off with cyclical or scattered thoughts about a “thing”, research it as much as I can, and if the thought sticks, I’ll go with it, draw it out and start creating. I spend a lot of time thinking about how to render it through materials, using the most obvious (to me) to start with. I use the internet a lot for conceptual and fabrication research, and the odd book.

I’m not a visible process person, I don’t want to show you the mess I’ve made. My process is very direct. I love the behind the scenes documentation I’ve made over the years; workbooks, Instagram feed photos etc. that’s where the testing happens, ideas evolve and placeholders I can return to. I spend a lot of time making, whilst I’m working on one thing I’m researching the piece 2 steps down the line.

GL: When we met in Wellington, NZ you mentioned that for every exhibition you will either activate the floor or the wall, but never both. How did you conceive of this formula? From your exhibition Opal Moon, Local Lime, it seems to be a most effective approach.

Hoi An Temple Tile. Photography: Richard Wotton, Courtesy of the Sarjeant Gallery, Te Whare o Rehua, Whanganui.

EVZ: I realized that I made 2D sculpture, and everything had a back to it that I didn’t want seen, hence the low plinths from about 2013. If you claim or ignore spatial features in a room then you can navigate your whole project more easily, and focus the audience. Working with rules makes the process smoother. You can break the rules of course, use rules that are true to your practice and you’ll have a place to start thinking about the reading of your work. With “Opal Moon, Local Lime” I wasn’t able to access the gallery easily so I decided everything would be on the walls or on specialty made shelving/racks and able to fit any space. The show “Coffee Perhaps” was based on the way that Helen Hitchings (an early New Zealand gallerist) managed her space, with salon hangs, furniture in the middle of the room and painted walls. What’s really important is for the space to feel welcoming.

GL: Do you also have particular approaches about color and scale? In Opal Moon, Local Lime it seemed like red played a particularly important role.

EVZ: It’s so strange, once a conservator who was helping me install was saying “I love how you use colour” and I explained it was simply what the things were in real life. I do a lot of colour matching. The red grid in “Opal Moon, Local Lime” was in my urban and domestic environment in different ways at the same time, so it just felt right to use it formally and conceptually. Scale-wise I had a different logic in this show, I just used a meter as a rule for the steel works (also so they fit in the car and could be lifted by 1 person.) The Hoi An Temple tile was just scaled up from the real tile I measured in Hoi An. Most other works were scaled to how you’d approach the actual things in real life.

Work detail. Courtesy the artist

 

GL: Your work seamlessly integrates handwork and machined fabrication, reflective and matte surfaces, and carefully chosen colors to create lush, carefully constructed environments. Do you find tension in the dichotomies and if so how do you navigate it?

EVZ: Yes, I think there is a tension there, when I first started outsourcing (a big step) I chose to see it my work as a whole as handmade.  It’s been a real revelation to outsource making, otherwise I’m wasting time and resources, I can’t rule a straight line to save my life! I’ll try a new process 10 times before I get it right. As a by-product I’ve also now got agency to use some second hand or old stock materials in my work. In installing “Opal Moon” I’ve really enjoyed testing out taste level and working with formally placing matching and mismatching works against each other. I love the different combos of materiality, but repeated around the room, and I love a power clash.

GL: What is your summary of the art scene in NZ in one sentence?

EVZ: An outwardly-looking internationally-connected community making cutting edge art in the South Pacific.

To learn more about Erica visit www.ericavanzon.com

Gracelee Lawrence

Organismos – objetos siliconas – medidas variables 140 x 130

Pablo Butteri creció cerca del mar, en Santa Teresita provincia de Buenos Aires. Su formación en el campo del arte comenzó desde el colegio secundario para luego realizar el Profesorado de Pintura en la Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes Prilidiano Pueyrredón y la Licenciatura en Artes Visuales en la UNA. Movimiento, seres abstractos -fácilmente asimilables a organismos que flotan o se sostienen suspendidos-, nudos, laberintos, son todas palabras perfectamente asociables con ese universo misterioso que transita la obra de Pablo; escenarios que remiten lo laberíntico como espacio críptico donde, como dice el artista, “me gusta perderme y reencontrarme, el placer del extravío y el misterio como elemento fundamental y parte del proceso”. Trabajar con la apariencia, el caos que se oculta detrás del orden, la multiplicidad, la repetición del gesto tanto plástico y la insistencia sobre el entretejido que se replica en los objetos pseudo figurativos que abren permanentemente interrogantes del orden del qué, el cómo y el dónde.

Docente en colegios primarios, secundarios y universitarios, realiza exposiciones individuales en espacios como la Alianza Francesa de Buenos Aires (2012), El Camarín de las Musas(2012),  Almacén Secreto (2015) y colectivas destacables en Espacio Cavallero (2017), Centro Federal de Inversiones CFI (2017), Zafarrancho (2017/16/14), MODOS(2016), UCES(2016), Legislatura Porteña RUDA (2015), Centro Cultural Recoleta (2013), Galería MasottaTorres (2012), entre otros. Actualmente toma clínicas con Cristina Dartiguelongue y Andrés Waissman. 

Habitats medidas variables 4 x 4 x 1,5 mts

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Nudos, laberintos, hábitats: un texto tuyo sobre la obra comienza diciendo]: “Lo simple no siempre es clarificador”, ¿cuál es la búsqueda y cómo se ve esto plásticamente?

Pablo Butteri: La búsqueda tiene que ver con reconocerse en lo complejo, constante e inevitable. Pienso que lo complejo nos obliga a la reflexión y nos invita a la contemplación. Lo caótico no es simple de comprender sino que forma parte de una realidad mayor llena de grises y sutilezas, que obligan a la contemplación de lo bello, sintiéndonos como parte de lo observado. Considero que forzar plásticamente desde lo complejo, para contemplar una belleza total, es algo que vincula a la naturaleza con mis obras. Reelaboro la realidad convencido de que el hacer estético es el espejo que refleja un interior común a todos, aunque a veces no nos agrade lo que nos muestra. Presentar infinitos nudos, tensiones y reflejos, construir biosistemas y hábitats son parte de esa nueva y necesaria construcción de la realidad.

objeto tent+ículos 30 x 30 cm

 

MCB: Dibujos en esmalte, pinturas en óleo, objetos en resina y silicona. ¿Qué determina la elección del material en cada trabajo?

PB: La elección del material en cada caso fue una búsqueda personal y profunda hasta encontrar coincidencia entre imagen y relato. Con los esmaltes encontraba la posibilidad de la impronta del gesto y jugar al con azar controlado; en los óleos tenía una búsqueda de organizar el caos, buscar un clima reflexivo con sombras y veladuras. En la resina y la silicona, el material tiene impronta por sí mismo, como orgánico y viscoso, lo que acompaña la idea vital del objeto. Considero que el medio es determinante para definir cualquier comunicación, entonces la materialidad debe ser diferente y adaptarse a lo que se desea comunicar para que la imagen sea potenciada.

MCB: ¿Cuándo surge la necesidad de pasar del plano bidimensional a la 3D? 

PB: Surgió de manera inevitable cuando los organismos y biosistemas, que aparecían en las pinturas, pedían salir del plano. Necesitaban dejar de ser representados para ser presentados, formar parte concreta de nuestra realidad espacial, para ser recorridos tocados y percibidos por todos los sentidos.

Biosistema 20 x 15 cm

 

MCB: Estos seres finalmente corporizados pero no pertenecientes a una realidad reconocible, gravitan entre lo incierto y lo indefinido, lugar donde creo te interesa que tu obra se aloje, desde las pinturas hasta los objetos, esculturas y planteos instalativos: habitar una suerte de realidad paralela…

PB: Probablemente la intención de modificar la realidad parte de las ausencias que pretendo ocupar. Encuentro en la imagen de los nudos una metáfora de las relaciones humanas como causa y efecto. Los vínculos y las relaciones entre las personas se están modificando cada vez más rápido. En los cambios veloces, sin tiempos de adaptación, empiezan a aparecer vacíos, y es en esos vacíos donde la nueva vida se hace lugar. Ahí es donde empieza a tener lugar esta realidad paralela en la que aparecen estos nuevos seres, que no son ni lindos ni feos, simplemente son, suceden como consecuencia, para ocupar el espacio de una nueva realidad, habitarla, invadirla y modificarla.

MCB: ¿Qué importancia tiene la factura, el acabado, la estética en tus obras? Porque transitas un límite muy sutil que podría llevarte a terrenos donde la empatía se convierta en rechazo de parte del espectador.

PB: La factura es fundamental para mis obras. Busco que las superficies sean bien pulidas y brillantes, donde el color negro pueda refractar la luz blanca, en una suerte de alquimia visual. Me interesa que sea con un material producido por hombre; que sea sintético, inorgánico y plástico tomando una presencia viva. Siempre asumí al rechazo por parte del espectador como un riesgo que puede aparecer si soy fiel a la esencia de la obra. Presentarla para descubrirla desde la penumbra interior, como a la luz de una vela, llevando al espectador a una reflexión interna y estética, es uno de los lugares que me interesa explorar.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Final day of the workshop. Carrie Johnson, Jamie Wade, Gayla Lenke, Barbara Thompson (Hawaii Crafstmen), Laura Phelps Rogers, Ellen Crocker, Sally Jackson, Tom Gibson, Evan Jenkins (in back, Hawaii Craftsmen), Annie Stiefel (student and Magdalene’s assistant), Magdalene Odundo (instructor), and Erik Wold (studio manager). Photo: Laura Phelps Rogers

Magdalene Odundo’s vessels have a signature beauty and depth. At the Yale Center for British Art exhibition Things of Beauty Growing, she talked about “humanizing the static clay” and “capturing the spirit of the void.” Historically, her handmade vessels may borrow ideas from San Ildefonso Pueblo in New Mexico, from British potters including Lucie Rie and Bernard Leach, and from Greek, Roman, and Nigerian processes. Her work has been compared to Cycladic art, to sculptors including Gaudier-Brzeska, Hans Arp, and Constantin Brancusi, and to painters including Henri Matisse and Amedeo Modigliani and is in over 50 notable museum collections, including the Stedelijk, the Victoria and Albert, the Nelson-Atkins, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and the Smithsonian Institution. In 2008, Odundo was appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire in the Queen’s Honour’s List for Services to the Arts. In June, 2018, she becomes Chancellor at the University for Creative Arts in Surrey, England, one of the world’s top ceramic institutions. In 2017, Odundo participated in exhibitions at The Hepworth, Wakefield; The High Museum, Atlanta; and the Yale Center for British Art.

Magdalene Odundo, Untitled, 1995, hand-built, terra sigillata, polished and carbonized terracotta clay, Gift of Jane and Gerald Katcher, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, courtesy of the artist and Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven

 

At Yale, Odundo’s black and red vessels had striking multiple qualities that gave each its own identity, form, and finish. Asymmetrical Betu III, 2010 (cat. 125, Collection of Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn) had carbonized smooth black surfaces that shifted seamlessly from silky to cloudy to shiny/oily. The shape was voluptuous—abstract yet human — from its small base and waist to its large open mouth. The artist told me her work was “full of the life of the person: …they are open; they breathe.” She continued, “They recapture the spirit of the void that we belong to” and illustrate “virtual space.” She suggested that the works sometimes refer to her parents, friends, the soil, and the earth itself. Simon Olding, the Director of the Crafts Arts Study Centre at the University for Creative Arts, told me that Odundo’s vessels are noted for their nipples, tiny handles that suggest earrings, and their liquidity of color. Being made by hand, the vessels have human touches and often are seen as anthropomorphic, suggesting the body’s parts, such as spine, waist, arms, and breasts. Yet they always find a proper balance between an overall form, suggestions of female form, and abstract/geometric properties.

Magdalene Odundo, Untitled, from the Kigango Series I-III, 2013, hand-built, terra sigillata, polished and carbonized terracotta clay, Collection of Magdalene Odundo, Farnham, courtesy of the artist and Anthony Slayter-Ralph

 

Odundo builds her vessels by hand using the coil method, then using a shell to smooth the coils inside and out. The outside’s smooth surfaces have shiny to matte textures and red to deep black to smoky hues due to the methods of firing. She has developed a sigillata process, which has Greek and Roman origins. As the High Museum noted, Odundo “often fires them repeatedly, which results in colors ranging from bright, bold orange to smoky, iridescent black. Rather than glazing her pots, Odundo uses an ancient method called terra sigillata. She coats the pieces in colloidal slip (refined, watered-down clay) and burnishes them after firing to achieve smooth, polished surfaces.” The artist’s use of saggers replicates Pueblo Native American open firings. The artist uses both oxidized firing and reduction firing to achieve the different hues and finishes. Each vessel’s position inside the saggers, the use of gas, and the temperature range from 960 or lower to 1080 C affects the outcome.

Odundo was born in Kenya and also lived in India when young. Her processes are influenced by ceramic studios/practices she studied in Nigeria and Ghana, Mexico and China. She studied Graphics and Commercial Art at Nairobi Polytechnic in Kenya before moving to England in 1971 where she discovered ceramics in 1974. The artist received her Bachelors’ and Masters’ art degrees at what is now the University for the Creative Arts and the Royal College of Art. Her sculpture has its own distinctive identities, often dark and female with voluptuous interiors and fluid ways of interacting with space, light, and other objects.

In 2004, Anthony Slayter-Ralph published a catalog raisonné of Odundo’s work to date, with just over 200 images. The artist’s website is magdaleneodundo.com
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Final day of the workshop. Carrie Johnson, Jamie Wade, Gayla Lenke, Barbara Thompson (Hawaii Crafstmen), Laura Phelps Rogers, Ellen Crocker, Sally Jackson, Tom Gibson, Evan Jenkins (in back, Hawaii Craftsmen), Annie Stiefel (student and Magdalene’s assistant), Magdalene Odundo (instructor), and Erik Wold (studio manager). Photo: Laura Phelps Rogers

 

Master Class instructed by Magdalene Odundo on October 9 -14, 2017

Notes from resident potter and instructor, Erik Wold. Volcano Village, Hawaii.

Where & Who: Volcano Art Center, organized by Hawaii Craftsmen.org. Ten attendees from the state of Hawaii and various states within the U.S.
The clay: A smooth white stoneware clay originally supplied for the workshop was not to her liking. She said it was over-processed and lacked “life.” I brought over a couple car loads (1/4 ton) of my personal supply of scrap clay which we recycled during the workshop. It was mixed red and white stoneware clay with a smattering of local basalt sand and volcanic ash. A few leaves and twigs had found their way into the clay as well.
Plenty of “life”! Magdalene said of the clay she normally uses for her work –“ a fine red with a small percentage of 120s molochite.” Magdalene advised: “The clay should be soft, pliable, and open. Color does not matter. A good throwing body for medium-sized ware will suffice. There is some scraping to attain fine surfaces, so no coarse grogg.”

Erik Wold’s first completed pot using the method Magdalene taught. I have books of her work open to illustrate points of reference. This pot will be fired with the student work and included in any exhibition.

 

The Assignment: Magdalene gave the students an ambitious assignment in terms of quantity and scale. They dove right into working with sizable quantities of clay using the East African handbuilding method she demonstrated. Some attendees had never touched clay before. However, all were experienced artists in their chosen mediums. On the final day of the workshop we all discussed how the work created during the week might be saved instead of deconstructed and returned to the recycle bins as originally planned. We decided that I would fire the work to highfire stoneware temperature in my gas kiln at my home studio. She and I picked out a palette of glazes from my inventory to choose from. Later, after Magdalene said she had a dream about it, she recommended we glaze everything in a single glaze choice. We selected a Tenmoku glaze (black which breaks to brown) which I mixed from recipe. The idea is that after all the work has been fired, there could be an exhibit and auction of the work with the proceeds going to benefit our clay studio at the Volcano Art Center. I have begun firing the work. We are targeting spring, 2018 for an exhibition.

Magdalene’s top advice: Practice, practice, practice. Practice and patience was the mantra. She discouraged getting too caught up in ideas of attaching stories and titles heading into a work. She said, “You’re not fooling anyone here. The work should stand on its own.” She emphasized the importance of the pot’s interior, saying the exterior should be guided by a well-formed interior. She described the physical action of bringing up the clay by hand from the inside as directed toward one’s core –as feeding oneself. Magdalene noted direct observation is the most effective learning method. “Put away the camera and watch,” she said when giving a demo.

Magdalene uses homemade tools for scrapping and shaping clay forms. I asked for and received permission to trace her tools which we cut from a 5 gallon plastic bucket. This provides a curved and flexible tool. This workshop didn’t reach the finishing stages of decorative surface treatment; it was enough to learn the forming method.

On the final day, among other discussions, Magdalene addressed a question about being an artist. She stressed that “artist” was just a label and it’s best not to get too caught up in such identity issues. She said she was proud to call herself a potter.
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Magdalene Odundo, Asymmetrical Betu III, 2010, hand-built, terra sigillata, polished and carbonized terracotta clay, Collection of Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn, New York, courtesy of the artist

 

Asymmetrical Betu III, 2010
For Magdalene Odundo

Her impossibly large open mouth
is a trope representing a composed
inner body’s presence: a void, a heart, a core.
Carbon markings leave streaks of light, a patch
among dark ovals, the pitch interior.
Her waist turns
toward me and toward the sun.
A tulip belly balances on its tip-toe;
a ghost face with lively eyes and hair swirling
up glides on the surface. One breast bud emerges!
Seen from the port side, the belly rounds in front:
she bears progeny inside. Curves of space
surround her and triple shadows
echo her
dance.

Jan Garden Castro

Fuera de encuadre, 2016. Medidas: 35 x 35 x 70 cm. Maderas, imanes de neodimio, hilos de poliester.

Si bien su inicio formal en las artes plásticas se da recién en 2009 cuando comienza a cursar la  licenciatura en la Universidad de Palermo, participando de distintos talleres de escultura contemporánea con Dolores Casares y Edgardo Madanes y finalmente un Curso de postgrado de especialización  en curaduría de Arte en la UNTREF en 2014, Silvia Mildiner siempre se vio involucrada en disciplinas cuyo desarrollo harían eco en las obras. Sus 20 años de trabajo como Eutonista, le permiten establecer una fuerte conexión entre el contacto de la mano, el cuerpo, el “espacio entre las partes” y el aprendizaje basado en la percepción que su profesión proponía: aprender a visualizar el movimiento, poner el cuerpo, literalmente, como mediador de la experiencia.

Se destacan sus trabajos seleccionados para el Salón Nacional de Escultura (2017), la muestra Cuerpo Negro en Espacio Cultural Matienzo (2017), XIII Salón textil de pequeño y mediano formato – Museo José Hernández (2017), la instalación La  lucha por el espacio en el Palais de Glacé (2016), Mención Salón Nacional de Escultura (2016), selección Salón Municipal de Escultura Manuel Belgrano (2015), y las intervenciones realizadas en la Galería Pasaje 17 entre 2013 y 2015: intervención en la vidriera, baño y ganadora del Primer premio en el certamen “30 años de democracia”, OSPOCE.

Repouseer. 2014. Instalación. Medidas variables. Valija, elásticos, piedras, maderas. Montada en Galerìa Pasaje 17 – febrero 2014.

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: “Lo invisible, lo que se esconde, resulta más visible que lo que aparece sin más.” Esta frase de Didi Huberman que siempre citas, de alguna forma resume tu trabajo ¿Cómo interpretas esta búsqueda plásticamente?

Silvia Mildiner: Si! me conmovió descubrir el libro “Lo que vemos, lo que nos mira”, de George Didi Huberman, porque encontré una justificación teórica  y una puesta en palabras  a lo que es mi motor como artista y mi interés como espectador de arte. Este autor habla de dos tipos de evidencia: la óptica y la presencia. La presencia no necesariamente es la que se ve y quizás por eso es la que nos convoca a la pregunta. Lo invisible es un foco interesante para mí como disparador por lo que subyace y sostiene pero que sin embargo, no aparece. El lenguaje que elijo, es el espacial.  Necesito “poner el cuerpo” cuando trabajo.   El procedimiento para pensar y concretar una obra es básicamente movimiento. Los conceptos aparecen cuando empiezo a probar situaciones espaciales. El movimiento que luego se aquieta cuando termino de resolver la obra, es  inherente a mi modo de estar y relacionarme con lo cotidiano.

La lucha por el espacio, 2016. Instalación in situ, en coautoría con Leo Ocello. Sala de 3m x 7m. Aluminio, elásticos, tanzas. Instalada en Palais de Glace – Sala primer piso.

 

MCB: La serie “Fuera de Obra” es quizás uno de tus trabajos más completos y que sigue en crecimiento. Allí aparecen las características básicas de tu obra: tensiones aparentemente equilibradas, la fragilidad de lo estable, el extrañamiento, el espacio entre los cuerpos como un tercer elemento fundamental; contanos sobre esta serie.

SM: La serie “Fuera de obra” es el resultado de una investigación acerca de dos cuestiones: la pregunta sobre el arte y la inquietud acerca de la imposibilidad de cierre. Supongo que ambas preguntas están relacionadas.  La obra de arte no se completa a sí misma y lo más interesante está en esa “falta”. Por suerte, hace siglos que la obra dejó de ser necesariamente objeto de culto para dar lugar a situaciones que nos involucran como espectadores y nos piden una reflexión.  Jacques Derrida plantea en su libro “La verdad en la pintura”, la cuestión del marco.  La importancia del enmarcarcar como recurso para subrayar lo incompleto, la convivencia con eso otro que se cuela indefectiblemente. En  “Brecha” (2016) se presenta la tensión entre dos esferas que se encuentran sin llegar a tocarse;  la escena transcurre dentro de una caja que las  contiene.  Luego  en “Fuera de obra” (2016) y “Desquicio”(2016) el marco finalmente se quiebra.

Margen de ausencia, 2017. Medidas: 35x50x30cm. Maderas, imanes de neodimio, hilos de poliester, enchapado, tornillos de bronce.

 

MCB: “Transporte” es una obra que fue recientemente seleccionada en el Salón Nacional de Escultura 2017. Además de responder a la descripción de la serie “Fuera de Obra”, me gustaría que nos contaras sobre los elementos formales constitutivos de la obra y el uso casi exclusivo de la monocromía que homogeniza y hace más sutiles los contrastes (esto en tu obra en general)

SM: En particular “Transporte” encara  la continuidad en los cortes y la trascendencia más allá de los contornos.  La bola que se mantiene en una estabilidad aparentemente precaria estaría a punto de colisionar pero esto no sucede. Tomo la palabra transporte de un concepto de la Eutonía que define  y trabaja  la relación de las partes, el empuje y la presencia del cuerpo más allá de sus límites.  De la Eutonía rescato no solamente el  nombre sino básicamente la metodología para el cuestionamiento acerca de  lo habitual, lo que se da por sentado, lo automático. “Transporte”, como todas las obras del grupo “Fuera de obra”,  están construidas con  hilos,  madera y  energía magnética. El hilo es lo que habilita al volumen, aleja, acerca. Aparentemente débil, cobra fortaleza sosteniendo la tensión. La energía magnética es el corazón de la obra, el secreto; es el recurso que da lugar al juego, a lo mágico. 

Cuerpo Negro, 2017. Instalación in situ, en coautoría con Rita Simoni. Sala de 4m x 7m.
Yeso, cordones de nylon, alambres, durlock

 

MCB: “Cuerpo Negro” fue una instalación site specific montada en Espacio Cultural Matienzo (2017) junto a la artista visual Rita Simoni. Si bien lo textil está siempre presente en tus trabajos, aquí hay preponderancia casi exclusiva…

SM: EL diseño de indumentaria me aportó un sistema de organización para resolver conflictos. Una vez resueltos, la costura es el momento de meditación. No es el caso de “Cuerpo Negro” (2017) donde el enhebrado de los cordones con alambres que pasan por dentro para darles cuerpo, no resulta un acto repetitivo ni meditativo.  El cuerpo negro brota de manera desordenada y explosiva, irregular y despareja.  Me resulta muy enriquecedor trabajar con otros artistas y también  en una “caja grande” como es el espacio expositivo donde el espectador es parte de la obra o está inmerso en ella.

MCB: Finalmente: ¿cuán importante es en tu obra la conexión entre el contenido conceptual y la factura plástica?

SM: Mi obra apela a la percepción; me interesa convocar a la extrañeza, a la inquietud.

La factura plástica en mi obra es el recurso para hablar. La factura plástica hace al concepto. Pero, como te comenté en alguna pregunta anterior, el procedimiento también hace al  concepto.  Las relaciones de poder, de sometimiento, las identidades, las tensiones serían el relato de mi obra la cual, que sin embargo, carece de anécdota. Mi modo es espacial y  corporal.  Intento hablar con los cuerpos mudos, aparentemente neutros para que cada quien escuche, se pregunte y traduzca el conflicto en su propio lenguaje.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Global Cities (2015-2016) Hand-blown glass and vinyl cut drawings Photo Credit: Tim Thayer/Robert Hensleigh

I had the chance to work with Norwood Viviano for two weeks during his workshop Digital Foundry at Anderson Ranch Arts Center which focused on digital design and 3D printing with a finished object in cast aluminum or bronze. Technology has begun to revolutionize the already complex sculpture processes in the past 20 years and Viviano has explored the possibilities during this time as a student and now as educator and professional artist who is busy with projects in large museums and institutions. The more we talked, the more it became apparent that the approach to his art making was a value of craft traditions and aesthetics that tempered the highly conceptual, data based information that drives the work. This approach adds a greater complexity to the reading of visual information and facts met with a humanistic understanding to how art, industry, technology, environment and community interact.

Jake: Your work uses information and technology to create the forms. How did you start working with data visualization in your own work?

Norwood: I would start by saying that the work is autobiographical in the sense that I was very much rooted in the city of Detroit. My grandfather worked in the automobile industry. He was a painter for 30 years for Chrysler and in some ways I had the opportunity to grow up in and around the city but then actually leave for several years and then come back. That really made me really aware of the transformation of the city and thinking about things that influenced that transformation, even thinking of methods of expressing that transformation. I think one of the most dramatic things that has happened to Detroit, and not just Detroit, is the transformation of industry and the traditional ideas of industry in America. Detroit became a way of studying how this work could expand and the idea that data visualization was a way of seeing what’s going on in Detroit but here’s an opportunity to see that it’s also happening in places like Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Philadelphia, to a certain extent in the latter part of the twentieth century, although that’s starting to shift. So it was an opportunity to begin a conversation with an audience with the work and in a way, it’s a very serious conversation but I’ve found that it’s also a playful way to engage an audience because it’s about teaching them but also finding a way into the work. In certain projects there may be 24 to 32 cities within the project and then people start hunting for a city that they know and then realize that there are all these other cities that begin to look similar. So there is an opportunity for them to learn something about the places they’re from but then to compare and try to understand places they don’t know but have some similar shapes as related to the data. So it’s regional, I wouldn’t say global, but it’s a way of playing with these structures.

Detroit Population Shift from the series Recasting Michigan (2009-2011) Cast aluminum Photo Credit: Tim Thayer

 

J: Before using mostly data, you created a series First Generation Artifacts beginning in 2003 of seemingly forgotten artifacts from Italian immigrants. One of the focuses was on craftsmanship lost in the American twentieth century as well as a personal narrative. How has this work influenced your work in the past ten years?

N: That series also went by the title of Trace and it was a made up narrative for an exhibition at the Italian American Museum in New York City. It does have a personal connection with my own heritage and I found objects that related to this story and cast them in bronze to give them a new life, a new history.

Recasting Michigan was the first real body of work to use digital information in looking at the data and looking at the places and impacts of industry, again from a personal interest. One of the most dramatic changes in the city was the increase and decrease in population. After coming to the realization I felt it was important to find a way of expressing that chance. It came after years of experimentation since the 90’s in new technologies.

J: There’s inherently political insight or information in the work. Do you consider that when making the work?

N: I don’t think you can talk about population shift in a country like America without talking about the reasons why or the methods that have encouraged it. So you can talk about the methods going back to the Civil War, where one can see patterns of migrations from people leaving the South to move to the North for many reason including opportunity or freedom, but then there were patterns of migration back to the South. This was a newer thing happening in the latter part of the twentieth century, but imbedded in this project are things like race or white flight and then the politics of opportunity. So in many ways people moved out of cities after World War II because they had automobiles which was considered a good thing. This was also wrapped up in the economic structure of the family, which was considered predominantly white, certainly in the suburbs. So those are all definitely wrapped up in this information and although I feel comfortable talking about the politics of it, I’ve never wanted the work to be just about the politics. Maybe it’s a teacher thing and also an artist thing, but political work gets mired into a specific place and time and I’m really interested in how the work can expand rather than be constricted.

The other thing with politics is that when you look at these studies in more of a global way you see these trends from things, such as World War II, that shouldn’t affect global populations because they’re disconnected geographically, but then you see population expansions and contractions based on these larger systems and events from these migrations and of course those are political.

J: Simply looking at the work you don’t see the political connections right away, you have to go further. Are there certain time periods or histories that you’re interested in personally when you’re doing these population studies?

N: So in the two larger studies that became installations between 24 and 32 elements, in the American study, it became clear that there were very distinct events that were occurring in the mid-twentieth century that influenced population transformations. The biggest one was the end of World War II with the return of the GI’s and the Civil Right’s Movement. The other parallel event was the Eisenhower expressway system. In some ways we can pull those out as individual events and try to make sense of them in terms of population study but they really are tied up in an interesting way together. I love that you can still something out but as a scientist or anthropologist or historian, it’s really clear that things don’t ever really exist as distinct events but that one pushes on the other and they all influence each other at the same time. In terms of the work, I feel a lot of responsibility with that work because it’s talking about a lot of people and a lot of history. I meet with historians, anthropologists, sociologists, one of the benefits of working at a university, and it creates of web where we can discuss that regional events were really part of the larger national events that were occurring 50 plus years ago. So I love the relationships involved and going into a project assuming one thing and it turned into something completely different.

Prayer Book from the series First Generation Artifacts (2003 – 2009) Cast bronze Photo Credit: Tim Thayer

 

I just sold a body of work to the Corning Museum of Glass and the curator was really supportive of the project called Global Cities. It was this study of 32 cities hanging over a map to explore this structure of population and structure of geography where the vertical length of the pieces is related to time and the width is related to population. What came from the project was looking at population and turning it into a way of documenting colonialism. I saw this outgrowth of cities that started from Europe in the last 1,000 years and colonialism expanded from Europe. It was not what the project was going to be about but I discovered that we’re very much a part of that and where America is today. It’s a good way of reconciling that history and looking at cities that have benefitted from colonialism and have also been devastated by colonialism, cities that are 500 years old and those that are 100 years old.

I didn’t think about how the cities would be so thematically tied together when I started. I was asking myself what a global city is and I realized the interconnected between international cities isn’t just about the technology today or industry and shipping and commerce, but how that network was tied together 500 years ago. It wasn’t even done in terms of knowingly building a network but out of necessity for resources in from other locations. So I went into it form the modern or contemporary setting but ended up learning about these cities and populations and the history.

J: So how does the material connect to this work? You’ve been working mostly with glass lately and cast aluminum or ceramics as an artist in residence at the Kohler Company before that.

N: As an artist there are a lot of choices and I’m not a scientist or statistician. Ultimately I have to define what my goals are for people interacting with my work. Those have grown and changed a lot and I’m interested in engaging people in a dialogue of not just where they’re from but how that place in connected to some larger piece and doing it in a way that isn’t forcing a way for them to do that but stimulating curiosity, as a productive tool and thinking about how art can be meaningful.

Within the projects there are also questions that come up about materiality or craft and beauty. It may be a larger question of the way we approach making as artists or sculptors but the idea that these things can be hooks for people before content. It becomes a much more layered and complex meaning and I’m interested in the comment of “it’s a plumb bob and it’s also this representation of something”.

J: Going back to politics for a moment, the current situation in the country is one of growing divisions so the idea of shielding that through aesthetics makes sense and gives it a more objective approach.

N: Sure and that makes me think of discrepancies of data as well. The other layer of politics in the domestic study is in 2011 after the 2010 census was rolled out, there was something like 30 court cases in New York City just over population information and the question of representation of constituents regarding gerrymandering and other issues so I’m guessing the 2020 census will be the most contentious ever. In the global study the information I’ve been collecting is from the United Nations so there’s other discrepancies on how that information is collected and how data is counted or not counted and why this may occur.

Kohler Village detail from the series Kohler Arts/Industry Residency (2010-2012) Glazed porcelain
Photo Credit: Cathy Carver/Tim Thayer

 

J: You’re work is about industry and I find it interesting that you’re working in a medium that has been shifted away traditional production from the cities and the United States itself. In fact you’re using digital technologies to produce the work and that type of production has altered population centers, especially within factory settings.

N: That’s a really good point that is very much part of the work that I haven’t talked about yet. For a while I really didn’t know how to output the work from the computer but really wanted to use it.

At Kohler, for example, I’ve seen the idea of how industry is related to place and people. So if you want to talk autobiographically about how the work developed in researching Detroit, the work at Kohler is really just an extension of that. Thinking about not only the village but understanding the worker’s relationship to the city, it’s very tenuous. There’s not much other support or available work in the area and they’re very much reliant upon that one industry and the fascinating thing about it, either Kohler, Detroit or even the future tech industry, is that it’s common for three generations to be working in the Kohler factory and that Kohler is really making big decisions based off of these much larger, global events. They don’t have much to do with what’s going on in Kohler, Wisconsin and yet it’s affecting the factory workers. For me, that was so much what that experience was about, being a part of that really tenuous system and realizing that the company isn’t really making a 30 year commitment to the worker but until the work needs to be shifted or the market shifts and then things move on.

One of the things as artists that we try is to do something with materials they aren’t necessarily meant to do. The nature of the material and fragility or balance of it, literally suspended in space has also made sense in terms of the work. I also like the dialogue about craft material and sculpture or installation as there’s been a lot of critical development in that space in the last 20 years. So I’ve seen the work grow in terms of material play. Forming the industrial materials like glass, aluminum and ceramics into art.

Dowtown Louisville and Martiki Mine from the series Mining Industries (2013 – 2016) at the Corning Museum of Glass Cast glass, mirrors, steel, vinyl cut drawings Photo Credit: Cathy Carver/Tim Thayer/Robert Hensleigh

 

J: How long does it generally take for a new project?

N: It takes about a year although I can do something within six month projects. I begin with a set of cities and can then expand. Some of the places I’ve been showing want me to add their city to the work and I like that. It’s good to imagine that a series is never finished with the ability to expand with information.

J: What about incorporating more data, more complexities in the work? What’s in the near future for work?

N: The images I’m putting together right now are for a show called Cities Under Water. The data I’m using looks at population change but also looking at population projections and including information such as rising sea levels and temperature around the world. My next show will be at the Heller Gallery in New York in May 2018 and may travel aftwards.

Norwood Viviano received his BFA from Alfred University and MFA from Cranbrook Academy of Art. He is currently Associate Professor and Sculpture Program Coordinator at Grand Valley State University in Allendale, Michigan. He has exhibited extensively including recently at the Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, VA, Heller Gallery, New York, NY, Art Miami/Context Art Miami, Miami, FL, and the Venice Biennale with art in the collections at the Museum of Decorative Arts, Prague, Czech Republic, Kohler Co., Kohler, WI, John Michael Kohler Arts Center, Sheboygan, WI, Lincoln Motor Company, Dearborn, MI, Museum of Glass, Tacoma, WA, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX, as well as numerous private collections. He is represented by the Heller Gallery in New York City.

By Jake Weigel

Industria Argentina ( transitable) Año: 2011. Materiales: se usaron todos materiales que se fabrican en el país : aluminio, hierro, plástico, madera, goma, microtop, vidrio. Medidas: 1200 M2

Objetos, video, pintura, performance, fotografía e instalaciones; no hay límite para el trabajo creativo de Nushi Muntaabski. Escribió el libro “La novia de Duchamp”, dirigió la Revista de arte Canecalón, participó como columnista en la radio Rock and Pop durante 8 años juntos a Elizabeth Vernaci y Humberto Tortonese y creó el proyecto “Las Piedras Preciosas” (desde 2011 conocida como nushimuntaabski.com) donde integra su labor artística a la arquitectura, realizando murales, site-specifics y encargos privados para coleccionistas, arquitectos y diseñadores industriales, y aún le queda tiempo para los trabajos sociales focalizados en integrar los oficios y la sustentabilidad con el lenguaje artístico. Becada y premiada en varias ocasiones, se destaca el Primer premio Fundación Klemm, BA (2010) y el Salón Nacional de escultura BA (2014). Desde fines de los años 90, expone en forma colectiva e individual en galerías, espacios culturales y museos nacionales e internacionales tales como el Museo MALBA, BA;  Eñ Museo MAR, Mar del Plata, La Colección Amalia Lacroze de Fortabat, Galería Vasari, BA, entre otros. Se destacan sus participaciones en sites specifics en espacios públicos en el Museo de la Vid y el Vino Cafayate, la Estación San Martin, Línea “C” de Subte de Buenos Aires, La Bienal de Arquitectura de BA, 2015 en el Centro Cultural Recoleta en BA, Industria Argentina en Tecnópolis, BA y la intervención junto a Cristina Schiavi en la explanada del Museo MALBA en 2011.

María Carolina Baulo: Manejas múltiples soportes y disciplinas artísticas, sin embargo tu obra tiene una coherencia estética que la hace reconocible con tu sello creativo. ¿Cómo elegís los materiales para cada trabajo: partís de una idea que “pide” el tipo de soporte y eso determina las dimensiones de la obra?

Nushi Muntaabski: Como en casi toda mi obra, los materiales o soportes son caprichosos, hay un vínculo con la belleza que es ineludible en mi trabajo, algo casi mal visto en el mundo del arte contemporáneo. Las formas sutiles, los colores combinados y lo bello hace más sencillo contar lo horrible, la miseria del ser humano en todas sus formas. Comienzo de esa base, muchas veces se va desarmando pero ya no pienso más, ya estoy inmersa y sigo. Se deshace el impulso para entrar en la realización, me gusta la buena terminación, aunque mi manera de trabajar es bastante desprolija, trabajo rápido y todo a mi alrededor es un casos de vidrio, pegamento y formas aquí y allá. En cuanto a las dimensiones, desde niña exagero con ellas, nunca me alcanzaba un papel en la escuela, siempre debía agregarle otro. Dibujo en grande, llegue a dibujar una figura de más de 1000 metros a “ojo”, a mano alzada. Suelo trabajar en series (que suelen cruzarse entre sí a lo largo de mi carrera) y en cada serie trazo una línea de materiales que se repiten; los últimos 20 años uso el mosaico, las cerámicas partidas y material de descarte que recupero y revalorizo, que combino con terciopelos, cuero, maderas y metales.

Los Viajes de Nushi ( escultura). Año: 2015. Materiales: cerámica sobre telgopor tallado. Medidas: variables. 14 x 2.5 metros

 

MCB: Las obras públicas, site specific, se empatan con tu preocupación por el medio ambiente, lo sustentable y la integración del espacio con las artes plásticas; eso lo vemos en los proyectos de carácter transitorio, intervenciones destinadas a abandonar sus emplazamientos oportunamente. ¿Cómo te llevas con la idea de transitoriedad y el hecho de intervenir un espacio que va a modificar su entorno? Podes tomar una obra como ejemplo…

NM: Siempre me gusto observar las ciudades como una topografía. Una geografía urbana. Las formas elevadas, los recortes en el cielo, los materiales combinados creando cortes como los de una montaña de minerales. Y en cuanto a los murales o intervenciones urbanas, pura fascinación, desde las altas medianeras de los años 50´s hechas de venecitas con dibujos concretos conformando un coctel estético de arquitectura, forma y diseño, pasando por columnas forradas de trencadís o halls de edificios compuestos de agua, cerámicas, bronces  y plantas. Todo revestimiento utilizado con criterio, discurso, amor, arte, humor en las ciudades es válido. El emprender un objetivo tan  noble como promover estas tareas es básico, a la estética e identidad de una ciudad. La posibilidad de que artistas de toda talla muestren sus trabajos, al alcance de todos, en subtes, veredas, hospitales o bancos es un aporte a la sociedad toda. Creo en la unión de lo útil y lo bello y es este el caso que me provoca el trabajo en espacio público, una enorme colaboración a la comunidad en  diálogo con artistas, vecinos, obreros y toda la gente interesada, un detalle no menor, considerando los tiempos que corren en el mundo, donde es de vital importancia el trabajo en equipo, la colaboración, los emprendimientos de empresas privadas a la sociedad y la necesidad de entender  que el arte es indispensable en la formación de una identidad.

Industria Argentina ( transitable) Año: 2011. Materiales: se usaron todos materiales que se fabrican en el país : aluminio, hierro, plástico, madera, goma, microtop, vidrio. Medidas: 1200 M2

 

MCB: Vidrios, venecitas, un mundo de cristal, transparencia y vidrieras se combinan con cuentos y fantasías. Estoy pensando en “Sueños de Vidrio” (2012) donde además, entran en juego otras pasiones como la literatura, el amor per se y los sueños. ¿Cómo se articulan estos conceptos plásticamente; cómo se convierten en obra?

NM: Estos espacios – vidrieras donde ocurrirán diferentes situaciones performáticas hablan de esto y los protagonistas seremos todos, al menos todos los que se animen a participar. El público está invitado a escuchar las historias que se leerán en una biblioteca plagada de libros que serán donados. Sueños de Vidrio es un pequeño museo de historias de amor. Claramente influenciada  por los cuentos para niños de centro Europa, la nieve (una imagen  recurrente en mis trabajos), la situación de “vidriera” me atrae, desde las Vidrieras de Harrods que veía de niña, donde artistas realizaban intervenciones (recuerdo unas maravillosas de Raquel Forner) hasta las vidrieras de las mueblerías donde se recrean típicas casas, sus livings, sus cocinas aún hoy me siguen atrayendo. Y hago uso de ellas para perfomance (I love you,  me either, 2007); me interesa la distancia del observador, que vea la acción como una película lejana aunque transcurra a solo un metro, el vidrio separa.

Los Viajes de Nushi ( escultura) Año: 2015. Materiales: cerámica sobre telgopor tallado. Medidas: variables. 14 x 2.5 metros

 

MCB: Referentes artísticos y viajes: ¿Qué artistas fueron fundamentales para la construcción de tu mirada y cómo marcaron tu obra la experiencia de haber viajado tanto por el mundo?

NM: De cada viaje (viajo y he viajado mucho) recupero algo, un momento, un olor, una música, un paisaje, alguna situación que me tocó presenciar. Siempre trato de sentirme turista aunque me quede por largas temporadas en un lugar ajeno. Nunca me hago parte, siempre observo todo como la primera vez. En cuanto a influencias, diría que me nutro más de la literatura tanto fantástica como policiales, literatura latinoamericana del siglo XIX, poesía, libros de cocina, de bordado, de naturaleza, catálogos de arquitectura, libros de oráculos, simbología,  todos  me dan herramientas. Lo que me ocurre con los artistas  visuales (por supuesto Duchamp es clave), más que referentes es la admiración que me provocan, las maneras que eligen contar su historia, el relato y sus materiales, su cosmogonía. Puedo nombrar a Gumier Mayer, a Cristina Schiavi  (quién  es mi gran interlocutora y amiga) Fernanda Laguna, Alberto Passolini, Spilimbergo, Guttero, Cúnsolo en fin…y por supuesto los old masters Turner, Caravaggio. Como verás, ninguno está en mi obra, pero están todos a la vez.

Los Viajes de Nushi ( escultura) Año: 2015. Materiales: cerámica sobre telgopor tallado. Medidas: variables. 14 x 2.5 metros

 

MCB: ¿Porqué las instalaciones, los objetos, los site specific, la necesidad del volumen -en pequeño o gran formato- ya sea en una obra de carácter permanente o una intervención?, ¿Cuál es la magia del volumen? Imagino que poder tomar el espacio e integrar al espectador en la experiencia tienen mucho que ver con tu elección.

NM: Las obras donde uno puede penetrar, ser parte, me enamoran. Desde Alicia  (que era una mujer/muñeca gigante que estaba en la Rural en Buenos Aires, donde uno entraba a su cuerpo y veía el sistema reproductor) hasta los laberintos de espejos del parque de diversiones Ital Park, las obras de Marta Minujín, Richard Serra siempre me maravillaron. Empecé con el volumen también de manera caprichosa, cubriendo ramas con mosaico, esa fue mi primera aproximación al volumen y de ahí en más tomé la escultura como formato y fue creciendo (una vez más los tamaños gigantes) como si fuera un vicio, cada vez las piezas son más grandes. Y repitiendo lo que me atrae, que la gente forme parte de mi obra, amo que la gente se siente sobre ellas, las toque, jueguen. Una espacio creado por mí, pero que se transforma en un espacio común a la comunidad. Formar parte del paisaje arquitectónico. Otra vez la topografía como vinculo con las personas.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Instalación ´Carnivoras¨, ¨el Museo de los mundos imaginarios, Centro Cultural Recoleta, Curadori Rodrigo Alonso.

Paula Toto Blake es Licenciada en Artes Plásticas por la Facultad de Bellas Artes, Universidad Nacional de La Plata y completa sus estudios con Eduardo Medici, Sergio Bazan, Gumier Maier, Mónica Girón, Jorge Lopez Anaya y Alan Pauls. Fotografías intervenidas, instalaciones, videos, objetos y hasta una línea de joyas inspiradas en sus obras, integran el corpus de trabajos de la artista, siempre siguiendo el hilo conductor de lo que marca su sensibilidad respecto al entorno social que la rodea y sus experiencias personales: los temas, las sensaciones, los intereses emergen y luego el soporte adecuado intenta plasmar esos interrogantes. Su trabajo también se vincula con las zonas marginales donde la gente habita en condiciones de vulnerabilidad, trabajando en un equipo docente de arte y el diseño. Expuso en espacios tales como el Centro Cultural Recoleta (Argentina), Galería GC Arte (S.P Arte, Brasil), Galería Sicart (España), Museo Fine Arts Houston (USA), Centro Cultural Bruno Munari (Italia), entre otros. Se destacan las becas recibidas a nivel internacional: National Endowmen for the Arts, Beca Artist in Residency Program Sculpture Space, New York (2006), Programa Intercampos II, Fundacion Telefonica, Bs As (2006), Convocatoria “Focal Point, Arte Contemporáneo de la Universidad de Bologna (2006), Residencia artística en ARTELEKU, Centro de Arte Contemporáneo, San Sebastián, España (2004). Subsidio a la Creación Artística Fundación Antorchas, 2003.

Anillo ¨Carnívora¨, Joyas de edición limitada, Art a Porter, bronce y piedra volcánica, Paula Toto Blake & Yanina Faour ( Oleana), inspiradas en las obras de la serie ¨Hogar dulce hogar¨, 2011

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: ¿Cuál es el proceso por el cual un tema de interés, una pulsión, una sensación, determina el soporte de la obra? Tomemos el ejemplo que quieras.

Paula Toto Blake: La casa es un tema recurrente en mi trabajo. En el año 2006 realice  una Residencia Artística en Sculpture Space, New York. Regresaba a los EEUU, luego del atentado del 2001. Observé un gran temor en los habitantes de NY y durante la residencia  realice una Instalación que se llamo ¨Behind  the apparent¨ y una serie fotográfica que se llamó ¨La casa como amenaza¨; comencé a generar un pensamiento  que tiene que ver con el límite entre ficción y realidad, tomé la ciudad como escena de condensación de miedos, violencia, incertidumbre y fragilidad. La casa es el  refugio deseado, sin embargo la casa es el lugar de aquello que siendo hogareño, se torna siniestro y ominoso. Recolectaba  de la calle elementos de uso domestico y los sometía a situaciones de ¨camuflaje¨, interviniéndolos con materiales industriales, generándoles una segunda piel. Fotografiaba elementos abandonados y sometidos a situaciones extremas,  intemperie,  como si  la casa estuviera ¨volcada¨. Tomaba  el mobiliario como sustitución de un sujeto, ligándolo como cuerpo expuesto o violentado a un extrañamiento.

.¨Sillón¨ mimbre, madera, caucho y neumáticos, 156 x 120 x 80 cm 2004.

 

MCB: El juego de tensiones entre lo que dice la palabra y lo que la obra representa se hace evidente desde el principio con la serie “Corazas” (2000). Tengo entendido que es producto de tu experiencia trabajando en el Hospital Borda: las corazas contienen y sin embargo en tu propuesta se nos presentan como una suerte de naturaleza violenta…

PTB: Al trabajar en una experiencia docente en el Hospital Borda, donde se utilizaba al arte como mediador entre las subjetivas construcciones visuales y las palabras. Mundos íntimos, encerrados dentro de una fragilidad personal, el arte se presentaba a la manera de ¨salvataje¨ en esa relación que conducía entre el adentro y el afuera. Empecé a pensar en el grado de vulnerabilidad de estas personas, en la construcción de un ¨ser social¨ o replegado en su ostracismo y a producir series de objetos  que remitían a la naturaleza;  generando una textura de apariencia violenta con masilla epoxy, una metáfora del mundo natural, del cual todos somos parte, una especie de ¨armadura paleontológica” que se desplegaba en el muro, dispuesta a resguardar, resguardar-nos.

MCB: La caída de las Torres Gemelas en 2001 inspiró la instalación “Hogar dulce hogar” donde haces foco en el terror, la pérdida de referente, los miedos ante lo que no podemos controlar ni siquiera en nuestro hogar. Contanos cómo elegiste plasmar estos conceptos materialmente.  

PTB: Esta obra fue realizada en el año 2001, en medio de un clima de pánico, cuando se derrumbaban las torres gemelas en NY y en Argentina cambiábamos cuatro presidentes en un mes. El nombre de la muestra individual en la que participé ese año se llamo ¨Hogar dulce hogar¨ y fue una ironía al miedo circundante. Mi intención era generar una reflexión al clima que vivíamos en ese momento. La casa (nuestro mundo) en ese momento no nos albergaba plácidamente. Una casa tomada o cubierta de plantas carnívoras dentadas, que nos ataca, nos desprotege y se vuelve ominosa. Una apariencia suave como las ramas de terciopelo, pero con  plantas que podrían ser devoradoras. Una especie de atracción y repulsión al mismo tiempo.

-¨Ego¨ masilla epoxi, madera, espejo y esmalte, Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes , 180 cm x 47 cm x 36 cm , 2002

 

MCB: Otro hecho social – esta vez de la esfera local argentina- da pie a la instalación “Bunker”: la presencia de los cartoneros en las calles en 2003. En este caso recreas otro espacio íntimo -un living-, pero lo transformas en un espacio hostil, casi lo opuesto a la sensación de refugio que transmite la palabra búnker…

PTB: La instalación ´Bunker¨ nace de la sensación que pude percibir en plena crisis social y económica, luego del 2001.  Surgían los cartoneros como un recurso de vivienda en las calles, la gente sin techo buscaba refugio y se convertía  en una opción de supervivencia frente a la crisis. La realidad  se veía cruda en las calles y en los medios .Surgían nuevos medios de comunicación y nos íbamos desconectando, a la vez. Produzco una instalación, que consiste en un living en donde  a todos los elementos los cubro de una textura orgánica llena de pinches, realizada en masilla epoxy. Bunker surge como metáfora de ese momento de repliegue y soledad que guardan los medios de comunicación y nos alejan de la realidad inmediata; con la intención de alertarnos sobre esta paradoja en la cual todos estamos involucrados, sobre  los riesgos que genera la sobre información en el hombre contemporáneo.

SERIE ¨CORAZAS¨ Instalación, Masilla epoxi y acrílico. Medidas variables, Palais de Glace , Buenos Aires, 2001

 

MCB: Nuevamente la violencia aparece en “Sombras”, en este caso poniendo en diálogo los cortes de ruta y quemas de neumáticos en Argentina y los enfrentamientos en España previos al atentado en Atocha en marzo de 2004. Luego en 2009 participaste de la muestra “Adiós a las Sombras” en la Galería Arte x Arte y allí Victoria Verlichak advierte en su texto de sala, la coherencia entre tus distintas series a lo largo de tu carrera, donde “reina la ironía y la desazón” de forma provocativa y hasta autobiográfica. ¿Qué opinas?

PTB: Inspiradas en el concepto de Jung y desarrolladas en caucho de neumáticos en desuso, ¨Sombras¨ es una reflexión sobre la violencia en el mundo.  Si bien lo que motivo a realizarlas fue un hecho político local y una percepción durante mi residencia en España, la exposición ¨Adios a las sombras¨ coincidió con una etapa de reflexión sobre mi misma y actuó como disparador para que yo pudiera, a su vez despedir las propias.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Thicket, 2016. Rusted steel. No. 20280. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery

Why is Tony Cragg’s art unlike anything anyone has ever seen? What does it “say” to a range of viewers in Teheran, London, Moscow, Berlin, and New York (solo show Marian Goodman, closed October 14, 2017)? Cragg is modest about his global platform, his knighthood, and whatever else takes him out of his studio, where he is bent on his theory of materiality – creating art that enlarges our mindsets by inventing new forms, processes, and uses of materials. In October, 2017, his traveling exhibit opened at Teheran’s Museum of Contemporary Art, one of the largest contemporary museums in the world. In May, 2018, New York visitors and regulars will find Cragg’s monumental sculpture on Park Avenue.  How did Cragg’s vision boost his practice from early temporary spaces – one  in a Jehovah’s Witness basement —  to his present studio complex in a former army base in Wuppertal, Germany? Read on, and also see http://www.tony-cragg.com/ and www.mariangoodman.com/artist/tony-cragg.

After spending the weekend supervising the crane-hoisting of his megaton works through the fourth story windows of the Marian Goodman Gallery on 57th Street, Cragg graciously gave Sculpture an exclusive interview on the Monday before a preview for his 14th solo New York show’s opening.

Jan Garden Castro: Today is September 11. Should sculpture relate to what’s happening in the world? Your work has become more and more complex…

Tony Cragg: Basically, I’m not sure sculpture is capable of reflecting what’s happening in the world. I’ve never tried to make anything represent something in another material.  What I’m interested in is what material does and what material means to us. I started to work as a student just by moving the material, in relation to the thoughts and feelings I had. I didn’t have to make that material represent something. I make works that are entities in themselves but, on the same hand, they should deal with what I think are important issues. Some of those issues are, obviously, to do with the way we make things. Human beings have survival strategies to extend ourselves into the material, and we do that in a very pragmatic way, a very economic way, and in doing that, we end up making a very simple material world. This room would be a good example: flat surfaces, bland, empty, straight-edged, geometric, right angles. Because our production systems are rational and economic, we tend to produce very, very simple forms.

Sail, 2017
Onyx. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery.

In the long term, this results in our producing a world impoverished in form. We take down a forest because we need a field. After a few years, we turn the field into a car park. There’s a steady process of  impoverishing the form in the world.  That’s not an environmental problem. The problem has more to do with the way we think and the way we converse with each other. We couch our thoughts in certain terms that are grounded in the material world. So if the material world around us is becoming impoverished and weaker in terms of its richness, we are also in a sense destroying the possibilities of our thoughts, our emotions, and our vocabulary.

Sculpture is one of the only uses of material that is not utilitarian. It doesn’t have to use lowest common denominator criteria for its existence, and it actually produces new forms in material.  These new forms give us new thoughts and new emotions to expand our vocabulary. That’s one very important function of sculpture, of art in general, which is not an easy or placative thing. It affects the way we feel and the way we think.

Another important function of sculpture is we see the world around us by looking at the surfaces of things: through light that touches the surface and comes into our eye. We only know the surface. But surfaces are, if you like, portals to the material behind. So even when we look at each other, we look at the surface – the light reflected from the surfaces of our faces and bodies, but we want to know what’s behind that surface. I believe there is always a psychological pressure to see beyond the surface, and the sculpture I’m interested in says something about the forces behind the surface – the forces that create the forms we see in front of us.  And this, in another sense, feeds into another important area: the world is becoming invisible in front of us. We have so much information now about chemistry, wave forms, energy forms, math theorems, cosmic movements, viruses. It is not visual, perceivable information. There is an enormous gap between what we know and what we’re basing our lives on and the experience we have of that materiality. An oak tree 100 years ago looked more or less like the oak tree we see today.  We could fill this building with the information about the oak tree today. This is an area that sculpture deals with in a certain manner.

The relationship between mankind and nature is one that you have to include in terms of human existence – how much we still are a part of nature. What we do and what we make could be perceived as being natural if you like, or are we in a post-natural or post-human phase as some suggest?

An important other thing is that sculpture and art in general isn’t a science. We live in a world where science dominates our existence, and quite rightly so, because we have a lot of benefits from that. So it uplifts, in a sense, what we’re very vain about – our intelligence. We see it as our advantage over other beings. The fact of the matter is, 95%, if not more, of our decisions about what we do – why we get dressed like this, how we’re behaving, what we had for breakfast, how you address people, how you position your body – all of these things are based on an emotional situation, not intellectual or rational.

Conversion, 2017. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery.

 

Art feeds into the quality of the decisions we make about what we do, what we say, how we see the world.  That chain of things – we act based on what we believe we know. A great part of our lives is based on beliefs. We live in a world which at present is struggling on so many levels with different people with different beliefs. Personally, I’m astounded that any people believe the same things. Beyond the horizon of what we know, we all have to believe these speculations for which we have no images. Historically, a lot of religious art is about finding images for the things beyond knowledge in the area of belief. That’s very important.

Also, one can say there’s a sense of our limitness – restrictions on us. What we see is a very, very small part of reality. There are many more things that do not exist than things that do exist. Sculpture and art are ways of looking at – trying to touch into some of the things that do not exist. There are other things, but those are some of my ontological concerns about what is essential and important in sculpture-making. Sculpture is at the cutting edge of material investigation.  Art may be amusing, it may be strange, but I really feel it has a very serious function as well.

Castro: I’m interested in the range of materials and processes in your present show.

Cragg: These works are highly structured and extremely complicated and require some rigidity of materials. I used bronze is because it’s fluid at a relatively low temperature and capable of making polymorphic forms. The steel sculpture I cut and carved initially using polyurethane blocks slightly softer than wood. Then I cast it in steel; this allowed me to make something complicated in its form, lyrical, and nearer to the idea I have of a hedge, which relates to a childhood memory of playing in the hedges at my grandfather’s farm. Usually steel sculpture is clumpy, lumpy, and, if you like, masculine.

Upright, 2016. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery.

 

Castro: How did you rust the steel? Did you use salt?

Cragg: Salt burns into the work and pits it badly. Rust is the best protection against rust. It may have spent a day or two in the rain.

Castro: The onyx piece is outstanding.

Cragg: We made that in cooperation with craftsmen in Italy; they seemed to be the only people who had a hand on it.  The wooden Atlantis relates to the work I’ve been making in the last year; elliptical columns run through the whole of the work. One can argue that it’s organic/emotional on one side yet very rational. That reflects two facets of our own human nature from Greek philosophy forward.  The Sail, the onyx work, is a version of that; it has its own geometry but the quality of it, I hope, is an emotional one. The onyx adds to that emotional quality, I think.

Castro: Do you have a theme for your upcoming Park Avenue Malls outdoor exhibition?

Cragg: Two works are ready. The first is a stainless steel column, 18 feet high; it’s a geometric form that looks organic. It sounds like a contradiction but belongs to a category of works that I call Rational Beings. It demonstrates clearly this balance between geometry and organic form.  The next one that is ready is super-complicated and a forerunner to these works. It’s called Mean Average. This large work, 18 feet high, consists of many columns. Basically, we’re making five large sculptures that develop that theme of rational beings.

Castro: I love the muted hues in this exhibition.

Cragg: It’s been great fun to do that. I got tired of the patina. The patina is a limited thing. I’ve been putting on the color. The aluminum works are large and colorful with several coats; they have materiality and structure.

Castro: And so much energy.

Cragg: They should have. In the center is a rational building block, like an I-beam. These articulations or gesticulations are sprouting out of a geometric form. The turn of events indicates some movement growing out of that.

Castro: How do audiences all over the world differ and receive the work?

Cragg: My activity is studio-based. I’m happiest in my studios in Germany and Sweden. I want to follow the themes and motifs of my work in a concentrated manner. I’m happy when I’m invited to do things. I  always feel when it moves toward the door, it’s already in a state of decay.  I’m happy that these themes and interests are pertinent to people’s lives. I’m a radical materialist. We’re made of material and surrounded by material. Intelligence and love are sublime, complicated qualities of material. We can be self-reflecting intelligences; we forget that so easily. Everyone’s lost in their moribund lives of existence and work and relationships whereas every minute of our lives we should be celebrating the fact that we’re all here (laughs).

Manipulations, 2017. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery.

 

Scene changes from interview to Craig’s comments to Artsy audience in Marian Goodman Gallery.

Cragg’s comments to the Artsy audience on September 11:  The hardware with which we change our environment and modify it for our own needs is in our hands. The answers don’t all lie in 3-dimensional printing. Quick review of sculpture in the last 150 years: in the 19th Century, figurative sculpture dominated Europe. It took ages for sculpture to get away from the figure. Maillol and Rodin, for totally different reasons, left exact representation of the anatomy. Immediately after that, Brancusi, being fascinated by smooth industrial forms, moved away from the figure; then Duchamp made a big contribution – he opened up everything – every object and every material from gold to blood – the entire vocabulary of materials. Early in the 20th Century, after the pissoir, we had the soup can — bringing all these things that didn’t belong in the art world into the art world – changing the context or syntax. When I was a student in 1969, this was a prime motivation: we were still running around looking for new objects and new materials. Sculpture is a dynamic, dramatic discipline …

Today there are new tools you can use. My students make these fantastic awful things. I personally don’t generate art using computers for purely selfish reasons – it would destroy my fun, but in the last years, I also use some of these things. Computer programs are useful for enlarging the small things I like to make. The second function I love is putting things inside of things – the skin of the interior. Sail [created first in wood, then in onyx] is based on 68 drawings scanned in elliptical columns put inside each other. The problem is, even if it’s a new tool, you still need an artistic impulse. If the artistic idea is there – don’t think about the artifact; think about the artistic quality of what is being made. One confusion is that sculpture is not just a craft-based activity and but mainly an artistic activity. It’s the human spirit that drives it, not human needs.

By Jan Garden Castro

All quotes from Cragg comments on September 11, 2017 are used with permission. The last comments are from Artsy’s OnSite event at the Marian Goodman Gallery, hosted by Matthew Israel.  Thank you to Tony Cragg, Marian Goodman, Linda Pelligrini, Sylvia Rupani-Smith, and Artsy.

© Maria Baranova

Robert Wilson’s studio, The Watermill Center, is an international think tank and work space that is continuously evolving in its relationships with nature, its art collection and buildings, and the communities it serves. Two among many lessons I learned from my two visits there are that “it takes a village” to fully nurture and nourish every individual artist, and it requires intensive and sometimes grueling work on the part of each artist to realize his/her/their individual and collective dreams.

Picture this: artist chef Illenk Andilolo,  the son of the king of Toraya, South Sulawesi, Indonesia prepares daily feasts beyond description since each dish is a work of art, nutrient-rich, colorful, and oh so delicious. Whether he is cooking tilapia or salmon, garbanzo beans, quinoa, veggies with spices, or an exotic mango salad, the fresh flavors, unique preparations, and presentations are a gift to one’s body. It’s lunchtime. The artists, filling two long wooden community tables that each seat about fifty people, come and go. At the suggestion of a playwright from Paris, each person rises to introduce her/their/himself to us: Dorian, a composer from Slovenia; Debra, a poet from Singapore; Ann, an American poet, Fran, a curator from Sidney, Dario from Rome, Miles from Paris, and on – artists from Florida, Lithuania, Russia, Finland, South Korea, Mexico, Berlin, Chicago, Chechnya …a feast of individual talents – and a harmony of mixed flavors in the spirit of the place.

Carlos Sotos working in the Grand Room. ©lovis ostenrik

 

I’ll focus here on the unique ways that the Watermill facility and summer residency program operates. You can find my essay on the architecture, grounds, landscape, and art collection of over 8000 rare and sometimes sacred objects here.

Watermill comprises eight and a half acres that border a protected natural reserve called the Peconic Land Trust. When I arrived on a Wednesday, the first thing I did was spray myself against deer ticks since, Maria, a photographer who was spraying herself, told me that lyme disease is on the rise. Staff and artists alike were preparing the grounds for the annual Summer Benefit and Auction– planting shrubs, trimming, weeding, building sets and building a wall for Jenny Holtzer’s word art, raising tents, laying down a pine mulch path, setting up torches along a prescribed circular path, and more. The grounds were alive with artists who were improving nature as well as setting the stage for their own upcoming performances and installations. Sacred stone dolmens and wooden art objects from all over the world are among the landscape made up of beech, Japanese weeping maple, and grasses, trees, and shrubs. The original setting of indigenous weeds, blueberries, and trees has been enhanced 1000%.

BARBARA TRAN- Homo Schizophyllum. ©Maria Baranova

 

The practices of the summer artists and the full time residents vary, but all stay for limited periods. Mr. Wilson kindly gave me a personal tour of the large U-shaped main building. Its central courtyard, called the Knee, has open doorways facing east and west– so that the sun literally rises and sets over and through the building.  The lower area has the kitchen and eating areas, and an extensive library. The next level has a super-large rehearsal, meeting, and performance area, and smaller galleries with art installations and objects. Above this is a small computer room with work stations and other small rooms. In general, the rooms in the building have no doors, including Mr. Wilson’s personal living and work spaces. Also, the rare art objects, some over 5000 years old, are generally unframed so that one can touch the beads, the designs carved in stone, the surface of a long outdoor teak bench, and even the Frank Lloyd Wright window, an art object Mr. Wilson acquired early in his career as he lived frugally in a one-room studio.

Grand Room 1. ©lovis ostenrik

 

Artists do not have designated work spaces where they can collect and construct objects in the formal sense. Instead, they use large and smaller common rooms to work, together or alone, and then leave the rooms as they were – each filled with a few select priceless art objects, such as Marlene Dietrich’s favorite shoes with rhinestone heels or a door from Timor.

STEPHEN SHANABROOK- Beaten to a Pulp on a Bed of Moss. ©lovis ostenrik

 

Many performance artists presented unique programs during the Gala that Saturday. Miles Greenberg (from Paris) turned himself into a blackened, cloven-hoofed satyr and hung upsidedown from chains for Chandelier (Hunting Lodge). Robert Wilson created a 20-foot by 90-foot  wall for Jenny Holtzer’s word art SHE OUTWITS HIM/ SHE OUTLIVES HIM. Stephen Shanabrook, performing Beaten to a Pulp on a Bed of Moss (but not a resident), slumped in a chair as another artist made & fanned cotton candy –  a hot, stinging mess– onto Shanabrook’s body. Some passersby couldn’t resist licking or biting him. Architect Enric Ruiz-Geli , a former resident visiting for the Benefit) built a long roofless building for Vesna Mačković’s Salute, a wordless performance depicting a worker with deformed hands whose endless labors seem in vain. Mačković  had told me earlier that in Chechnya more workers were unemployed due to capitalism than under communism.

VESNA MAČKOVIC- Salute . ©lovis ostenrik

 

A guest, artist Derek Glenn Martin summed it up as he told me, “The event had me feeling the power of expression and the importance of standing for what you believe in even if that is wading into deeper waters. Regina José Galindo’s video (Tierra) intimately housed in the black tar papered huts to the open-air performance by Dana Davenport (Heugin) and the cold walls of Vesna Mačković’s (Salute) awoke the nerve of life. The universality of art to the visceral and how the wand of such power spans all ages –– and holds vitality as Laurie Anderson’s unforgettable performance showed us …” Patrick Bensard, Founder of the Cinématèque de la dance in Paris and an old friend of Mr. Wilson’s pointed out that Wilson has championed theater productions full of mystery, irony, and fun, adding, “Audiences instantly connect with Bob Wilson’s  productions. He invents a magic land they unconsciously and secretly await and desire …. For us in France, where structuralist philosophy was so strong in the early years, Bob suddenly brought us structure and fiction in the same gesture.”  Robert Wilson’s vision at Watermill merges intermedia arts and concepts relevant to all humans.

Thank you to Robert Wilson and Danielle Mayer for making my visits to The Watermill Center extraordinary. See also robertwilson.com and watermillcenter.org

By Jan Garden Castro

INSTALACION CERAMICAS

Paula Rivero se propuso llegar a su silencio. Su obra sigue un hilo conductor a lo largo de los años aun cuando cambien los soportes, formatos o técnicas. Su factura se reconoce tanto en los empastes de las pinturas, la resina, los collages sobre telas y papeles, las esculturas que combinan hierro con pieles y las figuras trabajadas en birome, lápiz y acuarela. Los temas recurrentes, desde lo conceptual pivotean entre lo femenino, la palabra velada y los lazos que vinculan o someten; las figuras del corsette y de las alas, son tipologías que le sirven para vehiculizar estas inquietudes. En su producción más reciente, estas constantes siguen un proceso de síntesis donde prevalece la economía de recursos y hasta cambia la paleta por la presencia del blanco y el sepia. También las instalaciones ganaron espacio con los años y la obra, ya más íntima, se organiza en grandes bloques formando una unidad a partir de la suma de las partes. El relato se construye desde un lugar mucho más maduro, libre de amarras estilísticas y saturación de contenido. Paula Rivero vivió en Italia, Perú, Uruguay, México y está radicada en Argentina; la influencia de múltiples culturas, claramente influenciaron su mirada y su obra. Profesora Nacional de Pintura por la Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes Prilidiano Pueyrredón y con estudios de diseño gráfico en la Universidad Iberoamericana de México, D.F. su obra integra colecciones privadas nacionales e internacionales y participa frecuentemente de muestras en galerías y ferias.

NOMADE II, Cerámica. 25 x 20 x 18 cm

 

María Carolina Baulo: Hace más de 30 años que estas en arte y resulta interesante ver la cantidad de técnicas plásticas y soportes que has utilizado. ¿A qué se deben los cambios permanentes?

Paula Rivero: Desde muy chica descubrí mi curiosidad por experimentar las formas y el color con distintos materiales, técnicas, soportes y atribuyo gran influencia de esto el hecho de que una profesora de arte en el colegio se quedaba siempre dormida en clase y entonces pintábamos descontroladamente utilizando la variedad de oleos, acrílicos, tintas, pasteles, pinceles, rodillos y papeles antes que ella se despertara.

NIDO, Acero inoxidable y cuero. 44 x 28 x 25 cm

 

Siento que estos 30 años que transcurrieron desde entonces siguió en mí intacta esa sensación de seguir investigando nuevas técnicas y pasando por distintos soportes pero estando como hilo conductor en mi inquietud y curiosidad el juego de los opuestos, de la luz y la sombra y pasando de lo bidimensional a la tridimensionalidad, de la materia a la transparencia, de la pintura al objeto, del dibujo al metal, de la cerámica a la acuarela, de la fotografía a la instalación y llego hoy a un lugar interno con mi arte de silenciar estos recursos dando la palabra a la fuerza de lo sutil y lo intimo.

MCB: Si bien tu fuerte siempre fue lo bidimensional (pintura y dibujo), hace ya varios años que trabajas con objetos y esculturas. ¿Qué crees que te aporta el volumen y qué materiales aplicas puntualmente a ellos?

PR: Hace unos años sentí la necesidad de salir de lo bidimensional ya que me encontraba limitada para poder expresar el recorrido en el espacio de distintos planos, su profundidad y misterio que si me lo permiten expresar la escultura y los objetos. En las esculturas trabajo el acero inoxidable y el hierro con cueros para representar en lo femenino a la mujer que es guerrera por fuera y salvaje por dentro y también trabajo esculturas de papel y resina en cajas acrílicas  (cartas postales originales que datan de mis desarraigos) de la serie “Trapitos al Sol” representando el “corset” poniendo a la luz cartas privadas mías. Los objetos, que van entre el corset y las alas los realizo reciclando elementos utilizados para la belleza y cuidado de lo  femenino, así también con las cartas postales y resina.

Dorso, GUERRERA Y SALVAJE Acero inoxidable y cuero. 65 x 40 x 30 cm

 

MCB: En 2017 participaste de varios eventos, ferias y hasta tuviste una muestra individual en una galería de Buenos Aires. En la mayoría de los casos incluiste una modalidad típica de lo contemporáneo: la instalación. Contanos sobre esta experiencia con la obra site specific.

PR: En el último tiempo vengo trabajando la obra site specific y utilizando la modalidad de la instalación que me permite acentuar el concepto individual en cada obra y al mismo tiempo el hilo conductor de mis obras en su totalidad y también me gusta provocar el juego del espectador con esta nueva situación muchas veces no esperada en el espacio generando una primer mirada y luego al irse entrando el descubrí de un mundo intimo en cada obra.

PRINCESA Acero inoxidable y cuero. 22 x 23 x 17 cm

 

MCB: Tu trabajo tiene un marcado cambio en los últimos años: de las pinturas formato grande –si bien no las has abandonado- pasaste a trabajar en una escala pequeña, íntima, aunque la dinámica entre las obras sea pensarlas en conjunto tomando el espacio. También la paleta se ha silenciado pero lo que resiste es el concepto.

PR: Si, en los últimos años aunque el concepto de lo femenino persiste y también sigue presente el juego mutante entre el corset y las alas, mi obra hoy la siento más íntima, con un cambio en la paleta haciendo referencia a la antigüedad, lo histórico, lo nostálgico, y el paso del tiempo y por eso aparece una paleta mas sepia, ámbar y neutra y el ruido empieza a convivir con un silencio que va ganando espacio.

Versiones de la intemperie, Gres (1230ºC), Alfarería y Modelado. 36 piezas de diferentes medidas. Año: 2013. Lugar: Museo E. Caraffa. Córdoba

Santiago Lena es autodidacta. En 2000, con apenas 21 años, comienza a trabajar con la cerámica gres, investigando, aprendiendo y tomándola como piedra fundamental de su obra. Piezas que nacen de la pura materialidad la cual puede surgir de la reelaboración de otras piezas rotas o encontradas que fueron hechas a su vez con cerámica. Una obra que no es caprichosa sino que responde a un estado perceptivo y sensible donde luego los conceptos encarnan en la materia y no a la inversa.

En 2006 se instala con su taller en Córdoba donde actualmente vive y da clases de cerámica. Sus obras participaron en gran cantidad de muestras en prestigiosos espacios tales como la Universidad Blas Pascal, el Museo E. Caraffa, El Museo de la Mujer y en galerías de arte contemporáneo. En 2015 fue  seleccionado para la residencia de arte en cerámica Stadttoferei, en Neumünster, Alemania y en 2016 recibió el 3° premio del Salón de escultura Patio Olmos.

Trayectos del olvido, Piezas de cerámica encontradas en la calle, esmaltadas en los lados rotos y horneadas a 1000ºC. Medida de la vitrina: 150 cm x 70 cm x 50 cm. Año: 2016.

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Naciste en el sur de la Argentina pero vives en el norte; leí que hay en tu obra cierta nostalgia por tu tierra. ¿Cómo interpretas ese sentir plásticamente?

Santiago Lena: Para mí fue bastante difícil consolidarme en Córdoba, viví una infancia y adolescencia en una relación muy estrecha con el mar y con los paisajes patagónicos, de pronto encontrarme en una ciudad grande con tanto cemento fue duro. Cuando comencé a hacer obra, ya viviendo en Córdoba, aparecieron sin querer formas e imágenes que remiten a esa nostalgia por mi tierra, se dio de una manera muy natural.

MCB: La materia que te define artísticamente es la cerámica gres. ¿Cómo fue tu acercamiento al material y cómo es el proceso de trabajo con ella? Tomemos un ejemplo que quieras

SL: Empecé a trabajar desde la alfarería en gres bastante tiempo antes de comenzar a pensar en hacer obra, esto me permitió tener cierta familiaridad con esta técnica lo cual me dio muchas posibilidades tanto en lo matérico así como en lo que respecta a lo formal; por ejemplo muchas piezas las trabajo desde las formas que surgen del amasado, sus pliegues, ese movimiento detenido. La dureza del gres también me permite trabajar piezas muy finas o texturas delicadas. Los procesos de trabajo varían según la obra, muchas veces surge de una necesidad o sensación física, otras veces sueños o imágenes que se me vienen a la mente. Algunas piezas que estoy realizando son formas de las que una pasta de color sale, las abre, algo las excede y las explota como si fueran volcánicas. Esas piezas hablan de lo que en el interior no puede detenerse y aparece.

Sin título, Modelado. Gres (1230ºC). Medidas: 40cm x 45cm x 50 cm. Año: 2016. Colección privada.

 

MCB: “Versiones de la intemperie”  se exhibió en el Museo Caraffa en 2013: 36 piezas en cerámica gres. El texto de sala habla de formas orgánicas, construcciones luminosas, formas cavernosas que interactúan en un territorio; el énfasis está puesto en lo esférico: lo que contiene, una forma originaria si las hay.  ¿Qué puedes contarnos sobre esta experiencia y la búsqueda conceptual de la obra?

SL: Cuando surgió la oportunidad de hacer una obra para esta muestra colectiva, fui a ver la sala y se me ocurrió trabajar con la idea de estas piezas redondas como piedras, sin base de apoyo; en un primer momento tenía más que ver con una imagen que aparecía, un paisaje. Pero a medida que fui haciendo las piezas y les fui agregando estos pequeños filamentos de cerámica, haciendo se fue manifestando el concepto de la intemperie y la vulnerabilidad. Fue movilizante para mí hacer esa instalación, creo que esta bueno estar dispuesto a que en el hacer se vayan moviendo cosas profundas, es ahí donde más le encuentro el sentido a hacer obra.

MCB: “Manifiesto Incorpóreo” y “Trayectos del Olvido” son obras que nacen con otra intencionalidad. Allí aparece el concepto de objet trouve y a partir de ahí, surgen estas instalaciones de ladrillos comunes y cerámicas encontradas rotas en la calle, esmaltados y horneados. Contanos sobre estas obras…

Manifiesto Incorpóreo. Ladrillos comunes esmaltados y horneados a 1040 ºC. Medida: 90 cm x 70 cm x 50 cm. Año: 2014. Lugar: MUVA, Unquillo.

 

SL: Estas obras surgen de una observación y una reflexión sobre la perdurabilidad de la cerámica que, aunque sean piezas rotas, sus partes no desaparecen; gracias a esto se puede conocer gran parte de la historia de la humanidad. Trabajar con pedazos de piezas relativamente contemporáneas a mi vida, me resulta interesante porque es como hacer una especie de relevamiento de los objetos que se usan, los distintos diseños y colores. Por ejemplo he encontrado caños de cloacas de cerámica, que ya no se fabrican pero que muchas casas aún los tienen. Muchas piezas las encuentro en demoliciones o remodelaciones. La cerámica nos sigue hablando la historia reciente.  En el caso de “Manifiesto Incorpóreo” trabajé con ladrillos desechados: estaban apilados prolijamente en el parque de una casa, yo los esmalté y los volví a poner en el mismo lugar de la misma forma. Con esos esmaltes de colores quise visibilizar el trabajo de los ladrilleros, relativizar la “basura”.

Versiones de la intemperie, Gres (1230ºC). Alfarería y Modelado. 36 piezas de diferentes medidas. Año: 2013. Lugar: Museo E. Caraffa. Córdoba

 

MCB: Desde lo estético, muchas de tus obras juegan con lo erótico, la sensualidad de las curvas; otras guardan relación con lo arqueológico y la constante pareciera ser la abstracción de las formas.

SL: Sé que en muchas de mis piezas se filtra algo de lo erótico, lo sensual, me lo dicen mucho. No sé si lo hago de una manera consciente, creo que poner el énfasis en el interior de las piezas, jugar con lo que no podemos ver en su totalidad, trabajar con ciertas texturas o colores que podrían ser órganos del cuerpo, remite de alguna manera a lo erótico. Muchas veces no me interesa pensar un concepto antes de hacer, hago, intento conectarme con la materia y con mi cuerpo y ahí sale algo, las palabras vienen después. En relación a lo arqueológico, me resulta interesante inventar formas y texturas que parecen piezas arqueológicas, o cosas petrificadas, lo que hacemos con la cerámica es un proceso de transformación de la materia, muchas son transformaciones que se dan de manera natural en la tierra, los ceramistas las generamos en nuestros taller.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Plant-in City, Moss, 2012, 48″ x 18″ x 24″, Installation, Huy Bui

The artist Huy Bui says it best:

We are living in precarious times where human greed, stupidity and ignorance threaten the existence of all life on Earth.  It is our moment as humans to reflect on ourselves and confront a destination once thought as fiction that is now our probable future. The sixth extinction is in progress but our potential to problem solve is remarkable.  Our actions and policies in the next generation will determine the fate of species for thousands of years to come, if not millions.  

Huy Bui’s work pushes towards what he calls “Art and Architecture in the Anthropocene.” His body of work weaves thoughts of utopia and dystopia into his built environments. His recent show at the Cooler Gallery, “A Structure for Hope and Survival,” explores the unfathomable possibility of mass extinction and how one might prepare for that outcome. Bui’s current installation “Vertical Landscapes,” is a model of creating human built natural/ watershed systems. These structures are inspired by the works of Superstudio and Archigram’s in the 60’s. Their works were projections of radical architecture and concepts that questioned the morality of modern architecture in relationship to capitalism and the bourgeoisie.

Plant-in City, Vertical Garden, 2014, 8′ x 4′ x 2′, Installation, Dominic Neitz

 

Bui is a Designer-in-Residence at the A/D/O Workspace, a creative space in Greenpoint, Brooklyn that explores new directions in design. The Retail Shop at A/D/O commissioned Bui’s “Vertical Landscapes,” Plant-in City’s first digitally-fabricated installation, made of laser cut teak/wood frames, brass hardware and 3D printed infrastructure/components. The installation integrates a series of Plant-in Grid TOPO and Air Terrariums arranged in a vertical core that spans the floor to ceiling glass storefront at the A/D/O Retail Shop. Huy’s project aligns retail and fine art fabrication. The Plant-in TOPO’s are available as a single stackable modular terrarium, and measures at 12 x 4.5 x 6 inches. The Air Terrariums are 12 x 3 x 3 inches.

Huy Bui’s history as a Vietnamese heritage artist born in Paris, raised in Washington, D. C., and educated, in part, at Parsons School of Design has many layers (http://huy-bui.com/) .  The class he taught at Parsons, Design Build, produced sustainable bamboo public seating for the New School and the New York Department of Transportation  (DOT). This has led to his present exhibition, studio, and design position at A/D/O. Andrew, the retail shop manager, tells me, “Artists bring the human element to something – a more emotional or personal touch.” The A/D/O space is a former bakery that now hosts a huge restaurant, a design store, spaces for meetings and conferences, a studio/fabrication area, and more. The large open central spaces with circular skylights were developed by architects Eric Bunge and Mimi Hoang of Narchitects (http://narchitects.com/) . The building received the Municipal Art Society of New York 2017 Best Adaptive Use Award. The innovative indoor design innovations were by MOS architects Michael Meredith and Hilary Sample (http://www.mos.nyc/).

Plant-in City, Moss, 2012, 48″ x 18″ x 24″, Installation, Huy Bui

 

Huy’s Plant-in City Vertical Landscapes Garden System offers a design for living that combines digital fabrication, modular installation, and a creative union of nature, architecture, and mixed use space and shelving. The entire installation  is 113” tall x 73” wide x 24” deep, and it includes  Grid Topo watersheds that Bui is developing. Simply put, the grid structure is built on a grade to let water flow down its length. Bui’s  studio prototypes have tiny square areas with even tinier plants. The models were built using cardboard, wood, and plastic formed in the 3-D printers nearby. The teak full-sized units will be made using a laser-cutting machine that is also nearby.

Geological Frame, 2016, 12″ x 3″ x 3″ – Wood and Brass, Huy Bui

 

Bui’s ongoing work and collaboration – Plant-in City – explores the cross-section of Plants, Architecture and Technology.  His work with Patrick Parrish Gallery – Geological Frame – looks at how Earth’s artifacts reveal the relationship between topography and the industrial hand of humans.  Bui is a visiting faculty member at Parsons the New School for Design and teaches advanced product design and Modular Ecology.

Beyond 0 – A Structure for Hope and Survival, June 2017, 6′ x 6′ x 6′ – Installation, Michael Yarinsky

 

Even though he was not born in Vietnam, Bui’s family had the privilege of departing before the Viet Cong took over the capital Saigon in April, 1975. He told me, “My grandfather was a successful businessman in Vietnam and could afford to send his children (father) overseas for a western education. My other grandfather (mother’s father) was a high level government official in Vietnam and lost his power and influence after the fall of Vietnam. He fled to Paris France, spoke flawless French but ended up in a limited bureaucratic legal role. The war affected my grandparents’ generation the hardest. My father was in his mid-twenties when he arrived in the States and received an education from U.S.C and adapted very well. My mother worked for the World Bank for several decades and both of them rarely spoke of the war. Most Vietnamese families don’t like to talk about it.” Bui at first majored in business administration at George Mason University and spent six years as a mortgage broker. At 28, he shifted directions by going to grad school at Parsons, where he began his education in Architecture. His practice now explores the nexus of plants, architecture, and technology – “merging them into an interactive installation…At 42, I consider myself an early career artist.”

“The macro topics I’m touching on,” Bui continued, “are what it means to terraform – to manipulate the land – it’s a conversation for big science; for example, we look at Mars as a potential habitat and how terraforming the planet is one solution. The Anthropocene is a new geological epoch, where man has the largest influence in global ecology. The geological records are a time capsule of our planetary history written in sand and stone. We find ourselves at the apex of human development that is destroying Earth at an accelerated pace, leading toward the sixth extinction. Are we at a point in human history where we have to create / terraform nature to survive? My explorations are investigating nature in deep geological time.” Visit the Bui’s website and his installation at A/D/O to learn more!

By Jan Garden Castro

Heaven, Wind (title) Boat-shaped flower basket (description), 2014. 66 x 17.5 x 34.5 cm.

The Gate, a floor-to-ceiling curviling tiger bamboo structure by Tanabe Chikuunsai IV, rises up at The Met, its woven, brown-flecked flaxen limbs both hugging the floor and flying into the heavens.  It’s unlike any of the other ninety works on view at The Met. The flowing entrance spires signal a new era for bamboo design, craft, and sculpture. For one, this bamboo has been recycled ten times and was, for example, in a different configuration of rising braided arms at the Museé Guimet in Paris.  

The Gate, 2017. Photo by Jan Garden Castro.

 

Second, the construction consists solely of bamboo pieces (moistened with water though water is not part of the work). Third, tiger bamboo is especially durable and comes from Kōchi prefecture, a rural mountain area in Japan. Most importantly, Chikuunsai IV is carrying forward his love of craft and his family’s tradition as, at the same time, he gives new directions to bamboo art.

Distinct from some artists who use hay, straw, twigs, or bamboo to create sculpture, Chikuunsai and his two able apprentices, Tomo Uesugi and Emika Nakamura, create masterful shapes that combine Eastern and Western traditions. In the Western arena, one thinks of nature mort paintings and sculptors as diverse as Ursula von Rydingsvard, Maya Lin, and Martin Puryear. The Gate is Chikuunsai’s abstract visceral sculpture that conjures nature and human nature, past and present at once. In an Eastern direction, the weave is simple yet complex; the shape is figurative and abstract, spiritual and earthy. Its immediacy and fluidity are additional striking features. This is a departure from other works in the exhibition, which are smaller and all in glass enclosures. It invites light as it turns the entrance into an intimate adventure.

Close-up portion of Creation, 2015, 35 x 35 x 63.5 cm.

 

A long display in one gallery contains pieces from the entire Chikuunsai clan, starting with the master of the eldest, Wada Waichisai I (1851-1901), then Tanabe Chikuunsai I, who began as an apprentice in 1890 around age 13. Chikuunsai II (1910-2000) occasionally added the shafts of old bamboo arrows to his baskets. Tanabe III (1940-2014) used arrow bamboo, timber bamboo, rattan and lacquer for his Delight for the Future abstract sculpture with circles inside squares; it received a prize in 2009. Tanabe Chikuunsai  IV (b. 1973) has a boat-shaped flower basket titled Setting Sail in this display. All of the works at The Met are from the Diane and Arthur Abbey collection.

Chikuunsai IV told me, “Technique and skill and spirit are important. My parents taught me that this spirit is more important than technique. Using bamboo, I try to keep the spirit and tradition in my heart as I create new work.” For his piece at The Met, he first considered the context and space and then created a drawing. The artist is adept at working with twenty kinds of bamboo, including: madake (giant bamboo),  torachiku (tiger bamboo),  kurochiku (black bamboo),  susudake (smoked bamboo), and kikkō-chiku (“tortoise shell bamboo”).

Two important upcoming shows are hundreds of works at Takashimaya, a high end department store in Tokyo, at the end of June, and a small and large installation at the Pierre Marie Giraud Gallery in Belgium this fall.

The artist, based in the Sakai district of Osaka, Japan, earned a sculpture degree from Tokyo University of the Arts. Publications of his work include one book from the Museé Guimet and Chikuunsai IV, published in April 2017 by his studio (www.chikuunsai.com).  The book illustrates this young master’s work using a range of shapes and bamboo types. Flowing Pattern, 2016 combines dark and light-hued bamboo and vertical and diagonal and horizontal directions; the weaving also makes spaces for light between the lattices. Ray of Light, 2014 has a more open weave and complex curving knots up the handle. Shooting Star, 2013 has light entering in a burst halfway up the bottom of this striking composition. Innocent, 2017 uses thicker pieces of bamboo, and its bamboo handle curves upward in an expressive way. The Creative City series, 2017 departs from basket styles to interpret architectural structures. Finally, the book contains some of the iterations of the tiger bamboo – installations that soar in multiple directions at once, that rise, braid together, and bend in rooms circled by windows: natural light enters and shines through the weave.

Shooting Star, 2014, 26.5 x 26.5 x 34 cm.

 

 

http://players.brightcove.net/911432378001/Sys8aolzg_default/index.html?videoId=5491433244001

By Jan Garden Castro

Photo by Leandro Justen, Courtesy of Creative Time.

Today’s blog is about a personal secret and a super-cathartic art event that will continue for 25 years. Sophie Calle is a major writer, photographer, and performance artist; her stunning photographs and finely-printed books are currently at 192 Books, New York. Her book True Stories reveals all kinds of intimate encounters, including shipping her bed to a stranger recovering from heartbreak and her last week with a lover with whom she was breaking up.

The horrible secret that the decamping boyfriend revealed to her has led to today’s sequel: Sophie is both witnessing and inviting people to write their inmost secrets. These are being inserted into a slot in a marble obelisk engraved Here lie the secrets of the visitors of Green-Wood Cemetery. Green-Wood, a National Historic Landmark founded in 1838, is the resting place of luminaries including Leonard Bernstein, Louis Comfort Tiffany, and Jean-Michel Basquiat, along with many others, including the unidentified remains of some of the 278 people who died in the Brooklyn Theater fire of 1876. Green-Wood is now a new art destination, yet art has always been present on –and inside— these death-filled hallowed hills!

Photo by Leandro Justen, Courtesy of Creative Time.

 

I’m late for the Cemetery! After a night of lightning storms during which I pictured myself dripping wet, running to meet with Sophie, I still haven’t decided which secret to share. This is personal. Calle’s art digs into and under people’s psyches. Under the engraved obelisk is a 55-gallon container. Periodically, over a 25-year period, the secrets will be exhumed and cremated. None will be read or revealed. The catch: there are three lines to reach Sophie and share, eye to eye, my deepest secret (which I’m still deciding upon). By the time I’m in the last line, there is still a 45-minute wait.

Photo by Guillaume Ziccarelli, Courtesy Paula Cooper Gallery & Perrotin.

 

This is fortuitous because it’s a glorious, picture-perfect spring day, and I’m starting to have unplanned conversations with people who are also enjoying the scene and the hilltop view. Nato Thompson, Artistic Director of Creative Time, the sponsor of this and other enlightening events, tells me, “Public art is an ethos, a spirit. We are given a wide band width in terms of tone. Everyone is welcome. We’re blessed on this one – it’s a weather-sensitive project.”

Even though there is a picnic mood at this event, we are at a cemetery. What does that mean? Nato Thompson has thought deeply about the social practice Creative Time does so well. His 2017 book Culture as Weapon: the Art of Influence in Everyday Life (Melville House Books) looks at “the way the manipulation of culture has been embedded in different forms of power,” including the Apple store, Ikea, the military, advertising during political campaigns, and social networks. “It looks at the ways arts from the twentieth century are part of every other part of life,” Thompson tells me. “I get into the culture wars – rather than thinking of it as a war on culture, you can think of Jessie Helms, the silent majority, and Trump as being very aware of how to manipulate and use culture.”[1]

Nato confides that he’s undecided about telling Sophie a secret because he knows her and will see her again. This somehow spurs me to tell Nato a secret! He’s a bit shocked, but this leads to further conversation and some reunions with people I know at this hugely popular event.

Photo by Leandro Justen, Courtesy of Creative Time.

 

As the long line to talk to Sophie winds around a nearby hill, I’m still figuring out what to tell Sophie. She wears a black and white dress and is seated in a chair with her dark hair and back to the line. Secret-sharers climb the hill, speak to her for about three minutes, and leave. I’m now three people away. Some of us discuss secrets and defining a secret. One says, “My secret is I long to be an actress.” Her friends chime in, “a diva singer,” “a painter.” They define a secret as “information you would want withheld,” “something you want to hide.” One says, “Like a crime is a crime – there are no levels to a secret. The general characteristic is that it’s withheld.” Then Chloe Bass, a social practice artist who is wearing big golden beads and gold shoes, says, “We use the language of secrets to give permission for things that are deeply questionable…the maintenance allows it to flourish.”[2]

Photo by Leandro Justen, Courtesy of Creative Time.

 

It’s my turn. I ascend the hill, take a seat, and look at Sophie. She seems totally focused on our moment. I tell her something deep I’ve never told anyone. She writes it on a piece of paper, gives the paper to me, and tells me to put it into the tomb. I comply. I feel cleansed. Purged. I told my secret, yet no one will know. This frees me beyond what I imagined.

However, there is a catch-22 I did not anticipate. My big reveal, I realize hours later, was part of a bigger secret about the secret that I now need to address. Thanks, Sophie! Thanks, Chloe! Thanks, Nato! My epiphany is: it’s better to not have a single secret! To visit Green-Wood, see: http://creativetime.org/projects/here-lie-secrets/

Please post a reply telling me how you manage your secrets – or how the secrets of others affect you — or rush to Green-Wood Cemetery!

Jan Garden Castro

[1] All Nato Thompson quotes from our conversation on 4.29.17.  See also  https://www.mhpbooks.com/books/culture-as-weapon of the secret /

[2] See http://chloebass.com/   and https://www.facebook.com/callesophie/  and https://www.google.com/search?q=sophie+calle+books&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8

Other links to Creative Time’s Doomocracy: see https://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/ride-through-trumped-up-politics/3535

Diseño por Cristián Mohaded y Santiago Lena, 2016 _ 2017

Con apenas 36 años, Cristian Mohaded, oriundo de Catamarca, puede darse el lujo de decir que tiene una sólida y reconocida carrera internacional en el campo del diseño. Recibido como diseñador en la Universidad Nacional de Córdoba, Mohaded desarrolla productos mobiliarios y de iluminación para importantes empresas a nivel mundial tales como Roche Bobois, Gallery S. Bensimon, Habitat y La Redoute (Francia), Mercado Moderno (Brasil), Valerie Goodman Gallery (USA), el Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA), Durban, Vacavaliente, Masisa, El Espartano, Inconcrete, Imdi Iluminación, Mantara, Irsa, Solantu, Mínimo, trabajos que le otorgan un alto grado de legitimación dentro del mundo del diseño.

Bowls NINHO. Diseño por Cristián Mohaded, 2016 _ 2017

 

Convocado como jurado de importantes concursos, seleccionado en 2015 por Maison & Objet Américas como uno de los “Rising American Talent” y ganador de los premios Vico Magistretti, De Padova (Italia), D&AD Premio Global Student, Vitra Home (Reino Unido), Ternium Siderar (Argentina) y Salão Design Movelsul Brasil,entre otros, el joven creativo ha conseguido que una de sus piezas -la silla Twist#2, diseñada en colaboración con el Arq. Ricardo Blanco en 2013- pase a integrar la colección permanente del museo de Les Arts Décoratifs de París, siendo el primer producto argentino en ser acreedor de tal honor.

Un trabajo elegante, sutil, funcional y estético pero que también intenta acercarse a las artes, diseñando objetos que presenten debate sobre la materialidad propia de las obras, más allá de la finalidad utilitaria.

María Carolina Baulo: Tu trayectoria en el campo del diseño es impresionante, especialmente teniendo en cuenta tu corta edad. ¿De dónde nace esta pasión por diseñar objetos estéticos utilitarios? 

Cristian Mohaded: Jamás pensé ser diseñador, no conocía el mundo del diseño, sí tenía una gran fascinación por la arquitectura y el arte, las formas, las escalas, los materiales, el uso del espacio. Cuando comencé a estudiar diseño, no pude encontrarme a un 100 % con la carrera hasta luego del 3er año de la carrera donde gracias a uno de mis profesores de diseño (José María Aguirre, docente de la carrera en la UNC), pude despegarme de mis miedos en relación a los limites propios de la carrera como diseñador industrial; con él trabajé mucho más el lado conceptual de los objetos, lo que un objeto puede mostrar, lo que un objeto puede ser. Encontré que un objeto de diseño podía contar una historia, tener alma.

Translación / Translation 250 x 25 x 60 cm / 98 x 9,8 x 23,6 in cuero reciclado, metal, mdf / recycled leather, metal, mdf 2017

 

MCB: “Objetos Embrionarios” (2016) en la galería Praxis fue tu primera muestra individual. Pero aquí no presentaste piezas de diseño como objetos creados para un fin puntual, sino que fueron pensados como obras de arte. ¿Cómo transitas esa delgada línea que separa las artes plásticas y visuales del diseño?

CM: Yo creo que esta primera muestra tiene una fusión muy fuerte entre ambas: las piezas que se presentaron son objetos que muestran un material, que muestran un trabajo de búsqueda e investigación de los materiales, pero apoyados desde mi previo trabajo como diseñador; son embriones de ese trabajo de diseño, no puedo separar una cosa de la otra, es inevitable. Me rodeo de objetos todo el tiempo, es mi día a día, es mi trabajo. Embrionario es justamente eso, algo que no puede encuerarse, no pretenden ser nada, son objetos que pueden ser algo.

Espejos FLECO (partedel Proyecto Cosa). Diseño por Cristián Mohaded, 2012

 

MCB: Sobre los materiales que utilizas en tus diseños/obras. ¿Cuáles son los más elegidos y porqué? Estimo que será una elección que combina el ser acordes a su funcionalidad y a tu búsqueda estética que nunca queda de lado.   

CM: Yo intento no casarme con ninguno d los materiales, creo que cada uno me ha generado algo en mi trabajo, no los entiendo como mis favoritos o los mejor o peores, los elijo en relación a lo que ellos me muestran, no los juzgo, solo hago una lectura de ellos, los interpreto desde las sensaciones y mi proximidad con ellos y no desde lo netamente físico y su composición.

MCB: ¿Cuál es tu relación con el espacio? Volviendo a la muestra en Praxis, el hecho de haber trabajado con un arquitecto como curador, sin duda otorgó una nueva perspectiva. Al estar acostumbrado a manipular objetos, debes tener una “comunicación” muy fluida con todo lo que lo rodea…

CM: siempre me sentí cómodo con el manejo de lo espacial, quizás a no al nivel arquitectónico, pero sí a una escala media. El trabajo con Martin Zanotti, fue muy enriquecedor porque él tiene un manejo impecable de las distancias, la posición y el recorrido que yo como diseñador no tengo.

Tracción / Traction 11 x 32 x 32 cm / 4.3 x 12,3 x 12,3 in 15 x 32 x 32 cm / 5.9 x 12,3 x 12,3 in, 24 x 32 x 32 cm / 9,4 x 12,3 x 12,3 in, 30 x 32 x 32 cm / 11,8 x 12,3 x 12,3 in concreto proyectado / projected concrete 2017’

 

MCB: Me gustaría conocer, con algún ejemplo, la “cocina” de tu trabajo: desde que pensas las obras hasta el montaje de verdaderas instalaciones donde interactúan.

CM: como toda cocina, tiene sus secretos, pero todas tienen algo muy personal y particular de quien trabaja en ellas y mi trabajo siempre fue mutando, siempre está en constante cambio, no tengo un método en particular o estricto de trabajo, puede comenzar con un dibujo, puede comenzar con una foto que capturo en la calle, puede comenzar en una película, los caminos son infinitos, siempre estoy ¨despierto¨ a los estímulos externos, soy como un radar, es un trabajo más intuitivo. Las formulas no existen para mi, solo es un trabajo de relación y de atracción. Algo puede decirte y  contarte cosas  de maneras infinitas y me relación con el mundo de los objetos se trata de eso, de estímulos.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Crudo #5, #6 & #7. Fotografía digital, 32 x 45 cm. 2011

Cuando pareciera que está todo inventado, algunos artistas logran encontrar la forma de combinar materiales y técnicas “clásicas” con soportes contemporáneos para materializar sus obras. Así, Juan Pablo Ferlat pone en juego la impresión y escaneo tridimensional, el grabado láser, la fotografía y el video digital con la rusticidad del papel de fibras vegetales, la cera virgen de abejas y el petróleo crudo. Formado como Diseñador de Imagen y Sonido (UBA) y con un posgrado en Programación para el Arte Interactivo del Instituto Universitario Nacional del Arte de Buenos Aires, completa sus estudios realizando clínicas con Rodrigo Alonso, Charly Nijensohn, Mariano Sardón, Carlos Trilnick y Gabriel Valansi. En 2007 ganó el Primer Premio Paradigma Digital y en 2009 recibe el  subsidio a la producción otorgado por el Centro Cultural de España en Buenos Aires. También recibe becas de la Fundación Telefónica, el Banco Itaú, el Centro Hipermediático Experimental Latinoamericano y Mecenazgo de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires. Sus obras forman parte de colecciones privadas y han sido exhibidas en Buenos Aires, Rosario, Berlín, Los Angeles, Chicago y Houston. Su primera muestra individual llega en 2011 en la galería La ira de Dios. Ferlat focaliza en los procesos detrás de la obra más allá de la materialización misma que es siempre “un estadio del recorrido y no un destino final”, tal sus palabras. 

Crudo #3 & #4 Fotografía digital, 45 x 45 cm. 2011

 

María Carolina Baulo: Tu obra es producto de muchos años de investigación. CRUDO (2011), tu primera muestra individual, surge de un proceso que comienza con un viaje al noroeste argentino en 2003 donde te conectas con la cultura indígena local. Leí que este proyecto se define como una “máquina de retratos eternos, donde las fuerzas de la naturaleza animen un artefacto que construya y destruya retratos de forma cíclica y eterna”. ¿Cómo pensaste este proyecto técnica y conceptualmente?. 

Juan Pablo Ferlat: La muestra CRUDO (2011) fue el primer desprendimiento del proyecto Perpetuum Golem que surge como idea en el 2008 y toma la forma de un work in progress que engloba todas las investigaciones y experiencias vinculadas al desarrollo de esta máquina. Despliego mi trabajo con lentitud porque lo pienso en términos de ciclos de maduración en una especie de lucha perfeccionista por acercarme al límite de mis potencialidades. Las leyes o estrategias del éxito en la Nauturaleza tienen miles (o millones) de años de puesta a prueba y perfeccionamiento. Uno de mis intereses en el estudio de culturas ancestrales tiene que ver justamente con que su evolución cultural se dio lentamente en un estrecho vínculo de adaptación y aprovechamiento de estas estrategias. Hoy en día la evolución de las tecnologías digitales tiene una asceleración como ningún otro fenomeno en la historia del hombre. Con este proyecto me planteo recuperar puntos de referencia, que permitan recontextualizar las problemáticas que se desprenden de la explosión tecnologica, en un entramado de relaciónes temporales más amplio. Construir un mestizaje de modelos que intenten recuperar la profunda energía emocional que proporciona la reconexión simbólica con los fenómenos de la naturaleza. En este contexto entiendo el desarrollo de las tecnologías aplicadas en mi trabajo como parte estructural de los objetivos.

Crudo Impresión 3D pintada con petróleo crudo, sistema de levitación Escultura: 10cm x 7cm x 10cm Pedestal: 130cm x 30cm x 30cm 2011

 

MCB: Sobre los materiales: papel vegetal, cera, petróleo, soportes fotográficos, una obra que tiene su origen en el plano bidimensional del dibujo para luego pasar a la fotografía y finalmente al plano 3D. ¿Cuál fue la importancia de hacer tu propio papel despegándote del plano industrial para luego completar la obra en una instancia digital? Allí pintas con productos medicinales y luego intervienes con el grabado laser, sintetizando dos mundos aparentemente antagónicos aunque complementarios.

JPF: Hacer mi propio papel surge como búsqueda de un soporte que tenga íntima coherencia con las sensaciones que quería capturar. Los trabajos de San Pedro (Echinopsis Pachanoi) junto a descendientes de Diaguitas me permitieron experimentar “imágenes mutisensoriales” cuya captura por medio de dispositivos tecnológicos me resultaba inconducente. Comencé una etapa ermitaña, haciendo largos retiros en parajes desolados; asceta y despojado de toda herramienta repensé mis estrategias de representación. Empecé a usar el botiquín de primeros auxilios que llevaba en la mochila, especialmente los desinfectantes, como médium para pintar. Desarrollé también una técnica propia de fabricación de papel, en la que solo necesitaba una olla para cocinar la fibra vegetal y un martillo de madera para machacarla. Como resultado, estos papeles son una suerte de superficie escultórica, una metáfora de la piel y su capacidad de manifestar heridas psíquicas. La realización de cada papel tomó la forma de un ritual que llevaba entre uno y dos meses de trabajo y cuyas acciones eran realizadas dentro de un “temeno” efímero. Ese “espacio sagrado” era transmutado e incorporado al papel por medio de este ritual. El  grabado con luz laser surge años después como el primer gesto de un corpus de trabajos con este sincretismo entre tecnologías ancestrales y contemporáneas. 

MCB: La cabeza escaneada 3D (a escala 1:1 de tu propia cabeza) es el resultado de este pasaje; luego será fotografiada para completar la obra. ¿Piensas tu obra como un todo que integra distintas instancias y soportes o tanto las esculturas como las fotografías o los dibujos pueden funcionar individualmente? 

JPF: No pienso en términos de “obra” sino de “trabajo” y “proceso”. Estos toman la forma de recorridos o exploraciones en un territorio desconocido, conformado por ideas y preguntas que me obsesionan. Las “obras” no son destinos en si mismo, sino que se desprenden de ese caminar, como lastres que me alivianan y permiten seguir en el largo camino. Lo interesante es que de todas formas las “obras” quedan impregnadas, exudan estas ideas y preguntas. A su vez, a la hora de pensar una muestra individual, me interesa que todas las “obras” trabajen como un conjunto en función de problematizar y constelar estos interrogantes.

Crudo Impresión 3D pintada con petróleo crudo, sistema de levitación Escultura: 10cm x 7cm x 10cm Pedestal: 130cm x 30cm x 30cm 2011

 

MCB: Pasemos a los trabajos en proceso, ¿qué me puedes contar de la serie de esculturas “Impermanencias”? Entiendo que es una obra que se resume en 6 etapas y cada una de ellas depende de la efectividad del desarrollo de la etapa anterior.

JPF: Este proyecto surge a partir una serie de experiencias que realicé para poner a prueba la teoría de la Emergencia. Esta teoría explica comportamientos de conjunto que no son deducibles a partir del análisis de sus elementos constituyentes. Por ejemplo, permite explicar el proceso por el cual emerge la conciencia humana a partir de la interacción de neuronas individuales. Pero también permite entender el surgimiento de comportamientos colaborativos (por ejemplo en la Argentina post-crisis 2001) desde otra perspectiva, vinculándolos a estrategias que se dan en la naturaleza, como los procesos de autoorganización en las bandadas de pájaros. ¿Cómo sería posible entonces capturar el momento en que emerge un comportamiento autoorganizado? ¿Qué forma toma el cambio de fase por el que un grupo de personas pasa a comportarse como una unidad que es más que la suma de las partes? A través de los años fui desarrollando un sistema basado en procesos de traducción, que parten de una serie de pautas de comportamiento basadas en algoritmos de simulación de bandadas de pájaros. Estas pautas son ejecutadas por un grupo de personas y grabadas en video, para luego por medio de una aplicación programada especialmente, traducir la secuencia temporal del video en una escultura virtual, que luego es materializada de forma aditiva por medio de miles de capas muy finas, donde cada capa corresponde a un fotograma. En este momento estoy estudiando cómo estos procesos de autoorganización pueden leerse como elementos oraculares, como hacían los intérpretes de los pájaros (auspex) en las artes adivinatorias (mantiké) que se practicaban en la antigua Grecia.

MCB: “Máquina Fausto” (2016) resume obras con técnicas y procedimientos distintos y allí trabajas básicamente con petróleo crudo y cera virgen de abejas. ¿Porqué elección –casi constante en tu obra- del petróleo y la cera como materia prima?.

Perpetuum Golem #1 Fotografía digital 195 x 150 cm. 2015

 

JPF: El petróleo crudo es la materialidad de las vísceras mismas del capitalismo, es el símbolo de sus leyes. Es la textura, la sangre, la matriz energética y temporal, su esplendor y decadencia. Contrapongo la cera virgen de abejas como su opuesto. La cera es la expresión de la ley de la colmena, este súper-organismo que es el máximo ejemplo de organización social dentro de los sistemas vivos. La cera es biodegradable, energéticamente sustentable y morfológicamente reversible, es el símbolo de la interacción armónica entre miles de abejas con su medioambiente. Me interesa propiciar la colisión de estos dos mundos contradictorios.

MCB: Entiendo que el proyecto “Perpetuum Golem” (2012-2017) sería el broche de oro de esta instalación protagonizada por una máquina que construye la cabeza de cera para luego destruirla y volver a reciclarla; un “artefacto de escritura sin fin”, como vos mismo la defines.

JPF: El objetivo final es instalar la máquina en un ecosistema con colmenas vivas, conformando así un sistema autopoiético, que utilice la luz solar como fuente de energía renovable. Sincronizando la fase de construcción y la de destrucción con los ciclos lunares y solares. Enlazando principio y final, de tal manera que cada repetición desencadene un proceso único e irrepetible.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Violinista, objeto cerámico 2015

Mirella Musri estudió Diseño Gráfico en la UBA y fue becaria de Fabrica Research Center on Communications (Italia). Su formación incluye estudios con reconocidos artistas plásticos y visuales como Ruben Grau, Diego Perrotta y Juan Doffo en pintura y con Julieta Cosentino en cerámica. También hizo workshops con Marina Abramovic, John Maeda, Stefan Sagmeister, James Victore y Alan Fletcher. Su obra transita distintas técnicas y soportes: pintura, cerámica, dibujo, xilografía; no hay una mejor que otra, no hay favoritismos sino que utiliza cada una de ellas acorde a lo que necesita transmitir y evaluando cuál es la correcta para cada caso. Un universo de personajes que se debaten entre el plano infantil y el mundo adulto, interviniendo los límites, cuestionando permanentemente intentando generar en el espectador un pensamiento crítico y una toma de posición.

Participó de becas y seminarios con teóricos del arte, llevó su obra a ferias internacionales y expuso en forma individual y colectiva desde 1998 en importantes espacios, centros culturales y galerías. Entre las distinciones recibidas, se destacan el VII Premio Nacional de Pintura Banco Central  2015 (seleccionada), BAP Bienal de Arte y Pintura, Chaco 2013 (invitada especial), Premio Nacional de Pintura Benito Quinquela Martín 2010 (seleccionada), Beca FNA/Ecunhi 2009/2010 y Fabrica Fellowship (Beca Completa 1999/2000), Treviso, Italia.

Actualmente es coordinadora del Taller de Ilustración Experimental, un espacio de experimentación en ilustración en Buenos Aires. Su obra es representada por la galería Praxis tanto en Argentina como en USA. 

Destronadores. Instalación cerámica. 2014.

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Son variados los materiales y técnicas utilizadas para crear tus obras. ¿Qué criterio aplicas para elegir la herramienta de trabajo en cada serie? 

Mirella Musri: En general comienzo por el dibujo, mi cuaderno de bocetos es lo que me permite desarrollar pensamientos e ideas. En algunas obras, siento que piden una corporeidad que el dibujo o la pintura no pueden darme, entonces es allí cuando decido pasar al 3D. Utilizo la técnica de la cerámica que me interesa tanto por su fragilidad como por su carácter expresivo. Mis personajes son modelados manualmente y luego son esmaltados. Una cosa que me gusta del esmaltado cerámico es que hay un punto donde el color se manifiesta de manera azarosa. Trabajo con acuarelas cerámicas que generé yo a través de pigmentos: me resulta enriquecedor participar de todas las etapas del proceso artístico, desde el dibujo, modelado, horneado hasta la pieza final. 

Seguidores. Instalación cerámica. 2014.

 

MCB: Leí un comentario tuyo sobre el modo en que buscaste fusionar el campo de la ilustración con las artes plásticas. Entiendo que la estéticas de los personajes de tus obras, hacen muy ameno este tránsito porque es casi como ilustrar un libro 3D. ¿Qué podes contarnos al respecto? 

MM: Durante muchos años mi búsqueda en el arte contemporáneo y la pintura fue muy diferente a la de la ilustración. Mientras la primera exploraba lugares más oscuros e incómodos, la segunda aludía a espacios más lúdicos e infantiles. La ilustración, sobre todo la infantil, está vinculada al mercado editorial y allí tiene sus limitaciones desde lo discursivo y desde el lenguaje adulto y se aleja del arte contemporáneo. En un momento comencé a fusionar algunos personajes que venía desarrollando en la ilustración con temáticas que estuve trabajando desde la pintura y la cerámica, y allí surgieron las obras que desarrollé para las últimas dos muestras: “Seguidores”, 2014 (ECUNHI, El Quetzal y Praxis) y “Refugios”, 2016 (Praxis). Si bien no tomo las instalaciones como ilustrar un libro en 3D, es cierto que en las últimas muestras se produce un aspecto narrativo que indudablemente proviene de la ilustración y que tiene que ver con desarrollar una idea o temática a través de personajes. En mis últimas instalaciones cerámicas, tuve en cuenta el generar un ambiente intimista y teatral a través de la iluminación y las sombras proyectadas. En el caso de “Refugios” (Praxis) podía verse un pequeño refugio construido a partir de ramas de cerámica. La obra en sí misma desde su construcción es frágil, es un refugio que fácilmente puede romperse o desmoronarse. La iluminación y la ubicación de la obra suspendida en la pared los considero parte del sentido de la obra. En ese aspecto las obras se modifican o adaptan según el espacio. 

Desarmado. Instalación cerámica.2014.

 

MCB: La muestra “Seguidores” (2013) da cuenta del uso de este lenguaje- estética  sutil, infantil y hasta  naif por momentos, pero cuya carga conceptual se hace evidente en un segundo plano y lejos está de un mensaje incrédulo. Aquí la obra pone en cuestión temas de poder y fanatismo… 

MM: Si, allí aparece un líder que es seguido ciegamente por un grupo de fieles.  Me interesó trabajar esta temática desde un lenguaje de cuento o fábula dándole una apariencia naif pero invita a la pregunta acerca del significado. El poder, el fanatismo (ya sea espiritual, religioso, político o artístico) son algunos de los temas que me pregunté cuando desarrollé esta serie de obras. ¿Existe el pensamiento independiente cuando se sigue ciegamente a un líder que nos indica qué pensar? En el caso de “Seguidores”, estuve desarrollando el tema desde el dibujo, primero hice dos obras chicas y después una pintura en la cual había ya una situación espacial, por eso la misma obra me parecía que podía llevarla al plano tridimensional, de hacerla corpórea. También la obra va mutando de acuerdo al espacio de exhibición, por ejemplo cuando la expuse en el ECUNHI, los personajes transitaban una tabla de arena como si estuvieran en el desierto. En cambio, en la muestra que hice en Praxis la instalación fue sobre una tarima baja que permitía recorrerla desde arriba.

MCB: Tu última muestra, “Refugios” (2016) toca un tema de gran actualidad: los efectos que provocan las redes sociales en la gente. Partís de la pregunta sobre la búsqueda de resguardo personal, aquellos espacios de intimidad alejados de los espacios comunes y a partir de allí trabajas sobre las obras. ¿Cómo expresaste este interrogante plásticamente?

MM: Si, creo que las redes dan esa posibilidad de interactuar con la gente, pero al mismo tiempo invaden el espacio propio. Comencé con la pregunta ¿cuál es tu refugio? Y a través de las respuestas surgieron nuevos interrogantes que tienen que ver con el uso e invasión de la tecnología en la vida cotidiana, los escasos y preciados espacios de resguardo y protección. Las primeras obras surgieron de la técnica del frottage,  que es un ejercicio que hago mucho con mis alumnos a través de plantas, ya que la naturaleza fue uno de los refugios que quería representar. Los trabajos que hice con frottage, después los trasladé a una pintura grande y más tarde a la xilografía. La utilización de elementos de la naturaleza también lo incorporé a la cerámica a través de ramas de árboles en algunos personajes e instalaciones. Así fue cómo surgió la obra “Ronda de Refugiados”, en la cual puede verse una serie de personajes que están reunidos en una especie de “fogata” y en el medio hay un conjunto de ramas que simulan el fuego. En este caso el refugio, es el grupo, el calor colectivo.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Links:  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl_4xQ1KuGY
Mirellam.blogspot.com
Facebook.com/mirellamusriillustration
Instagram @mirellamusri

“Naranja y línea”, 2016. Acrílico y acero. 280 cm x 120 cm x 70

Escultora y profesora de Cerámica -formada en la Escuela Superior de Bellas Artes Ernesto de la Cárcova y la Escuela Nacional de Cerámica-, Profesora Titular e Investigadora de la Universidad Nacional del Arte, Cristina Tomsig es dueña de una carrera con prestigio y amplia trayectoria. Su obra participó de incontables muestras nacionales e internacionales tanto en Argentina como en Venezuela, Alemania, U.S.A y República Dominicana. Ha sido premiada con los dos galardones más destacados en la materia: Gran Premio de Escultura Presidencia de la Nación, Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales 2010 y el 1º Premio Escultura, Salón de Artes Plásticas Manuel Belgrano 2007. Su obra ha sido catalogada en más de 20 publicaciones especializadas en escultura a cargo de renombrados críticos en la materia e integra las colecciones de La universidad Nacional de Mendoza, la Universidad de 3 de Febrero, el Museo de Artes Plásticas Eduardo Sívori, la Secretaría de Cultura de la Nación y colecciones particulares argentinas y del mundo.

“Naranja místico” , 2015. Acrílico luz naranja y acero. Site specific.

 

María Carolina Baulo: Hagamos un recorrido lineal empezando por “Juegos materiales”, Galería Empatía (2008). Tal como dice el texto de Mercedes Casanegra, se produce aquí un quiebre en la materialidad de tu obra: comienzas a trabajar con el concepto de lo “liviano”, plasmado en el uso del aluminio, el PVC, el plástico de alto impacto, el acrílico, materiales afines a la “era industrial”. ¿Cómo y porqué se da este cambio en tu trabajo? 

Cristina Tomsig: Siempre me interesó la materialidad de los productos industriales, son para mí una gran motivación, sus texturas, colores, opacidades o brillos y también su peso real y su resistencia. He desarrollado mi obra desde la geometría y las cualidades físicas de los materiales industriales se ajustan muy bien a ese fin. Respecto  al quiebre que menciona Casanegra yo lo relaciono con un proceso de cambio que, cronológicamente y en forma progresiva, mis producciones fueron volviéndose más livianas desde varios aspectos: su peso real, su peso visual y su gravitación en la manera en que sus formas se despegan de la superficie donde se emplazan, alejándose cada vez más de un vínculo gravitacional estrecho presente en la escultura tradicional.

Objeto Naranja, 2013, acrílico y acero, 200 x 140 x 140 cm

 

MCB: “Geometría, desvíos y desmesuras” en Fundación OSDE (2013) fue curada por Danielle Perret, cuestiona la materialidad desde las nociones de peso, solidez, transparencia, espacio y establece un juego interesante entre el plano bidimensional casi pictórico de las obras de pared con las 3D que se ubican al nivel del piso. Contanos sobre esta experiencia. 

CT: Me sentí muy contenta de participar en esa exhibición especialmente por el criterio curatorial con que se enfocó la geometría. En esa ocasión presente una escultura de PVC y aluminio y dos relieves monocromos que pertenecen a un período de trabajo con el color negro.  Me interesa mucho la obra sobre el muro y el diálogo que se establece con la obra tridimensional, completa mi pensamiento y me permite enfocar más precisamente los límites expresivos del color y los materiales.

Tomsig, Movimiento sostenido, 2006

 

MCB: El color nunca fue un dato menor en tu obra en general, pero en cierto momento el color naranja cobra absoluto protagonismo. ¿Podrías contarnos sobre esta elección tomando como ejemplo la muestra site specific “Naranja místico” realizada en la Fundación OSDE (2014)? 

CT: Si, el color es un elemento muy importante en mi producción y podría decir que espontáneamente se me impone un color y activar su desarrollo. Todos conocemos los aspectos psicológicos y simbólicos del color como una gran fuente posible de investigación. Durante los años 2005/2011 trabajé con el negro, el blanco y el verde (color asociado al juego) donde mis esculturas se emplazaban sobre el piso con un movimiento de vaivén. A partir del año 2013 comienzo a utilizar el color naranja exclusivamente en planchas de acrílico. Retomando lo que hablábamos sobre el peso de los materiales el color transparente aliviana aún más la imagen. El color naranja está asociado al misticismo, y a lo espiritual. En el caso del site specific que realicé en OSDE comienzo una nueva posibilidad de investigación que es la luz como materia y color, y se constituye un paso más en la desmaterialización de la obra.

DOS FLORES,acrílico, 2010, 120 x 60 x 60 cm

 

MCB: Para hablar de los materiales con los que trabaja, podemos tomar por ejemplo tu última muestra individual en Casa Matienzo, “Naranja y Blanco” (2016). Sería interesante conocer algo del proceso creativo y el trabajo material con las piezas. 

CT: En esta muestra lo que hice fue concebir el espacio de la galería como un gran todo donde la decisión de qué obras exhibiría pivoteaba en relación al espacio arquitectónico y el diálogo de  las obras entre sí. Respecto a las obras, las realizo en mi taller personalmente, siempre tengo a disposición abundante material con el cual estoy trabajando, es más, en general el primer momento de un cambio en la obra es abastecerme del material aunque no tenga definido lo que voy a hacer con él. También en ocasiones tercerizo procesos en los que se necesita otro tipo de procedimientos ajenos a mi estudio.

MCB: ¿Cuáles son los planes para el futuro?

CT: En este momento estoy muy abocada a la realización de un libro de mi obra del período 2005/2016 con el paciente trabajo que todos conocemos. Los próximos proyectos a realizar involucran la investigación de la luz y el espacio arquitectónico.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Saya Woolfalk. Virtual Chimeric Space, 2015 (Installation View). Mixed media with HD Digital Video Projections 42 x 12 x 12 feet. Commissioned by the Seattle Art Museum

Saya Woolfalk’s invented universe at Leslie Tonkonow Artworks + Projects through May 6 is immediately accessible yet infinitely complicated. Her Chima TEK Empathics live in a future world that reframes core questions facing us today: identity, cultural transference, cloning, and virtual reality vs. real life.

Her Empathics are females with extra arms, spines, heads, or other body parts. Their skins are covered with flowers, lace, pearls, butterflies, and a range of nature & animal symbols. Viewers can, in theory, enter a chamber where they can trade in their own persona for a new persona. Even though we, as humans, embody change as we age and as we grow mentally and psychologically, there is a huge difference between growing into one’s true self and nipping and tucking one’s mind and body beyond recognition. Woolfalk’s message is somewhere inside the colorized world that her hybrid creatures inhabit. In addition, Death is ever-present — seen as skulls and exposed ribs on top of some “beautiful” heads and bodies.

Saya Woolfalk. ChimaTEK: Combustion Chamber, 2014-17. Hand-blown glass with mixed media and vinyl decal 49 x 54-1/4 inches overall

 

When I visited Woolfalk’s studio in late December, 2016, the area was super-organized with some three-dimensional works for her February 16 – May 6 exhibition at Leslie Tonkonow in progress or finished at the entrance, videos she was still completing in the middle of the studio, the artist’s sewing machine and supplies in a back area, and some supplies to give to her Parsons students in boxes near the door.Her Elizabeth Foundation studio is relatively small – less than ¼ the size of her commission for the Seattle Art Museum exhibition Disguise: Masks and Global African Art, which traveled to three other museums, including the Brooklyn Museum of Art. The studio includes evidence of handmade fabric costume parts, but I do not see the skulls or grasp how it will all come together until I see the work installed in mid-February. At the studio, Woolfalk discussed her anthropological approach to her art:

Jan Castro: How did you get the idea for creating the  Empathics?

Saya Woolfalk: I began thinking about hybridization in my project No Place, 2006.  In 2009, I began working on a related narrative called the Institute of Empathy, a research center established for understanding the changing morphology and social dynamics of a group of women called The Empathics.

Saya Woolfalk, ChimaCloud: Gate, 2017. Single channel HD Video projection (continuous loop); acrylic gouache on wood
95-1/2 x 171 inches

 

Castro: What issues are you addressing?

Woolfalk:  Sometimes corporate technology speeds up and/or undermines utopian ideas. With the project ChimaTEK I became interested in how technology can effect changes in consciousness.  One idea I have spent a fair amount of time thinking about is what happens when utopian dreams get commoditized.

Saya Woolfalk. White Shed (Gazelle), 2016. Mixed Media. 18 x 13 x 6 inches

 

Castro: How did you combine virtual reality and theater/dance in the River to River project?

Woolfalk: This project was a continuation of ChimaTEK and the dancers moved in the space in response to virtual objects.  Their garments triggered virtual objects to appear that could be seen by using the Refrakt Augmented reality app on your smartphone.

At the gallery’s entrance to ChimaCloud and the Pose System, a series of colorful handblown glass bell or bowl shapes of different sizes hover over a colorful skull on its own platform in front of a vinyl decal of five test tube-like spheres with upside-down lotuses inside. Nearby, a Virtual Reality Outpost and a figure in a ChimaCloud Augmented Reality Garment of digitally-printed fabrics set the scene for the figures and swirling images in the main gallery.  Viewers can see that the figure’s head is covered. She may be preparing to trade in her identity for another’s – or may have already done so.

Saya Woolfalk, ChimaTEK: Avatar Download Station 2, 2015. Mixed media with video
41-3/4 x 39 x 3 inches

 

In the rectangular gallery space, videos project over some sculpted pieces on one long gallery wall. They turn the wall into a field of vision; one image has controlling fingers and a futurist sound track, one has changing trees, and one has lotus images in test tubes. These projections create colorful, constantly morphing backgrounds for ChimaCloud Crystal Body A and B, 2017, two upside-down female figures with extra body parts.  The concept of keeping your head on the ground and your feet in the air is curious and perhaps metaphorical. How often do we look closely at what’s at our feet? How often do we do inversions to oxygenate our brains? How often do we ask our bodies to see as well as feel air, space, and time?

On the opposite wall, a row of heads and busts has things on top — skulls and animals – a ram, gazelle, chameleon, and antelope. These forms cast unexpected shadows; the faces are mostly hidden by veils of beads. This exhibition advances the Chima TEK conundrums: will enhanced beauty make us more beautiful? Are the projected green plants, flowers, and sunshine real or illusory? What are the costs of engineering people, nature, and animals?

Saya Woolfalk, Still Image from ChimaTEK: Hybridization Machine, 2013. Single-channel color video with sound by DJ Spooky
3:41 minutes loop

 

Saya Woolfalk’s website http://www.sayawoolfalk.com/  shows some images of her large projects, including her Times Square projections and Brooklyn Museum shows in 2016 as well as her honors and awards. The artist has several forthcoming projects in 2017, including two train stations for the MTA which is one artwork in four parts/locations; a project in Queens is a digitally printed ceramic tile wall with hand-built mosaic for the Department of Cultural Affairs/School Construction Authority; some works on paper for the Weatherspoon Museum; and a solo show at the Mead Art Museum at Amherst College.

Woolfalk was born in Gifu City, Japan in 1979; she earned a B.A. in visual art and economics at Brown University and an M.F.A. in sculpture at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. The artist has a mixed cultural heritage and her work often explores changing social dynamics and ethnographic/anthropological possibilities in an increasingly technological world.

By Jan Garden Castro

Detalle de obra

La artista visual Alexandra Kehayoglou, formada en el IUNA y en la Escuela Argentina de Fotografía realiza esculturas y utiliza el textil como medio para llevar adelante su obra, siendo la fotografía muchas veces, el punto de partida. Desde sus primeras experiencias se cuestiona la relación entre la materialidad, las emociones y sensibilidad humana. Cada proceso creativo es pensado como una totalidad, una unidad donde técnica, materiales, concepto y espectador forman un todo inseparable para la funcionalidad de la obra. Recientemente convocada para representar a la Argentina en la Trienal que se desarrollará en el Museo Victoria de Melbourne en 2017, su obra recibió tres menciones especiales otorgadas por el jurado de la Bienal Internacional de Diseño (BID), Madrid; cuenta con  exposiciones en espacios internacionales prestigiosos como la Fundación PROA y la Quinta Trabucco de Buenos Aires, el Victoria and Albert Museum de Londres y el Paris Fashion Week (2014) donde realiza una instalación textil junto al diseñador Dries Van Notem, la cual catapulta su carrera a nivel global al ser exhibida posteriormente en Hong Kong y Berlín.

En 2016 presentó el proyecto “No Longer Creek”, una instalación textil interactiva en el marco de Design Miami/ Basel’s Design at Large con curaduría de Artsy’s Alex Gilbert, Elena Soboleva and Kristina Parsons.  Interesada en cuestionar y destacar la problemática mundial en torno a los perjuicios de la mala acción de la mano humana sobre el medio ambiente, Alexandra trabaja alzando una voz crítica que sabe amalgamar la producción de obra a gran escala, la conceptualización que la fundamenta y un aspecto estético que la define. 

Alexandra Kehayoglou, retrato

Maria Carolina Baulo: Artes plásticas y visuales conviven en tu obra: escultura, instalaciones con fuerte presencia de lo textil y fotografía. ¿Cómo estableces esta conexión; cómo interactúan entre ellas?

Alexandra Kehayoglou: Generalmente tengo una idea de lo que quiero lograr con cada obra pero eso siempre se modifica durante el proceso. Suelo sacar fotografías de los paisajes con los cuales trabajo, también hago bocetos en acuarela o lápiz donde aplico tonos y texturas. Desarrollo cada pieza en diferentes etapas.

MCB: Tu trabajo se preocupa por la interacción entre el entorno y los estados anímicos humanos ya desde tus comienzos; contanos sobre las “Cajas Ambiente”

AK: “Cajas Ambiente”, es una de las primeras obras en las que abordé la relación que establecemos con la naturaleza.  En ellas recreo estados de superación anímica que invocan el estado humano desaparecido inscripto en el paisaje artificial de contemplación inversa. Quería detener el tiempo, estaba en la búsqueda de una representación espacial y encontré esta manera de hacerlo.  Es un antecedente a la alfombra, que por su ubicación puede determinar el espacio, el cambio de dimensiones, un estado mental.

Alexandra Kehayoglou,_No Longer Creek_, 2016, instalación textil (sistema handtuft) lana 100_ natural – 8,20 m x 6 m

MCB: Las instalaciones textiles “Pastizales” cuentan con un proceso técnico y conceptual más que interesante, además de involucrar lo afectivo que tiene que ver con utilizar materia prima recuperada de una fábrica familiar. Trabajos donde tiene tanta importancia la “mano de obra” como el compromiso pot conservar la memoria y los recuerdos.

AK: Cuando tejo, siento que inyecto una energía especial al bastidor. Es algo que viaja a través del tiempo. Me crié en una familia donde la tradición textil se ha conservado por más de tres generaciones. Mis abuelos migraron a Argentina en 1926. Ellos fundaron la fábrica de alfombras El Espartano y supieron transmitir el amor por el oficio. Como artista  me interesa reflejar la complejidad de ese túnel.  Mi obra captura momentos irrepetibles, documenta el paisaje que se pierde. En este sentido, mi trabajo es cartográfico. Los pastizales hablan precisamente de eso, de conservar un momento sabiendo que no va a volver nunca más. El pastizal es el ecosistema de la pampa. Una superficie de la que queda muy poco, por la soja, y por la sobre explotación de la tierra. La fauna habitante de ese ecosistema fue desapareciendo. La mayoría de los habitantes de la pampa, desconoce esta realidad. Tejerlos es mi manera de llevar la atención hacia ahí y visibilizar este problema.

Alexandra Kehayoglou – Refugio para un recuerdo, 2012, textil (sistema handtuft ) lana 100_ natural -2,70x5m

 

MCB: Tu obra se exhibió en museos, galerías y espacios culturales importantes en el mundo, pero es gracias a la instalación textil realizada para el Paris Fashion Week (2014), “Before and After”, donde cobras visibilidad internacional y logras transmitir una postura ideológica que llega –gracias a que el contexto donde se muestra el trabajo no es el típico espacio del circuito del arte- masivamente al público.

AK: Mi trabajo puede ser exhibido en distintos contextos siempre y cuando sean coherentes con la obra, con el sentido que le quiero dar. Creo que es importante pensar en presentar el trabajo de una forma interesante y solidaria con el espectador. Esto tiene que ver con expandir los modos de circulación, con derribar algunos prejuicios. En el caso de la colaboración con DVN  fue un trabajo intenso pero todo el esfuerzo que hicimos valió la pena porque aprendimos muchísimo y nos dimos cuenta de que podíamos afrontar proyectos a gran escala. Nos abrió el espectro de posibilidades; fue un antes y después para el estudio.

Alexandra Kehayoglou – Silla para atravesar un invierno, 2013, objeto, madera y textil (sistema handtuft) lana 100_ natural jpg

 

MCB: ¿Cuáles son los proyectos en carpeta para lo que resta del 2017 y de ahí en adelante?

AK: En Diciembre  estaré representando a la Argentina en la Trienal que tendrá lugar en la National Gallery de Victoria, Melbourne, Australia. La instalación textil que voy a presentar está basada en un trabajo de campo y análisis sobre la posible desaparición del lecho del Río Santa Cruz, uno de los últimos ríos glaciares inexplotados de la Patagonia que conecta los la cordillera de los Andes con el océano Atlántico. Junto a un equipo de de fotógrafos, activistas, biólogos, ingenieros y artistas, bajaremos por el Río Santa Cruz desde su origen glacial hasta el océano Atlántico, por medio de kayaks de travesía. El objetivo de este ejercicio es documentar los paisajes que hoy se encuentran amenazados por dos grandes represas hidroeléctricas llevadas a cabo por un consorcio de empresas chinas y argentinas que generarán la inundación de más de 43.785 hectáreas. Creo que el arte puede abordar estas problemáticas en otro nivel. A través de mi obra puedo dar visibilidad sobre las consecuencias que trae el accionar del ser humano en el paisaje. Esto me permite ofrecer una perspectiva diferente.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Michelle Day, Afterglow, 2016 (interior view)

Michelle Day is an artist currently based in Canberra, Australia and completing her MFA at Chiang Mai University. Dealing with ideas of interconnection, intimacy, and proximity through material exploration, Day’s work offers unlikely moments of intuitive connection through objects. Taking particular moments and questions, from the feeling of someone’s recent presence in a space to  visceral sensations translated through sight, these flashes of energy are translated into her careful, and often delicate, sculptures.

Gracelee Lawrence: I first happened upon your work by visiting the CMU Art Center when I had just arrived in Chiang Mai. I felt as though materially and experientially there were things happening in your work that moved well beyond purely formal language into a tactile articulation that excited me. From your background in textiles, how has the evolution of your making pushed you into a more sculptural direction?

Michelle Day: While studying in textiles I wanted the textiles that I was making to have some kind of structure and to be more three dimensional, but they never taught that in textiles which was incredibly frustrating. When I finished my undergraduate and was constantly banging my head against all of the 2D weaving and dying, I decided to do honors (in Australia this is a one year addition an undergraduate degree) and changed my focus to sculpture. I did mold making and welding courses and then went crazy with welding, making big sculptures with welded elements and textiles.

Michelle Day, Arrivals, 2016 (interior view)

 

GL: I also came to sculpture through a combination of sewing and welding, I love that overlap.

MD:  Isn’t welding amazing? The only part I don’t like are the fumes, but they even have a nostalgic feeling. Because I was quite insecure coming from textiles and they were rougher in sculpture I felt like I needed to prove myself and worked hard to learn the tools really well.

GL: You feel like the delineations between media were held high?

MD: Oh yes, particularly because Canberra is a bit more of a craft centered town. There is a lot of focus on wood, silver smithing, and glassblowing. I was mostly focused on metal and fabric during honors, also looking at the context of growth. They were mostly furniture style elements with organic additions that grew into a use of silicon skins to create more delicate forms. This also continued in working with light.

Michelle Day, Afterglow, 2016 (interior view)

 

GL: You think about light as a material and object? How do you situate light in the context of your practice?

MD: I do see it as material and that is now how I write it on my material lists. You can say electrical elements but it’s not the same as light. I’ve just recently decided that is it a material in my work. I see the light as being symbolic of life, especially because many of my things look forgotten or dead and the light bring them back to this cusp of being alive and not alive.

GL: Give me a short recap of what your work is doing right now.

MD: I’m trying to capture the feeling that you have when somebody has recently left a room and you feel their recent presence, you know that they’ve left but you don’t empirically know. It changes depending on who they are, it is a sense of life or energy. Energy is appropriate but not because of how it’s been used in a hippie context. I think about it in a scientific context as well, people leaving their warmth, disturbed air, a resonance of sound behind. Since my father is a research chemist I am led to consider the rational side as well. I’m trying to create a sensory, sensual, experience.

GL: An experience that is dealing with one’s senses fully or in a shifted context?

MD: In terms of the works that people look into, I feel like they deal with an imagined sensory experience which blots out our real senses. I put smell in them, but I’m not sure that is necessary. Visuals often create imagined smells anyways.

Michelle Day, Arrivals, 2016 (exterior view)

 

GL: This can be a little of a used up question, perhaps a bit trite, but I’m always interested to know if being a mother has changed the way that you make. I’m so often talking to artists and reading interviews about how having kids changes what people make or how they think. Is this true for you?

MD: When Chester was first born it changed it quite a bit as I could only make in short stints and couldn’t afford a studio. I had to make in the domestic space which altered it, although every space alters your work in some way. It hasn’t changed into being more saleable or anything like that. Mentally it hasn’t changed my worldview, but in terms of practicality it has changed what materials I can use around him.

GL: Logistics have shifted but conceptually your work kept an even keel.

Michelle Day will present her final thesis exhibition at Gallery Seescape in June of 2017.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Marché Salomon: Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, Marché Salomon, 2015. Courtesy the artista and Galería Agustina Ferreyra

Beatriz Santiago Muñoz is gifted at researching, performing, and filming alternative narratives of Caribbean cultures that incorporate anthropology, cosmology, and spiritual beliefs while also paying attention to the ways that politics and government may alter/distort/interfere with those cultural traditions. Muñoz’s solo exhibition at El Museo del Barrio on view through April 30, 2017 has traveled to New York from the Perez Art Museum, Miami and was curated by PAMM Curator Maria Elena Ortiz. El Museo has invited Muñoz to curate her selections from its collection as well, starting with the Taino objects at the opening of her exhibition.

In the following interview, the artist explains the importance of the Taino people and their ancestors in Puerto Rico, the ways that objects play pivotal roles in her body of work, and the symbolism of the mirror object she created for her exhibition A Universe of Fragile Mirrors.

Jan Castro: Why are certain objects and physicality central in your films?

Beatriz Santiago Muñoz: When you have an object, it provokes a kind of time travel. However distant it may be in time, when you have an object in your hand—when you’re looking at its materiality, the weight of it, how you imagine it was made, or why it was made—all of this becomes very close and important. So it allows a kind of empathic relationship with an imagined subjectivity so that you can begin to imagine another metaphysics—the metaphysics that gives birth to these objects. Some of them are really confusing. Some objects are described in the archive as pestles or phallic objects. There is a big difference between a pestle and a symbolic object that refers to sexuality. We still don’t know what a lot of these objects were used for. We can imagine, and I’m interested in that process of imagining through the materiality. It resonates for me to use these objects because I’m interested in materiality and sensoriality.

For example, La cueva negra (The Black Cave) refers directly to the Taino origin myth. I’m interested in the two boys in the film: the way they touch each other and look at each other and move around in the space, the way the light works in that space that they’re very familiar with, the ways they test the materials –they pull on the vines to see if they will hold their weight; they talk about the leaves, about whether or not something is poisonous, whether or not something makes you itch. They refer constantly to being in the place as a sensorial experience. I think there is a direct relationship between experiencing objects phenomenologically – their weight, the way they look; through them, you can imagine new forms of life and new subjectivity.

La Cueva Negra: Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, La Cueva Negra, 2013, HD color video with sound, 20 min., Edition of 5 + 2AP. Courtesy the artist and Galería Agustina Ferreyra

 

Castro: Could you discuss how the Taino symbols inspiring The Black Cave were discovered?

Muñoz: The only way archeology happens is Puerto Rico is when there’s a building project like the 1992 highway. If they hit something in the process of construction, the law requires them to do limited archeological research. The place was discovered to have held possibly up to 6000 years of settlement of Taino and pre-Taino cultures. It was a place where there were houses, where people ate, cleaned their food, were buried. There were findings of objects used to cook with, to fish bones used to sew with, and importantly, more than one hundred skeletons showing the ways they were buried. For instance, you would keep the head bones of an important ancestor in your house, so in the burial, you might find the body without a head and the head buried someplace else or the feet buried someplace else. We don’t know whether the kept bones were important lovers or people of the community.

Castro: I read in your book that there was a buried skeleton of a woman giving birth with the baby intact.

Muñoz: Yes, that was amazing.

Nocturne: Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, Nocturne, 2014, HD color video with sound,30 min., Edition of 5 + 2AP SANTBE-0024. Courtesy the artist and Galería Agustina Ferreyra

 

Castro: What are some reasons why you’re interested in this?

Muñoz:  This archeologist was telling me about the ways in which indigenous cosmologies transform – from the southern tip of South America to the northernmost tip of North America – how you can see the cosmologies changing through time. For example, you can see the repetition of the cosmic twins, the lazy bird or animal that will not even create a nest for its eggs. As the natural elements change, the tropes and images change, and the story is transformed. I thought about how this way of thinking, this transformation of cosmology, would change if we were to tell the story now, with the trash and the stolen cars and the highway. What would be the black cave, and how can these different mythological figures be part of our way of thinking about place? This, for me, responds a little bit to the romanticization of the agricultural past. So I’m trying to create different images of place in which the complexity and the violence of all these different encounters that have existed in the place over time can co-exist in one moment so that we experience all of what is there at the same time. What I tried to do in La Cueva negra was to put it all together, violently as well, without much subtlety… The boys have a deep knowledge and experience of the place, and that is the most important thing about the work – the way you can see these two boys coming to know the place, being in it, and the way they are with each other on screen. They’re cousins, 14 and 15 years old.

Otros Usos from International Sculpture Center on Vimeo.

Castro: What are the sculptural qualities of Otros usos (Other Uses), the film you made using mirrors?

Muñoz:  It was shot, as well as the other piece in that room, at a place that was a U.S. Navy base for sixty years. That part of the base and Vieques, where the Navy was testing bombs, were all part of the same complex. They bombed on land and sea for sixty years of “training,” leaving depleted uranium. The base began in the 1940s and closed around 2000 after a series of civil disobedience protests. Of course, people had been protesting since the sixties, but in 2000, there was an accident, and an errant bomb fell on a civilian guard; a new protest movement coalesced … and the base closed in 2003.

I went there with my camera in part because I wanted to think about how one could think about the place in a way that was not overdetermined by its military history. I found that it was quite difficult to look through a camera and not simply reproduce the monumentality of the military structures. It was the largest base outside of the continental U.S. in the entire world, and everything was on a colossal scale. In an island that’s 100 miles by 35 miles, that’s a lot of land.

When I go there, the military structures of a miles-long dock continue to impose themselves. I don’t want to see like a machine, like a plane that drops bombs. How can I fold and re-shape the image? I brought mirrors, and started playing with the mirrors in front of the camera to try to make the image an object, to reshape it. Obviously, it’s a distortion. For me, that’s trying to think of the image as an object. I started playing with that in 2014.

I get asked a lot if the mirrored object has a relation to Lygia Clark’s work. All of my work is influenced by Lygia Clark’s work – not necessarily formally up to now – but in the way she always thought of her work as a process of transformation of subjectivity. So she used these objects, which she called bichos, which you can play with and transform with your hands. My video works are all objects to break the rational plane of the camera.

Muñoz’s fractured mirror is a sculpture in her El Museo exhibition, and is also used to distort, reverse, and frame, her film Otros usos. The artist’s projects demonstrate why the interrelations between people, objects, nature, and animals are essential and the ways that contemporary institutions may disrupt or harm all of this. The films do not directly show the actual harm from cancer, leukemia, etc. that the bombings at Vieques have produced.

The PAMM catalog A Universe of Fragile Mirrors, is an insight-filled 225-page journey through the artist’s research, the poignant images & symbols in Muñoz’s films, her scripts, and essays by scholars including Maria Elena Ortiz, Francis McKee, and Javier Arbona.

In 2016, Muñoz was an artist in residence at the New Museum. She is completing a long film with a Creative Capital Visual Arts Grant. Her work has been shown in important group exhibitions, including the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York; the Tate Modern, London; and the Museo Rufino Tamayo, Mexico City.

By Jan Garden Castro

See also:
fabricainutil.com
elmuseo.org/bsm-a-universe-of-fragile-mirrors
newmuseum.org/exhibitions/view/beatriz-santiago-munoz
pamm.org/exhibitions/beatriz-santiago-munoz-universe-fragile-mirrors
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beatriz_Santiago_Muñoz

Hanna (detalle). instalacion: 180 x 180 cm, detalle: 15 x 15 cm. ceramic esmaltada. 2016.

Analía Segal, artista visual y diseñadora gráfica nacida en Rosario, Argentina. Habiendo vivido en varios países de Europa junto a su familia en la época de la dictadura militar, su trabajo se nutrió de esa experiencia y dejó una marca con un profundo sentido de identidad y pertenencia, especialmente tras su mudanza en 1999 a NYC para estudiar. Esa búsqueda de conexión con el “hogar” propio, entre culturas, le dio una perspectiva particular a toda su obra la cual se destaca por una serie de características de un estilo personal: la arquitectura, los espacios interiores, lo cotidiano contenido entre las paredes, la puesta en escena, la cerámica, el yeso, las alfombras, los patrones geométricos, el dialogo y complementariedad entre las instalaciones y los videos, la importancia del color, los relatos infantiles, la memoria, la palabra. Factores que se van afianzando con cada trabajo a través de los años, como una suerte de operatoria que le permite reinterpretar nuestros cambiantes entornos inmediatos.

Su currículum incluye estudios en Argentina, Italia y Estados Unidos, Analía Segal fue premiada y becada por importantes instituciones como la Fundación Guggenheim (2007); 100% Design-Londres (2005); Fundación Pollock Krassner (2003); New York Foundation for the Arts – NYFA (2003); Primera Bienal Nacional de Diseño FADU (Facultad de Arquitectura, Diseño y Urbanismo, 2013); Fundación Konex, Premio a las Artes Visuales (2012) y Fundación Antorchas (1994-1995). Desde 1990 realiza muestras individuales tanto en la Argentina como en el exterior. Su trabajo forma parte de colecciones privadas y públicas: Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires (MAMBA); Holon Design Museum (Israel); Blanton Museum of Art (Austin); Fondazione Benetton Collection (Italia) y Museo del Barrio (Nueva York). Desde 1999 reside en Nueva York, donde continúa desarrollando su carrera artística y su actividad académica en el Pratt Institute. Durante la segunda mitad del 2017, expondrá en la galería LMAk en NY y en el Aldrich Museum  en Ridgfield CT.

Titulo: Implosion – (detalle instalacion ) en Opus Project Room – NY (2015). medidas: detalle : materiales: c –print /plexiglass, yeso año: 2015

 

María Carolina Baulo: Tu obra está muy ligada al espacio que habitamos, especialmente las paredes las cuales replican lo que sucede en el interior de esas arquitecturas. ¿Cuál es la importancia que guardan los espacios domésticos en tu obra?

Analia Segal: Llegué a New York con todas mis pertenecías en dos valijas y la falta de espacio disponible en la ciudad me forzó a repensar no sólo la idea de la escultura sino mi trabajo y  focalizarme en la relación entre el cuerpo humano y la arquitectura. Me mudé 8 veces en los primeros 10 años y en cada uno de esos espacios encontraba marcas de los habitantes anteriores. El “habitar” se transformó en una herramienta que me permitió a generar obra a partir de la apropiación e intervención de objetos típicos del diseño de interiores: paredes, empapelado, azulejos, persianas americanas, etc. Empecé a explorar estas superficies y materiales para tratar de entender el nuevo contexto. Los objetos que nos rodean tienen la capacidad de ocultar y comunicar los cambios de hábitos (estilo y cultura a traves del tiempo). El ser inmigrante me enfrento con la idea del “otro”, lo diferente, desconocido y mi trabajo pasó a existir como protuberancias, pliegues, rugosidades, ondulaciones e irregularidades que desafían lo pulido, pulcro, liso e impecable (me fascinan y repelen los espacios interiores estériles que muestran las fotos en libros y revistas de arquitectura y decoración). Me interesa examinar en mi obra la idea de “La salvación de lo bello” de Byung-Chul Han, que sostiene que “lo bello satinado” al contrario de “lo bello natural” es un espacio que no tolera ninguna extrañeza, alteridad, negatividad. El “hogar” pasa a encarnar una promesa y se convierte en un escenario en el que se desenvuelven las relaciones familiares. Pero lo familiar tiene la posibilidad de convertirse inesperadamente en algo siniestro. Ésta dirección en mi obra refleja mi búsqueda de pertenencia en la experiencia más reciente de inmigración.

Titulo: D – Untitled 1 (detalle). medidas: 30 x 30 cm. materiales: madera prensada. año: 2016

 

MCB: ¿Cómo se articula el video como lenguaje estético en tus instalaciones?. Aquí entran en juego otros factores audiovisuales claves en tu obra: el rol de las voces en –presentes en los relatos de cuentos infantiles o sentencias-, el movimiento óptico, el color, entre otros. Tomemos por ejemplo Inland II, exhibida y adquirida por el Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Buenos Aires en 2016.

AS: La animación y seducción ineludible de la imagen en movimiento me permitió trabajar e incorporar por primera vez sonido y lenguaje en mi obra.  En INLAND II -así como en los otros videos de la trilogía- utilizo tres cuentos infantiles clásicos (Caperucita Roja, Los tres chanchitos y El patito feo) como trampolín para generar historias de narrativa no-lineal. Me interesan las fábulas ya que son un lenguaje literario intrínsecamente relacionado con el ámbito doméstico que también reflejan los cambios de códigos culturales a lo largo de la historia y por su relevancia para la construcción de la identidad. Compongo el audio entrelazando frases y palabras editadas de libros de audio para aprender ingles y castellano, junto a sonidos del ámbito doméstico para generar paisajes sonoros. Pienso en los guiones como diálogos internos compuestos como un coro de voces ya que como leí alguna vez, las palabras son siempre prestadas. Me interesa además la dimensión espacial del sonido y la posibilidad de proyectar los videos a gran escala directamente sobre la pared lo cual refleja mi continuo interés en la arquitectura. En relación al color, mi obra es básicamente blanca ya que es el color clásico de las paredes de la mayoría de los lugares de exhibición y también de lo prístino. Pero comencé a utilizar otros colores por su valor simbólico, como en INLAND II dónde la línea roja en un empapelado es simultáneamente, sangre, pecado, pasión y sexualidad.

MCB: ¿Vicisitudes Domésticas en Point of Contact Gallery (2014), US, podría ser un antecedente de este último trabajo? 

AS: Si, efectivamente es un antecedente, ya que cómo escribió Pedro Cuperman en el catalogo de esa muestra, genero mi obra como un sistema de correspondencias. Objetos, fotografías y video son metodologías y soportes que van generando una trama (no explícitamente autobiográfica, pero obviamente susceptible a mis experiencias personales).

Titulo: Case Study #1447- Coleccion permanente de El Museo del Barrio – NYC. medidas: variable doormat : 30 x 60 cm.
materiales: alfombra, goma, placas de vilino. año: 2008

 

MCB: Implosión (2015) es otra instalación donde logras hacer un cruce entre la arquitectura, la historia del arte y el soporte; el texto que acompaña la define como “teatro doméstico”…

AS: Efectivamente, pienso en las instalaciones como “decorados, escenografías, plató o sets (de cine o teatro)” donde el observador pasa a ser el protagonista y los objetos que la componen encarnan la dialéctica entre función/disfunción para resaltar la incongruencia entre el pensamiento y los hechos. La transformación de las superficies y materiales cotidianos exaltan la tensión entre ausencia y presencia y desmantelan el universo cartesiano, la idea de modelación, de orden y matriz lógica. La arquitectura organiza, determina la distribución de los objetos y el movimiento de los cuerpos en el espacio. Utilizo también la  repetición como énfasis rítmico o emocional.  Me interesa el humor como mecanismo para sobrevivir frente una realidad fluctuante y por eso la literatura del “no-sentido” de autores como Lewis Carroll, James Joyce Kafka y el teatro del absurdo  y Samuel Beckett, ha sido una gran influencia.

Titulo: INLAND II, medidas: 166 x 90 pulgadas video projection instalacion en Point of Contact – Syracuse University (2014) materiales: HD video animacion 9 minutos. año: 2013

 

MCB: Tu obra ya se acercó anteriormente al formato libro-objeto. El Interior del Interior es el nuevo libro que será presentado a mediados de 2017; contanos sobre esta experiencia.

AS: A pesar de haber cursado la carrera, es mi primer proyecto de diseño gráfico. Me interesa el libro como objeto y por la fuerte capacidad de comunicación fuera del ámbito de galerías o museos. Ha sido un proceso fascinante de dos años que surge de la necesidad personal de restablecer una convivencia física más permanente con Buenos Aires ya que, finalmente, las muestras terminan siendo un acto efímero. Opté por hacerlo a través de la Ley de Mecenazgo para que se inserte en la trama cultural de la ciudad y el país. Pienso en este libro como un puente en el que se despliegan las ideas sobre las cuales ha transitado mi obra en los últimos diecisiete años. Reúne además una selección de 8 textos escritos por historiadores del arte, críticos y curadores de Argentina y USA, una invitación a dialogar desplegando posibles lecturas y contextualizando la obra. Tanto con el diseño gráfico como con el encuadernado intento fusionar imágenes y textos, generando laberintos sin un criterio cronológico; un juego poético donde la lectura invita a un viaje que desafía tiempo y espacio.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Sembranza alambre- tela -semillas de girasol . 170cm-120cm-100cm año 2016 seleccionada.
Salon Nacional Artes Visuales Escultura

Escultora egresada de la Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes Pridiliano Pueyrredón, formada además en talleres con artistas como Juan Maffi, Leo Vinci, Alberto Delponti, Juan Carlos Distéfano y Edgardo Madanes, Luciana Fernández ha indagado en el campo de lo tridimensional siempre teniendo en cuenta el rol que para ella desempeña la literatura como socia fundamental de la obra per sé, donde los fragmentos elegidos –intuitivamente en la mayoría de los casos- complementan la materialidad de sus esculturas. Su carrera la llevó al campo del diseño donde trabajó como realizadora de personajes de animación, integrando el equipo del reconocido animador Rodolfo Saenz Valiente. Su formación incluye el estudio de joyería, ilustración y seminarios sobre arte contemporáneo y estética con distintos profesionales especializados en el tema. Expuso su obra en espacios como el Centro Cultural Recoleta, el Centro Cultural Gral. San Martín y en el 2016 logró tres importantes reconocimientos en escultura: fue seleccionada en el Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales, Salón Nacional del Bicentenario y el Salón Nacional Manuel Belgrano, tres de los espacios más prestigiosos del panoram local argentino.

Sembranza alambre- tela -semillas de girasol. 170cm-120cm-100cm. año 2016 seleccionada.
Salon Nacional Artes Visuales Escultura

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Trabajaste muchos años en el campo del diseño y la animación stop motion y obviamente por tu formación como escultora, sacar las obras al espacio era el paso lógico. ¿Cómo se da este pasaje y cuál es el tipo de obra que te representa en tus comienzos?

Luciana Fernández: Paralelamente a la formación plástica, trabajé en animación y en diseño de personajes. En un comienzo, eran actividades absolutamente diferenciadas para mí pero con el correr del tiempo se fueron juntando, influyéndose. Hoy mis esculturas tienen algo de “bichos” y me las puedo imaginar en movimiento con determinada personalidad. Inclusive, probé materiales como la espuma de latex para mis obras, y experimente con arcilla fresca animada cuadro a cuadro. Logré que los Muppets y Max Ernst convivieran tranquilamente en mi cabeza.

MCB: Semillas de girasol, telas, alambres. Estos materiales vienen acompañándote en tus últimos trabajos, por ejemplo “Sembranza”, “Cornucopia”, “Semilleo”. ¿Cómo combinas la elección de estos materiales y con la fuerte presencia conceptual que tienen las obras?

LF: Materia, técnica, procedimiento y concepto se entremezclan de forma intuitiva acompañando la gran carga simbólica que tiene de por si la semilla.

Cornucopia, alambre-tela semillas de girasol. 100cm-80cm-40cm. año 2015. seleccionada en el Salon Nacional del Bicentenario

 

MCB: Contanos el “paso a paso” de la construcción de estas obras.

LF: Hay tres instancias, en el procedimiento que desarrollé, que modifican la obra. Primero armo un esqueleto de alambre y hierro donde decido la estructura general. Después lo cubro con tela y así voy definiendo los volúmenes de esos espacios. Y eso implica tomar una nueva decisión. Por último, sumerjo la mano en la bolsa de semillas y voy buscando al tacto la adecuada para cada lugar. A medida que las voy pegando, voy descubriendo un camino, marcando ritmos, definiendo si las formas son cóncavas o convexas. En este proceso, se establece un diálogo la materia y yo, todo cargado de un enorme sentido donde nos vamos transformando mutuamente: las ideas y pensamientos previos cambian a medida que se desarrolla este juego y el resultado es siempre algo nuevo, una sorpresa muy gratificante para mí. Como dijo Tony Cragg: “El ser humano se extiende naturalmente en la materia”.

Semilleo, alambre-tela-semillas de girasol. 60cm-40cm-20cm. año 2014

 

MCB: Se desprende de la pregunta anterior la importancia de lo efímero: tus obras claramente no van a tener una vida útil que se sostenga en el tiempo como una escultura en mármol, por ejemplo. ¿Cómo te llevas con esa idea?.

LF: Si bien las semillas tienen un tratamiento para prolongar su preservación, me gusta la idea romántica que conlleva lo perecedero: ser conscientes de la muerte,  resignifica la vida. La obra —así como la inmanencia y la reposición de sentido en un texto: nunca leemos dos veces lo mismo, porque siempre somos otros, entonces, atribuimos otro sentido nuevo en cada experiencia—, muta, cambia, se transforma. Como en todo proceso de lo que ha sido gestado, estos materiales le permiten alojar vida, muerte, y hasta alguna posibilidad de resurrección.

MCB: En el 2016 lograste ser reconocida por tres de los más prestigiosos salones del país; ¿cuáles son los planes a futuro: pensás seguir trabajando en la misma línea en cuanto a materiales y conceptos?

LF: Si, estoy en plena etapa de enamoramiento: muy entusiasmada, experimentando las distintas posibilidades técnicas y conceptuales que me ofrece el material. 

Siesta en el hipocampo alambre-tela-semillas de girasol. 220cm-40cm-25cm. año 2016

 

MCB: Me gustaría cerrar conociendo el vínculo que estableces con la literatura la cual es muy fuerte y evidente. Si tomamos esas tres obras citadas antes nos encontramos con un homenaje a Millet asociado a un texto de Hebe Uhart (“Sembranza”), un texto de Martín Blasco que refiere al desapego y el crecimiento (“Semilleo”) y un guiño a la obra de Victor Grippo acompañada por una cita a Borges y Bioy Casares (“Cornucopia”).

LF: El vínculo que encuentro entre la escultura y la literatura es que las dos son formas de tratar de entender el mundo; ambas están presentes en mi vida permanentemente. No creo que cumplan funciones específicas o independientes, que una “explique” o “nombre” y que la otra “ilustre” o “muestre”. Creo que, muy por el contrario, son creadoras de sentidos indivisibles que se acompañan, que me acompañan. Fluyen y confluyen en la gestación. En cuanto al entramado que se complementa con los textos en esta búsqueda y en esta construcción, puedo decir que la obra Hebe Uhart, por ejemplo, me remonta al clima y a la sensación que encuentro cuando estoy realizando las obras: calma, paciencia, lentitud, sencillez, austeridad. O, la de Martín Blasco: a la promesa, a lo potencial como concepto de belleza, a la posibilidad, al valor del dolor y del desapego en el proceso de germinación y de crecimiento.

By Maria Carolina Baulo

Layers Rise #1, 2016, concrete, concrete, cardboard, graphite, plaster, marble dust, acrylic, Photos by Robert Lowell

Ruth Hardinger is a passionate environmental activist, and her art-making materials, processes, and forms stem from this. Her studio — about 900 square feet with high ceilings — is filled with different series she has made or is still making. Some will be in a solo show at the David & Schweitzer Contemporary, Bushwick from February 17 –March 12, 2017.  D&S will also exhibit Hardinger’s work at Volta, March 1-5, 2017. Heavy totem-like cement sculptures stand above medium-tall and smaller works; the walls, tables, and floor are covered with beautiful natural rocks and smaller cement and mixed media pieces. Stacks of graphite works on paper and graphite on flattened milk cartons lie in a large mound in one area.  Monumental framed graphite works weighing over 200 pounds each hang high on studio walls, and a giant graphite rubbing titled 72 of 74 commands the back wall. I estimate that the studio holds more than 40 large and small sculptures and more than 200 two-dimensional works. Hardinger has another studio upstate as well. Playwright Edward Albee III (3.12.1928 – 9.16.2016) owned seven of her works.

Layers Rise #12, 2016, concrete, graphite, plaster, marble dust, acrylic, 9x14x 14 inches, Photo by Robert Lowell

 

Even before she talks about her sculpture, Hardinger shows me a map of gas leaks in New York city — a series of red veins with spiking areas indicate where natural gas is leaking and poisoning the city with methane, CO4, the potent greenhouse gas 105 times stronger than CO2, which lives for 8-12 years in the atmosphere while it converts to CO2.  She is a passionate advocate for protecting the environment from industrial exploitation. She co-organized Art and Activism against the Drill, at Exit Art, 2010, and she and Rebecca Smith initiated a study of fugitive pipeline emissions in Manhattan through Damascus Citizens for Sustainability and then held an important exhibition and panel discussion about fugitive emissions of methane gas sponsored by the Cooper Union College  Institute for Sustainable Design in 2013.¹

Her 2016 series “Layers Live and Rise,” her “Basement Rocks” (reviewed in Sculpture Magazine, December 2015), “Envelope/Envelop,” and other series are abstract works made with cement, rope, and other media. They somehow take us below earth’s surfaces to places most of us cannot see to invent the spirit of areas that geophysicists are  newly researching. They suggest that fracking, leaking and exploding pipelines, air and water pollution, the ozone layer (causes asthma), global warming, and human-related disruptions of natural rock fissures and fault-lines contribute to shifting tectonic plates and other natural disasters.

Layers Live and Rise #2, 2016, concrete, cardboard, plaster gauze, marble dust, acrylic 7 x 25 x 49.5 inches. Photo by Robert Lowell

 

Her art works are not actual narratives but pure abstractions.  Her concrete sculptures cast mostly in cardboard boxes show each mold’s imprints, folds, and ribs along with tonal fluctuations of the gray cement that is a primary material. Her shapes begin as porous and fluid yet become solid in oddly human, abstract ways. One material she incorporates in her sculpture is stone wool, a material that reduces energy use in building construction by 80 – 90% if properly used. This material has an earthlike color.  Some formations also refers to the earth’s earlier geologic periods such as Paleozoic.

Hardinger’s art is a rich amalgam of tales of beauty and caution. Similar to Arlene Shechet’s play with ceramics, Hardinger’s art both addresses and defies sculptural conventions. Her materials may turn from liquid to solid, figurative to abstract, unseen to visible, subconscious to conscious. Her subterranean art is earthy and other-worldly, familiar and unfamiliar. It’s uncharted and perhaps fraught with danger. Her primary, primitive materials evoke time, memory, loss, and, above all, notions of materiality itself.  Her making processes literally  involves  transforming materials in ways that are physical and psychological.

Feminists Rocks, 2016, concrete, cardboard,wood plank, dolly, 20x18x13 inches +plank and dolly,Photo by Robert Lowell

When Hardinger spent a year in Oaxaca on an Institute for International Education grant sponsored by the Fulbright Foundation, she developed several exhibitions based on her creative interpretations of ancient ball games played by different Mesoamerican cultures, and she developed a series titled  Bundle of Rights. She still actively explores ancient traditions and ideas and still works closely with particular Zapotec tapestry weavers to create collaborations that are timeless.

Her art evokes shifts in time and place, and reminds us that cultural disruptions occur daily and over millenia. Both in her studio and for her planned exhibitions, her work marks pathways that point to earth’s fragility, its seen and unseen natural beauty, and its human-made threats.

Layers Rise #1, 2016, concrete, concrete, cardboard, graphite, plaster, marble dust, acrylic, Photos by Robert Lowell

 

Hardinger’s numerous solo shows, writing, videos, and reviews are on her website www.ruthhardinger.com. Solo shows include: The Basement Rocks – LOUDER Amalie A. Wallace Gallery, Old Westbury, LI, Trace/Matter,(2 person) Five Myles, Brooklyn, and Long Island University Brooklyn.  Hardinger earned a Bachelor of Arts in Classical Studies (Magna Cum Laude) at Hunter College, City University of New York and received the prestigious MacDowell Travelling Scholarship. Her atypical art background – she studied only painting for two years at the Art Students League – contributes to her unique approach to using industrial and elemental materials to make art.

By Jan Garden Castro

¹ See www.ruthhardinger.com/  for specifics related to these and other  projects. Hardinger is on the Board and Steering Committee for Damascus Citizens for Sustainability (DCS) , based in Damascus PA and Narrowsberg, NY. This environmental group addresses scientific, political, and health issues against gas extraction, pollution, and climate change.

Also, this overview will be supplemented by a new critical/art historical essay on Hardinger for the D&S exhibition in February.

9 Blue Beds I slept. Image courtesy of the artist

I first met the Belgian artist Elien Ronse at Studio Das Weiss Haus, Vienna, on our simultaneous residencies in 2015. This time in Austria was the beginning of her long-term body of research into domestic life, which has since taken her to Taiwan, Germany, Greece, South Korea, France, and now Northern Ireland. Sleeping over in a local person’s house for one night, Ronse stays with anyone from a friend to a stranger, finding willing hosts via word of mouth. She then documents the ways and objects of each person’s intimate life, systemising her records in her archiving processes. She describes herself as a micro-historian, observing the patterns of domesticity and the impact of collectivity on the shaping of personal space. This research forms the basis of her artworks, ranging from installation, film, interventions and games.

How did the domestic archive project begin for you, and how have you seen it change?

It began for a number of reasons. Firstly, I was always intrigued by physical objects, and would visit second-hand shops a lot. I started to take photos in these shops, which then led to me taking photos in my own home and in my friend’s houses. Then a break-up with my boyfriend at the time saw my circumstances suddenly change: with no house of my own, I would sleep in the house of a different friend every night. I quickly saw how differently you get to know someone by entering into their domestic, intimate life, as opposed to meeting them for a short while in a bar, for example.

I would make photos in my friends’ houses during this time, and found I wanted to extend this to sleeping in strangers’ houses. It was during the residency in Vienna that I first started sleeping over at the houses of people I didn’t know.

When I first started the project I was more interested in personal stories. Since then I’ve become more aware of the structures, house politics and histories that are visible. Now, I am more focused on the details of a home and the ways in which governments influence housing. The more I see repeated forms, the more I understand how different things are dictated by rules.

9 Blue Beds I slept. Image courtesy of the artist

 

Like in council housing?

Not so much – more how government structures are visible in all houses – like in UK people tend to have separate taps, or cords on the bathroom light. These are decisions made by governments for safety and security. Some things are really typical in one or more different countries. For example, so many houses in Northern Ireland have carpet and there can be many different possible reasons behind it – is it for safety, warmth, noise reduction? These outcomes suggest rules or reasons, but their repetition suggests something at work outside of personal space.

When you’re involved in these acts of archiving, you’re moulding your life around another person’s routines and lives, but at the same time, carrying out the project needs a person to be open to letting you into their world. To what extent do you see the project as collaborative?

It’s something I’ve been wondering myself. Some people would say to me that I’m a performance artist, doing a performance every time I am inside a person’s house, and that it is collaborative. I feel I’m working very independently – I can’t work with other people to make my final work. And yet I sometimes think my work is always made by others – from people sharing ideas, or because I use the structure and organisation of their life.

I distinguish the archive I build and the artworks that come from it, and wouldn’t say these finished artworks are collaborative. But the archive, the whole important construction underneath these works can’t exist without other people.

Do you see these artworks as conclusive at all?

No, because it’s impossible to do so – despite what patterns emerge, there are always people who do not engage in them. For example, in Taiwan there are many people who wear plastic slippers around the house, but there are always some people who don’t.

I’m playing with trying to be objective when I’m writing, in making notes and making these artworks – just writing down what I see, like “He also has a vacuum cleaner called Henry”. But at the same time, you can almost always see subjectivity underneath it, because the things I observe say something about how my vision is bordered, just as everyone’s vision is due to their background. I try to remove these borders, but also know that this is impossible – so I wouldn’t say my works are conclusions.

On the other hand, it’s fun to make sort-of judgements about place. Banal ones, like about the slippers; I made a flag piece from this. It’s so inoffensive – you can’t draw conclusions about people but observe the habits that are formed collectively. In the end the stereotyping is a critique on stereotyping.

Installation image of “Between 23:08 and 10:39”, Pier 2 Artcenter, Taiwan. Image courtesy of the artist

 

How does your work operate with or without the archive – would you see them as more playful when they are “released” into a gallery/public setting?

What I would call the final artworks are indeed very playful. I reform certain ‘scientific’ ways of working to magnify the impossibility of being objective. For example, I have created a drawn excel-sheet from 9mx2m on a wall, and I’ve made a video in which I attempt to fit objects back into the Ikea catalogue.

Up until now the public could only see the work I would derive from the archive, but I’m working on putting the documentation online so they’re available to everyone.

To draw on a question at your recent lecture, when you enter a person’s house, do you do so as a researcher or as a guest?

I feel like a researcher but act as a guest – I don’t ask people specific questions, or prepare how I behave, and I don’t have any expectations about what will happen, which works well because you can’t predict things. Sometimes people feed me, or they don’t, or they leave, or they take me out the whole night. But at the same time I’m a researcher, because I must be aware of the processes happening and the objects around me to make my work, otherwise I would simply be a couchsurfing traveller.

Do you have set things you record whilst you are there, like a diary?

I do a lot of things, not necessarily for the public to see yet, but for my research. There’s the bedroom checklist, in which I record the colour of the walls, the pattern from my blanket, some titles of the books they have and much more. I would make about 100 photos in every house, mostly of the same objects that are repeated across houses, for example toasters. I also take film footage from my bed as soon as I wake up, and do so in a strict sequence – taking in the ceiling, the walls, the floor, and then the duvet. They are all exactly two minutes, so these rules make the films easy to compare side-by-side.

STUDIO 2D, Open studios at Studio Das Weisse Haus, Vienna. Image courtesy of the artist

 

It is an odd blend of objectivity and subjectivity, because in that action, any viewer seeing your film is seeing what you see, and becomes a guest by proxy. Each person who sees it makes the space a little bit less private.

People can see that it’s a private moment for myself as well, when I wake up in the morning and adjust to my surroundings. But I really want it to be about the room and the other rather than focus on my experience; but again, it’s impossible not to have this influence.

Has your relationship to objects been affected since doing this project?

Enormously. Ten years ago I was such a hoarder, and now I would not buy anything that’s not absolutely necessary. I am so aware of how many objects surround us, and I document them all, from the important to the very banal but prefer not to be surrounded by many myself. Now I live in white walls with only necessary things. I also avoid IKEA because I have seen so much of it and it is so pervasive. I do however have a certain respect for them, as they have achieved this Bauhaus ideal universal accessibility to a certain design. Also, without them I couldn’t make my work – I find particular objects all over the world, and in a way it’s lovely because it connects people.

There are a lot of trends to do with how we shape our space, or relate to our things, but I really believe in the principles of emptying your life and getting rid of what you don’t need. I noticed that people who tend to hold on to things often have stories about the past and have sad moments attached to objects – whereas when people are in an emptier space, I believe you can get past the sad things in life.

Installation image of “Chewing Gum Travel Report”, studio door, Taiwan. Image courtesy of the artist

 

I once had a teacher who said “art isn’t creating new things, but organising things around you”. You work makes me think of this – your physical output is involved in organising other people’s things, and making mementos of it. You have the object, and your photo of the object – in a way it’s increasing its materiality.

And maybe more than once – I would have a photo, a text about it, perhaps a video. I would reproduce artworks and sometimes one object will be mirrored 4 or 5 times further – I am doubling things throughout the world, and expanding experience connected to the object.

Do you have any idea of where the project will go next? 

I never know where I’ll go next. I love the last minute decisions because it means I start from a blank page – I leave without doing any research and discover a place bit by bit. I can’t choose and want to take the project everywhere – Russia, Turkey, Japan, North America, Canada, Brazil, Albania…in the coming years I will focus more on places outside of Europe. Let’s see where I end up next…

By Dorothy Hunter

Torlarp “Hern” Larpjaroensook Work.

Artist, designer, and gallery founder Torlarp “Hern” Larpjaroensook doesn’t let much get in his way. On a beautiful sunny November day with the sounds of his assistants steadily working in the background, Hern and I sat down in his beautiful Chiang Mai home and studio space to talk about the evolution of his work, Gallery Seescape, and the art community of Chiang Mai.

Born on a houseboat in Ayutthaya, the ancient capital of Thailand, Hern has been straddling history and modernity since the beginning. His work, wildly imaginative sci-fi fusions of traditional and antique Thai design with contemporary stylistic elements and technologies, speak to his upbringing in the quiet and historic former capital. His father was a carpenter, instilling an early curiosity in making. Outer space has also been of longstanding interest as Hern remembers his Chinese grandmother praying to the moon every day. He muses, “she went to the moon with spirituality like the Americans went with technology”. This fusion is the basis of his work and has particularly fueled the Spiritual Spaceship series.

Torlarp “Hern” Larpjaroensook Spiritual Spaceship

 

Working in 2D, 3D, and now what he describes as 4D or interactive work, Hern is unencumbered by limitations of medium or material. With a desire for the public to physically engage with the work, Hern is currently working on a large-scale interactive installation that will be shown in both Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. “From the beginning I have wanted people to touch my work”, Hern says, with a desire for it to more than a purely visual experience. A fusion of the analog and the digital, handcraft and high fabrication, the work looks at the past to create a fantastical future. In his beautiful self-designed home/studio compound, he and (at least) two assistants are hard at work every day. Several projects are in the works simultaneously, scattered throughout a few buildings and outdoor spaces. With a relentless need to make, Hern is currently producing custom designed and fabricated porthole-like windows set to debut in December 2016 at Chiang Mai Design Week.

Torlarp “Hern” Larpjaroensook

 

Hern graduated from Chiang Mai University in 2006 with a degree in painting. Hern remembers, “I had no money so I made lamps, notebooks, and movie props to make money out of school”. He soon opened up a small bar and restaurant, intended to be a space for the community to look at art, make conversation, and have a drink. While the impetus behind the bar was strong, the business folded not long after it opened. In 2008 he rekindled the idea, focusing solely on the creation and renovation of an art space he dubbed Gallery Seescape. Hern began by showing his own work and quickly began to invite other artists to exhibit. Since its inception Gallery Seescape has produced 78 exhibitions and events, sustaining itself without any support from the Thai government. Opened only a year and a half ago, the hip and impeccably designed SS1254372 Café now helps to support the gallery venture. Hern believes in the importance of art and has more than proven his dedication to bringing art conversation to the Chiang Mai community.

To learn more about Hern’s work, please visit hern-art.blogspot.com and facebook.com/galleryseescape

By Gracelee Lawrence

(Detail) Sin titulo – hilos de naylon sobre papel de algodon 100×70 cm

Dolores Casares trabaja las esculturas y las instalaciones poniendo en diálogo distintos lenguajes visuales, siempre pensando en el espacio y el volumen, estableciendo juegos ópticos y cinéticos, apelando a la trama propia del textil y hasta evocando una estética abstracta cuasi minimalista en la resolución simple y elegante de las obras así como en los materiales utilizados. La línea tiene una fuerte presencia en cualquiera de sus formas: dibujada en el acrílico, trazada por los hilos de nylon en el espacio o directamente sobre el papel. También la luz se destaca porque no es usada como recurso para jerarquizar la obra sino que es inherente a ella, haciéndola emerger del aparente vacio.

Guardian – Caja de acrilico con tanzas de nylon – iluminacion de LED UV 25x25x90

 

Además de ejercer la docencia en su propio taller, trabajó en clínicas de obra y curadurías junto a destacados artistas argentinos como Eduardo Medici, Héctor Medici, Ernesto Pesce y Jorge González Perrín. Su trabajo se expuso en el Salón Nacional Palais de Glace, Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de La Plata, Centro Cultural San Martín, Centro Cultural Recoleta, Fundación Standard Bank, Consulado Argentino en New York, y en las ferias internacionales destacadas. Es representada en el exterior por galería como Eliana Benchimol (Brasil), Patricia Ruiz Healy (Huston), Galería Luz Botero (Panamá) e integra colecciones internacionales tales como la Colección Luz Botero (Panamá) y Colección Patricia Ruiz – Healy Gallery (Houston EEUU), ArtNexus, entre otras.

Maria Carolina Baulo: Bordados, plásticos transparentes, placas de acrílico, agujas, tanzas dentro de esferas, luces en movimiento, la línea que se entreteje en forma de dibujo o con hilos de nylon; todo un universo muy cercano a lo textil. ¿La elección de los materiales es estética y/o conceptual?

Dolores Casares: Podría decir que a partir de la muestra “Entre el índice y el pulgar” (el nombre ya nos da un indicio), inicio una nueva búsqueda en mi obra, pasando de lo pictórico a la intervención con hilos y agujas. Si bien no abandono el dibujo, porque considero que sigo dibujando con estos materiales, lo aplico sobre otros soportes, como los bastidores de bordados con telas, plásticos y también de forma volumétrica en cajas de acrílico transparente. Si bien el hilo y la aguja son elementos relacionados históricamente a lo femenino, su utilización me permite abordar con mayor precisión la idea de vacío sobre la que me interesa trabajar ya sea en el plano de una hoja, desde el volumen de las cajas acrílicas, o desde una instancia escenográfica como la que exploro últimamente a través de las luces y las sombras.

Limites del dibujo – Agujas de acupuntura – Ilumimacion LED en movimiento 24x24x60 cm

 

MCB: Tu obra pone en cuestión los espacios llenos y los vacios. Ahí la luz juega un rol clave porque oculta o destaca los soportes y los contenidos. También el movimiento, aunque insinuado, aporta lo suyo al igual que la transparencia de los materiales. Contame sobre esta relación entre lo que está presente y lo que está ausente que siempre se evoca en tu trabajo.

DC: Intento hacer que lo “ausente” esté presente, que aparezca como una “representación” de lo que fue, de lo que estuvo. Partiendo desde la huella, la marca que deja un suceso pasado -y que fue uno de los primeros caminos que me llevaron a esta búsqueda-, fui avanzando sobre esa idea. En principio, a través de los objetos, o mejor dicho, dentro del vacío de los objetos, para luego trabajar directamente con las sombras que generaban al ser iluminados. De esta manera, con las luces en movimiento, fui logrando desprender las sombras de los objetos para que cobraran relevancia por sí mismas, dando vida a un espacio nuevo de representación ficticia, casi teatral.

Sin titulo – hilos de naylon sobre papel de algodon 70×50 cm

 

MCB: “Siete maneras de respirar” fue tu última muestra individual en 2016 y el texto curatorial la planteaba como una suerte de síntesis de tus búsquedas. ¿Por qué?

DC: Diría que de algún modo conjugó, y a la vez expuso, los distintos caminos que fui explorando a lo largo de estos años: hubo cajas de acrílico con tramas de hilos de nylon que se iluminaban con luz de LED UV, otra cilíndrica con agujas de acupuntura, cuyo movimiento generaba un sonido amplificado, estructuras de metal intervenidas en su vacío con hilos de acero, esculturas realizadas con agujas de acupuntura “liberadas” de las cajas de acrílico e iluminada con luces LED, donde el dibujo de las sombras daba un nuevo sentido y a la vez completaba la obra, pequeñas instalaciones cuyas sombras emulaban los edificios de las ciudades y dibujos con hilos sobre papel de algodón que reproducían esas obras, y hasta la obra “Homenaje a Tanizaki”, que consistía en una caja recubierta con papel opaco sobre el que se proyectaba la sombra de las piezas que se encontraban en su interior.

Guardian de acero – estructura de acero y tanzas de acero 25x25x170cm

 

MCB: Siguiendo con esta última experiencia, aparece allí un  nuevo factor de tensión: lo acústico combinado con las estructuras 3D. ¿Cómo trabajaste este tema y cuál fue la necesidad de apelar al sonido? Tu trabajo se expande de esta forma hacia la puesta en escena teatral, o por lo menos apela a muchos de los recursos del teatro.

DC: Sí, es cierto; hay una búsqueda que fue derivando hacia la teatralidad, aunque se trata de dos instancias. Por un lado, la obra que citás “Caja de sonidos” surge del trabajo de incorporar la instancia “acústica” que aparece en la construcción de mis obras con agujas de acupuntura: en el trabajo de atravesar los cubos de acrílico con las agujas, me encontraba con sonidos particulares, propios de entrecruzamiento y el roce de los materiales. Durante mucho tiempo pensé en la manera de “atrapar” esos sonidos para que también formaran parte de la obra. Así surgió la idea de un cilindro atravesado por cientos de agujas, que al girar dentro de otro cilindro más grande con un diseño de agujas como las que venía trabajando, reprodujo el sonido que buscaba a la manera de las “cajitas musicales”, pero no ya con una melodía, sino con el musicalidad propia de mis intervenciones. Por otro lado sí, estaría una búsqueda más decidida hacia la teatralidad, que nace de la observación de las sombras que generaban mis primeras obras lumínicas, que posteriormente dieron paso a la serie de “ciudades”, para finalmente llegar a la obra “Homenaje a Tanizaki” donde las protagonistas son definitivamente las sombras.

Un Lugar en El Mundo – Dolores Casares. from Dolores Casares on Vimeo.

MCB: “Homenaje a Tanizaki”  es un buen ejemplo de tu trabajo más reciente. Allí interviene la luz, el movimiento, el metal, el papel, el acrílico, las agujas, las tanzas de nylon, el “entretejido” manifiesto que conforman los materiales. ¿Qué podes contarnos del proceso constructivo de la obra?

DC: Como decía anteriormente, esta obra fue de algún modo la sumatoria o el resultado de mis búsquedas anteriores. Por un lado están las piezas de acrílico mínimamente intervenidas como en mis primeros trabajos, otras de mayor complejidad, tanto con agujas de acupuntura como con tanzas, ubicadas en un total de doce dentro de una estructura de metal (otro de los soportes sobre los que trabajé para mi última muestra), con las cuatro caras cubiertas de papel esmerilado que no permite ver las piezas, por lo que a primera vista resulta un gran cubo de papel. Pero al encender las luces de LED que se encuentran en el interior junto a las piezas, el sistema de movimiento continuo y aleatorio va dibujando distintas sombras sobre las paredes de papel, escenas que remiten a ciudades fantasmales, silenciosas, de las que el observador apenas puede retener su contorno por unos instantes, mientras crecen y decrecen con la fugacidad de la luz.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Lauren Anderson – The Piano in the Room – courtest of Permanent Collection.

Two years ago Anthony B. Creeden & Julia V. Hendrickson started the house gallery Permanent.Collection on the bustling East Side of Austin. Since then, Permanent.Collection has presented seven exhibitions pairing artists from Texas with artists from Creeden and Hendrickson’s last home, Chicago. With a strong belief in the platform of experimental spaces and the power of connecting artists based in disparate places, Permanent.Collection has proven to be an incredibly important presence in the Austin arts community.

How did Permanent.Collection begin and evolve over the past two years? 

We (Anthony B. Creeden & Julia V. Hendrickson) came to Austin in 2014 with the intention to start an apartment gallery. We moved from Chicago, a city that has a long history of apartment galleries and DIY artist-run spaces, and we wanted to bring that here and share it with Austin, which has so many great parallels with Chicago already. The mission, or the idea, behind Permanent.Collection was always to pair up and connect an artist we knew of back in Chicago with an artist we met here in Texas. Two person shows. We haven’t changed the purpose of the space over time, but we’re glad to constantly expand the networks of artists around Texas whom we meet.

Lindsay Hutchens – Installation View

 

The gallery is so interwoven with your domestic space- how does this affect the choices that are made in terms of the artists and work shown? 

We choose artists we respect and want to work with, and who make sense together. We don’t necessarily chose artists who make work about domesticity, and the domestic aspect of our space affects the shows as much or as little as the artists want it to. We don’t try to hide the fact that this is an actively lived-in place, but we also can make (the living room at least) a reasonably neutral space to show artwork. The furniture goes away, it’s just a room with some track lighting. But of course, where we are now, it is a quirky old house, with cream, mottled walls, and a brown patterned linoleum floor, and there are barely any right angles anywhere. So that’s a part of how we introduce the space to artists we work with.

However, although we didn’t know this going in, we’ve had a handful of artists whose work ended up playing really well in a domestic space. Our current exhibition features work by Houston-based artist Francesca Fuchs, who creates these beautiful paintings based on memories of other visual artwork from in and around her home, and the homes of her friends and family. Last spring we exhibited a piece by Chicago-based artist Sara Condo last spring—a video shot through a train window as she traveled cross-country—and we installed it as a reverse projection on our back porch, so you could sit in the kitchen and watch the video through the kitchen window, as if you were also on a train. And earlier this year, Chicago-based artist Lauren Anderson really took up the challenge of the house with a great sense of humor: she sewed a gigantic 8 by 8 by 4 foot tote bag, and we stored all of our living room furniture inside it, in the middle of the room, for the duration of the exhibition. It was awesome.

Selena Trepp – Sinks – courtesy of Permanent Collection.

 

What is the place for apartment galleries/alternative spaces in contemporary art discourse? Chicago seems to have spearheaded this movement, how does Austin fit in?

We really view apartment galleries, and spaces like them, as providing avenues for experimentation. For flexibility and openness. In our case, we consider it to be a different platform than commercial galleries or museums can provide. It’s a space for artists to try out new ideas, to make work that might not be flashy or big or profit-driven.

It provides a different context for viewers, too. When you come over, it’s a welcoming environment and we’re inviting you in; it’s about community and a friendly atmosphere. The music scene in Austin really allows for this, promotes it, so we try to connect this to the visual arts as well. We try to make it a supportive space across the board.

The idea of the gallery as an “archive of simultaneity” is fascinating. How does this manifest?

This gets at two of our favorite things! We’re fascinated by archives, especially in relation to smaller spaces like ours that may or may not be fleeting, with a relatively short lifespan (depending on how long our lives allow us to keep it going). The name, the font we chose for the logo, the black and white imagery we use, the numbering systems—it all points to a traditional way of archiving and documenting artwork, but it’s of course tongue-in-cheek because we’re not permanent, this isn’t a collection. But, what we do want to capture and archive is our perspective on this current moment in contemporary art. That’s what we mean by “simultaneity.” To highlight artists in two different cities, thousands of miles away, who might be thinking about the same things, dealing with the same issues, have a kind of kinship with one another.

Nathan Ellefson – Mud Tub Egg Change – Courtesy of Permant Collection

 

What future do you see for the arts in Austin and Permanent.Collection?

It’s really going to be about sustaining energy and activism, and retaining a collective community memory of all of the fabulous projects artists in Austin get into on a weekly basis. Going back to the idea of archives, Threewalls in Chicago has been publishing this epic collection of artist-run spaces called PHONEBOOK. Over the last year or so, in a similar vein, Conflict of Interest has been doing a great job documenting the local arts and lit scene(s).

It’s a really fascinating time to be in the arts in Austin. It’s hard to know, with all the commercial and real estate development popping up left and right, what will happen for the arts here specifically. But we’re hopeful that there will still be opportunities and spaces that encourage art to be made and artists to push themselves. Affordable housing and studio space is going to be a huge part of that, but there are definitely folks working to make this happen on the ground level. As far as Permanent.Collection goes, we’re conscious of the fact that we may not always be in the same space, but we are very open to growing and changing with the circumstances around us. The nice thing about the format we’ve set up is that Permanent.Collection can happen anywhere. We can make connections with artists in two different cities anywhere. And the simultaneity of it, that is something that we’re always going to pay attention to. That is the joy and the challenge that keeps us interested.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Título: HLX1 (serie proyecciones). Medidas: 145 x 200 cm. Año: 2013. Técnica: Oleo sobre tela

La obra de Hernán Salvo tiene la particularidad de ser ecléctica en tanto transita distintas disciplinas de las artes plásticas y visuales; sin embargo, siempre se encuentra atravesada por una enorme coherencia conceptual y afinidad entre todas sus series. Escultura, pintura, instalaciones o las puestas en escena cuasi teatrales y/o cinematográficas que recrean espacios lúdicos, son todos recursos abordados por el artista a lo largo de su carrera, los cuales guardan un eje vertebral relacionado con establecer una suerte de comunicación entre la mirada que ejerce el  espectador sobre sus obras y la mirada que ella le devuelve. Su propuesta reclama un trabajo introspectivo: frente a la obra de Salvo, el punto de vista rebota como en un espejo y pone en evidencia al espectador quien debe hacerse cargo de sus propias proyecciones.

Docente de escultura formado en la Universidad Nacional de las Artes, con un postgrado en dibujo realizado en la Universidad Torcuato Di Tella bajo la tutela de Eduardo Stupía, Hernan Salvo cuenta con varios premios en dibujo en el Salón Nacional, el Salón Municipal, la Fundación Williams y una mención en la V Bienal de Pintura de Rafaela, además de un subsidio otorgado por el Fondo de Cultura de BA en 2006. Ha mostrado su trabajo en importantes espacios nacionales como la galería Holz, el Patio Itaú Cultural, la galería Matilde Besignor y Schlifka-Molina, pero es graias a su última muestra en el Centro Cultural Recoleta en Julio 2016, “Mirar no es suficiente”, donde el artista pisa fuerte en el entorno local del arte.

Sin título, 2016. 30 x 105 x 26 cm. Madera, bronce, tela, pintura, iluminación

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Tu obra transita por distintas disciplinas, pero la escultura y las instalaciones parecieran ser un interés central ¿es así?.

Hernan Salvo: Si, es cierto. Hay un particular interés por la espacialidad, por representar el espacio, es así que aparecen imágenes muy escenográficas en mis obras, ya sea en las pinturas, en los dibujos o en los dioramas. Quizás se lo deba a mi formación como escultor. Creo que en los dioramas es donde más se logra esa sensación de espacialidad.

Sin título, 2016. 30 x 105 x 26 cm. Madera, bronce, tela, pintura, iluminación

 

MCB: Una particularidad que noto es cómo articulas la dinámica entre lo macro y lo micro: de por sí una instalación ya tiene mucha información pero como si fuera poco, los objetos y obras que allí se exhiben, también son portadoras de micro mundos. Estoy pensando en tu reciente muestra “Mirar no es suficiente”.

HS: La muestra consistía en cajas que contenían dioramas adentro. Esto obligaba al observador a acercarse a la obra y mirar a través de un orificio,  generando una dinámica particular en la muestra porque cada obra era una sorpresa por descubrir. Invitaba a una mirada íntima, limitando la observación a un espacio reducido pero, paradójicamente, lo que había dentro de esas cajas expandían la observación hacia otros enfoques de la realidad. Eran escenas cargadas de simbolismos, metáforas y cuestionamientos acerca de lo que vemos, y proponían replegar esa curiosidad hacia otros lugares de pensamiento. Supongo que este diálogo entre lo macro y lo micro que mencionás debe tener que ver con esta relación que propongo de un hermetismo condicionante que propone la caja como tal y la existencia de una alternativa que está por fuera de lo que se observa allí dentro.

Portal, 2016. 42 x 112 x 28 cm. Madera, felpa, papel, bronce, vidrio, iluminación.

 

MCB: Cine, teatro y fotografía: ¿cómo influencian tu obra y porqué siempre están ocupando un espacio que invita a la mirada íntima, individual y no, por ejemplo, en una mega instalación a la vista de todos en simultaneidad?.

HS: Mis obras proponen un cuestionamiento de la realidad, una reformulación de lo que se está observando, por eso es que aparecen elementos que resignifican estas instancias de observación. Sin embargo, más allá de estos elementos simbólicos, lo que reina en mis obras es el misterio, lo oculto, lo que no llegamos a dilucidar. La  mirada íntima invita a una mayor reflexión acerca de lo que se ve. 

MCB: Dije que tu obra devuelve la mirada del espectador porque cuando creemos que vamos a encontrar certezas, nos encontramos con más interrogantes: proyectamos lo que creemos o queremos ver pero no es eso lo que encontramos. Tus obras nos ponen en una situación incómoda y una instancia reflexiva donde hay más preguntas que respuestas. 

HS: Me gusta lo que decís, porque esta serie que mostré en el CCR obligaba a la gente a espiar y espiar conlleva la idea de investigar; pero al mirar hacia adentro uno se encontraba con escenografías con cierto misterio, que más que certezas, aparecían interrogantes. Es así que las cajas funcionaban como plataformas de proyección de uno mismo. Busco que pase eso en mis obras; que el espectador se proyecte en lo que ve y  que de alguna forma la obra funcione como un espejo.

Blue velvet, 2016. 40 x 120 x 28,5 cm. Madera, felpa, iluminación.

 

MCB: Sería fantástico que nos cuentes el paso a paso en el proceso creativo de estas cajas, protagonistas de tu última muestra en el CCR y cómo pensaste su disposición en la sala para lograr el efecto deseado.

HS: La idea de las cajas devino un poco de la necesidad de proteger los dioramas del polvo para su conservación, de esta forma se me ocurrió acentuar este hermetismo y en vez de usar una cúpula transparente, opte por usar madera y ocultarlos. De esta forma, se asemejaban a cajas que atesoraban  algo, es así que se me ocurrió que el orificio, por el cual se accedía al interior podría ser un ojo de cerradura, me pareció que funcionaría como elemento simbólico sugerente de una multiplicidad de acepciones. Así es que la muestra se armó de tal forma que cada caja era una microsala a espiar y encontrar diferentes universos.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Neophyte image, by Sterling Crispin. Image courtesy of the artist. 

Artist Sterling Crispin has been engaging in a remarkable project over the course of the year: designing software to simulate the “growth” of a plant in a 3D model, which can then be printed using standard 3D printing equipment. He was kind enough to explain to me how this project is going, what it means to “grow” something in simulation, and how it fits in with the work of other artists working with additive sculpture technologies.

Adam Rothstein: Could you describe your project to grow 3D plants, in your own words?

Sterling Crispin: Well it’s one part tool-unto-itself and one part interactive-artwork that I’m calling Neophyte. It’s a large software project in the C++ programing language that generates relatively life-like plants. My current focus has been on 3D printing the plants so I can use them in my sculptures as form and ornamentation.

The plants are generated in part using an algorithm called an L-system, which is a grammar that describes how single-celled organisms subdivide. This algorithm produces a kind of recursive “DNA” that my software then contextually re-writes and edits, and finally interprets into a volumetric 3D form. Neophyte was partially based on the first chapter of The Algorithmic Beauty of Plants by Prezmyslaw Prusinkiewicz and Aristid Lindenmayer. But it’s not just a 1/1 adaptation of their work, I’ve made lots of progress and filled in lots of gaps, made things up, cheated and faked it, to get Neophyte where I wanted it to be.

The deeper I’ve gotten into writing this software simulation, adding minute little details here and there that only I’ll ever notice, I realize that it’s really a game of approximations. If I really wanted to program a truly generative plant I’d have to start with simulating carbon atoms. But obviously that would take forever to compute, so I have generalize a lot.

I’ve spent so much time writing the Neophyte itself that it probably would have been faster to sculpt the plants by hand, but the forms would inevitably turn out differently, and I’m interested in the hand-of-the-machine and the kind of marks it makes.

For me the work is about entropy, the environment, and technology. We’re collectively creating this global-organism of networked information systems, but destroying the earth’s ecosystem to live like this. So there’s something kind of romantically futile about trying to re-create beautiful natural systems using high technology that’s partially responsible for its destruction in the first place.

AR: So there is a sort of abstraction going on, and necessarily so. A translation of biology into data? Or how else might you put it, if not like this?

SC: There’s a definite translation from biology to data, but it’s not direct. It’s the biological abstracted into strict logical rules, mixed with a lot of arbitrary subjective feelings, and memories, of “how nature is,” that’s guiding the software. I want these 3D printed parts to seem like they physically grew and were somehow made to be synthetic.

A frozen state of a living synthetic system that somehow emotes life while existing as decaying plastic.

It’s like the fable of the artist who drew sleeping pigs, the artist’s mentor kept asking, “why are you drawing all these dead pigs?” Finally with enough practice the artist was able to emote that feeling of a pig resting peacefully in the shade. That’s where I’m trying to get.

AR: Did you have to research actual biology much, or are you building on the algorithmic/programming side of things?

I’ve read through lots of research papers about how people are developing algorithms for simulating plant life, but most of my biology research involves being in nature and just silently observing the world. Or digging around in the freestyle garden my girlfriend and I planted in our yard. There’s something really satisfying about watching plants grow. It’s like hearing birds singing, you just feel like the world is a little more right, and everything is going to work out just fine.

AR: What are the challenges working with this digital/physical art form?

SC: I became completely obsessed with minute little details of the software. The saying “Art is never finished, only abandoned” goes for software as well. At some point you have to just walk away from it.

Digital art has the advantage of being so fluid and malleable, but industrial manufacturing methods have strict limits, 3D printing included. Working between those extremes can be tough, especially with custom software like this.

Also when you’re working with generative systems they spiral out of control, it takes a lot of tweaking to develop the right results. There are hundreds of parameters all working together in harmony. If I deleted the default settings and let someone else try to use the software they may not get it to do anything interesting. It’s kind of like a musical instrument.

Beyond all of that, C++ is not the friendliest programming language once you start doing advanced and sort of exotic things with it.

“Extropy” 17 x 17 x 17 in. Machined aluminum profiling, 3D printed nylon plated in nickel and copper, aluminum heat sinks, 2016. By Sterling Crispin. Image courtesy of the artist.

 

AR: What are the signs of success? In other words, as you improve upon your method, what strikes you as “getting it right’?

SC: Sometimes I’m working from photographs I shot of plants and trying re-create subtle and specific details, like how leaf-stems emerge from their branches. With those references and fresh memories of direct observation it’s easy to know if I’m getting it right or not.

But when I’m trying to make a new feature in the software that has a parameter space covering a wide range of plants, it’s way more subjective. For example, writing code that causes branch bifurcation and leaf placement that can equally emulate a grape vine, a sparse shrub, bamboo, and an oak tree. There’s a lot of feeling it out and seemingly arbitrary decisions made. I think when people who’ve never written code criticize digital art, they don’t take into account how many creative decisions are made. Every line of code is a creative act.

And in general I want it to be beautiful, and you know it when you see it.

AR: Has the work been shown yet?

SC: I had produced Entropy and Extropy as commissions for the art collector Stefan Simchowitz. The plants in those two sculptures were grown in the same software, but that was way back in March, so the software has evolved a lot since then. Now there are leaves, a physics simulation cycle, and a bunch of subtle changes about how branches rotate and merge to face one another.

Neither sculpture have been exhibited yet to my knowledge but partly that’s due to the rate I’ve been able to make new artwork. I’ve been totally obsessed with developing the software itself for the last 9 months, and it’s finally maturing to the point that I’m ready to just focus on creating physical sculptures with it and stop nitpicking the code.

“Entropy” 17 x 17 x 17 in. Machined aluminum profiling, 3D printed nylon dyed black, PC case fans, power supplies, 2016. By Sterling Crispin. Image courtesy of the artist.

 

AR: Other work you’ve done involves creating a technological setup, and then seeing what results— kind of performance, or time-based work, one might say. Do you see this work with generating plants as sculpture, performance, or both?

SC: I don’t think about it categorically like that while I’m working, it’s just art to me. It’s one total system with lots of inputs and outputs.

But I suppose it’s a tool to make sculptures, and a series of digital video artworks, it’s an infinitely generative system, and yeah its performative while I’m using it. But more of a performance like an instrument being played than an Abromovic piece.

AR: How do you think this project fits in with other 3D printed art work that is out there?

SC: Difficult to say, I guess I relate to the aesthetics of people like Daniel Widrig, Neri Oxman, Michael Hansymer with this work, but the politics of the Nefertiti bust leak, and Morehshin Allahyari’s work. in the sense of creating modern artifacts.

I’m interested in the shelf-life of these plastic parts after reading some archival nightmares about old Jeff Koonz sculptures and others. Thankfully I’ve got all the digital files, which is kind of the DNA of the work, the physical parts themselves can always be reprinted.

By Adam Rothstein

“Who drive Fergus now and pierce woods woven shade.” 1994. Linoprint.

To meet an 80+-year-old artist “doing something I’ve never done before,” I visited Peter Gourfain’s Bedford-Stuyvesant studio in a neighborhood that was low-income when he moved there 30 years ago. The shift to the new style, in which three-dimensional yet abstract heads and hands are collaged together was “sudden and unexpected,” according to the artist.[i] 

Black Lives Matter Studies 4, 2, & 3, all ceramic & all 2016

 

The five newest works, titled as Studies for Black Lives Matter, are human heads and hands looking out, reaching out, and otherwise being expressive. This new direction, which merges notions of nonrepresentational, figurative, and collage and concepts that are political yet universal, somehow captures global life/strife today as well as the thrusting energy of old, sometimes repressed cultures still fighting to be heard. The overall rounded shape of each sculpture may remind us that the world is a global village with many factions, faces and cultures. Two works contain some animal heads, and one work has a clenched fist  – a 1960s symbol for the New Left and the Black Panthers created by artist Frank Cieciorka (1939-2008). Gourfain uses T-1, a heavily-grogged clay with no support armature. His glaze for Black Lives Matter is Val’s Green. “When I started this series, I wasn’t thinking of Black Lives Matter. I want to do something outside the piece itself,” the artist related, “especially since the killings of black men and women keep happening.” After the artist finishes the sculpting process, he bisque fires each work, then glazes it, and then refires it.

The faces are archetypal, and some remind me a bit of the Egyptian series nearby in the studio, which was shown at Hudson Beach Glass in Beacon, New York in 2015. The Egyptian works are detailed table-sized ceramic figures of ancient Egyptian locals: a Field Measurer, a lady making beer for pyramid workers at Giza, a belly dancer doing a backbend, and a couple making love.

Black Lives Matter Studies 4, 2, & 3, all ceramic & all 2016

 

The artist’s two story studio and living space is loaded with floor to ceiling bookshelves featuring art and literature from many periods and countries. Sculpture and other arts fill every room and surface — the walls, floor, bureaus, tables, and chairs.  The first floor has areas for art-making and a c. 1903 proof press.  Bronze works include Animal Vessel, c. 1998, a vessel about 16” tall with a musk ox, rhinoceros, anteater, and seal on top. A nearby bronze hand has abstract portraits as fingers and along the surface; it is a tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, John F. Kennedy, and Robert Kennedy. He connects these four to the four evangelists Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John, and uses the first two letters of the four names to form the word Mamarojo.  In a corner is a bronze titled A Last Supper.  It shows overturned chairs and the disciples behaving in an unruly manner.  A beautiful relief titled Cree Prophesy, 2001 is the carved top of a wooden cart on wheels that the artist found on the street. The Cree saying, carved between the images, is “After the animals rivers and trees go only then will you know that money cannot be eaten.” Gourfain’s gifts as a story-teller  remind me of William Blake, whom the artist says is not an influence, and of Jay Bolotin, another artist without a website who invents parables for our times. One difference is that Bolotin makes up his characters while Gourfain uses his own abstract versions of historic figures and animals; he has a giraffe series that is playful and minimal and a sculpture of a World War II Russian soldier that is realistic, so his style and subject matter ranges but usually centers on animals and people.

Hand and Vessel, bronze, c. 2000

 

In Russell Panczenko’s interview with the artist for his 2002 solo exhibition at the Elvehjem Museum of Art at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Gourfain discusses some of the many disparate themes he turns into art, including Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake, a poem by Herman Melville, Diego Rivera, and migrating caribou.[ii]  Lucy Lippard’s essay for this catalog “Silence Would Be a Compromise” may be the best essay to date about the artist’s work. She both details the truly encyclopedic range of references in the art and notes, “What finally distinguishes Gourfain’s art is its peculiar energy. All the passion, tenderness, and rage he feels for the world is channeled (or captive) in the work, which exudes a cantankerous generosity – another one of my personal criteria for good art. He puts into each piece everything that he’s got, all the moral force of his convictions and his doubts.”[iii]

Detail from Carved wood cart is titled Cree Prophesy, wood, steel, rubber, 50 x 27 “, 2001

 

With a New York Times review and a solo show at the Brooklyn Museum to his credit, Gourfain’s most prominent public achievement to date may be the 24 bronze plates, Fate of the Earth, installed as relief walls at both St. John the Divine Cathedral in Harlem (1997) and the Neuberger Museum in Purchase, New York (1998). In 1994, his bronze outdoor sculpture We Shall Overcome, a large hand with relief scenes of Martin Luther King, Jr. and other historic figures and the companion indoor relief Powerful Days were installed at Public School 6 in Brooklyn. Another commission was a 1992 bronze stele for the town of Lowell, Massachusetts (where Kerouac was born, the artist adds) with reliefs telling its history as a cloth manufacturing center.

Gourfain alternates between two-dimensional arts and sculpture in ceramics and bronze. He recently made prints at the Syracuse University Print Department run by Dusty Herbig. With students, he produced up to 20 copies each of seven linocut plates; the artist does not limit the number of prints he makes of each plate, saying, “That’s part of the snob world.” He told me, “I don’t have a mission. I’ve been an artist since I was three; I do what I feel like doing. Getting into art school (at the Art Institute of Chicago) was like going to paradise.” Gourfain also teaches and uses the ceramic studio at Greenwich House Pottery.

By Jan Garden Castro

Links:
www.nytimes.com/1987/04/03/arts/art-works-by-gourfain-at-brooklyn-museum.html?pagewanted=all

beaconarts.org/events/peter-gourfain/

www.projectsgallery.com/Gourfain/Gourfain_CV.html

dustyherbig.tumblr.com/

www.bates.edu/museum/exhibitions/current/jay-bolotin-the-book-of-only-enoch/

[i] All quotes from artist Peter Gourfain during studio visit on 9.29.16.  Bisque firing is done at a lower temperature before glazing.

[ii]   See Peter Gourfain: Clay, Wood, Bronze, and Works on Paper.  “Interview with Peter Gourfain” by Russell Panczenko and “Silence Would Be a Compromise” by Lucy R. Lippard.  Madison: Elvehjem Museum of Art, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2002.

[iii]  Ibid, p. 20.

Modelos ideales, 2011 (detail). Galería 713 Arte Contemporáneo, Buenos Aires. Acrílico sobre tela y muro, panel de MDF y estructuras de madera; medidas variables. Foto: Fabián Cañas.

Si algo se destaca en su la obra de Leila Tschopp es el modo en que el espacio es tomado por la pintura comprometiendo al espectador. Un estilo donde la paleta es acotada y armoniosa, donde la geometría cumple un rol protagónico así como la simetría y la rigurosidad en el montaje para generar diálogos entre espacios silenciosos y dinámicos, incitando a quien mira a poner el cuerpo y recorrerlos. Algunos conceptos son centrales en su obra: el poder que portan las imágenes, su capacidad de enmascarar mensajes y la autonomía de las obras.

Profesora de Pintura, participó de variados programas de residencias internacionales especialmente relacionados con la  escultura y el trabajo de la pintura en el espacio. Gana la Beca de la Pollock-Krasner Foundation (USA, 2012), el Subsidio a la Creación del Fondo Metropolitano de las Artes (Argentina, 2012) y la Beca a la Creación del Fondo Nacional de las Artes (Argentina, 2008). En 2014 es galardonada con el 2° Premio del Salón Nacional de Pintura. Su trabajo fue exhibido en importantes museos, centros culturales y galerías de Argentina así como de España, México, USA, Alemania, Brasil, Bolivia y Francia.

Disfraz, 2015. Fundación Esteban Lisa, Buenos Aires. Acrílico sobre muro y tela, medidas variables. Foto: Ignacio Iasparra

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Hablas de tu obra como “instalaciones pictóricas”; ¿Hacia dónde nos guía esta expresión?

Leila Tschopp: Hace unos años vengo investigando la espacialidad de la pintura, pensándola como una experiencia vivencial que rodea al espectador, con elementos espaciales y teatrales, cercanos a la instalación. En ese sentido la idea de instalación pictórica tiene que ver con un tipo de instalación particular diseñada cuidadosamente desde lo formal como un conjunto, pero al mismo tiempo habla de mi abordaje sobre la pintura. Me interesa la idea de Ilya Kabakov que plantea que la pintura fue absorbida por el género de la instalación que la sucedió como un nuevo eslabón en la cadena de su historia. Esta concepción de la pintura otorga la posibilidad de desvincularla del objeto y entenderla como experiencia integral, que se despliega en el tiempo y en el espacio.

MCB: ¿Por qué eliges la instalación como formato de cabecera?

LT: En la instalación puedo plantear una imagen fija, bidimensional, como una pintura y al mismo tiempo involucrar un recorrido, multiplicar los puntos de vista. Ese cruce bidimensional y tridimensional al mismo tiempo produce una tensión que me parece potente; hay sentidos que se corporeizan, que se entienden con el cuerpo que recorre. Cada vez más me interesa investigar esas cualidades espaciales de la pintura, que me permiten ligarla a un sitio específico y que priorizan la experiencia subjetiva del espectador en el espacio. Trabajar de esa manera me permite pensar la autonomía de las obras y al mismo tiempo su dependencia del conjunto, como en una coreografía entre las piezas y el espacio arquitectónico. Para mí es importante que el espectador esté involucrado en el aquí y ahora de la obra, que pueda dirigir la atención a su propio recorrido a través del espacio y que, al mismo tiempo, se vea abrazado por el mundo ficticio que le plantea la obra. Es una doble experiencia, de pérdida y conciencia al mismo tiempo.

Terraza, 2009-2014. MAMBA, Buenos Aires. Acrílico sobre panel de MDF y muro; medidas variables. Foto: Fabián Cañas.

 

MCB: El Movimiento de Arte Concreto Invención y la obra de Helio Oiticica han impactado en tu trabajo, ¿En qué radica esa marcada referencia?

LT: Mi obra es plena en referencias a la historia del arte; para mí es importante revisarla y reactualizar algunos sentidos, especialmente aquellos relacionados al legado de las representaciones modernistas europeas y latinoamericanas, y cómo éstas han influido en la construcción de la identidad local en América del Sur. El Movimiento Arte Concreto Invención propuso grandes cambios en relación a la manera en que el espectador podía relacionarse con la obra y cómo ésta estaba ligada al espacio de exhibición. Helio Oiticica enfatizó radicalmente la idea del cuerpo en íntima relación con el espacio de la obra, convirtiendo a los espectadores en núcleos estructurales de ella. Ambos me ayudan a pensar mi relación con la pintura, con el espacio de la obra y el del espectador y también me sirven como interlocutores para pensar algunas problemáticas histórico-políticas y sociales. Trabajo con el supuesto de que algunas imágenes atraviesan tiempos y culturas diferentes y se van actualizando, mestizando en esos viajes de citas y apropiaciones, y van conectando, de esa forma, sentidos de una manera oculta.

MCB: ¿Cómo se manifiesta en la obra la relación entre elementos formales y poéticos? 

LT: Yo trabajo con la idea de totalidad, de armar un ambiente, un lugar. En ese conjunto, el rol poético y formal de cada pieza es inseparable. El espacio fuera de la obra, la imagen que evoca una pintura, el pliegue de una lona o la distancia entre los objetos, todo cumple un rol narrativo y compositivo al mismo tiempo. Es en la propia visualidad de la obra, en el juego de correspondencias, cruces y contradicciones que plantean las piezas, donde la instalación surge como un lugar inasible creado para ser habitado, en el que el espectador es co-autor de la narración, a partir de esa imagen mental que se lleva.

Sin título, 2013. MACBA, Buenos Aires. Acrílico sobre lona vinílica y panel de MDF; medidas variables. Foto: Gentileza MACBA.

 

MCB: ¿Podrías contarnos sobre la experiencia del montaje en función del relato comparando las puestas en escena de  Caballo de Troya, Disfraz, El Camino del Héroe?

LT: En todas las instalaciones el espacio arquitectónico de la sala es muy determinante. Puede darme pistas de qué recorrido quiero plantear, puede despertar un tono particular, una sensación física o un recuerdo. Esos datos se cruzan con ideas o imágenes que vengo pensando y en ese trabajo conjunto se va delineando cada proyecto. En Disfraz partí de una pintura que quería volver a mostrar, que refiere al Río Paraná, a partir de la cual armé un tríptico. En el espacio de la sala pensé en darle continuidad a ese tríptico en un mural de rombos irregulares, en el que uno era tentado a entrar pero inmediatamente era rechazado, expulsado fuera del plano. En Caballo de Troya la altura de la sala determinó que la instalación se desarrollara desde el suelo, compacta, dentro la estructura de hormigón del Museo y junto con el gris de las paredes fueron los datos desde los cuales fue surgiendo el tono general de la muestra, que reunía ideas con las que venía trabajando antes, como la del enmascaramiento. En El camino del héroe, tenía la idea de hacer un mural en esa línea que marca la pared continua y, como la sala no permitía distancia para contemplar desde lejos, apareció la idea de un mural que se ve en el tránsito, de cerca, por episodios, interrumpido y acompañado por la presencia de la lona. 

Maria Carolina Baulo

Kirill Savchenkov, Museum of Skateboarding, Video Still

Kirill Savchenkov is a Russian multi-disciplinary artist, currently based in Moscow. His project Museum of Skateboarding was initially completed in 2015 and presented as part of “Expanding Space. Artistic Practice in the Urban Environment” at GES-2, V-A-C Foundation in Moscow. Recently Savchenkov’s project was newly commissioned as part of Calvert 22’s ambitious four-part series Power and Architecture, which ran from 12 June – 09 October this year.

On the large screen ahead, a city is in motion. Tall grey buildings rise up around the camera as it blurs down largely deserted streets. Suddenly a wide public square opens up in front of the viewer. The camera moves quickly through the space, periodically rising and dropping over obstacles. Polished concrete blocks for seating are visible, a staircase and handrail loom up from the ground.

Suddenly the image changes. Instead of an open cityscape, the familiar walls of a gallery or museum flash by; the public benches of the square now replaced with the ubiquitous seating arrangements familiar in any large modern exhibition hall. As the camera moves into a stairwell, more familiar shapes emerge; the smooth gradient of the handrail, the diagonal confines of the space framing descending steps. Recurring angles and designs join the vast open square and the more confined gallery space, but only when the camera pitches to the side do we see that the film is shot from the perspective of a skateboarder.

Kirill Savchenkov, Museum of Skateboarding, Video Still

 

The video is part of artist Kirill Savchenkov’s project Museum of Skateboarding, which I recently encountered in newly commissioned form at Calvert 22 in London. Working with performance, installation, video and photography, and very much influenced by his experience as a dedicated skater in his teens, the artist explores how Skateboarding can function as a way to understand and map one’s surroundings. Taking this as a starting point, Savchenkov has developed a whole system of thinking which includes everything from architectural theory and the use of public space, to martial arts and physical and spiritual wellbeing. Over a brief discussion at the opening of the Calvert 22 exhibition, and then later via email, Savchenkov kindly elaborated on some of the major themes of his work, most specifically with the Museum of Skateboarding project.

Kirill Savchenkov, Museum of Skateboarding, Installation view V-A-C Foundation GES-2, 2015

 

For the artist, skateboarding is akin to a methodology, a tool to see and understand the wider environment and the individual’s position within it. The changing perspectives in the video component almost suggest a kind of reflexive muscle memory, as if the body was trained to see and navigate shapes and spaces, something which Savchenkov himself is keen to emphasise when discussing his research. “Skateboarding is a tool for body-reading of space, objects and things,” he writes, “and skateboarding as practice can develop metageographical maps, connect micro-spaces in the surrounding environment and develop new spaces.”  Here ‘metageography’ refers to Martin W. Lewis and Kären E. Wigen’s work in The Myth of Continents: A Critique of Metageography, which they define in the preface as “the set of spatial structures through which people order their knowledge of the world.” Inherent in their work is a critique of the predominantly western-centric frameworks which tend to dictate how things like history, anthropology, politics and sociology among others things are seen.

The challenge which skateboarding could pose, however, goes beyond simply how we read space to posing weightier questions about the use of public space, and the potential for skateboarding to function as both a means of protest and self-defence. During the opening night at Calvert 22, I asked him about the way skateboarders are frequently criticised for using public spaces such as memorials to perform tricks, something which carries an even greater significance in his native Russia where the country has a complex relationship with its Soviet past, particularly with regard to Second World War memorials. “I think these relations with authority on different levels are an important part of skateboarding culture,” Savchenkov suggests, “and in Russia these relations have a place too, but skateboarders don’t look at this like a concrete type of protest against state authority.”

Kirill Savchenkov, Museum of Skateboarding, Installation view Calvert 22, 2016

 

There is no denying that the rebellious connotations in skateboarding have always been somehow central to its culture, real or perceived. There is something about Savchenkov’s particular perspective which also brings to mind the work of German architect, spatial designer, consultant and writer Markus Miessen, specifically in his characterisation of the ‘uninvited outsider.’ In a 2013 interview with Federica Bueti, Miessen describes the idea as “an attempt to propose a model in which participation is radically rethought: moving away from the romantic idea of all-inclusive democratic processes, where everyone is invited to the round-table to add one’s point, which – from my point of view – ultimately will lead to watered-down and weak consensus.” [1] He continues, “…we need to work towards the notion of the first-person-singular actor, an independent actor with a conscience.” [2]  Looking at Savchenkov’s figure of the skateboarder, it’s not difficult to see the parallels with Miessen’s ‘independent actor with a conscience,’ not only from a personal perspective but as a potentially divisive and also political actor, provoking a reconsideration of public space.

Beyond the realm of protest or wider social connotations, it’s perhaps in the connection between skateboarding and an individual’s personal self-defence where Savchenkov really draws his view of its significance out into a new theory. “I think neuropsychology is very important for understanding this link,” tells me. “Skateboarding and martial arts develop the same part of the brain responsible for the procedural memory. Another thing – the martial arts are also focused in the same time in the inner dialogue with yourself – this issue is common for both practices.” In Museum of Skateboarding this idea permeates several works. Different sculptural works contain materials like concrete and paving stone, surfaces which must be negotiated by skaters to safely traverse an area. There are also skate stoppers, the metal shapes added to urban designs expressly to disrupt skaters from grinding or performing other tricks on certain surfaces (and analogous to the kinds of methods used to deter the homeless from sleeping in certain areas).

Kirill Savchenkov, Museum of Skateboarding, Installation view V-A-C Foundation GES-2, 2015

 

Savchenkov has also developed a kind of training video, also featured in the exhibition, which further explores this idea. In an interview with i-D from earlier this year, he explained how the work came about. “I developed a set of exercises with a Russian skate legend from the 90s, Ashot Shabayan, who now works as a fitness trainer. In one of the videos in the exhibition two guys perform martial arts techniques which are taken from a Russian special forces manual, but combined with the moves that skateboarders at times perform, like when they’re waiting they put their board other head.” [3] The exhibition project is also accompanied by a Practice Manual, the substance of which touches on multiple strands of inquiry, from new age spirituality to martial arts and philosophy; a kind of skateboarder’s Art of War but presented from a futuristic perspective. There are diagrams of stretches, poses, even breathing exercises, all in the development of a more complete kind of perspectival shift.

These methods of understanding and seeing however are not limited just this particular project. Another major interest is a (perhaps not entirely unrelated) fascination with cults, and the way collective knowledge is shared and developed. “I’m working on project about the educational systems, conspiracy believers and cryptozoology,” he elaborates, “and this project will be based on my previous work – Horizon Community Workshop. It was a series of performances based on tutorial form of education, learning and some tactics in new religion movements and illegal intelligence.”  In addition to this, Savchenkov will also produce a public element of Museum of Skateboarding in Moscow with V-A-C Foundation later this year, as he continues to develop his figure of the ‘New Skateboarder.’

By Will Gresson

[1] http://commonthejournal.com/journal/konjunktur-und-krise-no-2/crossbenching-interview-with-markus-miessen/
[2] Ibid.
[3] https://i-d.vice.com/en_us/article/what-can-skateboarding-teach-us-about-modern-life

HUA, Flor, ensamble en cañas de bamboo chino. Diametro 9m, altura 4m. Realizado para PAC, Universidad de Shanghai. Sistema de estructura desarmable. Escultura/Arquitectura: espacio social de recreacion para sentarse y recrear.

Federico Bacher comienza sus estudios en la Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes Priliano Pueyrredón y cinco años más tarde se traslada a Florencia, Italia, donde como autodidacta estudiante del Instituto Satatale D´Arte di Fierenze, logra acceder a todos los museos y espacios donde podía quedarse observando y registrando el trabajo de los grandes maestros del Renacimiento y el Barroco. Fue alumno y asistente de grandes escultores y artistas como Aurelio Macchi, Rubén Locaso y Magda Frank, aprendiendo mucho más que las técnicas formales: el compromiso y pasión por su oficio ante todo. La obra escultórica de Bacher se vincula en gran parte con la naturaleza –especialmente en los últimos años- tratando de establecer vínculos entre el hombre y su entorno. Y en ese afán de moverse en aguas vinculantes, ha desarrollado una carrera internacional que lo lleva a pasar gran parte del año en China, donde su trabajo es reconocido, aceptado y apreciado. Apenas pasando los 40 años, ya es titular de su propia cátedra en la UNA-Universidad Nacional de las Artes, (ex IUNA) y se autodefine como un agradecido al arte por permitirle tener un diálogo con el mundo desde una perspectiva más pura; califica a su taller como un “templo” y se permite ser guiado por la intuición antes que por la regla. Su reciente experiencia en territorio chino, donde desarrolló un workshop cuyo eje central era trabajar con bamboo y crear una estructura que interactuara con el espectador, lo llevó a investigar técnicas poco familiares y trabajar con un equipo a su cargo donde cada ayudante es también quien le enseña a él sobre su cultura y filosofía de vida a través de la obra.

Federico Bacher

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Tu formación en el campo de la escultura es muy amplia, no solamente desde los estudios y el trabajo que haces como docente universitario sino desde la práctica. ¿Con qué materiales te sentís más cómodo trabajando? Me imagino que van cambiando las afinidades con el tiempo…

Federico Bacher: Si, exacto. Me enamoro del material que me diga que puede ayudarme a concretar la idea que tengo en mi cabeza. No concibo límites de materiales, es como que si fuera músico: no tocaría solamente la guitarra sino varios instrumentos. Pero esto no es tan común en las artes visuales, es más homogéneo. Por un lado me trae ventajas porque puedo participar de múltiples actividades: concursos de escultura, proyectos de arquitectura, premios de dibujo y pintura, actividades docentes, universitarias, decoración, instalación y murales, etc. Pero por otro lado también es cierto que no se me identifica como especialista en nada en particular. Pero no me preocupa. Lo cierto es que mi principio es uno: vivir en el arte como medio de comunicación, para gozarlo, dar belleza, felicidad y ayudar a la gente en el día a día. O sea que el arte sea estético-funcional. No me identifico con el arte contemporáneo hermético.

HUA, Flor, ensamble en cañas de bamboo chino. Diametro 9m, altura 4m. Realizado para PAC, Universidad de Shanghai. Sistema de estructura desarmable. Escultura/Arquitectura: espacio social de recreacion para sentarse y recrear.

 

MCB: Tu obra se instaló fuertemente en Oriente en los últimos años. ¿Cómo ves la relación que establece Oriente con la escultura en comparación con los países occidentales?

FB: La diferencia es inicialmente una: la financiación. Es una tontería hablar de dinero en esto, pero como sabemos la escultura es cara. Las esculturas para espacios públicos son de altos costos y Oriente tiene esos fondos y los destina. Y eso conlleva a que se desarrolle en mayor grado y calidad, porque los artistas necesitamos de la financiación para trabajar en este tipo de obras. Para dar un ejemplo el año pasado expuse en el CCR Recoleta en una muestra individual a “Rino”. Un rinoceronte de 5 metros de largo y 1200kg de peso de yeso. Me costo muchísimo dinero y ayuda de amigos y colegas para realizarla. Fue un suceso en la expo y salió en los diarios y la gente iba con el diario y la noticia en la mano a verla, sobre todo los niños. Al terminar la muestra, los directivos me propusieron mantener la obra en el patio del CCR 3 meses más. Bueno esa exitosa obra, se está deshaciendo en un depósito. La presenté en varios lugares privados y nacionales y nadie financia su fundición a bronce o pasarla a resina para que esté en un espacio público.  Esa misma escultura en China, seguramente ya tendría lugar.

MCB: Vienes de participar de una experiencia muy enriquecedora en el Public Art Creative Center (PACC) de la Universidad de Shanghai en China, donde fuiste invitado a hacer una obra site specific que finalmente se emplazó en esa ciudad. ¿Qué podes contar de “The Bamboo World”, especialmente sobre el trabajo con dicho material?

VIDA: 400cm alto, hierro maciso, pintura bicapa roja.. Plaza Cristo de Velazques, Sevilla, España

 

FB: PACC me propuso construer una escultura en bamboo para un espacio público en Moganshang. Decidí hacer un trabajo que combinara escultura con arquitectura, basado en el hecho que sería más generoso que la gente interactuara con mi obra y no solamente pudiera mirarla. “The Flower”,“花” (Hua), se basa en la flor Poppy vista de arriba. Construí una estructura de 24 triángulos en 6 pirámides. Con el proyecto listo, dos semanas antes de partir a China, PACC me informa que debe ser separable para desarmarlo y llevarlo a la ciudad de Shanghai donde finalmente quedaría. Un desafío que presenta el bamboo es su solidez y rigidez, por eso debí empezar todo nuevamente y hacer pruebas antes en mi estudio en Buenos Aires. Se me ocurrió utilizar un sistema de tubos plásticos flexibles que permita separar cada bamboo y luego reconectar. Hice pruebas en escala pequeña pero en grande habría temas de proporciones a tener en cuenta. Una vez en China fue un gran desafío encontrar los tubos adecuados de 8 a 9 cm diámetro y cañas de bamboo de 4 metros de largo. Trabajé con un gran equipo de estudiantes de PACC, probando materiales y construyendo al mismo tiempo. La estructura nos tomó solamente 4 días en levantarla y 2 días más terminarla y hacer los asientos triangulares para que la gente se siente. Todo completamente desarmable y ultra liviano, y solamente el bamboo permite algo así.

MCB: ¿Qué encuentras en la escultura como medio expresivo que no puede darte la pintura o el dibujo más allá de la obviedad de la tridimensionalidad? Porque en tu caso, además de esculpir, pintas, dibujas y hasta incursionaste en la arquitectura…

FB: En la escultura hay algo obvio, el uso del físico en movimiento.  Estas creando algo matérico que existe y en las artes bidimensionales, estas relatando algo. En escultura lo empujas, sacas, tiras, das vuelta. Es muy diferente. Los “porqué” no los sé. No me los pregunto, simplemente hago lo que siento y lo que puedo.

Estudio, patio. Boceto escala 1/1 para VIDA. Material: osb. Altura 400cm. Buenos Aires, Argentina. Fotgrafia:diego Frangi

 

 

MCB: ¿Cuál es el próximo proyecto escultórico en carpeta?

FB: Creo que “Hua” o “Flor” en bamboo es el inicio de algo nuevo, es un sistema constructivo para seguir aplicando. Ojala la próxima sea financiado en mi país y con cañas de Tacuara… por ejemplo… Y tengo en el tintero encontrarle a “Rino” espacio definitivo. También PACC me invito a desarrollar y producir en China un set de vajilla en bamboo que diseñe mientras estuve allí en mi última visita este año.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Betts Zachary, The Look Back

Zachary Betts is an artist currently living and working in Austin, TX. Betts’ work, a carefully reorganized consideration of the objects and spaces around us, is precise yet ineffably mortal, demanding time and careful looking in order for its intricacies and relationships to unfold. He was generous enough to talk about the nature of his present sculptures, the shifts in his work over time, and how the logic of casting has made its way into his current way of making.

Betts Zachary, Brokensky Mirror.

 

Gracelee Lawrence: I describe your work as related to the objects that house and hold bodies (from architecture to furniture) that have been altered and skewed to the point of a mere vague connection with its point of origin- an amalgamation of hazily recognizable traits materially altered and suffused with a sense of sureness. How do you feel about this statement and what would you add or redact?

Zachary Betts: I find myself very pleased with your statement and I thank you kindly. I would go a step further to say that the work does not only find itself in a place of housing or holding bodies, but the forms are also reminiscent of objects we have once used and relied on – designed by us for us. Something like a non-slip bath mat or a bed lever is inherently tied to the binary of human/object. The object is formed and exists only in regards to its ergonomic relationship with the human body. Yet, once removed from its intended environments and function, it begins to lose its human conditioning that initially defines it. Once freed, these objects immediately seem to lose their obvious connections, giving them license to take on new meaning.

Betts Zachary, GG (WA)

 

GL: Over the past year I’ve been in the privileged position to watch your process morph from largely site responsive installations to autonomous objects. Although your present sculptures are certainly holding themselves individually, they also have a sense of exchange with the objects around them, regardless of the space in which they inhabit. Do you think of your installations in the same way as these new objects? How do you see them as related, if at all?

ZB: I do think there is a similarity between the two ways of working. I believe the grouping of autonomous objects successfully holds an energy that floats from one form to another, eventually co-opting them into a partnership. Somewhere in the stillness of viewing, a strange familiarity with these objects exists. It is more felt than understood, an unspoken and purely intuited connection that reveals a different side to what is already known. I think it is here that the viewer begins to peek into the potentials of these objects.   

Betts Zachary, Busyness.

 

GL: In recent conversations we’ve spoken about the presence of labor in a sculpture, particularly the way in which cast objects functions versus a reductive object. Your work incorporates both- how do you see these ways of working functioning in terms of the sterility, messiness, or touched nature of your sculptures?

ZB: Casting is the fundamental process of replicating the form of an object using a mold, but it also suggests something cast of or cast out, cast aside or cast adrift – waste products. The forms I find myself drawn to, now defined by what is left over, are overlooked or forgotten objects that live below the radar of human creators. They occasionally show traces of wear and tear or even long years of use. They are sometimes unpleasant, worn-out objects on which the habits of unknown persons have left their imprint – depictions of the human body in its functions and through the traces it leaves behind on objects of daily life. The casting process makes the quotidian cast-off more original, more like an object to be cherished or worshiped. It lies somewhere between the value of the artifact and the banality of the commonplace.

To see more of Betts’ work, please visit zacharybetts.com

By Gracelee Lawrence

Rockaway! featuring site-specific installation by Katharina Grosse. Image courtesy the artist and MoMA PS1. Photo by Pablo Enriquez.

Katharina Grosse’s red bolts of color on white transform an aquatic building hit by Hurricane Sandy into a new art destination on the Rockaway Beach front at Fort Tilden. Grosse’s uses of color “break all the rules” and literally create a new dimension, turning an old ruin into  a dynamic, color-coded space that interacts with people, sky, grasses, sand, and ocean.  People literally danced in, on, and around Grosse’s new art object as deejays added to the festive mood.  The beach has been converted from a sleepy hideaway without lifeguards near an unused U. S. Army coast artillery post into one filled with bikers, beachgoers, and families. The untitled art is on view through November and is part of the Rockaway! National Parks Service and MoMA PS1 hurricane recovery effort for the Rockaway Peninsula.

Here’s my exclusive interview with Grosse, followed by more on Grosse, more on PS1 Director Klaus Biesenbach’s efforts to restore the Rockaways, and directions to Fort Tilden:

Jan Castro: What is your theory of color and how is it evolving?

Katharina Grosse: I do not have a color theory and don’t work from theory. I realized at some point that color is my main interest.

Rockaway! featuring site-specific installation by Katharina Grosse. Image courtesy the artist and MoMA PS1. Photo by Pablo Enriquez.

 

Castro: Could you discuss the differences between your initial idea for your red and white Rockaway beach house project and the finished work?

Grosse: The Rockaway project was offered to me by Klaus Biesenbach. He sent me pictures four months ago of the buildings by the sea. I built models showing three buildings. We decided to focus on one.

Klaus came to the studio [in Berlin] twice. I made tests using three different red tones and used the models to decide the basics. We chose white plus three kinds of red: Pyrrole Red Light, Pyrrole Red, and Primary Magenta. Once I was on site, each day I had to think through the different stages, the four sides of the house, the roof, the inside and outside areas, and the ways the light changes all the time.

Rockaway! featuring site-specific installation by Katharina Grosse. Image courtesy the artist and MoMA PS1. Photo by Pablo Enriquez.

 

Before I arrived, the Rockaway Parks Conservancy people had to approve the quality of paint, which comes from Golden Paints, the best acrylic paint producer, in New Berlin, New York, and the crew of four worked on technical things, including masking off the area.

Castro: Was weather an element?

Gross: One day we had to stop because it was too windy. After we finished, there was a rainstorm, and we had to blow some sand out of the house.

Castro: You bring out the primary colors of the site itself  –  blue sky, yellow sand, red house, and white for light.

You spoke in a 2015 talk about using color to alter subject-object relationships. Could you elaborate and discuss how color connects the building to its surroundings?

Gross: The color glowed from the roof to the ground, and the functions of roof, ground, and walls changed due to the spaces painted on top of them.

Video from International Sculpture Center on Vimeo.

Castro: You sometimes incorporate earth and dead trees into your work.  Do you use color to make nature more visible?

Grosse:  That could be one reason, also to give something higher emotional compression.

Castro: How did you decide on the palette for your Venice Biennale piece?

Grosse: That was a totally different piece. I wanted it to be multicolored, complicated, and with lots of layers;  the colors made the movements [in the art] traceable.

Castro: Why is color still a new frontier?

Grosse: Color goes directly to your senses. You respond right away somehow. It’s difficult to say what it does. People are still afraid of it. What it does to you is changing all the time. Color has the wonderful ability to transform situations again and again and again.

Castro: Do you have any color heros?

Grosse: A lot: Titian, Rothko, Pililotti Rist. That’s not the only thing important in my work. It could be fresco painting in the Renaissance, a dance performance, film, video, movement…

2014/4006, psychylustro – The Trestle 2014. acrylic on various objects. 450 x 11,500 cm / 177 1/4 x 4,527 1/2 in
Commissioned by the City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program, USA. © Katharina Grosse und VG Bild-Kunst Bonn; Photo: Steve Weinik

 

Castro: What are you working on next?

Grosse: I plan to spend this year working in my studio. I accepted only one amazing site-related offer for the end of July – painting the entrance hall inside a recreation center building at Washington University, St. Louis, a site used in the third modern Olympic Games, 1904 — the first Olympics held in the Western hemisphere. After the Games, the committee turned the gym over to Washington University to be used as part of the athletics department.

Katharina Grosse I think this is a pine tree, 2013 , installation v iew at Nationalgalerie im Hamburger Bahnhof, Staatliche Mu seen zu Berlin  DE acrylic on wall, floor and trees 590 x 1,300 900 cm unique. Photo: Nic Tenwiggenhorn Copyright: © Katharina Grosse und VG Bild -Kunst Bonn, 2014; Nationalgalerie im Hamburger Bahnhof, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Courtesy of the artist and KÖNIG GALERIE, Berlin

 

Katharina Grosse has a solo exhibition at Museum Frieder Burda in Baden-Baden, Germany that closes October 9th.  Her extensive exhibitions, commissions, and awards between 2013 – 2015 include  The 56th Venice Art Biennale; the Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow; Wiesbaden Museum, Germany;  Philadelphia Mural Arts; Oskar Schlemmer Award, Staatsgalerie, Stuttgart, Germany; De Pont Museum, Tilburg, The Netherlands; Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas, Texas; Public Art Fund, New York. See also www.KatharinaGrosse.com/ .

Klaus Biesenbach, PS1 Director and MoMA Chief Curator at Large, has led several  art and relief initiatives to restore the Rockaways since Hurricane Sandy devastated the area in 2012.

See http://nypost.com/2016/07/02/this-woman-made-art-from-a-building-hit-by-hurricane-sandy/

http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/05/02/klaus-biesenbach-moma-ps1-rockaway-queens/?_r=0,

http://hyperallergic.com/308779/paint-flows-over-a-rockaway-ruin-like-hurricane-waves/?ref=featured

Fort Tilden (169 State Road) is accessible by the Q22, Q35, and Q52 buses, the A train/shuttle to 116th St. and weekend ferry service on the American Princess. Street parking is available. Fort Tilden is part of the National Park Service and the Gateway National Recreation Area.

By Jan Garden Castro

Pliegues y plegarias

Nacido en Buenos Aires en 1975, este artista, Doctor en Artes por la Tama Art University de Tokio, con una Maestría en Escultura en Kanazawa College of Art -también en Japón- y graduado de la Accademia di Belle Arti di Carrara en Italia y de la Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes P. Pueyrredón, se acerca a la escultura desde un lugar donde pareciera combinar la práctica ritual de la ofrenda con el registro fotográfico y del dibujo, típico de los artistas viajeros del siglo XIX. Una obra con una factura delicada, elegante, clásica, que deja evidencia de un manejo técnico del material -especialmente el mármol de carrara y granito – realmente destacable.

Ganador del 2do.Premio en el Salón Nacional de Artes Visuales, Escultura (2015), Mención de Escultura en el Salón de Artes Visuales M. Belgrano (2013),  tres veces finalista del Premio Itaú Cultural de Artes Visuales (2014, 2015 y 2016), en Libros de Artistas Argentinos, N.Y. Art Book Fair (MoMA PS1, New York 2014), entre muchos otros, Juan Pablo Marturano conversa con la naturaleza, hace un intercambio, un “quid pro quo”, establece una relación  dialéctica entre lo que ella puede darle – desde la inspiración per se hasta la materialidad misma que obtiene para sus obras- y lo que él, como artista, puede devolverle.

Ramada y Mercedario

 

Maria Carolina Baulo: Contame un poco sobre tu formación y la elección del mármol y el granito como materiales centrales en tu obra. 

Juan Pablo Marturano: Estudié en la histórica Escuela de Bellas Artes Pueyrredón. La escuela tenía una base teórica amplia y cursé talleres de pintura, dibujo, grabado y escultura. Allí comencé a tallar piedra con Juan Carlos Visconti. Él me transmitió su experiencia en Italia y me entusiasmé con viajar a Carrara y Pietrasanta. Cursé en la Accademia, donde me especialicé en la talla en mármol y trabajé en varios talleres. Entre tantos extranjeros conocí a varios orientales y comencé a interesarme por la cultura japonesa. En 2005 fui becado por el Gobierno del Japón para perfeccionarme en talla en granito, estudiar arte y cultura japonesa y, en ese contexto, desarrollar mi obra.

MCB: Es muy interesante la suerte de ritual que desplegas llevando una escultura a la montaña y tomando de ella las piedras. ¿Cómo podes describir esta experiencia ligada al proceso creativo de la obra?

JPM: Es una costumbre muy difundida entre los montañistas. Consiste en llevar una pequeña ofrenda simbólica hasta la cima, como un gesto de agradecimiento al monte por permitirnos acceder a su cumbre. Una vez allí, hay quienes recogen algún objeto encontrado como testimonio que recuerde dicha ascensión. Entonces, comencé a llevar conmigo una escultura previamente tallada. Y en mi caso, el testimonio suele ser una piedrita. Después, ya de vuelta en el taller, esta piedrita hará las veces de modelo para la realización de otra obra. Lo pienso como un trabajo hecho en colaboración con la montaña, ya que es la naturaleza quien propone las formas de los dibujos y las esculturas. Por otra parte, en cuanto a la fotografía se refiere, es ella también quien decide la nubosidad y la altura del sol al momento, generalmente breve, de estar en su cumbre para tomar la fotografía de la ofrenda.

Origen de los suenaos

 

MCB: ¿Qué rol cumplen la fotografía y el dibujo en tu trabajo? Pienso en los artistas viajeros del siglo XIX por ejemplo…

JPM: La fotografía es, en parte, una forma de documentar el viaje. Pero principalmente, es el registro de una acción, en donde mi escultura deja de ser mía y pasa a ser de la montaña, a formar parte de ella, o sea, vuelve a ser piedra nuevamente. En cuanto a los retratos de las piedras encontradas, son “testimonios” de cumbres alcanzadas que, hoy en día, ya no representan ningún logro significativo, más que a nivel meramente personal. Para mí, aquella pequeña piedrita no testimonia la “conquista” de un cerro. Muy por el contrario, representa breves instantes vividos en una cumbre, donde te encontrás en medio entre las montañas y el cielo, inmerso en una inabarcable y abrumadora inmensidad. Entonces, al experimentar semejante sensación tomás consciencia de la propia pequeñez. Ya no te sentís un mero espectador, sino que te sentís parte también de la naturaleza misma, precisamente, como esa diminuta piedrita en la cima de una enorme montaña.

Testimonio Lanin

 

MCB: Ver las esculturas y las ilustraciones o las fotos, me hace pensar que la obra es todo eso, funcionan en conjunto, como una suerte de eco a la distancia entre la escultura que quedó en la cumbre y la que está en la muestra.

JPM:  Mi doctorado giró en torno a la escultura, la piedra y la montaña. De alguna manera, estos tres elementos están siempre presente, ya sea como tema o como medio, tal vez por eso, hacen que funcione en conjunto. Hace décadas que artistas como Smithson, De Maria, Long, Fulton, por ejemplo, trabajaron sobre lo dual del espacio expositivo y el campo exterior, lo urbano y lo deshabitado, etc. Si bien hay algo de eso presente en mi obra, me gusta más pensar en las excusiones y los apuntes de montañas y de rocas realizados por Leonardo, Turner, Cézanne, Friedrich, Ruskin, por ejemplo. Creo que las esculturas, las fotos o los dibujos, se potencian y se enriquecen mutuamente. En última instancia, todas hablan de la manera en que me relaciono con la montaña.

Fuji San

 

MCB: ¿Cómo es la técnica para trabajar una piedra como el mármol de carrara? 

JPM: Yo trabajo mucho con boceto previo, que me sirve para visualizar la obra antes de empezar a tallar. La talla, propiamente dicha, la podemos dividir en tres instancias: el desbaste grueso, que sería el planteo general de los volúmenes; el modelado, que consiste en delinear las formas y por último, la terminación, que es el ajuste fino y el pulido, si corresponde. En cuanto a los procedimientos para trasladar las formas de un boceto a la piedra hay varias maneras. Pero posiblemente, el más característico de Carrara, es el conocido como pasado a punto. Puede ser mediante el llamado “de los tres compases”, muy utilizado en la antigüedad. Otro es utilizando la llamada “macchinetta dei punti”, un mecanismo de origen francés desarrollado durante el siglo XIX, que garantiza un alto nivel de fidelidad, y por eso, es muy utilizado por los artesanos pasadores.

FxL-Vn Lanin

 

MCB:  ¿Pensaste en algún momento trabajar a gran escala?

JPM: Si, tengo varios proyectos que espero poder desarrollar. De todos modos, no es una prioridad inmediata. La escala es un elemento fundamental de la escultura, pero más grande no siempre quiere decir mejor. Depende de cada obra y, de la escala utilizada en relación con el espacio que la rodea, por supuesto. Más que el tamaño real me interesa cómo se percibe el volumen. Hay obras de Bourdelle de 60 u 80 cm de alto que son monumentales, sentís que los volúmenes se te vienen encima. La fuerza nace del interior de la obra, de la construcción de la imagen, no de su tamaño real. Además, en el caso de las montañas, por más grande que uno quiera trabajar, siempre serán diminutas a lado de una montaña real. Me interesa más el hecho de recrear un microcosmos, cierto universo en miniatura. Como hacer que fuera posible abrazar una montaña.

Maria Carolina Baulo

Links:  
https://www.flickr.com/photos/jpmarturano/sets
https://instagram.com/jpmarturano

Hadieh Shafie Studio

Love and passion are secret innersprings that fuel Hadieh Shafie’s art and life. Iranian-born American artist Shafie grew up in Iran. She picked up English during two years in London around ages eight to nine. Upon returning to Iran in 1979 with her seven-year-old brother, she found that Iran had changed; at the airport, all she could see was a “sea of black” clothing, and she thought she was in the wrong country. Shafie and her family then lived for four years under repressive laws in Iran before receiving a visa for a family vacation in Austria. This turned into a trip to visit relatives in America and a new life. Shafie finds parallels between her early life and that of Iranian-born Marjane Satrapi, as told in her graphic novel Persepolis.

Hadieh Shafie GridCut 12, 2016. Ink, acrylic on hand carved rag matt board (LovePassion). 30 x 20 in.

 

It has taken Shafie decades to develop the elaborate paper, painting, and drawing processes that make her art a unique, passionate mix of Eastern and Western ideas. Shafie embeds the Farsi word for love, “eshgh”, inside scrolls or pages that sometimes jut out like crayolas or tiny spikes. Her abstract compositions borrow from Cy Twombley’s lines, from Kenneth Noland and other colorists, from Eva Hesse’s subtle blurs and shapes, and from Iranian and Middle Eastern scrolls, texts, and art. Each work seems like an unfolding song, and these range in hues, patterns, and styles. The artist’s newest project is dipping some rolls partly into darker ink and then arranging them in unusual ways.

Shafie’s inventive processes transform strips of paper into unique handwritten messages that are then variously colored at the edges, rolled, scored, split, or folded, and, finally, tightly grouped and bundled. Her sculpture’s compositional strength is the range of ways she shapes individual and collective expressions of “eshgh.”  Her abstract language is filled with the primary colors that are missing in Iran, and with countless secret repetitions of love – a key word in the poetry of Rumi and poets of earlier centuries. Whether the works are brightly hued, black and white, or a violet shade, each labor-intensive form glows with its own aesthetic and passion.

Hadieh Shafie, Abstract Eshgh, 2015. Ink, acrylic and paper with printed and handwritten farsi text Esgh (Love, Passion). 14 x 11 in hires.

 

Her wooden frames may be hearts, circles, or rectangles. The final work variously mounts and orders strips, cones, spirals, and other “pages” into tight compositions. So each frame holds thousands of “pages” that, like the pages in a closed book, the viewer cannot read.

“I am not good at anything else. Being an artist is my calling and I am happy with the work I am doing,” the artist tells me. The studio is highly organized with a range of art on the walls and some empty frames for future work. Grids of white cube shelves hold books, paint, and supplies while a giant work table takes the prime spot near large windows and the best light. The high floor provides some views of Brooklyn and beyond.

Hadieh Shafie. Seven Colors Stripes, 2016. Ink, acrylic and paper with printed and handwritten farsi text Eshgh (LovePassion). 14 x 11 in_hires.

“Initially my medium was oil paint and canvas. I arrived at Pratt in the spring of 1993 to attend graduate school. Loans covered most of my tuition, room and board but very little was left for other expenses. The first year in Brooklyn was financially extremely difficult. I lived on coffee and cigarettes and my desire to be independent didn’t allow me to seek help from my family. “Even with my part time work at the library, which earned me something like $70/80 per week, after a short few months and still struggling to pay for basic needs, I had to let go of oil paints and canvas. I simplified my materials to paper and ink. I traded a few hours of work in the small on campus art supply shop for a stack of damaged Fabriano paper and ink. My very first “Eshgh” drawings were made on that stack of paper. The switch from painting on canvas to drawing with ink on paper required the elimination and simplification of the forms I had used in my paintings. And so what remained from that process was text.”

“I zeroed in on the word love, because inherent in its meaning are so many complexities. On a personal level I had fallen deeply in love for the first time soon after my arrival at Pratt, and then very quickly had experienced rejection for the first time. Both were new and devastating and alienating experiences that turned me inward emotionally and made me seek a better truth by turning toward poetry. I felt that the word “Eshgh” was heavily used in poetry but it did not exist in how people treated each other. Especially looking at what was happening in my mother land Iran. So writing it in a simple form and repeating it became a personal mantra to find and express its meaning visually both on a personal and political level.”

Hadieh Shafie Studio

 

Shafie’s focus on making art began even earlier: “An early memory of touching paper was when I was around six years old and pressured my dad to buy me a “grown up’s” sketch book. I remember insisting on the thickest one. Later, I would sit on the steps of our apartment building in Tabriz, Iran and tear out the pages of drawings i had made that I didn’t like out of the sketch book so that what remained would be perfect.”

Shafie Hadieh Spike 1(Telesem Series), 2012. Ink, acrylic and paper with printed and hand written Farsi text Esheghe ‘Love’. 12 in_hires

 

Shafie holds an MFA in imaging and digital art from the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, and an MFA in painting from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. Shafie has been the recipient of grants from the Kress Foundation, RTKL and MSAC Individual Artist Grant (2010 and 2008) and the Mary Sawyers Baker awards from the William G. Baker Jr. Memorial Fund (2009) and Franz and Virginia Bader Fund (2011), and the 2012 Space Program of The Marie Walsh Sharpe Foundation. Her work has been included in a number of exhibitions in the United States and abroad, including: The Jameel Prize traveling exhibition presented at The Victoria and Albert Museum, London; Institute du Monde Arabe, Paris; Casa Arabe, Madrid; Cantor Arts Centre, Stanford University; and the San Antonio Museum of Art in Texas. Shafie’s work is in the following public collections: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, The Victoria and Albert Museum, London, UK, The British Museum, London, UK, The Alfond Collection of Contemporary Art, Winter Park, FL, The Sheldon Museum of Art, University of Nebraska–Lincoln, The Farjam Collection, Dubai, UAE, The Salsali Private Museum, Dubai, UAE, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) and The Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn, NY.

By Jan Garden Castro

See also:
http://www.hadiehshafie.com
http://www.studiointernational.com/index.php/hadieh-shafie-surfaced-interview-leila-heller-new-york-persian-art-performance
http://www.1stdibs.com/introspective-magazine/hadieh-shafie-exhibition-leila-heller/
http://www.brooklynrail.org/2015/04/artseen/hadieh-shafie-surfaced

“River Hopes & Dreams” by Susan Leibovitz Steinman. Photo by the artist,
© SL Steinman from http://www.SteinmanStudio.com.

Susan Leibovitz Steinman creates sculpture out of many different re-purposed materials: ladders, bicycles, shopping carts, and tires. Another material she uses that we consider renewable rather than re-purposed, is living plants. Between recycled material and growing plant life is the continuum of permaculture: an inspiration and method within Steinman’s work. I asked her a few questions about how she considers the balance of these themes.

Adam Rothstein: What sort of planning goes into forming a growing sculpture?

Susan Leibovitz Steinman: I am very careful to ensure that the eco science of the art is as correct as possible. I rely on the help of ecological scientists and organic garden experts; most have been very open to working with me, and even collaborating. Every project is carefully planned for the specific site: soil content and quality; amount of sun per day; water source; native habitats, etc. I adhere to the maxim: do no harm. I research from books, on the web, and of course, most importantly, by asking local people who are the given natural “experts.” Big questions I ask myself is whether it is needed, and by whom. Who will care for it? Is it an asset, and who benefits from it? The community stakeholders are my “clients” and I design to their requests/needs. It is my artwork, my creativity in service of pragmatic needs.

“Mandala Artscape” by Susan Leibovitz Steinman. Photo by the artist, © SL Steinman from http://www.SteinmanStudio.com.

 

AR: I’m also interested in the relationship between permaculture and temporary installations here. Of course, that seems necessary due to the constraints of many art spaces. But I’m curious how this affects your artistic process and sense of aesthetics in the works. How do your works engage that sense of the long-term, slowness of growth, along with the cycles of dieback and renewal when working in temporary form?

SLS: The work is both an artwork and a model of ecological principles like permaculture.  Permaculture is the perfect system embodying the philosophy I want to impart— how to do the best work with the least resources— little money, less land, and least expensive materials. Thinking you need a lot of money and/or land to create a living landscape/food source/habitat inhibits action, builds a wall blocking positive change. It takes creativity, resourcefulness, and often fearlessness to make the best use of what you get, the given. Most projects are temporary because they allow the most creativity, working outside the “box”, least amount of permissions and money, etc. I can do 5 temporary works with the time and budget of one so-called “permanent” installation. Stakeholders have the right to question permanent project input on their community, but with temporary work they become open to experimentation, to seeing what happens, knowing it will go away in a given time frame.  I love doing temporary work—they are improvisational sketches that fuel my work and me.

“Sweet Survival” by Susan Leibovitz Steinman. Photo by the artist, © SL Steinman from http://www.SteinmanStudio.com.

 

All things living impart intuitive knowledge of death and renewal. That is innate to my artwork.  I make work as transparent as possible… literally using windows as frames to view soil and plant roots, to see worms aerating the soil, etc.

AR: How does a longer-term work involving living plants, like Mandala Artscape or River Hopes & Dreams evolve?

SLS: The Mandela was up for over three years.  It was always meant to be a harbinger of a more positive future landscape to improve the quality of life and environment for the neighborhood.   The “River of Hopes and Dreams” is “permanent”…but has changed with time and the work of other artists and changing company managers.  The plants have become lush; some died as others prospered and propagated themselves. Plant employees have “adopted” it and added new plants that they find discarded in debris. It is truly a living sculptural installation because it changes with time.  There is no such thing as “permanent” to me…everything changes with time, with natural life cycles and with human interventions.

By Adam Rothstein

On left: The Collapse of Structure, 2014. Parian porcelain and z-corp print. On right: The Assumption of Pretence, 2012. Parian porcelain and z-corp print. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

In “On Visibility”, body parts are simplified in form but softly hyperreal in finish; they proliferate and mutate, organs becoming cancerous rather than cells. The sculptures’ alluring deep pigmentation and smooth faces – made in a combination of casting, ceramic and 3D printed processes – are also the source of their visceral body horror. Whoever, and whatever, they reference has been translated a step too far and physically corrupted, concentrated down then multiplied, to shift from physical embodiment to over-representation.

Meticulously ordered pieces envelop one another, but yielding materials still maintain agency in Rainey’s tightly knit arrangements. In Face Off, a matt black porcelain head is draped over a glossy steel pole, itself a recurrent structural form in the exhibition. The face is generically featured in a way that would be alien as an actual person. Whilst apparently vulnerable when casually moulded to an imposing, informal skeleton, it seems complicit, gaining as much structure as it has apparently lost out on; it couldn’t find ‘appropriate’ form should it want to.

On expanding platforms of online self-presentation and identity making, selective visual information becomes an ever-exploitable imaging device. A single backdrop for a collection of lives – an app, say, or social media site – shapes each one with the same forces and feedback processes, making what was once a passive framework into an image’s first and foremost context. John Rainey’s sculptures combine the histories of self-imaging and making technologies, working somewhere between mass-production design processes and individual handmade forms, to explore the acceleration of contemporary issues of identity perception, formulation and privacy in online arenas.

On left: Subtractive (Pared Back), 2016. Parian porcelain. On right: Oculus Head, 2016. Parian porcelain, chain. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

 

As you marry design processes and hands-on making processes together so tightly, is it necessary to begin your sculptures with a fully formed idea of what you will create? What does your conception/making process usually involve?

This varies. At times things can come fairly close to the original intention, but more often I’ll begin with a reference that I’m drawn to – a trope or a type of form, like the portrait bust, or the draped figure. Because of the repeatable nature of working and casting with moulds, I tend to work with a series of forms, or modular components. I have a library of moulds at this point that I regularly add to. For this show I introduced twelve new forms, ranging from small two-part moulds of eyeballs, to a complex thirteen-piece mould for a large portrait bust. The work then becomes more about the treatment of these modular components, the construction/deconstruction, the composition or assemblage.

Sometimes new compositions or relationships between forms suggest themselves based on the proximity of certain casts in the studio, in a kind of free association that I like. Some of my favourite work has come about in this way; it has an element of play that I’ve always felt the need to maintain.

The digital work is usually embedded deep in the process at this stage; I’ll 3D print forms to build upon in clay, or to act as models to make moulds from. Occasionally, as with Head in Hands (2016) I’ll print final objects if they exceed the limitations of casting processes. I like the idea that these are impossible objects that couldn’t exist without 3D printing to render them tangible. Otherwise, where possible, I prefer to use the technology as a way of enhancing material production.

Slice Boy, 2016. Parian porcelain. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

 

There are clearly a lot of classical Greek references in your exhibition. Where does this align for you with the show’s grounding in the issues of virtual visibility?

Sculpture has arguably given us the most enduring sense of visibility from past cultures and time periods. Experiencing the physicality of sculpted form and matter can prompt more visceral understanding than literary accounts. Yet to see classical figures and statuary as faithful representations of actual people isn’t correct; they’re embodiments of ideas, idealized constructs to be projected into perpetuity. I think our approach to our own virtual representation now has the same intent. It’s all about controlled communication and directed understanding through what we make visible.

Although my sculptures carry these references, you’re still ultimately aware that they haven’t come from the past; they have a contemporary currency. For me, using these forms establishes a level of familiarity that can be subverted, introducing ideas about where we are now, or maybe more so where we’re going. It definitely leads into Freudian territory of the uncanny – the familiar reappearing as unheimliche or unfamiliar.

Take Slice Boy (2015) which features in this show. It was commissioned as a multiple by the Oonagh Young Gallery in Dublin at the end of last year, and I made it shortly after seeing the Belvedere Torso while it was on loan from the Vatican Museums to the British Museum. I was interested in the anonymity of this ancient fragmented body, decapitated and made limbless over time, yet still one of the world’s most celebrated sculptures. It made me think of the practice of salacious self-photography that has become so prominent with the rise of smart phone cameras and dating/”hookup” apps, where bodies and body parts are cropped and composed to purposefully preserve anonymity. It’s indicative of a culture where people are very familiar with thinking about revealing and concealing, self-editing and control. Slice Boy is a take on this – but in contrast to the shorn off stumps of the Belvedere Torso, his excluded body parts are cleanly sliced, so the matter of purpose and intent there changes things. The scale is also significant as it takes the figure into a domestic, vernacular space, in contrast to the Belvedere Torso’s monolithic, public status.

Installation shot of “On Visibility”. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

 

Does your use of colour hold a particular significance in the exhibition? The eye colours and “flesh”/black binary in particular are intriguing and a bit unnerving – the colour limitations/slight variations feel unreliable.

Paring back the palette and giving the show a pervasive tone, or pair of tones, I was thinking about current trends for applying digital, tonal filters to our images, particularly on Instagram. It feels reflective of reality becoming unsatisfactory to people in our heavily mediated world, and it’s another way of exerting control over the reception of visual representations of our lives. I think its interesting when you see a reaction or resistance to this sort of artifice with hashtags like “#nofilter” used to distinguish an unfiltered, “purer” class of images.

I use colour in a very flat, uniform way, the colours are homogenized; an idea of flesh that would horrify renaissance painters, blacks that seem like a negative of classical white marble.  I like the idea that some of the work borrows from the language of products, like sanitized objects fresh off the production line, awaiting their final paint job.  The idea of production in general is important, because it can lead to thoughts of staging and theatrics.

There are also visual plays on the idea of visibility throughout the show through the use of colour saturation. There are points where the display is merging with the work itself – some work struggles to emerge from its setting against comparable colours, almost camouflaged. This was all part of my focus on constructing shows that function as an experience, and establishing an environment where the work can “live” for the duration of an exhibition. I think the nuances and departures from the binary prevent it from becoming too thematic or systematic, there’s more application of sensitivity, even composition.

On left: The Collapse of Structure, 2014. Parian porcelain and z-corp print. On right: The Assumption of Pretence, 2012. Parian porcelain and z-corp print. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

 

You studied ceramics and glass at the Royal College of Art. Do you feel having material-specific training particularly shaped your approach to making? Was there much scope for working across different materials and processes?

It was actually at the RCA that I introduced digital fabrication into my practice. I had come from a ceramics background and had always had a natural inclination towards materials and processes, which is maybe why virtual making appealed to me at that stage- it was a new challenge. The RCA is a big proponent of cross-disciplinary working, and I got a lot of encouragement in the path I was following. The head the Ceramics and Glass programme at the time was artist Martin Smith, and I remember him talking to me about considering appropriateness when developing ideas – what’s the most appropriate way to produce or materialise this idea, or what’s the most appropriate material? Sometimes that appropriateness can be more to do with material association and how that relates to what you’re developing.  I do follow this a lot, and it means I am always considering new materials and processes.

Coming into a digital space from a material background, understanding the weight, feel and physics of materials is an advantage when you’re working in a space where these considerations are inconsequential. It helps you see the real benefits of the digital technology. In turn, I’ve learned a lot about form through working digitally and this has fed back into the material work. It all feels very reciprocal at this point. To me, the ideal is a hybridization of the two approaches. There’ll always be a use of material in my work because I get a huge amount of energy and enjoyment from process and making.

Head in Hands, 2016. Polyjet print. Photo by Simon Mills Photography, courtesy of Golden Thread Gallery.

 

Where do you see your work going next?

There have been many new strands of thinking resulting from “On Visibility”. The focus on exhibition design had an important role in this show, and I see this escalating in future presentations as a way of controlling how the work is experienced. I would like this to reach the point of creating immersive, heightened spaces and environments. The exhibition furniture production (steel bending, welding and powder-coating) has got me thinking about ways of integrating other industrial fabrication methods into the work itself. I think this could have a transformative impact on the scale and material language of my sculpture.

In my studio, I currently have some interesting things developing in silicone, alongside my work in ceramics. The way I treat porcelain, people often mistake it for silicone or even industrial plastic. I always enjoy this sense of material confusion, so introducing actual silicone into my sculptures is a further way to undermine established material associations and language. For viewers, this creates a level of uncertainty or instability from the outset, and I find that helpful in setting the tone of what my work may want to communicate.

The digital work will continue, and evolve. Head in Hands was a significant breakthrough for me in terms of sophistication of modeling and printing. It’s already acting as the catalyst for a new species of forms within my sculpture.

More information on the artist’s work can be found on twitter and instagram

Installation view. Courtesy Hugo Estrela / Vesselroom Project

Sarah Johanna Theurer is an emerging curator, currently attached to Vesselroom Project in Berlin. A researcher in ephemeral arts and techno-social techniques and theories of the twenty-first century, she studied cultural studies and media archaeology at University of Arts Berlin before working with Transmediale in 2015.  At present, she is part of the communications department for 9th Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art, and in this wide ranging interview discusses some of the intricacies of working in the German capital as well as her first independent exhibition ‘f i n e,’ which ran from April 28 – May 8, 2016.

(f i ne curatorial statement: http://www.vesselroomproject.com/exhibition/show/f-i-n-e)

To begin with, I wanted to ask you about your broader curatorial interests. What motivates your work and what kind of influences do you think have played the biggest role in shaping your approach?

I like to consider myself a researcher. I think the task of researching is about creating narratives that help me grasp the world that surrounds me. And researching entails both writing and curating. I studied Cultural Studies and Media Archaeology, so although I went to an arts school I come from a very academic background.

What motivates my work is often philosophical thoughts that create poetic images in my mind. While reading I discover new words or notions or poetic images that resonate with my life. I then try to translate this resonance into different contexts, maybe less intellectual ones, in order to see how theory dissolves into life. For me, it’s a lot about making sense, making things understandable, also in order to find a position to present issues/threats. In this sense I would also want to see my activity as politically-informed.

Installation view. Courtesy Hugo Estrela / Vesselroom Project

 

Rosi Braidotti is a contemporary philosopher, but her writings were not very well known in Germany until recently. But reading her was like an inauguration for me as a research. She brought me to another level of reflection on what I have been taught at University and made it less opaque. Reading her texts was an empowering experience. She argues, that her theory should not be taken as a metaphor but as a tool for critical thought that helps us confront the complexes and context we are living in. See for example this talk she gave at the ICI in 2014

Rosi Braidotti: Thinking as a Nomadic Subject

You’re working at the moment with Vesselroom Project in Berlin, can you tell us something about the space and how you came to be a part of their curatorial team? 

I got involved in 2015 while I was organizing Transmediale Vorspiel. The space is led by my friend Cristina Moreno Garcia who used to rent it as her studio but then, about two years ago, decided to turn it into a gallery-space. Since then she has been working with a team of friends and fellows to program and sustain the space. The latter is always an issue.

In April 2016 I curated the exhibition f i n e, a group show with a sound installation by Adam Asnan and sculpture by visual artist Markues, evolving around Rosi Braidotti’s notion of the nomadic subject.

Installation view. Courtesy Hugo Estrela / Vesselroom Project

 

How did that particular exhibition came about? What made you decide to work with those artists? 

I knew about Adam’s work for a while and always loved his music and his unpretentious way of practicing it. When he told me he was looking for a space to show his first installation I offered to show it at Vesselroom Project. I kept listening over and over again to the recordings of his piece and sketched out this topic of nomadic subjectivity. We discussed some spatial arrangements for the room but it was all very abstract until I was at another show where I saw Markues work. I understood that these two works had some affinities (especially in the way they engage with ephemeral media and a distorted sense of abstract art).  For me, it’s about making things resonate with their contexts, though it’s true that you usually end up creating this context (more or less out of the blue or out of your own interests).  I wanted to flesh out the idea of the nomadic subject and it made total sense to foster a dialogue between two different artworks, two different artistic intentions.

Adams work is something very self-evident. Although it’s a sculpture, it doesn’t want to be seen really. Humble but very bold at the same time. It is sound – so it takes up all the space but it’s always ephemeral; it’s there but not quite there. The sweeping of two thali-trays layered above one another induce this feeling of being (existing) in a steady flux.

Markues work has similar characteristics, but is made with a very different approach. He reacted in a more concrete way to the topic of the nomadic subject and found this figure of the tightrope dancer – someone who is always in limbo – but dancing. His hand-dyed sheets are droopy textures, permeable room dividers that define a space without defining its actual form. The mattress, usually a place where we relax and are supposed to be ‘in harmony with ourselves’ has these repelling colours as if to say that  your ‘self’ is always in drag, always only a performance of traveling substances in a given frame. But it also has this rich and seductive scent to it; it is inviting, intriguing and you know – just as with the sound – you will never be able to turn away from it, to not sense it. It is overwhelming, but you have your tools at hand: as a nomadic subject you’re always balancing.

Both of them, including the whole team of the gallery, have put a lot of trust in me. I am very grateful for that.

Installation view. Courtesy Hugo Estrela / Vesselroom Project

 

How do you see a Project Space as different say, from a gallery or studio space? Berlin in particular has a huge collection of different initiatives and institutions, much more so perhaps than many other cities. A Berlin based colleague recently visited me in London for example, and her first question was ‘where are all the project spaces?’

Initiatives like Project Space Festival, which has existed since 2014 give a great overview of the diversity of spaces and their owners’ self-conception. In general one could say Project Spaces are just like galleries but more events-oriented. There are several reasons, like the economic situation of the space itself and the fact that they are mostly run by people who have at least one ‘day’ or ‘money’ job they have to attend to.

Working in informal context is great fun and especially in the cultural sector because people invest a lot of energy into their projects. This is very inspiring. Up to this point where you feel proud of not making a living from what you are doing – as if this renders your projects more radical or different to what others do. It’s as if you cannot and don’t want to a sell because your product is just beyond profane consumption. It strikes me that some people feel like stepping out of the rush of the art market and some people are trying to get into it – both entering and exiting through the Project Space.

There is a huge gap between highly professional and profitable spaces and the “maybe too independent” ones. They are now a very hip thing to have. The photographer Wolfgang Tillmans has one, called Between Bridges, and Gallery Isabella Bortolozzi has one, called Eden Eden. These project spaces intended to be safe spaces for experimentation and collaborative, process oriented work modes rather than producing representable exhibition projects with famous artists. But originally, or maybe it’s better to say for the most part, project spaces are not affiliated to any institution and held alive by hard working individuals that act as facility managers, self-made accounting-experts and self-entitled curators all in one. They are by definition not professional. Very often they have a peculiar curatorial line, not immediately reacting to the movements and discourses of the mainstream art field. These spaces are born out of an interest or a scene-specific topic and they remain until the money is gone, no more public grants can be obtained, or they are kicked out by neighbours complaining about noise pollution.

Installation view. Courtesy Hugo Estrela / Vesselroom Project

 

With this trend of project spaces and the attention to non-professional or dilettante approaches to work I feel that institutions tend to romanticise the struggles of independence by depriving the project space of the financial risk, thereby repackaging the very idea of self-driven enthusiastic work and selling it back to the people (even their own employees and younger artists). Project spaces thus sometimes have the aura of incubators, start-up temples of neoliberalism. Maybe the project space has already left the art world and dissolved into a commonplace.

What projects do you have on the horizon? Do you have some ideas as to what your next exhibition at Vesselroom Project will involve? 

I am currently working on a workshop-based model of collaborative knowledge production, tackling the advice book (or the self-help book) as a contemporary format. Their pseudo-aspirational poetics provoke this vapid feeling of a ‘keep calm and carry on’ poster. Until now it’s not clear if we are going be able to realize this project and we are still looking for funding. But I definitely want to initiate a reading group in order to take a closer look and find a more ironic than merely critical approach to this mind-set. We want to practice awareness, not this new age awareness, but a critical affiliation (if that even exists). Self-improvement and the ideology of steady growth through self-limitation – again, this is about coping.

By Will Gresson

“Spartan Follies”, 2016. Variable Tires, spray paint, plastidip paint, paracord rope, fitness balls, sand, chains, bolts, duct tape. Detail of tire sculpture at Randall’s Island Park. (Photo by Toby Tenenbaum)

Denise Treizman – at the beginning of her career — is making original art bursting with color, style, engineering chops, and jazzy moves. Her laser focus and talent is evident in her studio, in her Cuchifritos solo show, and at her Spartan Follies/ FLOW.16 interactive public art on Randall’s Island through November.

“It’s rainbows and unicorns”, 2016. Variable. Plastic, plastidip paint, spray paint, duct tape, duster, plexiglass, colored sand, cement, metallic shred, ball, duster, circular light bulb. New work in the studio (Photo courtesy of the artist)

 

Treizman’s 410 square feet of space at The Elizabeth Foundation is currently divided into a sealed, well-ventilated area lined with a large selection of colors of spray paint. In this area, a new art work, “Rainbows and unicorns,” made two days ago from leftover pieces of other projects seems fully-formed using only a circular plexiglass piece, sprayed-on floor plastic, duct tape, a duster, balls, cement cast shapes and a floor pile of pink glittering sand.  Facing this, “Weave Done It” is a woven piece that incorporates green bubble wrap, found fabric, purple bra straps, duct tape and other unusual materials. This, plus three yellow, blue, and pink pieces titled “Pekaboo,” “Mangled and Spangled,” and “Fluff stuff” in the front part of the studio on May 21 traveled to Chicago days later for the “Improbable” show that opened May 28th at LVL3 Gallery.  These works invite further inspection and introspection.

In addition to finished works for her upcoming show, the studio space has two areas for art supplies and construction and a square column cleverly made circular by taped-together swimming pool noodles in pastel hues. Treizman variously uses the noodles in her projects; this column of changing colors demonstrates how the artist transforms obstructions into inviting sights. Even her “drawings” on one wall such as “Chasing Waterfalls I & II” are constructions made from charcoal, pencil, pastel, glitter spray paint, duct tape, correction tape, and markers.  Katharina Grosse, Jessica Stockholder, and Marilyn Minter (who was her teacher at SVA’s MFA Fine Arts program) are obvious influences, yet Treizman already has her own aesthetic and wit.

Studio prior to FLOW.16 installation, 2016. Variable. Studio prior to FLOW.16 installation (Photo courtesy of the artist)

 

Following receiving the commission for FLOW.16, a program run by Randall’s Island Parks Alliance in partnership with the Bronx Museum of the Arts, Treizman began to actualize her proposal for an interactive “boot camp” style outdoor exercise games installation. In November, 2015, she manufactured large PVC pipes, fittings and pre-cut acrylic lids in her native Chile to save costs and have production support. In January, 2016, she worked steadily on purchasing eighty used but usable tires from a recycling center, power-washing them, and spray-painting them and the PVC pipes in wildly-imaginative designs that “pop.” She next prepared and assembled the component parts for outdoor use – stuffing the PVC pipes with foil balls, packaging peanuts and shredded metallic paper that move as people interact, and sealing the pipes with clear lids so that the pieces inside are visible yet contained and waterproof. Installation required transporting a huge number of objects to Randall’s Island and engineering and installing artist-made anchors, wires, bolts and chains to tether the objects to the park yet allow them to be moved and played upon by park visitors. Treizman’s inventive games and configurations for her art objects are worth a trip to Randall’s Island! She has given old tires new spins and looks.

IMG_5703 from Denise Treizman on Vimeo.

The Cuchifritos Gallery exhibition — titled “DelanceyLudlowRivingtonNorfolk” after the streets in the neighborhood — closed June 5. It consisted of nine works that incorporated found objects. Many, such as “Screen shot” and “Sweet spot,” are constructions in which the parts balance against each other and the walls/floor. “Under the wires” is a ball stuck inside a folded metal fence on top of a green sand grid – a floor piece that offers an unusual blend of circles, triangles, and irregular rectangles. Many of Treizman’s original fired and glazed ceramic shapes in this show reminded me of Arlene Shechet’s process-oriented style. Treizman has not heard of Shechet and is doing her own original things with clay.

“Spartan Follies”, 2016. Visitors interacting with “Spartan Follies” tire sculpture. (Photo by Toby Tenenbaum)

 

Look for Treizman’s 2016 Current & Upcoming:

“Spartan Follies” as part of FLOW.16 Randall’s Island, NY (May 14, mid November)

“Expand and Flourish Among New Acquaintances” Proto Gallery. Curated by Enrico Gomez and Nick De Pirro. Hoboken, NJ (April 30-May 30)

“DelanceyLudlowRivingtonNorfolk” Cuchifritos Gallery. Individual exhibition curated by Kelly Schroer. New York, NY(May 6-June 5)

“Improbable” LVL3 Gallery. Chicago, IL (May 28-July 3)

NYFA’s Immigrant Artist Program, she will be a mentor for a fellow immigrant artist. Summer 2016.

Mass MOCA Assets for Artists Residency. North Adams, MA  (September 2016)

Open Studios at The Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts (October 2016)

Solo exhibition title TBD at Wavehill’s Sunroom Project Space (October 29- November 30)

2017 (Upcoming)

+/- Project Space. Soho20gallery. Individual Exhibition. (date and title TBD)  Brooklyn, NY

At Randall’s Island for FLOW.16, through November; Review of Cuchifritos solo exhibition:  Artfuse and Bedford and Bowery.

By Jan Garden Castro

In Passing. Photo courtesy the artist

Adam Crosson is an artist working in Austin, TX where he recently received his MFA in Sculpture + Extended Media from the University of Texas at Austin and is a Co-Director of the house gallery Pig & Pony. With a background in architecture, a Bachelor of Architecture from the University of Arkansas to be exact, Crosson comes to making from a unique perspective. Ranging from outdoor work using concrete and steel to his current black and white photographs made with enormous homemade cameras, Crosson works with conditions of site, identity, and place.

Gracelee Lawrence: I’ve been in a privileged position these past three years in terms of watching your work evolve. I’m particularly interested in your relationship with technology and how it has shifted over time, from heavily utilizing digital fabrication in the past to the present moment where you are making your own camera technology.

Installation View. Photo courtesy the artist.

 

Adam Crosson: I feel like I’m coming back to my roots as a maker- where my sense of making comes from. I worked with a contractor after high school, using familiar building materials and manual craft. I think that there is a connection to that way of making that I feel an affinity for. I really enjoyed the first year of architecture school because we were learning how to draft and weren’t introduced to the computer until our second year. I think through materials in a very physical way. Ultimately it is one of the reasons I left architecture- I couldn’t sit in front of a computer eight hours a day.

Uninvited Stranger. Photo courtesy the artist

 

GLL: Talk a little bit about your shift from architecture to studio art.

AC: Architecture school operates completely in the theoretical space- a theoretical site is fitted with a theoretical solution. I remember having a moment of anxiety when Katrina hit, being torn between the culture of architecture school (never missing a studio class) and the desire to help in a real world problem. I had this moment of tension between what was happening in this theoretical space and what was happening in the real world. My last semester of undergrad it became apparent that I was ready to get my hands in the real world and deal with things directly.

GLL: Founding and directing Pig & Pony has shifted how I think about what it means to show an artists work and what it means for an outside person to become involved with the presentation and conceptual questions that another artist is dealing with. And also the act of re-presenting work in a specific context. I hadn’t understood the trust or impact that is present in such interactions. What has this project meant for you?

l10. Photo courtesy the artist.

 

AC: The first thing I think about is what it means to be asked to show work. For many of us making art, it is one of the most generous things that someone can do for you. On a basic level what we are doing is a very generous thing, wanting to provide opportunities for people to show work. I think it is an important part of what we do for people and what people have done (and are doing) for us. We have just touched the tip of the iceberg in terms of how much we can dig in to someone’s work, how much we can expand conversations.

To see more of Adam Crosson’s work please visit adamcrosson.com

By Gracelee Lawrence

Installation view of “Stasis”, Ulster University Art Gallery. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Tony Corey

Anne Marie Taggart’s sculptures are not built upon the past narratives of their curious found materials, but upon the effect of their dislocation. The artist brings once familiar, now increasingly alien forms together: scrambling, interrupting and re-routing their timelines, bridging the domestic and the institutional, and playing with the uncanny effect upon us.

When working collectively, as in Stasis, Taggart’s most recent exhibition at Ulster University, the sculptures evoke a modern, concentrated perception of past life. They are reminiscent of contemporary film props used for a Victorian setting: made to look old, despite apparently being of that period. Yet, at the same time, they suggest something post-human. Their obsolescence releases form from function: the sculpture is a half-living thing, yet delicately, temporarily crafted together.

Anne Marie Taggart, Untitled, 2016. Glass and Metal. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Tony Corey

 

Processes and interpretations of cryonics has been one of your starting points for the exhibition – could you go into how this started and where this took you in your work?

Before I started making work for my show “Stasis” I had been interested in the idea of how certain skilled trades, tools, and machines were becoming obsolete. I was thinking about how mankind functions and evolves, perhaps existing without objects in the future.

As a sculptor, I assemble intuitively and then reflect. During the process of making my first piece, which was to become Sleeper, the coming together of objects, materials and form evoked a sense of future and transformation. This in turn led me to the practice of cryonics, the concept of how, in the future, a person who has died could live again, providing that the brain was fully operational. In an unspecified period of time, if ever, that person could function in a different form – not necessarily in his or her own body. Timing and process is of the utmost importance in order to stand a real chance of future revival; the procedure and practice followed by the medical team is reminiscent of Egyptian ritual in preparation for the afterlife.

I read a story about a French couple that, in the 1970s, had embarked on their own homemade attempt at cryonics using chest freezers. Both lived in the countryside and each died separately. They had made an agreement with their son that he would monitor the condition of their frozen bodies after death.  Unfortunately, the couple ended up defrosting over their garage floor, due to neglect and lack of maintenance on their son’s part, and that was the end of that.

Anne Marie Taggart, Untitled, 2016. Wood, Metal, Wool and Leather. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Tony Corey

 

As crude as the French couple’s attempt at cryonics seems, it highlights the available technology at one’s disposal. The procedures and tools being used now could be obsolete and considered archaic in the future, rendering the whole operation futile.

This led me to look at surgical tools used to perform operations in the Victorian era, the curious qualities of form and function coupled with old-fashioned methods of surgery.  Tools that once were modern and valued are now relegated to museums as curiosities. 

The stopgap nature of that subject is really prevalent in the mixed, possibly projected narratives at work in your exhibition. The anthropomorphic and ergonomic qualities of your pieces create a really visceral response, especially in how detailed the combinations are and the strength of their silhouettes; there’s something very pictorial about it. Does your drawing process reflect your making process?

In making work with regard to the subject of cryonics, I found if I tried to be prescriptive in what I was doing, the work became too literal and forced. I am much happier and more successful when I play with the materials, free from thought. Sculpture and drawing for me are image driven and have a similar process in their development.  In my drawing practice now, I don’t illustrate – it’s more of an automatic visual response to form and texture I see in the everyday.  Although the drawings are abstract, I find myself grounding them to the floor or suspending from above.  I call these future drawings.  Not sculptures I intend to make but images harnessed and mentally recorded on paper. It’s a form of processing visual information.

The found objects I use in my sculptures have the formal qualities of drawing. I see them as line and texture that I “collage” in the physical making of sculpture. These objects are foraged from abandoned areas of Belfast, where I choose them on the strength of my emotional response to their form. Because of this intuitive way of working, I find this gives my work a more visceral quality. The relationship each object has to the other is also important – such as if it fits inside each other or slots together perfectly, despite being disparate objects.

Anne Marie Taggart, Sleeper, 2016. Cling film, Metal and Ceramic. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Tony Corey

 

What has been said about my sculptures is that viewers want to touch them.  I think this is an emotional response borne out of familiarity and knowledge of the object through the viewer’s history and experience of being in the world. A domestic object – be it a sink, wine-rack, handle, or plughole – has been handled by people in their day-to-day lives, whereas in a gallery environment, one is dissuaded from touching. Also, some components, such as in Sleeper, hold an action: the egg slicer and meat grinder mentally proposes the physical violence of an operation.

Another important aspect of how the viewer relates to the pieces is the size of the sculptures – being people-sized and smaller they appear intimate and non-threatening.  I see all my work as having their own personalities, on the cusp of movement and life.

There’s also something appealing about the temporary adhesions or draping in your pieces – is your work ever “reborn” in alternative forms?

When I was setting up for the exhibition, most of my work was transported in huge bags; the technician I was working with was at odds to see where the art was. He laid all the small components on the floor, Tony Cragg style. I then set about assembling the pieces as though from kit form, no glue or nails needed – I rely a lot on balancing the objects within the work and using simple clip fastenings when necessary.  This allows me to work a lot more quickly when creating in the studio, and gives a self-sufficient element to my work.

The difficulty and the reality of being a contemporary sculptor is what to do with the pieces when they have been shown in an exhibition. I have a large collection of small found objects in my studio from which I draw from to make new work, and I am always on the look out for new objects.  I have reused certain objects from other sculptures I have made to create new pieces and would have no problem “borrowing” them again when appropriate.

Anne Marie Taggart, Parallelaleg, 2016, Wood. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Tony Corey

 

Alongside playing with a grey area between domestic and institutional objects, you also make some references to other artist’s work.

One of the items you refer to was a small object I found in an alleyway behind my house.  At one time it would have been part of a ceiling chandelier, but when I saw it, it reminded me of The Bottle Rack by Duchamp. Its inclusion in the show is more of a private joke with myself, and a nod to the anarchic and humorous undertones in my work.

Whilst creating this body of work I had been contemplating Duchamp’s The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even, in relation to its mechanical references, and in particular to the suggested movement within the piece. For some time now I have been interested in creating artworks that have movement: possibly sound or film – this is where I can see my work going in the future.

By Dorothy Hunter

Mississippi River Delta installation. Photo by Mary O’Brien, Watershed Sculpture. Image courtesy of the artists.

Daniel McCormick and Mary O’Brien create living sculptures, responding to complex environmental systems like watersheds and riparian lands, their work is produced from natural materials that not only match the aesthetics, but the ecological patterns of the location. While the beauty of their works are readily apparent— simultaneously standing out and fitting within the aesthetics of their site in a literal weave of saplings, grasses, and wood— the process by which the art is designed for the space is only visible in the natural harmony of the installation. So I interviewed McCormick and O’Brien over email, in order to gain a better understanding of their process over time, both prior and after installation.

(The interview has been edited for length.)

How have the Truckee River sculptures evolved, now a year on from installation?

The 4 works on the Truckee and Carson Rivers are evolving as we expected.  We designed them to withstand at least another year of drought as most of us in the West anticipated.  We were pleased that this year turned out to be a “light” El Nino year, which has brought water to the deserts (and many of our other West Coast installation sites). The two partners that engaged us on these projects— The Nature Conservancy and the Nevada Museum of Art— are planning a one year celebration of the work honoring the volunteers that helped build them.  They have commissioned us for an additional work that will be presented during that celebration, so in many ways the work continues to grow knitting together parts of the ecosystem and the community.

Truckee River installation. Photo by Mary O’Brien, Watershed Sculpture. Image courtesy of the artists.

 

How did the functionality of the work affect your sense of aesthetics in the piece?

The work relies on the joining of science and art. As artists who work on the land, we make a distinction between optimistic thinking and successful creative planning. We do a great amount of research before we start any project. Of course this involves walking the land both alone and with individuals that can tell us about the site. This could be a site steward, conservationist, fluvial geomorphologist, ornithologist, biologist, and the landowner. Our research involves both physical and social geography and history. We consider the community and their relationship to the site. We consider the site in terms of social and political aspects of the site and its surrounds. We study maps and historic and contemporary literature about the site. All these considerations come into play as we approach a project. From this research comes the kernels of the aesthetics, the functionality, and the process of how we will approach and build the work. All three of these factors—aesthetic, functionality and process—are brought together into our design scheme. The aesthetics and functionality have to both balance and support each other through the entire creation of the piece. But the process is just as important to getting the piece built.

Truckee River installation. Photo by Mary O’Brien, Watershed Sculpture. Image courtesy of the artists.

 

All our works share a common element as vehicles for physical transformation. We are not concerned that our works “last” as recognizable iterations of the initial installation. The decomposition of the work is part of the art and we don’t consider our work complete until that happens, usually in a few years. In some projects it takes a decade or so. The works lose their identities as hand-made objects, and that is part of our aesthetics, because simultaneously they reinforce the recovery action. There is an aesthetic in something that is providing the foundation for ecological change. We consider the action of our projects as positive actions. We believe they contribute to a larger human effort of balancing the ecological loss we have inherited and the loss we inevitably are passing on to the next generation.

How do different ecosystems affect your artistic approach?

Each of the ecosystems we work presents its own unique benefits and challenges, however we approach each from the viewpoint of the larger environmental picture. Our designs are based on science and engineering principles. We work closely with fluvial geomorphologists, ornithologists and the like and rely on their data.

Truckee River installation. Photo by Mary O’Brien, Watershed Sculpture. Image courtesy of the artists.

 

For the work in the Gulf Coast we used the approach we use with all of our installations—research (before and after visiting the site), meeting with representatives of the conservation community, as well as the residents of the area. Due to political and logistical factors unique to New Orleans, our design concepts went through several iterations, but that is not uncommon with our projects. We use the same approach in each of the different ecosystems we work in…research, consulting with the experts about that site or issue, site visits, design sessions to develop more than one approach, and then a proof-of-concept stage where we weigh several factors—installation logistics, volunteers available, time needed for completion, seasonal weather conditions during installation, climate factors (such as flooding or desert conditions), pollution and other human-caused factors, monetary constraints, and litigious limitations.

Truckee River installation. Photo by Mary O’Brien, Watershed Sculpture. Image courtesy of the artists.

 

For the project in the Gulf we had completed this process for two different concepts only to have both of them eliminated just before we had to travel from California to Louisiana (one due to involvement of the Army Corps of Engineers and the other due to the resources we had chosen were no longer available to us).  Our third concept was developed and refined right up to the time of installation. We are very pleased with how it turned out and believe it was the best approach of all three we considered.  But, in this case, we would not have come to this idea had not our first two concepts fallen through.

Empirical evidence often shows us how to approach working on a site. A deeply informed artist has the freedom to follow these prescriptions. For instance, in one case, this approach not only brought us success, but also unintended positive consequences. In Charlotte, NC we concentrated on mitigating urban run-off near a creek that was surrounded by urban infill. Using the principle of “spread & sink” we were able to capture the urban run-off before it eroded the creek bank. In doing so we activated an unknown seed-bank for a native sedge grass.  That native sedge helped attract a pair of mating barred owls that had been missing from the area for years, by providing the right kind of fauna for their hunting grounds.

Do you have any new work in progress?

Yes, we are in the design and proof-of-concept stages for two projects as well as proposing an expansion of our project in New Orleans. We are working on two urban ecology sculptures that will be created in urban watersheds.  These projects have the obvious challenges of working within densely-built environments and scarce natural resources to harvest and incorporate into our sculptures. But since these are projects of our own initiative and  we have chosen to install them in urban environments, we perceive the challenges the build-environment poses as an asset.  We are working to incorporate the attributes of urban life into the process of developing these two works.

By Adam Rothstein

Kamarioka Magik” (detail) by Benzant, from the group exhibition called “I Kan Do Dat, Contemporary Abstract Art”, for Rush Arts Gallery, New York, NY curated by Danny Simmons and Oshun Layne. From Paraphernalia Of The Urban Shaman M:5. Photos courtesy: Alaric Campbell.

Leonardo Benzant’s exhibition calendar is filling fast. In June, his work Cosmology of Resistance appears in Africa’s Out, curated by Wangechi Mutu, which opens June 3 with an Afro-centric gala at Pioneer Works. In July, Benzant’s Koi No Yokan III is at 101 Exhibit Space in Los Angeles.

Inspired by his huge solo exhibition Afrosupernatural at Aljira, a Center for Contemporary Art in Newark, New Jersey and the online video images of the artist in his studio, I traveled to Richmond Hills, New York to visit Leonardo Benzant. His modest space about 5’ x 15’ is bright, light-filled, and organized into a library; supply stations for beads, paints, inks, powdered charcoal, coffee grinds, ashiote (seed dye), and other materials; drawing and paint studies on one wall, and a massive, completed sculpture on the facing wall. It serves as a good introduction to the worlds that the artist’s sculpture contains and represents.

Kamarioka Magik” (detail) by Benzant, from the group exhibition called “I Kan Do Dat, Contemporary Abstract Art”, for Rush Arts Gallery, New York, NY curated by Danny Simmons and Oshun Layne.
From Paraphernalia Of The Urban Shaman M:5. Photos courtesy: Alaric Campbell.

 

I was originally drawn to the intimacy and scale of Benzant’s giant totems filled with secret sacred objects: human-sized forms with lumpy, irregular shapes composed of tiny beads and other handsewn or handmade pieces that suggest attention to detail at the molecular level. In a way that contrasts with Liza Lou’s concept-driven beadwork, Benzant’s objects reintroduce African concepts and spiritual roots into secular life.

Beings Born from Word and Stitch, 2007 is a mixed media work in the artist’s studio. It looks like a three-dimensional crazy quilt, but its construction is anything but straightforward. Mixed media works are sewn onto ropes hanging from a large dowel. “There are things inside the forms – symbolic, personal, coins, an affirmation. I’m playing with the idea that each form is a charm with a concealed and revealed aspect. Beings came after a series of paper collages whose tactile quality made me go more dimensional. From an African or African-Caribbean viewpoint, textiles and jewelry have a symbolic weight rather than being considered decorative. It’s not fashion but ideographic forms of writing that trigger memory,” the artist continued, “a complex web of interconnections between objects, temperaments, plants with healing or destructive properties – a language of a different paradigm.”[1]

Installation views of LEONARDO BENZANT: Afrosupernatural at Aljira Art Center, Newark NJ; Photos courtesy: Chuka Chukuma. from left to right: Spermatazoa, Tubular Organic Form (Red, Black And White), Bambula (Mannequin Head); (from the ongoing series: Paraphernalia Of The Urban Shaman M:5

 

Another source of Beings Born from Word and Stitch is a Yoruba mask, Egungun, representing ancestors; it covers the entire body. Benzant also uses the Kongo term nkisi nkonde to refer to the spirit in which his art is created. An nkisi is “dealing with order, punishment, and justice in society and those who heal through nature. My art is not an nkisi; it functions between sacred and secular dimensions.”[2] Since the nkisi is a kind of assemblage or collage, often using found objects, it predates Western notions of those practices such as Rauschenberg’s use of found objects in the 1950s combines. “You have to reference the dominant culture to validate something in your own roots that already exists by another name,” the artist points out. “Performance art, conceptual art, and installation art all existed earlier through another cultural lens.”

Kamarioka Magik” (detail) by Benzant, from the group exhibition called “I Kan Do Dat, Contemporary Abstract Art”, for Rush Arts Gallery, New York, NY curated by Danny Simmons and Oshun Layne.

 
From Paraphernalia Of The Urban Shaman M:5. Photos courtesy: Alaric Campbell.

Benzant draws on his Afro-Dominican/Haitian-American heritage. The artist related, “I went to Catholic school all my life. We’d pray in the mornings to white Jesus Christ on a black cross. To this day, there’s so little you learn about your African heritage in school. Most of us have gone through the Westernization process and know we’re being assaulted – what they choose to put at the center of the story sends messages in so many ways. There was a big disconnect that made me hungry for things I could connect with – African culture, African art. I felt colonized; then I realized that there were Africanisms below the radar of the mainstream, in the community, on an altar, a reservoir of visual information. Part of Mongo Santamaria’s influences, which he found in Cuba, are Yoruba, Kongo, and Abkua rhythms. Africanisms are in the South as well as in Cuba; James Brown’s rhythms incorporate Kongo rhythms. The culture continues in Haiti and Brazil. People don’t make the connection. My journey is connecting all the dots.”

Installation views of LEONARDO BENZANT: Afrosupernatural at Aljira Art Center, Newark NJ; Photos courtesy: Chuka Chukuma. From left to right: Spermatazoa, Tubular Organic Form (Red, Black And White), Cosmology Of Resistance, Big-Loop-Up-Top With Red String (turquoise and yellow), Tubular Organic Form (Gold, Black, And White), Tube (with 2 Appendages)

 

The artist’s library includes Yale Professor Robert Farris Thompson’s book An Aesthetic of the Cool (Periscope, 2011), introduced by Lowery Stokes Sims, in which the author explores  West and Central African and African-American notions of cool as “a mastery of the self” in relation to one’s heritage, community, and ancestors, including nuances of healing and rebirth, and deep thought before speech. The Thompson book discusses the concept of Kongo as having roots in Bunseki Fu-Kiau, a deceased leader of the Lemba Society in the Kongo. Thompson learned from Fu-Kiau about the Kongo cosmogram, and he has also shown how this has, in turn, influenced Vodou and Caribbean-American practices. Benzant also recommended Kongo Graphic Writing and Other Narratives of the Sign (Temple University Press, 2013) by Barbaro Martinez Ruiz.

See also:

www.leonardobenzant.com/

http://www.thebholdr.com/leonardo-benzant-afrosupernatural/

http://www.okayafrica.com/culture-2/leonardo-benzant-afrosupernatural-art-dexter-wimberly/

http://aljira.org/exhibitions/

[1] All quotes from Castro interview with Benzant on 4.18.16 and phone conversation on 5.1.16.

[2] Kongo refers to the Bakongo people who inhabit Cental Africa; when spelled with a C, Congo refers to the Belgian Congo. See Robert Farris Thompson’s 1983 book Flash of the Spirit for more on Kongo.

Permission Figures, 2014. Ceramic tile on panel, each 96” x 12”

Joe Bochynski is a contemporary artist working in a variety of mediums including sculpture, mosaic, video, installation, and web-based projects.  He received a BA in Mathematics and Studio Art from Hobart College in 2008 and an MFA in Painting from the Rhode Island School of Design in 2013.  He has lived throughout the northeast and currently lives and works in Brooklyn.

You divide your work into three distinct, but overlapping, groups; relationships, labor and community. Why is it important for this distinction if they all interrelate?

Well, I’ve got a math background, and it was always so appealing to me when writing a proof to just make-up some structure out of thin air for your own ends.  It’s like saying “suppose we have a set of things, now place all the odd numbered things in this subset because I said so.”  Dividing up my own work into these categories made sense at a structural level, and it’s a way to enter the work as a whole.  Plus, I like Venn Diagrams.

Permission Figures, 2014. Ceramic tile on panel, each 96” x 12”

 

How important is your personal background beginning point in your work?

It hasn’t been direct.  I’ve always filtered art history and contemporary art through my own background.  For example, the 20th century’s arch towards utopia always made sense to me through the handyman aesthetic.  We are attempting self-improvement through DIY craft projects on an individual level, just as Le Corbusier saw societal improvement via fine art and urban planning.

You appear to be focusing more and more on craftsmanship, especially with the tile. Does this come into play with more than just the labor element of the work?

My artistic life began in the Unmonumental Age, or whatever you’d like to define post-September 11th contemporary sculpture.  However, the more I think about the great work of Rachel Harrison or Isa Genzken or Paul Chan, the more it doesn’t fit my personality.  Craftsmanship is a way out of uncertainty and the precarious nature of today.  Labor is in there as well, but I’m more mixed about labors’ meaning since there is no longer a one-to-one relationship between labor and success.

Middle School Dance (Convention Center), 2013 Mixed media, Dimensions vary

 

Ceramic tile has become important in the last couple of years and especially with your newest bodies of work in all three categories. What is it about the medium that is significant and what is it about the process?

The tiles have all these personal associations, but it really began with a stupid question;  “What can this 4” x 4” glazed mud square do for me?”  It began as a healthy restriction in the studio but now has grown into deeper connections.  I see tile as the poor man’s stone.  I see it as skin on the walls.  I see it having this very long life into the deep future.  I see it as tacky, cheap, and classy at the same time.  I see it’s seductive shine.  Lately as I’m shipping these things, I see tile as really heavy and surpassingly delicate.

The “Permission Figure” sculptures become even more totemic and monumental than previous work. In addition to this, you installed the sculptures in different locations around New York City and the audience becomes obviously less voluntary than a gallery participant. What is your idea behind this direct engagement?

It’s very important that these cultural objects are now placed in the real world. The gallery setting is so hermetically sealed from actual lived experiences that by placing the work out in the “real world”, people react differently with art. People approach the sculptures with a higher degree of sincerity that is important to me.

Part of this comes from my previous work as a museum guard and watching people interact with art within the defined parameters of the gallery and the gallery as a performance space in some sense. It really comes down to making art about humans and not art about art. The work also becomes a proxy that allows me to engage with anyone on the street without being there.

Patty Hearst’s Beret, 2013. Glass tile on form, 6” x 7” x 3”

 

In your most recent series “Civics (Lessons?)“ what imagery are you using?

I’m mining my own personal history with civic engagement for this work and how I’ve been a good citizen in the past. So I’m going through the places I’ve lived chronologically to determine what kind of civic engagement I’ve been involved in. There are three panels for each location including a local government building, a civic group and another direct action, usually a protest that I was involved with. It’s an attempt to determine what worked and what didn’t and remain optimistic.

You have two exhibits coming up. What do you plan to show?

I’m excited to be invited back to my undergraduate college for a show up this fall.  It is a collection of work from the past seven years since graduating.  It’s very satisfying to look at the bric-a-brac you’ve made over time and realize you unconsciously return to a few themes.  Often in the studio, I’m following these strange impulses which seem discontinuous in the moment.  This show, Everybody is Everybody, has evolved to include themes of personal relations between lovers, bosses, peers, family members, as well as self-reflexive navel gazing.  Which I do a lot…

And for next spring?

That will be more polemical: it begins with a questions posed to me from my wife.  How can a solipsistic artist improve other people’s lives in a concrete, measurable way?  My answer is through civic art.  More specifically, making work which leaves the studio and acts as a good citizen-proxy in the world for me, since I’d prefer never to leave the studio.  The catch is that it’s all theoretical and hence a failure.  The show is a large research project into possible solutions to this question, but does not actually follow through with any of the recommendations.  It’s a lot of lip service.  Maybe I’ll take my own advice afterwards.

V. b. Grad School (Providence), 2015. Ceramic tile on panel, 36” x 36”

 

So what are the answers to this question; how to be a good person, and still be a self-centered artist who just sits in a room by themselves and indulges?

I’ll give you a few possibilities.  One, Fan Art; create art so richly layered that other people build communities around extending this vision.  Two, Artist Book as Manual; make a printed collection of things, which also serve some didactic function, like how to change a tire.  Three, Shinto Shrine; make art which, over a period of time, is required to be remade by other people.  I have others, but you’ll need to wait for the show.

Anything else you would like to add?

You can’t push a rope.

Upcoming solo shows include Everybody is Everybody at the Davis Gallery in Geneva, NY from Oct. 16th to Nov. 13th, 2015.  Next spring, Civics (Lessons?) will be shown at Big Orbit Gallery in Buffalo, NY from April 14th to May 13th, 2016.

More info can be found at www.jbochynski.org.

By Jake Weigel

nearness, Inkjet print, 16” x 24”, 2016

Rachael Starbuck is an artist currently living and working in Austin. Working primarily in sculpture and video, Starbuck deals with holding, distance, and touch. She was generous enough to speak about her relation to landscape, language, and place.

After recently spending time in the Caribbean, I noticed correlations between the landscape and flora of that region with particularities of your work. For instance, in Longing we say the yellow objects reminded me of the slope of a palm tree trunk and the taut plastic floor acts like the surface of water. Growing up in Florida, how do you think about the impact of that landscape on your work?

I grew up in Miami and spent most of my summers visiting extended family in the White Mountains in New Hampshire and that combination of landscapes has has a huge impact on my work. The experience of standing on the beach looking out at the horizon or the view from the top of a mountain instills a particularly acute awareness of space and scale and immensity. Much of my practice revolves around an inherently futile attempt to contain or reduce that feeling of enormity to a more human scale. I’m interested in the relationship between distance and nearness— the climate in South Florida is often heavily humid, sweaty and stifling, but you still have easy access to this vast open space when you go to the ocean. I want to make work that can combine those feelings of closeness and open space.

Longing we say, cardboard, plastic, cloth, resin, water putty, sand, latex paint , 2015.

 

Your titles are poetic and often melancholic, feeling like excerpts from larger pieces of writing. Talk a little about your titling methodologies.

Most of my titles do come from larger pieces of writing. I read a lot of essays from writers like Rebecca Solnit, Annie Dillard and Italo Calvino many of which discuss experiences of longing or address landscape and distance. Often the only way to communicate the experience of something that is outside the realm of language or any easy scale of reference is through poetics and metaphor. Many these writers are doing through language what I hope to do through touch and material and by incorporating their words into my titles I hope to embody some of their language and metaphors.

To register the infinite through a series of patient exacting marks, cloth, latex paint
150 ft, 2015.

 

How do you think about the divergence and connection between touch and distance in your work? Is the idea of escape present?

The relationship between distance and touch, or distance and proximity is something I think about often in my practice. I wouldn’t say I’ve thought about the work in relation to escape, maybe more the opposite direction— I think more about the idea of reaching, and many of the objects I make are stretching or reaching across space. The act of reaching implies a desire to span a distance that may be vast or only a few feet. I feel like there is a direct parallel between the desire to understand or possess an entity like the ocean and a longing to touch something close that is fragile or forbidden or just out of reach.

What is your perspective on the art scene in Austin? How would you describe it relative to the other cities, like Richmond and New Orleans, that you’ve lived in?

The art scenes in Austin, Richmond and New Orleans are actually all surprisingly similar. Richmond is maybe more tapped into the New York art scene and New Orleans is weird and wonderful and always doing its own thing, but all three cities have relatively small but incredibly enthusiastic and supportive arts communities. Being smaller and slightly further away from the pressures of larger cities like New York or L.A. I’ve found all three cities really accessible and encouraging for younger artists. In all three cities there’s space and opportunity to both make and show work as well as generous and challenging critical dialogue.

Please visit rachaelstarbuck.com to see more of her work.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Pyramid: 3 frames, 2 POV, 2015. 72” x 40” x 22”. Courtesy the artist

String Curve and Pyramid are Hap Tivey’s shifting light sculptures shown recently at the University of Buffalo Art Gallery. Tivey uses Fred Sandback’s minimalism and James Turrell’s light constructions with the main difference that the forms shift in hue, volume, and shape – or appear to.  In Tivey’s light art, unlike Turrell’s projections, the light constantly changes as the string, hanging like a line in space, articulates the colored volumes in the projection. The viewer’s movement in relation to the art also literally changes the colors of light seen. When I asked who did what first, Tivey related, “I did focus on changing color and volume before Jim did, but that was 1972 – tough to argue these days. My video projections are much more about programed change, but both mine and his evolve by physiology as well. Not many people get that, but the illusion of volume is produced by neurology trying to make sense of minimal information. That gets into a pretty boring discussion of neurophysiology that I generally avoid, unless someone brings it up first.”[i]

String Curve: 2 frames, 2015. 94” x 75” x 42”

 

After visiting his East Flatbush studio, I began to understand why it has taken me ten years to appreciate Hap Tivey’s original ways of splitting light and making forms that move and change colors. His geometries alter both shape and color in relation to the viewer – to me, this is closer to the birth of a star  than to a his multi-step process using simple props – the corner of a wall, a piece of string, its shadow, projected light, and color.  I saw a roomful of his light sculptures around six years ago, and, in the clear, sparely-furnished rectangle of his present studio, even older pieces glow and come alive.

Painting an Orange Box: 2 frames 2 POV: 2016, 50” x 72” x 28”

 

On the way to introducing me to his art works that split or change shapes, I discovered Hap’s Goya self-portrait in his bathroom. It demonstrates the degree to which Tivey harnessed digital technology in its earliest iteration.  I consider it three-dimensional because he has layered his processes. First he scanned the image into dots using Adobe Photoshop 2.0. Then he converted the dots in an architectural plotter program; then he put this onto a holographic sheet that makes refractive light. Next, he painted the portrait with oil base and acrylic. The resulting face looks dimensional and is haunted by spectral color. “The whole idea of making these prints on holographic material is that there is no fixed color,” Tivey noted. “These refracted color surfaces change constantly.”

Light Store: 2013, 1800 square feet

 

In the studio, Tivey explained, “This column of light will do the same thing. The whole idea was to simulate an electron and a positron separating. This is the track of two elements leaving random space in terms of subatomic quantum physics. It can be seen as two particles annihilating each other – or – being born and existing. You can look at it either way. This sculptural column is overly intellectual but has visual properties I love.” The spotlight at the base sends a beam up the column, and the stainless steel screen outer surface of the column and the transparent diffraction grading inside the screen create the column of shifting spectral light. The dynamic light shifts and changes color in relation to the viewer’s point of view.

Past the green Michael Dell portrait inside the back of an early Dell monitor are Duchampian table and floor “lamps” constructed from a copper-leafed metal base with looping clear flexible plumbing tubing with white and green LED lights inside. Mahakala, named after a protective Tibetan Buddhist deity, is a modulated image of a constructed and painted column inside a rear projection screen, creating red on red light. Blue Ladder, an intricate sculpted Cobra-like form inside a blue lightbox is at the studio entrance.

Blue Ladder: 1985, 76” x 18” x 10”

 

Hap’s two recent shows at the University of Buffalo Art Gallery and Rockland County Center for the Arts Center each converted gallery rooms into mutating light boxes. He uses the simplest props. Painting an Orange Box is a structure made with a string and its shadow in a darkened room. A fixed video projector is lined up with the corner to project a rectangle of light. This, then, is connected to a computer to make a color movie on top of the white rectangle of light. The approximately four by six foot space keeps changing hues and shapes as the viewer approaches or otherwise moves around.

Tivey was one of the pioneers of light installation in Los Angeles and for more than forty years his art has presented the phenomena of light.  In installation, painting, sculpture and projection, he investigated the concrete experience of light, as well as the emotional and theoretical implications it holds for the human condition. His work has been shown extensively in the U.S., Europe and Asia. It has been included in diverse private collections, and exists in permanent public collections of more than a dozen major museums, including New York’s MOMA and the Guggenheim. Tivey is an emeritus art professor who taught at Bard College. He notes, “I like to think our conscious mind enjoys giving structure and color to emptiness.”  Here are some links to his work:

http://www.elizabethleach.com/Artist­Detail.cfm?ArtistsID=161&ppage=6

http://haptivey.com/video-projection.html

http://www.liminalight.com/

By Jan Garden Castro

[i] All quotes from studio visit on 2.21.16.

Stripped. Photo courtesy of the artist.

As we spoke about a class she was teaching, and of past events, Melissa Ichiuji toyed with a knife and wasp’s nest. “I am restoring a piece that has to go back to Belgium. It had a wasp nest inside.” The nest wasn’t an infestation: it was a part of Kissie Kissie, a figurative doll that rests on its shins. Leaning forward somewhat seductively, arms arched back, the anatomy of its face had been replaced entirely by the hexagonal weaving of a hoard of wasps. She holds up the replacement nest she’ll use to fix the sculpture. “It’s gorgeous, right?”

It’s the third time Ichiuji has restored the work since 2010—as part of a private collection in Brussels that regularly lends the work to various European exhibitions. All the packing and unpacking, and shifts in climate has taken its toll. At the time we spoke, it was in preparation for the exhibition “Dolls and Taboo” at the House of Culture in the Province of Namur, which will include works by Pierre Molinier, Pascale Martine Tayou, Cindy Sherman, and Louise Bourgeois, amongst others. “But they chose this sucker to be on the cover of the catalog and on the side of the museum. So, I have got to get this thing in the mail so it can be there by the opening day or I’m going to be in big trouble!” She offered with levity. Although, with less than a week to fix the work, and three weeks to ship from her studio in rural Virginia, to the mid-March opening of the exhibition, she’s feeling a bit of pressure. “These are the kinds of things you don’t learn in school, and you could spend a lot of time doing this kind of stuff.”

Kissie Kissie. Photo courtesy of the artist.

 

Ichiuji is a 2006 graduate of the now defunct Corcoran College of Art and Design (the program has since been absorbed by George Washington University in 2014). In 2005 she grabbed considerable attention from The Washington Post for her (non) performance, Stripped. Over the course of several months she slowly gave up the comforts of life, concluding the project by standing on a table outside the Corcoran over the course of a day in May, and into the night, before ending the piece a day early from medical concerns about dehydration and hypothermia. It’s one of the few performance pieces she has done since capping off a 14-year career in dance and theater. Since graduating her work has consisted mostly of figurative soft sculpture that is often surreal and sexually provocative. Recently, from public interest and demand, she has begun teaching a class on doll making—Guise and Dolls—in her Virginia studio and the Washington DC area.

I assume since people are contacting you [to take this class] they already know about your work, they know what you do, and they respond positively to your work.

Yes. Oh! Why? Were you concerned about the content in some way? It’s never come up! I’ve been under the radar for as many years as I have been here, but I started letting people know what I do and it hasn’t ruffled any feathers. In fact, since doll making seems approachable and doesn’t have all the baggage of fine art, people feel comfortable coming here without any experience. And they also feel comfortable knowing that they are as free to be as edgy or weird as they want. People love the opportunity to have a place to do that. And since the instructor has already gone there, they feel comfortable being able to do that themselves.

What’s the content they are producing?

Some students use journaling as a jumping-off point. Some dive right in to very personal and sensitive content. Some tend to want to throw a penis on their piece. Like right away: the first piece out of the gate. Which is fine with me.  I have professional artists in my class but for many, this is their first experience with sculptural work and they are focusing primarily on shape and gesture. I make clear from the beginning that the piece doesn’t have to be representational. You are free to take what I teach you in terms of making an armature and go completely abstract if you desire. Some of them aren’t ready to do that, which is cool. But, I’m very impressed with my students’ work.

School Girl. Photo courtesy of the artist.

 

When did you start using dolls in your work?

I started when I was about six. This is why I teach what I teach… doll making as a tool for self-discovery and healing. When I was five, my house burned down to the ground in the middle of the night. The whole family barely got out. So there we were in our nightgowns, in the middle of the night, running through the woods trying to get to the nearest neighbor. We lost everything in one night, and started from ground zero. We were dependent on neighbors for clothes, and ended up in a little apartment. I don’t recall my childhood being depressing or sad. Now, having said that, my mother went through a severe depression. She nailed blankets on all the windows, and I took to scavenging scraps of her clothes and shiny objects, and precious things, and started making little dolls. And they entertained her. I have a collection of them; she kept them. It felt good. It felt like I was doing something productive. It was comforting for me and they made my mother smile. Then I discovered boys and dance—and started a career at 17.

In my early 20s I was on tour with a production of West Side Story. We were doing a show in Scotland. I went to a museum. It was called The Museum of Childhood, and they had all kinds of dolls. Like, everything: very sophisticated to very crude. One doll in particular struck me. It was a bone—just a bone—with a little piece of fabric tied around the waist. It looked like a very poor child had made this doll out of n-o-t-h-i-n-g. But the impulse to do that! I looked at that and thought, I know what that is: that feeling to make something that, not only would you want to take care of it, but it was like a surrogate for yourself. Like, a way to organize a kind of chaos, and tame it. What I didn’t know is that about a week later I would break my ankle on stage in Scotland. So I was sent home to recuperate. While I was there I couldn’t do much, so I started sewing again. My love of making things with my hands was reignited.

But there was a space of time between when you broke your ankle and when you enrolled in the Corcoran, right?

Yes. But something was set in motion. When the injury forced me to stop dancing for a while I gravitated to an old childhood language I’d used to express myself when I was hurt.

When did the dance career come to a close: that chapter where you would segregate dance from when you started attending the Corcoran?

I probably didn’t stop dancing until 2000… or 2004. It’s a little blurry. It took a while to ease out of performing. I had been very entrenched in the dance, TV and theatre world in New York and DC. 

Right, but you do still incorporate dance in your work, too. It’s not like it’s DONE.

Well there’s always the feeling that I would like to revisit dance more in my work. The question is how to incorporate it without it being d-a-n-c-e! [pantomimes jazz hands]. There’s always that question, for me, anyway. 

Shape Sorter. Photo courtesy of the artist.

 

Do you get that question a lot, or is that, like, an interior dialog?

Well, not so much. It’s just something I love to do and I feel like I’m robbing my spirit when I don’t dance. I still take classes. And even in the beginning of my doll making class we do a physical warm up. I believe that if you are trying to render the figure you have to understand what the spine is doing. It’s just like if you put a pencil in your mouth, your brain doesn’t know you are not really smiling, but your brain feels happy. So, if you want to communicate how your doll is feeling, put your body into the position that you want it to feel. Also it’s important to me that the class develops a sense of community which is why we do physical exercises. It’s a bonding thing. I want the class to be an environment where people are free to reveal themselves. So if everyone starts with group exercises it opens channels and builds trust. I don’t know… It’s an old theater thing.

Since you are dealing with this restoration now, what does that make you think about when it comes to what materials you use?

I didn’t know when I made Kissie Kissie that I probably should avoid using organic materials that are fragile. But I did, and that’s part of the attraction of the piece. Much of my work is about things that are unstable and falling apart. But yes, I do think about conservation a lot. And also “How will this be photographed? How will it be packed? How much will it cost to ship? Is this material going to hold up with people not wearing gloves or getting stored in damp places?” So I always check myself: am making choices with integrity? Am I cutting corners? Am I challenging myself and my practice? But if you talk to collectors, being a collector is not an easy position. A collector takes on the responsibility being the custodian of ephemeral items that have to be stored and taken care of. It is a big-ass job if you are a serious collector: it takes commitment.

Is this the only piece you have in the exhibition in Brussels?

No. There are three pieces.

What are the other pieces in the exhibition?

There’s a piece called Shape Sorter, which has a Madonna and Child motif. The mother is strapped into a highchair. She is dismembered and her lips, eyes, breasts, and pubic triangle have been carved out like puzzle pieces. The baby stands on the tray examining and tasting the pieces. He is discovering mother and woman through these shapes. And a piece called School Girl, which is a girl laying on her back inserting school letter blocks into her vagina which you can see through the thin membrane of her tummy. Edification by way of eroticism.

I recently saw you were migrating toward steel. How is that going?

It’s going great! I love it on so many levels: working with fire and heat and it forces me to use different muscles. It’s funny; I’m working with something hard, and unyielding, and very masculine and industrial. But my impulse is to want to beat it into a feminine shape. Rather than allowing it to be what it is, I want to make it soft. That’s the impulse. It takes a lot of work to do that.

I’m working on this piece called Goddess of the Burning House, in preparation for an exhibition at the American University Museum (Washington, DC), in November, and I was interested in female monuments. And I think there is some kind of statistic that of all the monuments in the nation there are maybe 8% that are of women. So I thought it might be interesting to explore that idea.

That gets back to your house burning down as a kid.

My work always tends to touch on the same types of things: the fragility of the condition we are in: the push and pull of life and death. I think, no matter what I make the work will continue to tap that vein.

By John Anderson

Sticky Encounter (2016), Saoirse Wall, video still. All images courtesy of the artists.

Augere is the Latin root of both ‘author’ and ‘authority’. Despite its initially positive grounding – meaning to increase, originate, promote – this connection shows the implicit hierarchy within the act of information. A division of power appears between those that propagate and those that consume, be it conscious or otherwise.

As information both originates and increases in this etymological foundation, its influence is found somewhere between building upon what is already known and long-applied, and rearrangement into something slightly new. With nothing completely novel, authority comes from established informational structures rather than individuals, giving information and ideas the clout of an implied long-term perception.

The backbone of past-knowns and the institutions built around them are a welcome framework for some ideas, and an overbearing and invalidating obstacle for others. ‘Knowledge and other myths’ by Saoirse Wall, Tara McKeon, Kerry Guinan, Avril Corroon, Eimear Walshe, and Renèe Helèna Browne, exhibited at Platform Arts, Belfast in February, is based upon the experiential knowledge de-legitimised by such structures. Co-opting the voices and material makeup of authority to undermine them from within, their work navigates the perceived solidity of what is known, and giving an askance look at its formation.

From left to right: Window Restoration (2016), Eimear Walshe; Liberate Art (2016), Kerry Guinan; 8ft Yellow (2015) by Avril Corroon and Renèe Helèna Browne. All images courtesy of the artists.

 

They met as students of NCAD in Dublin. “Our main reason for coming together was a recognised and shared criticality in each other’s works,” says Browne. “There was an institutional lack of critical discourse, but it could be recognised in each other’s practices.” The artists staged their first exhibition, ‘setup, a device’ a few months before their degree show. This exhibition was an act of setting themselves apart from NCAD, taking control of the presentation of their work as a foil to the homogenising conditions of the degree show format. “There was an element of (our coming together) that had to do with defining ourselves against the institution”, said Walshe, “not wanting to be subsumed within it and have that as the primary, overarching institution that your work is associated with.” Their grouping allows them to work away from the prescript and diluting structures of art, or in this case, navigate an institution without being defined by it.

‘Knowledge and other myths’ emerges from their ongoing work as an artist group. “I feel like our group operates as a support network and a safe space for us to not only develop our work, but develop ourselves politically and otherwise, away from the dangerous structures of the art world, “ says Guinan. “I feel in approaching this show we were mirroring the way we try to operate and the carefulness we have with one another in solidarity and support of one another, and that the works are doing that as well.”

How to Make a Masterpiece (2015), Avril Corroon and Renèe Helèna Browne, video still. All images courtesy of the artists.

 

By bringing their practices and research together without the strictures of a formalised and over-arching collective, the artists maintain their autonomy whilst acknowledging the impact of each other in their individual practices. “Part of that has to do with how informed we are of each other’s practices and so when we are working together, or critiquing each other work, it’s in mind of the person’s practice in a relational sense,” says Corroon. “[Our work is] quite entwined, but respectful. When we work together we try as much as possible to speak as individuals and not speak universally for the group.” “We share a lot of theoretical touchstones, and a similar ethos and politics,” adds McKeon. “We agree on a lot of core things. It’s a process of respecting things as they go forward, as I respect everybody’s work within the group and that respect is a process. Especially when you’re work about difficult things or experiences, and then it’s trying to create that openness when you can talk about it but also critique it.”

Their group has no name, and for both of their exhibitions so far, the artists’ work is individuated but accounted for in a collective sense. Instead of an explanatory statement of their work, the most recent exhibition catalogue is a collection of the artists’ personal responses to invalidation of their work and experiences. With each response unattributed, the artists and work have a solidarity in shared experience.

Weejy Weejy (2016), Tara McKeon, video still. All images courtesy of the artists.

 

Re-directed cultural and personal narratives feature in three film pieces in the latest show: one by Tara McKeon, one by Saoirse Wall and one by Renèe Helèna Browne and Avril Corroon. The former work Weejy Weejy uses the creature – a bird with one wing that flies in tighter and tighter circles, until it disappears “up its own fundament” – as a touchstone for exploring the capitalist and normalising associations of a variety of cultural motifs such as circus acts, exercise, spinsterhood, rice at weddings and the Roman goddess Fortuna. The approach is detached in its almost ethnographic take on these snippets of knowledge and their cumulative effect, with the artist creating a new theoretical hypothesis of the mythological bird and its actions.

Wall’s work Sticky Encounter, based on the dismissive and impersonal attitudes in healthcare, is perhaps the most intimate, which paradoxically takes place in a large projection. A one-sided conversation begins between the patient, dressed in pastel blue and sitting vulnerably, and the audience, taking the implied role of doctor. The dynamic shifts to an attempt to convince, with the patient approaching the camera and cutting to cavernous flesh and popping air of an endoscopic film – the doctor having been swallowed by the patient, prescript roles are altered by the bodily hierarchy being reversed.

How to Make a Masterpiece and 8ft Yellow is a film and sculpture by Browne and Corroon, playing on a facetious act of instruction and its fulfilment. A glossy yellow chair, resembling an oversized high chair crossed with a lifeguard’s station, sits in dramatic light across from a how-to style video on creating a masterpiece, being the chair in question. A fantastical recipe for its surface coating are played straight, and the slippery combination of voice and visuals is toyed with, attributing Michaelangelo’s David to a story of a snowman the same artist once built. This overt pursuit of validated work readily sacrifices any concept behind the supposed masterpiece, replacing it with going through the motions for validation, regardless of their absurdity.

Sticky Encounter (2016), Saoirse Wall, video still. All images courtesy of the artists.

 

The weight of objects is present in both the work of Eimear Walshe and Kerry Guinan. Walshe’s work, Window Restoration, is based on a purportedly salvaged piece of pub stained glass inscribed with the Latin neutra. It toys with the idea of suppressed or secret histories behind oppressive practices – that is, suggesting there once was an alternative “neither” demarcation during the time public houses were segregated by gender. The stained glass, erect on steel and spot lit in the gallery, is in perfect condition, yet the accompanying booklet speaks with an easy authority on the subject that makes the reader’s belief falter. Guinan, meanwhile, uses the gallery as a physical presence in her campaign for the 2016 Irish General Election in the work Liberate Art. The bastions of brass fixtures and dark wood support the yellow flags that flank her information stand, with the forms and election literature based upon her sole electoral policy separating class structures from art. There is no distinction of performativity in this act or the things that physically supplement it; those reading are challenged to think about the restrictive structures in place behind art and take its value into their own personal and political consideration.

Co-opting these long-established structures of historicisation, politicization and truth allows those engaged within them to be complicit in new ways of reading and evaluating information. In the collectivity of these alternative rationalist discourses and new validations, the lower tier of hierarchy in information’s authority is undone.

The writer was in conversation with the artists on 19th February 2016. All direct quotes and paraphrased information about the artist group and their activities are from this conversation.

By Dorothy Hunter

24 Hour Clinic. Courtesy of the artist

Born and raised in Austin, Cameron Coffman is an artist working in sculpture, photography, and video. With a careful eye on the quotidian, Coffman translates mundane moments and objects through her own logic. Coffman has a BFA in Studio Art from the University of Texas at Austin and attended the Summer Studio Program at Virginia Commonwealth University in 2015. A key young artist in Austin, Coffman has grown with the art scene and has been involved with nearly every notable institution in town. We spoke about her process, the crossovers between sculpture and photography, and her perspectives on Austin.

Gracelee Lawrence: Talk a little bit about the relationship between photography and sculpture in your work. Where do you find the crossovers and divergences in these ways of working?

Cameron Coffman: Lately I’ve started using photography as a sketchbook or note-taking tool for informing the next object I build. I photograph or record video to isolate something most often perceived generic or mundane. Parking signs, socks, water fountain, Tupperware, etc. Cataloguing the event might give me more time to approach the occurrence in a different way.  For example, in Alex and Samantha, voices continuously loop asking how one another are doing.  Everyday we are asked, “How are you doing?” and our responses lack individuality, which could lead to more questions about the person.  The images or videos recorded are a reminder tool to reconsider my approach to everyday tasks and present them in an unexpected way.

Moon. Courtesy of the artist.

 

GL: Your sculptural work combines (seemingly) found objects with very specific built components. Do you relate this to your background in photography? It seems to have a correlation.

CC: I apply subtly in the content of my photographs and sculptures. Through the formal flattening of objects within photography, I isolate what is peculiar in the image. How do objects seemingly fit together in a photograph and can I make this occur in sculptures?  In the n0?a2x series of photographs I question the necessity of the location of the content. Why do fake leaves and real leaves live next to one another and what do they cover? Can hair mimic vines? I then cohesively pair objects together in order to understand their pairing.  The resulting juxtaposition can be an open-ended suggestion about feelings of loss or longing around the disorder of the day-to-day.

GL: Much of your work deals with quotidian, everyday moments and materials, yet pushes them into an amplified/distended place. It seems like you are acting as a magnifying glass. Ehhther is a good example.

CC: I’m interested in how small discrepancies found in the mundane or generic may reveal more about our individuality.  In Ehhther, we’ve all experienced hair in a place it should never be, whether our own or a stranger’s, and dirty wads of gum on the bottom of our shoe. It’s the problem of what we perceive to be the misplaced, or out-of-context object. Where there are diminutive decisions I make in my daily routine, I wonder how individuals often overlook these actions and what those decisions might say about us. How might chewing gum reflect boredom and in turn privilege? Who is granted that time? Or maybe your breath just stinks.

Ehhther. Courtesy of the artist.

 

GL: As a native Austinite, what is your opinion on the art scene in Austin? How have you seen it change in the past several years?

I’ve grown with the Austin Art scene. Growing up, going to school, and staying in Austin has been both beneficial and hindering to art making. The lack of a commercial art market allows artists to take more risks, and disregard part of the consumer aspects of making. I appreciate what DIY or house galleries have offered as an approachable platform for presenting work for emerging artists.

To see more of Coffman’s work, please visit her site.

By Gracelee Lawrence

TERRA FIRMA, Ps2 Gallery, 2014. Image courtesy of the artist.

In Rachael Campbell-Palmer’s latest show, Methods for Egress, the stuff of architectural interior space becomes delicately extroverted: angular and abstract forms muscle in to the gallery, forming a part of space and mirroring work within. These sculptures and installations’ industrial materiality is both exploited and somewhat muted, creating a relationship to the viewing bodies around them, altering their movement throughout the space, and expanding on their memories and impressions of built form.

The exhibition is grounded in Campbell-Palmer’s response to the built-in exit routes that must exist in every building. A smooth and finished angled wall bursts through the back of the space, coming to a peak in the taller gallery space next door, and is lined with echoing, intimately sized forms and strip lights along the floor. In the second space, stacked, hollow units of varying heights in unpigmented shades quietly recall the tiled gallery ceiling, a leftover from the space’s old office days.

Your work seems to have a complicated relationship with rules and uniformity – using or playing with pre-dictated sizes or distances in architecture, for example.

I’m not sure I think about the work in terms of its association with rules. There are certain rules that I follow in terms of the processes involved, like mould design, but not so much in terms of a set of architectural rules or guidelines; although there’s definitely an architectural influence in my work, and I use a lot of industrial materials such as wood, concrete and plaster. There is some uniformity in terms of reproducing multiples of a specific shape or form, but it’s more about the relationship or tension between uniformity and non-uniformity.

The moulds are designed, built and cast by hand, and so there will always be uniqueness to the individual pieces. Often it’s about striving for an exact replica but intentionally using a process that makes it impossible.

Specifically, I am interested in the connections we have with the physicality of the built environment, and how that informs associations with location and memory: connecting memories and transient associations with these physical reference points. I often think about movement around the work, and how the work moves around the space. I’m creating a landscape within the gallery by referencing, but not replicating structures, and creating environments that don’t exist yet nod to many that have.

Installation photo of Methods for Egress, QSS Gallery, 2016. Photo by Tony Corey

 

What initially drew you to the casting process?

I’ve always worked three dimensionally, and having physical involvement in my practice is very important to the way I work. I got into casting when I shifted from working with soft sculpture to using hard materials. In a way, before casting, I didn’t really have the language or means to make work that communicated the ideas I wanted to. After completing an MFA I did a casting and mould design course in order to pick up some new practical skills, and that really propelled things forward for me.

There’s something very satisfying about it. I love the different steps that are involved in creating the completed piece. Often you have to work backwards, from the positive to negative to positive forms – it’s like figuring out a puzzle. Although there are a lot of drawing and technical diagrams in its development, I also have to make the physical maquettes to find a way to make it work.

The different materials that are available in casting are also a massive part of its appeal. Once you’ve decided on a material, it dictates the mould time and release agent involved, and then the cast itself goes through many stages in turning from liquid into solid, which all combine to create a different result. Its process allows you to create a repeated product and seriality, but at the same time repetitiveness can bring change. I’m always testing the boundaries of what’s possible with materials and experimenting with combinations and timings. There are endless possibilities and I’m really excited by that potential.

There’s a lot of material play within your work, such as following the parameters of architectural units but using them irreverently in TERRA FIRMA. How process-led is your practice in itself?

I would say it’s very process-led, in terms of both the actual making process and the conceptual development of the outcome. I have ideas and concepts I want to achieve in a certain space for an exhibition, but I like to leave a lot of room for them to develop as well – whilst a lot of the creation can take place in the studio, the final outcome is very much realised in that final space, so there’s a lot of stuff that resolves itself once it’s within the gallery. TERRA FIRMA was a project that changed as it developed: originally the proposal for PS Squared had other elements, but then the floor became the focus, and everything else seemed to become irrelevant or additional clutter. I find it’s about whatever works best when bringing it all together – regardless of how much time I invest in making pieces, if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. I’m not overly precious about the work, or worried about changing or eliminating things at the last minute.

TERRA FIRMA, PXIV Platform Arts Belfast, Dec 2014 Photo by Simon Mills

 

Did working with both installational elements and studio-created forms, and the different timeframes and flexibilities inherent within that, result in instances in which the work fitting around one another in unexpected ways? 

In my research I was looking at building processes and the idea of ‘formworks’, the support structures used in the construction of buildings, and came across this idea of the egress. Every building must have exit plans factored in from the beginning, and I thought this idea of planning the way of out of a space before it is even built was interesting. I was also thinking again about the connection between the physical space and cognitive experience: the notion of having an escape route or a way out, either of a situation, or as escapism, or just trying to get out of your own head.

In the first space with the entrance is a series of three concrete blocks that sit within a series of six 30cm florescent lights. The concrete blocks are hollow cast and at different stages of dryness and therefore different colours, and the fluorescent lights have been stripped to expose their aluminium casings. These elements sit along the base of a floor to ceiling diagonal wall tilted forward at a 75-degree angle, which is mirrored on the facing angle of the concrete blocks.

Methods for Egress QSS Gallery Feb 2016, photo Tony Corey

 

Moving through to the second space the diagonal wall is exposed as a purpose built structure imposed into the gallery, and draws attention to the height difference of the two spaces. This is also explored by a series of column-like freestanding sculptures that are constructed from combinations of concrete, resin, fibreglass and Crystacal plaster. Beneath these forms the floor has been stripped to expose the concrete that exists beneath the paint.

One thing I was concerned about in “Methods for Egress” was how it was going to come together in the space. I didn’t know exactly how the large, angled wall was going to work with the cast forms I’d made in the studio. That was something I had to access at each stage and make decisions about – I had to choose whether to leave the false wall as a raw, plasterboard intrusion in the space, or have it more seamlessly finished. I ultimately decided to paint it and sand it to have it push back into the interior architecture of the gallery. I suppose it could have been more of a dominant statement, but I wanted to play with it more subtly, and in the end that worked better with the sculptural cast forms, allowing those two elements to blend together a bit better and echo one another.

Wanting to intervene into the fabric of the gallery space also motivated the construction of the wall and the stripping of the floor. I didn’t just want to place works in isolation, I also wanted to play with the notion of what was interior or exterior. For people who knew the QSS gallery space, it was presented to them in a new way, and for those who didn’t there was an ambiguity about what was part of the gallery and what the artist had created.

Installation photo of Methods for Egress, QSS Gallery, 2016. Photo by Tony Corey

 

Where do you feel your work may go next?

My work is always research – there’s always somewhere further to experiment and take materials, so I feel there’s a lot still to be done with combinations in casting. Recently I’ve been trying concrete and resin together – they don’t marry together very well, which I think is an interesting challenge. It can be difficult getting some materials to bind so they are strong enough to come out of the mould, so I am determined to make that work. Working with resin and fibreglass is really problematic though; I don’t really have suitable facilities to work with it here in my studio. “Methods for Egress” was also the first time I worked with hollow casting concrete, which is a very different process to solid casting, so I think there are more possibilities for development there too.

I’ve been having conversations about the possibility of showing my work in TULCA Festival of Visual Art in November, but this year my main goal is to apply for residency opportunities. I’d like the opportunity to go away, perhaps on some programmes in the Netherlands or Germany, and see where a new context leads for my practice.

By Dorothy Hunter

Installation view of Transitios, Artpace San Antonio

Leslie Moody Castro is an independent curator working between Texas and Mexico City. Castro holds a Masters from the University of Texas at Austin in Museum Education and Museum studies and a Bachelors degree from DePaul University in Chicago, with several years of writing and curation in between. Writing for Artfourm, Glasstire, and DailyServing among many others, Castro moves seamlessly between the roles of writer, critic, and curator. Her perspective on engagement is unique as she considers herself to be a shaper of conversations, a proponent of what she calls “active visitor participation”. Castro was kind enough to speak about her engagement with Mexico City, her road to curation, and the delicacy of place.   

Gracelee Lawrence: Talk about how you began working between Austin and Mexico City, as well as the process of moving back and forth.

Leslie Moody Castro: It started as an accident, to be totally honest. [In undergrad] I was really interested in contemporary Latin American art, and specifically Mexico. I moved to Mexico after graduation with the intention of understanding what was actually happening. My plan was to stay six months and I ended up staying many more years. I got a job at a gallery owned by the philanthropist and collector responsible for much of the work that happened in Mexico City during the 1990s. I was basically hired on the spot- being on the periphery of the politics that govern the art world in Mexico City was a good thing.

Installation view of Tell Me What You Think of Me, image courtesy Mark Menjivar and Texas State Galleries

 

GL: Mexico and Texas have a long, deep history that seems to be vastly ignored in our contemporary world. How does this factor into your work?

LMC: In Texas, the perception of contemporary art in Mexico is very different from the reality. I became interested in illustrating the contemporary narrative, which is how I started bringing artists from Mexico City to Texas. It was totally absurd that geographically and historically Mexico and Texas are so linked and yet very disparate and different. Mexico City has always been incredibly international- the Surrealists, Diego Rivera, and Frida Kahlo were traveling all over before being an artist was considered international. I think in terms of an artist or a curator in a geography.

Installation view of Sewing the Line, image courtesy El Centro College

 

GL: How did you begin curating in the first place? What are the convergences and divergences in the different fields in which you work? How does it change your work?

LMC: The profession ‘curator’ was exposed to me while living in Chicago. I wasn’t convinced that I wanted to be an art historian, meaning go on to get my PhD and teach. I’m not an artist and I didn’t think that only being a writer could be sustainable. In my last year of undergrad I did a study abroad program and spent a month in El Salvador on a service project. I decided to look at how people create objects for devotion. I curated an exhibition to distinguish how relics help people cope with the past. I got the bug from there but still didn’t know if it was viable. When I moved to Mexico City, the gallery that I worked for continued to give me more and more freedom. I had this amazing camaraderie with the artists, worked with them to create exhibitions, and it went from there. The art history and art education, specifically thinking about visitorship, comes together in the process of producing exhibitions.

Installation view, The Time and Space of Calixto Ramirez, Tiny Park Gallery

 

To learn more about Leslie Moody Castro’s projects, please visit lesliemoodycastro.com

By Gracelee Lawrence

UrGear (2015). Full caption below.

Born and raised in New York City, Austin based artist Alyssa Taylor Wendt works between film, installation, and object making. With an undergraduate degree in photography from New York University, a Masters of Fine Arts from the International Center of Photography and Bard College, time spent in rock bands, independent films, and as an antiquarian in between, Wendt’s life experiences have congealed into the making of her work. Using her nature as a collector to prop her films and source materials for object making, time as a musician to create scores, a background in photography that translates seamlessly into moving image, and her interest in the supernatural and animism as a conceptual drive, she brings a plethora of both personal and universal questions into her work. Wendt was kind enough to sit down and chat about her process, experience in Austin, and current projects.

UrGear: Geomic Thunder Dome (2015). Mixed Media: fencing mask, infinite miniature black metal drum kits, presence. Approx. 18 x 11x 21” Single Edition, SOLD.

 

After twelve years in New York City, Wendt jumped into Austin when invited to the city for an exhibition. “I sort of moved here by accident. I had a show with Sean Gaulager at Co-Lab Projects and needed a break from New York. It was circumstantial but I was also interested in what it would be like to make work outside of New York”, Wendt commented. She was immediately impressed by the deep community centered support and the tangible opportunities present in a city of this size. “I came here and immediately found so much support for my work”, Wendt says. While the art market is not strong in Austin, the support garnered from fellow artists, curators, and writers offers its own advantages. Grant opportunities have supported many of Wendt’s projects, namely her films. Her practice is project based- the nature of the conversation will denote the form of expression. Regardless of the specific media, Wendt consistently uses non-linear narrative in order to disconnect from the conventional direct and repetitive logic of popular media. She subverts expectations, encouraging the viewer to think and feel rather than follow a predetermined path. This form of openness is a generosity to the viewer, respecting the experiences that each person carries by allowing space for interpretation. In the same vein, Wendt’s work is steering away from the directly autobiographical and towards the openness of universality. In the end she wants to encourage conversation, instigating self-reflection around how we each move through the world.

UrGear: Arcticulator (2015). Mixed Media: Child’s football helmet, Chinese horsehair, miniature canes and crutches, Texas wild deer horn, 50s remaindered fur collar, porcelain teeth, monofilament. Approx. 28 x 8 x 11”. Single Edition.

 

Using ideas around animism and cosmology to examine such topics as historical patterns, memory, monument, ruin, and ritual, materials are used as a language in Wendt’s work. She repurposes symbols from her own life in tandem with an examination of historical and cultural systems, “I’m interested in history, folklore, superstitions, and the lack thereof in American culture”. In making she pays close attention to the energies that objects hold, finding the potential form that materials innately carry. In her films and installations there is a clear sensitivity to the idea that objects hold a variety of power in different circumstances- environments have the ability to change the impact of any object. In this, Wendt strives to make work with more questions than answers, allowing the power intuition and openness to bring new meaning.

To further explore Wendt’s work and her recent exhibition at Women & Their Work please visit her website.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Caption: UrGear (2015) Installation View from the exhibtion Compartments of Desire at Women & Their Work Gallery, Austin Texas. Dimensions Variable. Mixed Media: used sports equipment, gold leaf, Icelandic horsehair, brass, latex, ball bearing chain, porcelain teeth, paper mache, coral, yarn, plaster, horn, bone, ash, mirror, lambs wool, rabbit fur, driftwood, Victoriana, silver thread, aluminum, quartz, felt, rejected taxidermy mounts, Ace bandages and energy. Single editions.

Image from sweetheart performance and multitasking workout, still from Google hangouts stream.
Image courtesy of the artist.

A long skipping rope trimmed with blonde synthetic hair is one in an excess of activators in Laura O’Connor’s FIX15 performance. A female character uses the laden rope to follow several windows of instructional “jump rope” videos that are projected against her body. American production values, accents and pounding music collide; the constant changing and combination of techniques break any attempt of establishing a rhythm. With no foreseeable conclusion to this character’s exposure, we see her attempt to do it all, re-interpret, misinterpret and fail, in a long blonde wig and spanx, all whilst being streamed on the Internet.

O’Connor’s practice is sited in women’s placement in media, particularly those that are self-perpetuated online. The power dynamic is constantly in question in her complex live installations that are based in transactions of consumption, action and production, made both for audience and screen.

Laura O’Connor performing as part of Livestock at Dublin Live Art Festival, courtesy of the artist

 

When you’re carrying out your performances and combining using, watching and interpreting, how in control are you of the situation? Is it like a live experiment? 

Previously I made the work within the studio and would perform to camera, and being able to edit the film meant I was definitely in control all the time. Now I’m interested in playing with different viewing situations at the same time, like live streaming performances whilst I’m in front of people, seeing how these things work together and the difference between looking at something on screen and experiencing it in real life.

I still do try and control a lot in these situations, like how the live stream is created. With the performance at FIX I decided to use the same process of green screening that I’ve used before, but without the actual screen – and because I was projecting onto myself what was picked up on camera and put out on the other projection was always going to be very hard to see. I like that idea of playing with the information and images of the performance, and putting a barrier in place that makes it harder to enjoy or experience.

At the same time, when I do live performance I’m exposed, and as I’m streaming it online I don’t know where it’ll end up. I don’t worry about it because that’s the point of the work; I really want to see what happens and where it lands. The embarrassing things or failures are strategies in terms of the repetition that goes on – you keep going and in theory you’ll be fine, but the more you do it the harder it is and the more absurd you look. People at the live performances have told me that I make them feel really awkward, and I think: “now you know how I feel”.

There does seem to be an increased appetite for mundane entertainment online, like people doing videos of shopping hauls.

I suppose we’re just interested in other people’s lives – even if it’s only the things they’ve bought. I would film myself doing things for long periods of time, and I don’t enjoy the processes. A lot of these regimes aren’t important to me personally; I find it hard to be interested in shaving my legs, for example. The longer you do it, the harder it is to watch something so dull – I’m interested in exposing these private processes that women do at home so that people can see the time spent. I generally look bored in all of my work!

I get inspiration for performance situations through memes, pinterest, tumblr and instagram; I also go to Primark and collect clothes that have positive affirmations for women. Usually they’re lyrics from pop songs, and I wear them whilst performing alongside music. I had a tee that said “All About the B.A.S.S. (boys and serious shopping)” on it, so I used a line from that song, “it’s all the right junk in all the right places” and looped it over and over for a performance in Letterkenny. All of the elements that go into the performance and live streaming are meant to mess with people’s heads a bit – I like setting up awkward situations where people are compromised.

Your live work implies a lot of short bursts of long-term commitments.

It’s never-ending, if you start doing something you have to keep doing it. The absurdness I create comes about because in a way I see all of these practices as kind of absurd in themselves. It’s complicated because I do fall into a lot of these practices myself, dying my hair and wearing makeup, but I think there’s too much of an emphasis on women to be a certain way. My character is very specific – she’s blonde, white and wears spanx and fake-tan coloured tights, but it’s all really obvious and ugly. I’ve tried to wear spanx myself and they just roll down – I’m just stripping it back to show the madness.

At the same time, it’s hard, because I don’t want people to think I’m mocking women who buy into this culture. I’m trying to expose the culture around us that we don’t need to be a part of; it’s all constructed. The things my work brings up are really interesting – you end up getting into these big conversations about routines and our relationships to them. At the minute these conversations are what I think that’s what my work results in, as it’s kind of ephemeral in itself.

Your live work is often made using your character Sweetheart – is the character element important for your work?

It came about because when I started this work, I was looking a lot at cam girls and vloggers. I did a workshop in Dublin and we were asked to do one-hour live performances in the street. Press photographers showed up, and I was concerned that my name would be attached to certain photographs of me in the Sunday paper, rolling around on the street in my underpants, and people wouldn’t get it. The photographs themselves are watermarked and you can buy them online – I have printed them myself with the watermark as I like the dynamic of ownership there.

It was more of a strategy to separate me from the character as I have so many different lives as well – I’m not embarrassed by what I do but it just makes it easier. I’ve always dressed up and been someone else in my practice, and would always refer to “the woman in the work” and “she”. So I definitely separate my body from any of the characters I use because it’s not me and I don’t see it as me – to borrow a cheesy line, it’s my canvas. Sometimes women artists get a bit of grief about using the body as a tool, along the lines of “why do you feel like you have to use your body?” Yet the politics around a woman’s body are more extreme, so I think it becomes necessary to use it as an extreme form of expression.

Still from performance as part of LIVESTOCK at FIX 15 festival. Image by Jordan Hutchings.

 

In the past you’ve mentioned that you would describe your work firstly as installation – where does the distinction from performance lie for you? 

The reason I use the term installation is to do with having control over the live element and the installation of the performance set-up. When doing live festivals you find there’s so many things that you don’t know about until you arrive – such as the internet not working, or there not being plugs, and as I perform to screen and in front of people those are really important elements that have to be in place. My work’s still performance, but I need to be able to control all of these things. I don’t mind doing live performances without the online aspect, but the output then is never fully what I want to do. For me, the structure of the show or performance is quite important and very different to just showing up and performing with objects. For FIX I was in the gallery for a few days setting things up and figuring out where things were going to go – it’s kind of like working in a studio but just within the gallery setting.

Where will your work be leading in the future? 

I’ve been working on a series of SweetHeart selfie videos and I plan to work more on them, perhaps putting within a nightclub setting. I like women’s toilets, they’re such interesting spaces; I love the idea of going into a nightclub, dressing up as this character, taking some weird videos and then leaving again. I’d be interested in what that process would do to me, and how I would feel about it.

I have a solo show in QSS gallery  in May, so I’ll be building an installation set-up for that and do a couple of weeks of scheduled performances, and making video work from it too. After finishing my PhD in October, I’ll possibly be showing work further afield as well; there seems to be an increased interest in this sort of work, with women artists being online and dealing with being online, perhaps more outside of Ireland than within it. Right now I want to build up a body of work I can go on the road with.

By Dorothy Hunter

Marilena Preda Sanc, Globe, 1999.

Born in 1955, Marilena Preda Sanc is one of a generation of Romanian artists whose career has spanned across two worlds. She was raised and educated in Bucharest during Communist times, a setting which put severe restrictions on artists’ ability to make work and exhibit. During those years at the beginning of her career, part of her time was spent painting Churches, an occupation that utilised her formal training in mural painting. It also enabled her to operate within the confines of her studio, exploring her own chosen influences and creating work that was exhibited in alternative and underground spaces in spite of the limitations. After the revolution in 1989, Preda Sanc’s work was suddenly freed from the complex and often unpredictable state regulations that had previously restrained it. The topics close to her work – the dichotomy of private and public space, the body, feminism and ecology among others – were all open in a way in which they previously hadn’t been, and since then she has demonstrably embraced her ability to explore without restriction.

Marilena Preda Sanc, Globalization.

 

Over a coffee in her Bucharest studio Marilena Preda Sanc drew an arc through the status of Romanian Art history from the last 40 or so years, taking into account recent exhibitions like Mapping Bucharest. Art, Memory and Revolution, an event that took place during the first edition of the Vienna Biennale between 11 June – 4 October 2015 and the first edition of Art Encounters, a new Biennale held in Timisoara between 3-31 October 2015. These events, she says, are significant for several reasons. They place primacy on works created during the 1970s and 80s, when the country was still under communism. While work in the 1990s has had some degree of exposure in the years since, the earlier works and artistic communities received less attention. They also ostensibly seek to situate a significant moment in Romania’s cultural history into a wider national and international dialogue.

I say ostensibly here because another major consideration when discussing these events is the way they fit into a wider debate which feels ever present within the Romanian Art World currently. Both exhibitions, alongside other initiatives such as Bucharest Art Week (bucharestartweek.eu) (the second edition of which was held between 9-16 October this year) are seen by many as an attempt to capitalise on the recent increase in exposure Romanian art has had in the global Art Market. In a large part helped by the success of the Cluj School painters like Adrian Ghenie (who represented Romania at Venice this year and the notoriety of the Paintbrush Factory, Romanian art has found itself in the midst of a kind of art market ‘moment.’This has led to a string of debates about the influence of a Western gaze, notions of ‘performing the East’ and the predominance of the market and galleries within Romanian art.

Marilena Preda Sanc herself acknowledges this difficult situation, both for artists of her generation but also particularly for younger artists. “Artists develop their careers differently,” she tells me. “Younger artists are more preoccupied to be exhibited in a gallery, to be represented by a gallery. For the art market, it’s normal, also if you want to survive as an artist, to have a gallery, to represent you. Not to do everything alone, as my generation did.” At the base of this acknowledgement is a discussion about globalisation which ties into Preda Sanc’s practice and fuelled a series of works entitled Remapping the World.

Marilena Preda Sanc, Globalization.

 

Provoked in 1999 by the war in the former Yugoslavia, she started to consider the idea that new solutions needed to be found and new policies explored regarding regional politics and the administration of culture and funding. The internet and the increased pace and changing realities of globalisation sparked an investigation into the long held traditions of the conventionally defined nation state, something which has come under increased pressure in the age of free movement and increasing migration.

With Remapping the World, the artist explores ideas like opening up geographic borders and replacing them with semi-autonomous regions. “The world started to enter into another epoch, we can’t stop. Migration….people go to try and find another way of life. People need to move, to find other places, to find other relations.” The word solutions and the desperate need to find new ways of handling things like the refugee crisis, as well as the break down in relations between different regions on a scale previously unheard of, underlie these works. They are an expression of her search for new models; “you can’t stop globalisation. You have to try to understand in very anthropological, humanistic ways how the society wants to transform,” she says determinedly, emphasising a need for the political class to engage with those working in the humanities to better understand the situation and craft meaningful responses.

Marilena Preda Sanc, Globe Wound.

 

At the same time, the pieces reflect the relationship between private and public space that has been a feature of Preda Sanc’s work for much of her career. The old chopping boards upon which these constructions are built are part of a collection the artist has amassed over the years, and symbolise the private, domestic sphere that must itself undergo a reimagining and reconfiguration in the face of such rapid and all-encompassing change. In the age of social media, the tensions between the domestic and private spaces of the traditional family kitchen at one end of the scale, and the increasing visibility of carefully manufactured and manicured public presentation through things like Facebook on the other, offer up another dynamic which further confuses the issue. These works draw a line between the intimate security (whether real or imagined) of personal space and the inescapably interconnected world which exists outside of (but increasingly intrude upon) these private spaces.

These issues have a particular resonance to me as someone based in the UK, where debates around the UK’s future position in the EU frequently turn to more intrinsic debates about nationality and a perceived societal effect from migration. These divisive arguments often ignore the economic benefits of immigration and fall back on tired, worn prejudices that have at their route a perceived loss of the familiar and domestic communities which people remember from an earlier time. They also reflect the difficult political and economic situations faced by many, particularly during the recent economic downturn, and the way these different tensions coalesce into a variety of more extreme movements on both sides of the political spectrum. This situation undeniably demands attention, even while we must remain critical of those who opportunistically try to capitalise on the situation for their own political gain, something which Preda Sanc is also quick to acknowledge.

Marilena Preda Sanc, Globe, 1999.

 

Ultimately, the solution to these tensions still feels a long way off, something which is bought home each time another image or story of migrants crossing the Mediterranean comes up on a screen or in a sound bite. These works are a reflection of this distance still to be crossed, but also the everyday reality of what has already changed. Currently Marilena Preda Sanc is developing new work after an incredibly busy year, bolstered in part by a successful show represented by Eastwards Prospectus Gallery from Bucharest at Vienna Contemporary. She is also a professor at the National University of Arts in Bucharest, and at the time of our interview, was coordinating 17 Ph. D candidates.

Marilena Preda Sanc (b. 1955) is a Romanian artist, whose work includes drawing, painting object, collage, artist book, visual experimental poetry, media installation, video, performing arts, and mural art. Since 1980 she has exhibited nationally and internationally through solo and group exhibitions, and her work has been featured at several Biennales and Art Fairs. Her art writings are focused on electronic art and art in public space. Her current positions include: Reader, National University of Arts, Bucharest, Member of the Romanian Fine Arts Union, Bucharest, Member AICA (Association Internationale des Critiques d’Art), Member ARFA (Romanian Women Art Association), Bucharest, Editor-in-chief Contrapunct magazine for literature and visual arts, Bucharest.

This article was made possible with support from the Romanian Cultural Institute.

By Will Gresson

Drawing from A24 & M1 to Great Patrick Street series. Image courtesy of the artist.

Kevin Killen is an artist based in Downpatrick, Northern Ireland, where he translates light and movement into handmade neon forms. He recently exhibited in Endless Wander at Golden Thread Gallery, Belfast.

What originally drew you to neon as a medium, particularly in the context of travel or journeys?

I think it came from two different parts. I had looked at neon works made 20-25 years ago and was concerned that it wasn’t developing; some artists used it, but primarily as lettering and scripts. I thought it was such a seductive medium, and wondered how I could play with it.

That was like an afterthought. When studying I went from a rural village to a busy college town, and the first thing that struck me was the lights – traffic flying by and light always invading my room at night. The road network systems in England were also more developed compared to Ireland; it’s only now things are becoming similar. So I was always impressed with transportation as a technology. I was interested in the idea of a car going from point A to point B, cutting its way through the landscape.

From that, I came to work with neon – over the years I had been saving and around 4 or 5 years ago I did a course, out of curiosity, to see if it could work for me. It was a 6-week course, and I fell in love with it. With wood or stone or metal you can control it quite quickly. Neon is different – it demands such attention from you, and respect. There are maybe a dozen or so moves, and you have to get each one right or it doesn’t work.

Is time an issue when making neon as well?

It’s best practice to process a neon right after you’ve finished making it, but sometimes I let it sit for a month or two if I’m making different pieces so I can process them all together. Even if you get it lit, it won’t last forever. A good neon lasts 20 years, sometimes 40 if you’re really good at it, whilst some can last 6 months and die off.

A24 & M1 to Great Patrick St series, installation image from Golden Thread Gallery. Image courtesy of the artist.

 

It’s interesting that it comes with its own lifespan.

Exactly, it’s like a light bulb that needs replaced. It’s a dying art, though. I think it’s good that I have the skills now, and it’s only in the last year or two that I’ve been exhibiting the work – just to get feedback and see if people get it. I want people to get over the idea that it’s neon, because it does have a certain baggage; I’d like them to look to the mapping of landscapes or documentation of performance, or whatever the work is about.

When you were on the neon course in the USA did you find that that context was much of an influence on your practice? 

It was such an intense course. It was 6 weeks, in Dallas, Texas, so I saw the Dallas art scene as well. The man who taught me was in the army for a while as a young man and so was very disciplined. You’d work maybe 8-10 hours a day, for 5 days a week. On the weekend you’d be pretty tired, but I’d write up all the notes from the previous 5 days, so I could go back on Monday morning and ask questions. I knew I only had those 6 weeks and that would be it, and it came to pass that the man who taught me, who was 83, sadly passed away the next year.

It’s only now that I’ve been talking to other people in England and Germany and America and have built up a little network of people who work with neon – these guys are in their 60s, 70s and 80s. They are the people who are willing to pass things along – I find people who are my age and do neon signage don’t really want to pass on information. They’ll make stuff for you but often be reluctant to give you any advice, but I’m happy to share things if people ask.

When work is outsourced you lose the ability to work responsively with the material – is there scope to do that with neon, to change things as you go along?

With neon you need time and space, because it’s focused and intense, and you need to have clarity of thought for long periods. You’ll be working for a week on a piece, bending and doing the twisting and turning, and at the very last bend you could mess it up, and you’ll have to scrap it and start all over again.

I do the photographic drawings of the landscape, or dance, or whatever subject I’m interested in, and then break down and deconstruct these drawings. Then I start to piece it back together again, it’s a process almost like a jigsaw puzzle. I make a steel model of the light, and then I trace that onto the paper or cloth. That gives you the map for the neon glass you need to bend. All these steps give me enough wiggle room to play, because once you set neon it’s kind of restrictive and you can’t go too crazy – you might have to start again if you go off more than 10 or 15 millimetres. I would also do car lights in pairs, so with those I try to keep them very similar. Once it’s processed and the gas is inside it, that’s it – you have to scrap it if it’s not right.

Drawing from A24 & M1 to Great Patrick Street series. Image courtesy of the artist.

 

Your work takes the qualities of long exposure photography and gives light and time physicality. Does anything in particular stand out for you as you repeat the translation process in your work? Has anything changed for you as time has gone on? 

This year’s been important as there were a lot of issues with my landscape work that I wasn’t happy with. How it sat, whether on the floor, or on boxes, or hanging, was something I wanted to play with. The ACES funding from ACNI gave me enough time to experiment with it for a show at Golden Thread Gallery, where there’s work both against the wall and hanging in mid air.

I also applied new technology – years ago I used to sit and map out my locations within the M1 and M2 corridor, and I would sit on bridges looking at cars at night. Nowadays, instead of sitting by myself freezing, I get someone else to drive me around, and we take photos of certain parts of Belfast. In the exhibition I use the journey from my house to the gallery, and back again.

I also use the GoPro camera, and have that hanging from the car. I like the movement of the bumps of the car and how the camera moves on its own. I like that accidental thing because neon can be quite restrictive. In the randomness you capture cars going past at different speed, ambulances going by, and you have explosions of light mixed with very quiet and subtle lights.

And then you translate them into pieces.

Yes, I don’t mess around with the photographs, I don’t edit them beyond cropping. I begin to piece together, within reason, parts that go together, such as when I’m standing at opposite ends of the bridge for two photographs. The centre point is really me, even though you don’t see me – I’ve been taking the photograph from one direction, and then the opposite direction.

A1 to F.E McWilliam Gallery by Kevin Killen, installation shot, image courtesy of the artist.

 

Your smaller works in the drawing series appear to be quite like symbols, or abstracted shapes from patters. I would say they feel quite closely connected to how neon is used in wider culture, in signage and logos. Where do they come from? 

When I broke down drawings I began to see tiny scribbles of light – I set that thought to the side, but it kept coming back to me. After I made them out of metal and hung them around the studio, I never got bored of them, so I began to play with them and put them in light. They remind me of symbols too, and the old processes of making script in neon. I love making them because they are small and simple, but have energy around them too.

Each one is a mirror image or reflection of itself. I like reflection in my work – the larger hung piece has black reflective material on the floor below it. I don’t know if my work is sculpture or painting, and I don’t really care – I just like to make it and let people decide.

So it doesn’t carry much significance for you as to how it’s defined?

Not at the minute, I just think of myself as a visual artist. There’s often pressure to have your elevator pitch and statement and CV, and some people know what their work is about and then make it, whereas I make the work and then try to figure it out.

It’s only recently, believe it or not, that I’ve looked at my work and said “that’s landscape”. I’m so busy exploring it that I’m forgetting what it’s called. But as to whether it’s painting or sculpture or drawing, I guess I would relate them more to drawings. As a child that’s how you get into art – I just take the line for a three-dimensional walk, with the help of photography. Sometimes I would use the camera as a drawing tool itself, moving it around a stable light. I suppose you could say I’m a light artist, as along with neon I’m working with LED and animation, which will maybe come together in the next couple of years.

You’ve recently installed a piece at F E McWilliam Gallery in Banbridge.

Yes, it’s a landscape piece, and again something new. Sometimes my photographic work looks like drawings, or editions, or prints, or paintings, so it’s using the idea of a light painting by putting a “canvas” of curved steel behind the neon, to reflect it. The wall is big, so it’s quite challenging to work with, and wasn’t something I could re-work like a painting. You just have to go through with it and learn lessons from it, and hope that it works.

By Dorothy Hunter

“Titan,” detail. Photo by Francesco Casale

Robert Huff’s studio and the exhibition Robert Huff/ 47 Years in Miami seamlessly join three kinds of studio experiences: process + making; teaching; and community-building. Just as Brancusi’s studio is preserved at the Centre Pompidou, Paris thanks to friends like Sonia Delaunay who interceded on his behalf, Huff’s studio is preserved in photos by Steven Brooke, an A.I.A.-award-winning photographer. The studio, located in southwest Miami-Dade County, presents areas for wood work, painting, and drawing, and is loaded with industrial and hand tools, paints, pencils, and projects on hand-built tables and shelves. He created steel, aluminum, and bronze metalwork in two nearby shops.

Completed wood sculpture on left, painting table on right. Photo by Steven Brooke.

 

The studio shows an artist who moved fluently among diverse media. Artist Robert Chambers notes, “In regard to respecting tools and materials, Bob was a meticulous artisan mixing the abilities of a shipmaker, draftsman, jeweler, and architect.” Huff told Miami Herald art critic emerita Helen Kohen that, for him, metal, paint, and canvas are all fluid elements, in play until the artist realizes his/her idea.[1] The studio also represents the ways that Robert Huff worked beside and with students for decades at Miami-Dade College, shaping that studio into a space from which many leading Miami artists would emerge, including sculptors Robert Chambers, Karen Rifas, Luis Gispert, and George Sánchez Calderón. Sculptor Ralph Provisero noted that at social gatherings, the studio became a focus for artists who liked to hang out there. Huff’s wife Barbara Young added, “People loved to get into the studio to see what Huff was up to. All the tools and order were fascinating, but new work was the big magnet.”

The 47 Years exhibition demonstrates Huff’s melding of multiple media as well as his three kinds of studios. Huff shared ideas in his personal art studios and used the Miami-Dade College studio as a problem-solving laboratory for himself and students. His studio life also played a role in building the arts scene in Miami, which, artists tell me, was almost non-existent 50 years ago. Former students, faculty members, artists, curators, gallerists, museum directors, and collectors, most old friends, celebrated the artist on the last day of Robert Huff’s exhibition at the Miami Dade College Museum and Freedom Tower.

Jeremy Mikolajczak, Chief Curator at the MDC Museum, cited Huff’s “idea of seeing art in its purest form…He influenced this community and generations of artists through his passions, his levels of questioning his environment, and the language of forms that he developed.”

“Floridascape,” 1973, chrome, Plexiglas, pencil, enamel paint, found parts, 14” x 27” x 16 ½”. Photo by Francesco Casale

 

Starting in the 1970s, as seen in Floridascape, 1973, Huff’s work abstractly organized and integrated the Florida landscape, the industrial glass and steel cityscape, and the colorful people/animal-scape. Huff’s widow Barbara Young calls some sculpture like this “Huffscapes.” Rigger V, 1988, employs wood, aluminum, and found parts to create wonder-filled forms, shadows, and a semi-oval void. A laminated curved wood piece rises up to hold an art deco vase. The artist’s use of grids, here in wood and elsewhere in bronze, variously symbolizes windows, terrains, light, openings, and boundaries. The wood is immaculately cut, joined, and finished.

“Site/Tabula,” bronze, 1992, 25 ½” x 27” x 18”. Photo by Francesco Casale

 

Site/Tabula, 1992 is a bronze sculpture with a tower of windows joined to an angled solid landscape with objects and pockets. The Sidh Study 12, 1996-7 is part of a series of laminated wood and bronze works that wed the landscape or base with a bronze form that has architectural and figurative facets. Sidh refers to a Celtic mythology about inhabitants of another world.  Titan, 2010, of wood, bronze, stainless steel, and coal, is a reflection on strip mining in Appalachia, where Huff and his wife Barbara created a second living space and studio after they retired. An elaborate wooden tower/trestle system sends coal up its steep chute to symbolize mining practices and structures that are eviscerating the mountains.

Huff’s range of work in the exhibition variously evokes the greens of the Everglades, Virginia, and wilderness areas; the gold on red icons and cityscapes he found on two trips to Russia; and the ongoing despoilment and overdevelopment of Florida and other places.

The Robert Huff/ 47 Years book designer, Francesco Casale, said it best: “Robert Huff was above the fray. I can’t drive around and look at buildings and not think of Huff’s recurring theme about the struggle and balancing act between what people are building and what they’re tearing apart — nature’s bounty.”

Painting supplies. Photo by Steven Brooke.	Looking west from painting table to woodworking area. Steel sculpture in foreground and on right. Photo by   Steven Brooke.

Tool belt on woodworking table. Photo by Steven Brooke.	Woodworking space from another angle. Metal shear on right. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Woodwork in progress with electric kiln in background. Photo by Steven Brooke.	Studio looking east from woodworking space; painting table in front, supplies in back. Photo by Steven Brooke.

New River Trail, Robert Huff’s last painting, in foreground; wood supply area. Photo by Steven Brooke.	Angled shot with drawing table. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Robert Huff’s studio, for me, symbolizes all of the ways that artists combine materials, processes, ingenuity, and exchanges with others to make art. Robert Huff died in August, 2014, and his book, exhibition, and studio represent Huff’s message to the world: art may open doors and windows to an integrated, earth-centered consciousness.

By Jan Garden Castro

See vimeo.com/104354174 for an interview with Robert Huff in his studio.

[1] For this quote, see Vasari Project transcript http://tiny.cc/RobertHuff, p.22, March 2014 and http://tiny.cc/HuffKohen. All quotes from Huff’s colleages were recorded on November 8 and 9, 2015 with each person’s permission.

“Titan,” detail. Photo by Francesco Casale

Robert Huff’s studio and the exhibition Robert Huff/ 47 Years in Miami seamlessly join three kinds of studio experiences: process + making; teaching; and community-building. Just as Brancusi’s studio is preserved at the Centre Pompidou, Paris thanks to friends like Sonia Delaunay who interceded on his behalf, Huff’s studio is preserved in photos by Steven Brooke, an A.I.A.-award-winning photographer. The studio, located in southwest Miami-Dade County, presents areas for wood work, painting, and drawing, and is loaded with industrial and hand tools, paints, pencils, and projects on hand-built tables and shelves. He created steel, aluminum, and bronze metalwork in two nearby shops.

Completed wood sculpture on left, painting table on right. Photo by Steven Brooke.

The studio shows an artist who moved fluently among diverse media. Artist Robert Chambers notes, “In regard to respecting tools and materials, Bob was a meticulous artisan mixing the abilities of a shipmaker, draftsman, jeweler, and architect.” Huff told Miami Herald art critic emerita Helen Kohen that, for him, metal, paint, and canvas are all fluid elements, in play until the artist realizes his/her idea.[1] The studio also represents the ways that Robert Huff worked beside and with students for decades at Miami-Dade College, shaping that studio into a space from which many leading Miami artists would emerge, including sculptors Robert Chambers, Karen Rifas, Luis Gispert, and George Sánchez Calderón. Sculptor Ralph Provisero noted that at social gatherings, the studio became a focus for artists who liked to hang out there. Huff’s wife Barbara Young added, “People loved to get into the studio to see what Huff was up to. All the tools and order were fascinating, but new work was the big magnet.”

The 47 Years exhibition demonstrates Huff’s melding of multiple media as well as his three kinds of studios. Huff shared ideas in his personal art studios and used the Miami-Dade College studio as a problem-solving laboratory for himself and students. His studio life also played a role in building the arts scene in Miami, which, artists tell me, was almost non-existent 50 years ago. Former students, faculty members, artists, curators, gallerists, museum directors, and collectors, most old friends, celebrated the artist on the last day of Robert Huff’s exhibition at the Miami Dade College Museum and Freedom Tower.

Jeremy Mikolajczak, Chief Curator at the MDC Museum, cited Huff’s “idea of seeing art in its purest form…He influenced this community and generations of artists through his passions, his levels of questioning his environment, and the language of forms that he developed.”

“Floridascape,” 1973, chrome, Plexiglas, pencil, enamel paint, found parts, 14” x 27” x 16 ½”. Photo by Francesco Casale

 

Starting in the 1970s, as seen in Floridascape, 1973, Huff’s work abstractly organized and integrated the Florida landscape, the industrial glass and steel cityscape, and the colorful people/animal-scape. Huff’s widow Barbara Young calls some sculpture like this “Huffscapes.” Rigger V, 1988, employs wood, aluminum, and found parts to create wonder-filled forms, shadows, and a semi-oval void. A laminated curved wood piece rises up to hold an art deco vase. The artist’s use of grids, here in wood and elsewhere in bronze, variously symbolizes windows, terrains, light, openings, and boundaries. The wood is immaculately cut, joined, and finished.

“Site/Tabula,” bronze, 1992, 25 ½” x 27” x 18”. Photo by Francesco Casale

Site/Tabula, 1992 is a bronze sculpture with a tower of windows joined to an angled solid landscape with objects and pockets. The Sidh Study 12, 1996-7 is part of a series of laminated wood and bronze works that wed the landscape or base with a bronze form that has architectural and figurative facets. Sidh refers to a Celtic mythology about inhabitants of another world.  Titan, 2010, of wood, bronze, stainless steel, and coal, is a reflection on strip mining in Appalachia, where Huff and his wife Barbara created a second living space and studio after they retired. An elaborate wooden tower/trestle system sends coal up its steep chute to symbolize mining practices and structures that are eviscerating the mountains.

Huff’s range of work in the exhibition variously evokes the greens of the Everglades, Virginia, and wilderness areas; the gold on red icons and cityscapes he found on two trips to Russia; and the ongoing despoilment and overdevelopment of Florida and other places.

The Robert Huff/ 47 Years book designer, Francesco Casale, said it best: “Robert Huff was above the fray. I can’t drive around and look at buildings and not think of Huff’s recurring theme about the struggle and balancing act between what people are building and what they’re tearing apart — nature’s bounty.”

Woodworking space from another angle. Metal shear on right. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Woodwork in progress with electric kiln in background. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Studio looking east from woodworking space; painting table in front, supplies in back. Photo by Steven Brooke.

New River Trail, Robert Huff’s last painting, in foreground; wood supply area. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Angled shot with drawing table. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Woodworking area. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Painting supplies. Photo by Steven Brooke.

Looking west from painting table to woodworking area. Steel sculpture in foreground and on right. Photo by Steven Brooke.

 
Tool belt on woodworking table. Photo by Steven Brooke.

All photos of Robert Huff studio by Steven Brooke.

Robert Huff’s studio, for me, symbolizes all of the ways that artists combine materials, processes, ingenuity, and exchanges with others to make art. Robert Huff died in August, 2014, and his book, exhibition, and studio represent Huff’s message to the world: art may open doors and windows to an integrated, earth-centered consciousness.

By Jan Garden Castro

See vimeo.com/104354174 for an interview with Robert Huff in his studio.

[1] For this quote, see Vasari Project transcript http://tiny.cc/RobertHuff, p.22, March 2014 and http://tiny.cc/HuffKohen. All quotes from Huff’s colleages were recorded on November 8 and 9, 2015 with each person’s permission.

Invisible sculpture / 2015: djamo.weebly.com/unsichtbare-skulpturen.html

Earlier this year, I was awarded a scholarship from the Romanian Cultural Institute to spend a month in Romania undertaking a research project. I travelled between the three largest cities, Bucharest, Cluj and Timisoara, interviewing artists, curators, writers, journalists, gallerists and others about issues facing the Romanian arts scene. It was an incredible opportunity, made all the more special by the amazing access I was granted by people working within the scene who were willing to be so incredibly generous with their time and their insights. While in Romania, I also visited several events in conjunction with project, including the first edition of Art Encounters in Timisoara. (artencounters.ro)

This event is intended to become a regular Biennale that alternates each year with an Architectural Biennale launching next year. It raised some interesting responses within the community, with many of the people I spoke to offering a variety of criticisms and caveats about the possibilities and opportunities that Art Encounters offers those working within the arts in Romania. My own impressions were mixed, and one artist’s comment that the first edition isn’t nearly as important as the third sums up my hesitant reaction towards the project.

We want you / 2014: More info djamo.weebly.com/we-want-you.html

 

Nonetheless, in the central exhibition, curated by Rainald Schumacher & Nathalie Hoyos, I saw several impressive works which stood out. Two of these were created by a young Romanian artist named Daniel Djamo (djamo.weebly.com), currently undertaking his third year of research as a PhD candidate at Bucharest National University of Arts. Djamo’s work was interesting to me because in a setting where history and the past are such loaded and contentious subjects, he was exploring a more personal approach that openly acknowledged the difficulties inherent in discussing Romanian history (and indeed, its art history).

Below is an exchange I had with Daniel, conducted via email. He addresses some of the workings of his practice, as well as some of the wider issues facing artists and others working in Romania and abroad.

At Art Encounters, two of your works ‘Items’ and ‘The Notebook’ were exhibited in the central exhibition. Both of these works address history and memory in different ways, and both have strong ties to the personal realm and the family. What do these works represent to you as an artist, and how do they reflect some of the wider interests of your practice? 

Until 2013 most of my works talked about journals, documentations and personal histories. I could not say exactly what pointed me towards this direction, but my passion grew from a sort of voyeuristic curiosity into the desire of finding the indivisible, getting to know it by reverting the hourglass, in an attempt to touch finality.

Most of the works that I made between 2009 (when I started my activity as an artist, without having had any sort of previous contact with art) and 2013 had strong ties with my personal development and my family, where I acted as an observer of myself, by taking a step back, and of others, by taking many steps forward, getting as close as a magnifying lens would. Thus, many of these works are probably not only art, but case studies, close documentations of people that fascinated me.

I had the pleasure of knowing Mr. Schumacher in 2014 in Turin, through my gallerist, Anca Poterasu, at the Artissima Art Fair. Afterwards, I was told about the event and about Mr. Schumacher’s interest in presenting two of my works.

Superromanianman / 2015: More info djamo.weebly.com/superromanianman.html

 

How has the process of being involved in the first edition of a new Biennale been like Art Encounters been for you as a young Romanian artist, and how do you view the event in a wider context? 

I do not know exactly how I got to be chosen for Timisoara Art Encounters. Also, I do not know much about the process of being involved in the event, because I was not physically present.

At the moment, I am consumed by the ideas that I have to bring to life. I focus mostly on developing my work, and unfortunately I am not very talented in finding solutions to their presentation. I suppose that you must have the chance of being spotted by the right people and of earning their trust.

The examination of history and the past, and documentation of previous works and actions seems to be a common and frequently contentious issue in Romanian art discourse. When I was travelling through the country, I frequently came across debates about the way this has been done, and the danger in some cases that revisiting previous work and periods of artistic production can sometimes risk undermining current practices. How do you feel about the way Romanian art is being reexamined, particularly in light of the way certain elements have received increased exposure on the art market? 

I would not be able to give an intelligent and accurate answer to this question, since I think that the answer is to be found in the pocket of an art historian from an older generation, that got to know up-close the actions of Sigma (as a contemporary of the group from Timisoara) or got to know closely Mr. Ion Grigorescu. Also, the repacking of the communist era is indeed a common practice of many young artists. I pursued this topic in two of my projects. Right now, looking back I question my decision, I consider that I am unworthy of talking about things that I did not experience by myself. Still, I was very curious about that time, since I was only a child when the regime fell.

I consider that talking about a theme such as communism can be rather risky. If you are a young artist and if you plan to develop a project connected to that period your attempt can be interpreted as abusive gesture on an already exploited period. You can easily be kitsch and this is why I also judge myself harshly. I am interested in history, but I think a lot before embarking myself onto such a journey. Communism and the lost 50 years became an important theme in the art done by most artists coming from the Eastern bloc. But their works are relevant to lived experiences. As is it problematic to talk about any catastrophe that you did not fully got into contact with.

Anyone’s history is not a thing to ignore. This is why I think that the artist’s past is present in most of his artworks (in various interpretations of it).

Storm is coming / 2014: More info djamo.weebly.com/storm-is-coming.html

 

How would you characterise the current Romanian art scene? What is the experience of working within this scene like for an emerging artist in 2015? Does being based overseas change your perspective of the regional and national scenes in Romania? 

I can only talk about the art scene of Bucharest. I do not like the way in which it is constructed. It is very small and terribly divided. Most artists have their own group that they are part of. There are lists of friends and blacklists (as it was presented in the case of Bucharest Biennale’s last edition – I am referring to the list of Romanian artists that were not supposed to be chosen for their event). Some of the artists that are active in exhibiting in the various spaces from Bucharest have a neutral stance and try to profit from several sides, in order to reach a certain level of exposure. Of course, artists that stay out of this environment do exist. There is vanity, there are betrayals. I have passed through a rather weird and tragi-comical situation myself: someone attempted to silence me indirectly, because of a remark that I had regarding the way in which curators are appointed by his organization. Bucharest’s art scene can be seen sometimes as a soap opera, and sometimes as a tabloid show (such as Jerry Springer show). Conflicts can become even physical, as it was proven during the opening of an exhibition this spring, in the vicinity of Bucharest’s National University of Arts. – to be read in Romanian here.

One of the main vectors in Romanian art (as seen by many) attacked a gallerist, a gesture that found its closure under police sirens. I find myself unable to talk more regarding the art system of Romania, since until now I have had more contact with the art scene from abroad than I did with the one from my country. I had the chance of being strongly supported from a very early start by my University professors and by very few people from the Romanian artistic environment, people to whom I owe a lot. To make it in Romania as an artist should not be a purpose. What should be important is to remain honest with yourself in the process of your development. I would guess that in Romania you have to be liked by the right people much more than abroad, where the artworks do the talking. For me it would be very hard to have to focus on relationships with “important people”.

Abroad I did not know anyone and I got into contact with amazing curators and cultural managers, being valued for my work alone. Also, I find the level of envy between young artists to be much bigger in Bucharest than it is in cities such as Paris, London, Berlin, Hamburg or Vienna – spaces with which I had contact with. Some of my colleagues considered the support that I had received from my professors as unjust, and have managed to develop a certain animosity towards me. This is understandable, since there is a big desire of progressing, of being seen and there are very few opportunities. After I have managed to make it in a sort of way as an emerging artist (back in 2013), I started discovering stories about myself that made me at first very angry. I got angry because I had discovered the identity of some of those who had spread them – and I knew personally many of them, people that had smiled and had shaken my hand. Anger turned into sadness and disappointment. Now I manage to find humor in the way in which this very divided environment functions, although I find many practices that occur in the art scene of Bucharest utterly unprofessional.

Saint Vincent has lovely winters / 2014: More info djamo.weebly.com/saint-vincent-has-lovely-winters.html

 

What do sculpture and installation present to you as mediums when you are making work? How do you approach working with an object based practice? 

This is a difficult question to answer because I do not have a representation of what sculpture should be, or what installation should be. I do not believe in the segmentation of art, nor do I believe in the periodization of it. I believe in ideas. I try to not anticipate the shape of a project and I do not plan clearly any steps when I am making something.

I find the idea to be important. I put it into shape. I might think that it best fits performance, but then it ends up as a painting. Or a performance to become video art and object. I was put into this situation too many times. Maybe I am not a real artist and I like too much to experiment. I could not be precise in the answer.

What projects have you got on the horizon for next year? Are there any fairs or other events in particular that you are going to be taking part in? 

Since 2012 I am working on a large-scale project regarding the possibility of adapting foreign organisms within healthy-looking bodies without causing a flu.  Its name is “nomadaptation” and it focuses on the migratory paths of Romanians in the Western-European countries.

In parallel to developing my research, I created a series of works and I finished one feature documentary film (right now I am in the process of ending the second one).

In the near future I plan to make a fiction feature film, which is inspired by a theatre play that I wrote in 2010, entitled “The mattress”.  The play is inspired by an event that occurred in the hallway of my apartment block in 2009. I hope to be able to obtain funding for it and to start shooting around 2018.

Regarding art fairs: I will be in Artissima again, with my gallerist, Anca Poterasu, in November. Regarding other events: I only plan to make my work, because recently I got to observe how valuable time is. If exhibition opportunities will appear, I will be happy to join in.

Daniel Djamo (b.1987, Bucharest) is a Romanian artist and film director, interested in personal and group histories and stories, and in themes such as the national identity. He combines film with video art and installation with photography in order to evoke the past and to underline “the now.” He has exhibited extensively internationally and received numerous awards for his work. He is represented by Anca Poterasu Gallery in Bucharest. (http://ancapoterasu.com/)

 Currently, Daniel Djamo is a PhD candidate in the third year of research at Bucharest National University of Arts (Romania). 

This article was made possible with support from the Romanian Cultural Institute.  

By Will Gresson

Perfect Forms – Horizontal Handwork

Barry X Ball’s jammed schedule includes the unveiling of a huge commission in Europe in November, but he took time out to show me his huge studio and to discuss his reimagining of Umberto Boccioni’s 1913 Unique Forms of Continuity in Space, which Ball has named Perfect Forms. “First I 3-D scanned one of the posthumous bronzes in Switzerland. Then we re-sculpted every curve to make it the Ferrari of Boccionis. It took about two years to re-sculpt it using ZBrush and other programs.” Barry X Ball’s work has been in numerous exhibitions, including a major show in Venice in conjunction with the 2011 Venice Biennale. He is also busy overseeing the creation of a new state-of-the-art 17,000-square-foot studio complex in Brooklyn scheduled to be completed in 2016.  It will be the only comprehensive high-tech stone sculpture studio in the world dedicated to one artist’s work.  Ball and architect Andrew Berman (recent PS1 additions, the Sculpture Center, etc.,) have designed a unique building and garden with a strong aesthetic that will contain everything for creating advanced stone sculptures: a digital sculpting studio, massive-scale CNC cutting / milling machines, gallery, metal shop, wood shop, hand-carving studios, a sandblasting room, twin 20-ton bridge cranes, good work facilities for 20+ assistants, roof gardens, art storage, an outdoor stone yard, and more.  This supplements Ball’s also-new satellite facility in New Haven which houses, according to Ball, “one of the largest, most accurate multi-axis CNC stone mills ever produced.” This six-axis CNC machine with diamond tooling is about 30 x 20 x 15 feet in size and includes a water filtration system to carry away the stone dust.[i]

Computer Controlled Stone Milling Machine – Installation

 

At Ball’s current Williamsburg studio, I learned more about his stone-crafting processes and viewed many new sculptures in varied states of completion. My main mission, however, was to witness the parts of the process of making one sculpture. Ball has fifteen assistants, each with special skills sets, and he has already given me six folders filled with some of the twenty versions of his sculpture Perfect Forms along with dozens of sculpture folders, many of which appear on his website barryxball.com. The Perfect Forms folders show work in different scales from 21” to 325” tall and in materials including gold and mirror-polished stainless steel.  At the studio, he showed me Perfect Forms made from rare Belgian black marble that had been completed the day before my visit.

Perfect Forms (rendering) – Belgian Black Marble – Original Scale

 

Here are the basic steps:

Step 1. Select the art work. Perfect Forms is Barry X Ball’s reinterpretation of Boccioni’s 1913 sculpture.  Boccioni was dragged to death by a horse in 1916 during World War I – before his art was cast into bronze. Later bronze casts of Boccioni’s sculpture are at MoMA, The Metropolitan Museum, the Tate, etc. Ball chose one of these posthumous bronzes from a collection in Switzerland for his 360-degree digital scan (a non-contact process).

Step 2. Computer modeling. For over two years, Ball and his team of artists and computer engineers adjust the 3-D scans to heighten the movement, the majesty, and the other characteristics of the original work. They make rapid prototyped models to cross-check their digital work.  Further refinement of the digital sculpture is done based on analysis of these physical models.  Once this refinement is complete, the sculpture is ready to be realized in a more permanent, costly material.

Perfect Forms – Original Scale Layout

 

Step 3. Select the stone. This work’s Belgian black marble was quarried in Wallonia, southern Belgium outside of Brussels. It is the only black marble in the world with no venation, according to Ball. A two-ton block has been used to create the final 700-pound sculpture, meaning that 3300 pounds of marble gets vaporized during the carving process.

Step 4. Cut the block into the rough dimensions of the sculpture.

Step 5. Lay out the figure on the block.

Step 6. Mill the bottom of the stone block and add holes for mounting and alignment on the CNC machine.

Step 7. Insert stainless steel threaded inserts that will later be used to mount the sculpture onto its permanent base.

Precision Rotary Table with Vacuum Block

 

Step 8. Create a vacuum jig out of stone for the rotary table of the CNC machine.

Step 9. Mount and align the sculpture block on the vacuum jig within the CNC machine.

Step 10. CNC-cut the stone with diamond and carbide tooling, cooled by water. Over about four days, the rough form emerges.

Step 11. Slower milling work, over a couple of months. If needed, reinforce any fault lines, fissures, or cracks by boring holes and inserting high strength fiberglass rods, which have an expansion co-efficient equivalent to stone.  Ball notes, “If you choose only “perfect” stones that have to be consistent, they are generally boring. I often respond to the stone and alter a sculpture to best utilize its natural features.”

Step 12. Mount the milled sculpture in a crate specially engineered to safely cradle it.

Perfect Forms Original Scale – Figure Emerging from Block

 

Step 13. Transport the sculpture to New York for further handwork and finishing.

Step 14. Use specially designed armatures to lay the artwork on its side so the bottom can be finished.

Step 15. Create a permanent ABS (acrylonitrile butadiene styrene) plastic base layer to cushion the bottom of the stone.

Step 16. Attach the ABS to the bottom of the stone with UHB (ultra-high bond) adhesive.

Step 17. Flip the sculpture upright and work on it vertically.

Step 18. Refine the surface of the sculpture with a variety of hand and power tools.  At this stage the hand carvers remove the milling lines left by the CNC machine.  They also refine all the edges and details.

Step 19. Polish the surface. A team of three to four people polish the sculpture for over 3000 hours, bringing it up to a glassy, mirror finish.

Step 21. Wash the sculpture.

Perfect Forms Original Scale – Roughing Pass Complete

 

Step 22. Mask the polish and use ultra-fine sandblasting on all un-polished surfaces to make the surface matte, silky, and non-directional. Eliminate all evidence of traditional handwork.

Step 23. Remove the masking and wash the sculpture to remove any sand or grit.

Step 24. Impregnate the sculpture with resin to protect the stone, prevent oily fingerprints, and make it more dust and dirt-resistant.

Step 24.  Remove the excess resin with cotton wadding and cloth.

Step 25. Mount the sculpture on its permanent base.

Step 26. The sculpture is finished.

One studio room contains second and third generation models for other iterations of Perfect Forms. For Ball, Perfect Forms achieves a fourth dimension “where Boccioni would have wanted it to go in his dreams.” The gleaming form towers above me, yet cascades around itself. Its gleaming curves and angles form a modern masterpiece – the handwork far exceeds what even Bernini and Borromini devoted to their masterworks.

Ball is generous as an artist, and he loves to talk about his influences and his processes.  I reveal here a rendering of his solid gold portrait head of Prince Albert II – Barry X Ball flies to Monaco in November for the unveiling of the finished work, to be permanently installed at the Palace, on The Sovereign Prince’s Day.  He has an even bigger gold commission flowing his way. Needless to say, a unique gold sculpture like this is worth more than its weight in gold.

Prince Albert II of Monaco Portrait Sculpture Rendering

By Jan Garden Castro

[i] All factual data is from Castro conversations and emails with Barry X Ball in 2015. See also Castro review of Out of Hand: Materializing the Postdigital and the video link with a gold version of Perfect Forms

See more about Barry X Ball processes here and here

Installation view, Gently Fried. Courtesy Los Outsiders

Founded in 2007, Los Outsiders is a powerhouse of a curatorial collective in Austin, TX. Made up of artists Jaime Salvador Castillo, Michael Anthony García, Hector Hernandez, and Robert Jackson Harrington, Los Outsiders is a group of forward thinking change makers invested in community engagement, opportunity creation, and the responsibility of place. Michael Anthony García kindly took the time to share the history of Los Outsiders and give us a peek into their future projects.

Gracelee Lawrence: Tell me about the origin of Los Outsiders, the name, and your overarching goals.

Michael Anthony García: The three founding members of Los Outsiders- Jaime Salvador Castillo, Hector Hernandez and myself- met as exhibiting artists in the 11th Young Latino Artist series at Mexic-arte Musuem in Austin. We all liked each other’s work and began meeting to talking about art, particularly art in Austin. This was at a point in time when the scene in Austin was quite small and the few spaces that existed had very close ties to the University of Texas at Austin. If you weren’t a recent MFA graduate it was unlikely to get a break at any of those spaces. That is how our name was derived: we are outside of the system. We realized that we had to create our own opportunities.

Plancha, HEIR Today, Gone Tomorrow. Courtesy Los Outsiders.

 

Our discussions about the Austin art scene evolved into a video blog and shortly after we starting exhibiting together and co-curating projects. We had to work all of our connections outside of the city to eventually have a chance at making and curating work within our own city.

GL: Moving between community-engaged events, art making, collectivism, and curation, how do you decide what projects to engage with? What is the process of working in a variety of avenues, especially with four members?

MAG: Art making tends to be what we do in our own personal practices. Curating and engaging our community is an extension of our very nature as a group. Certainly one of the biggest advantages to working in a group is sharing the duties and expenses associated with large projects. With the addition of Robert Jackson Harrington, a fellow El Paso native, we expanded our practice to include events that knit together the scattered art community in our city. That wouldn’t have been possible before, nor would it have registered on our radar without his inclusion in the group. Working with others on projects leads to hearing different ideas and sharing opinions, like built-in critiques.

Hunter Cross, La Basura. Courtesy Los Outsiders.

 

GL: Tell me about the Drawing Lines project and it’s relation to your previous work. Same goes for your curation of the lauded Gently Fried exhibition.

MAG: Drawing Lines has been a perfect fit for Los Outsiders! It is a project that within its very nature is about engaging a community and producing something creative in response. Anything to do with creative place making is within our wheelhouse. We were assigned District One, represented by Council Member Ora Houston, who is a real powerhouse in our city!

With Gently Fried we wanted to speak about ideas and issues that we saw encroaching on our community in Austin. We were thinking about gentrification, livability, cost of living, a rapidly vanishing community of color, opportunities for visual artists, and the city’s unprecedented and rapid growth. We came together to discuss artists that in some way speak to these issues and curated a three-part program for the Emma S. Barrientos Mexican American Cultural Center (MACC). The first part was an afternoon of performances that took place in the zócalo (plaza) of the MACC. The second part was a large-scale group exhibition in the Sam Z. Coronado Gallery at the MACC. Finally, we wrapped things up with a symposium in which we discussed the issues addressed in the performances and gallery exhibition.

Drawing Lines. /person/ /place/ /thing/. Courtesy Los Outsiders

 

GL: How would you describe the art scene in Austin and what are your anticipations for the next five years in terms of the arts here? What are your hopes for the role that Los Outsiders plays in this community?

MAG: Austin has always been a very open and creative place and that is reflected in the art community. I have lived in Austin for about 15 years and have watched the scene cycle, ebb and flow. Although it is a smaller scene and there are fewer spaces than other Texas cities like Houston, Dallas and San Antonio, I think it has made it more competitive and tighter. The work you do see is strong. Even for the competitive aspect it is still quite friendly and supportive. One of our goals is to expand the breadth of the connections, not just within the visual arts community but also with other artistic disciplines such as theater, dance, and music. In fact, the project that we are working on for FUSEBOX2016 is our first push in that direction.

To learn more about Los Outsiders check out their site.

By Gracelee Lawrence

Mirarla, 2011, Watercolor over stoneware, Floor Installation 36″ X 15′ X 12′

Today’s “In the studio” explores Claudia Alvarez’s studio practice during diverse residencies. Alvarez’s residencies and awards include the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, the Art Students League, and Art Matters Foundation, all based in New York; SASAMA, Shizuoka, Japan; SOMA, Mexico City, Mexico; and The McKnight Foundation grant for a residency at Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis. Three additional awards by invitation are PV Art, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico; Gruber Jez Foundation, Cholul, Mexico; and FUTUR near Zurich. 
Claudia Alvarez’s ceramic art centers around images of children who mime adult behaviors in conscious and subconscious ways. Her art interiorizes children’s psychologically-complex life situations — some witnessed as she drove an ambulance for the Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, California.  Her glazes are original color studies (Wayne Thiebaud was her painting teacher at UC Davis). Her intuitive figure sculpting techniques allow her to create hollow standing ceramic figures (teachers Annabeth Rosen, UC Davis; Arthur Gonzalez, California College of Art). Alvarez sculpts children’s “strength, pain, innocence, and hope”.[i]

Castro: What have been your favorite residencies for sculpture?

Alvarez: Every studio I’ve worked in has been a meaningful experience. My favorite is the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts in Omaha, Nebraska. I had a large private live/work space for drawing and painting and a great sculpture facility across the street. At the end of my residency, I exhibited 14 sculptures in a large gallery (See Falling Rope of Silence, 2005, Ceramic, wood, and rope).

Falling Rope of Silence, 2005, Stoneware, rope, wood, 14′ X 40′ X 50′. Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts, Omaha, NE

Castro: How did settings and environments in Mexico and in Switzerland affect the work you made?

Alvarez: My experiences in Switzerland and Mexico were different. In Switzerland, I was completely alone at FUTUR Residency, on the top floor of a restored 13th century building with glass elevators. The village of Rapperswil near Zurich was founded in 1220. I did not know the Swiss-German language but most people spoke to me in Spanish, and I eventually made friends. The 6-month residency allowed me time to write my MFA thesis and to develop a new body of work. I spent the first 3 months walking around the village, reflecting, writing, thinking, and drawing. I was able to gesso and create large 7’ x 6’ drawings and paintings using oil and graphite. At FUTUR, I exhibited a series of 15 large paintings titled Sojourn, a dozen sculptures (made with available materials such as wood, wire, and plaster), and a few hundred small sculptures of feet (made of paper pulp from old newspapers). For the first time, I photographed my sculpture in an outdoor environment — along the village walkway, near the lake, in front of a 13th century church, and near an ancient castle.

My studio in Mexico City was different. Through a grant from Art Matters to research Pre-Columbian ceramics and have an exhibition, I had to find a studio for 3 months. Friends helped me discover a live-work studio to rent. It was in a community of great Mexican ceramic artists such as Javier de Cueto and Jimena Granados.

El Chingon, 2014, Watercolor on Stoneware, 32″ x 12″ x 8″

My time in Mexico had a significant impact. I was able to speak in my mother tongue and to see

works at the Museo Nacional de Antropologia, the Stavenhagen Collection, and Museo Anahuacalli, which houses Diego Rivera’s private collection of 60,000 pre-Hispanic works. I discovered correspondences between some works I was making and those created long ago. One sculpture of mine titled El Chingon depicts a boy smoking. I discovered a sitting figurine of a boy smoking believed to be from the northern region of Mexico Culturas del Norte, created around 200 B.C. I approached other works more directly, for example, sculpture titled, Sentada, was influenced by a seated girl believed to be a young goddess from the Occidental period around 1500 B.C.

The most influential works were the tiny figurines collected by Kurt Stavenhagen. Their modest scale and content were captivating, intimate, and reflected everyday family life of people playing music, sports, cooking, dancing. They depicted intimacy between couples, conveyed love between humans and their dogs, and placed women in places of honor in society. The ceramic figurines referenced happiness, suffering, the young, old, and the sick, both in individual and community settings. I returned from Mexico with a deeper sense of meaning in my sculpture.

After my research and work, I did a one month residency at SOMA (provided through Art Matters by conceptual artist Joshua Okon, founder of SOMA), a lecture at UNAM Universidad Nacional Autònoma de México, and a solo exhibition titled, Acercáte at Centro Nacional de las Artes resulting in an exhibition catalog titled, Acécate ISBN 978-0-692-20841-0.

Castro:  How hard is it to set up a studio and to produce work in a limited time frame?

Alvarez: Stepping into a new environment and working in an empty studio is thrilling, especially if I have a deadline. I arrive with a few tools in my hand. Depending on the availability of the studio, I order large rolls of watercolor paper, a roll of canvas, or at times 600 pounds of clay. Then I start working. A new and unfamiliar place fosters a desire and search for meaning. I rely on intuition, memory, and understanding of the material I will use. It also allows me to reveal my immediate thoughts and to make something out of nothing. A lump of clay turns into psychological emotions and gestures. A blank canvas or paper narrates pictures, questions meaning, and searches for a hint of familiarity. It also allows me to see the work differently and possibly respond in a new way.

Dia de Los Inocentes, 2010. Stoneware, 32″ X 10′ X 8′. National Museum of Mexican Art, Chicago, IL

Castro: What are your plans for your month-long Japan residency in November, 2015?

Alvarez: I was invited to participate in an international symposium which turned into a one month residency in a village in Shizuoka, in Shimada City near Tokyo. This includes an exhibition, demonstration, lecture, and international symposium. My goal in Japan is to explore larger scale sculpture in public spaces. Most importantly, I will work directly on site, which means I do not need to move the work into a kiln. Instead, a kiln will be built around the sculpture, and it will be fired outdoors for permanent installation. Formally, I will be able to create more complex compositions. My goal is to create five works possibly depicting women and children that are connected. My current series of maquettes titled Mother and Child range in size from 5” x 6” x 8” to 14” x 18” x 12”. Religious paintings with the same title that I’ve seen through art history led to sculptural works addressing complex relationships ranging from domestic violence to the love between mother and child.

El Chupon 2, 2013, Glazed stoneware, 35″ X 17″ X 14 1/2″.

Castro: What are the best places to find out about residencies?

Alvarez: Some are Alliance of Artists Communities Advocacy and Support and RU Residency Unlimited. (See www.artistcommunities.org/  and http://residencyunlimited.org/ )

Castro: Do you frequently sell work during residencies?

Alvarez: Sometimes a residency program is a great place to meet art lovers and patrons of the arts.

Castro: Are there added expenses not covered by the residencies?

Alvarez: Each residency differs in what it offers in terms of studio facilities, length of stay, stipend, and room and board.  I recommend carefully reading before applying. Most residency programs do not cover the cost of travel or personal expenses. Some places include travel expenses in the grant. One must consider travel expenses, living expenses, and the return shipping of artwork. I recommend applying for additional funding. WWW.foundationcenter.org  is a good place to start.

In addition to artist residencies, exhibitions and sales, Alvarez teaches children and exhibits at Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation.

Orators, (Black Girl), 2014, Graphite on Glazed Stoneware,
34 ½ ” x 14” x 10” Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis, MN, 
The McKnight Foundation

Orators (detail), 2014, Glazed Stoneware, Bronze Girl, 
39” x 14” x 15”, Black Boy, 39” x 14” x 15”

Mother and Child, 2014, Gold Glaze over Stoneware, 18″ x 15″ x 8″

Acécate, 2014, Watercolor on Stoneware, 41” x 40’ x 60’ Centro Nacional de Las Artes, Mexico City, Mexico

Orators, 2014, Glazed Stoneware, 29” x 25’ X 18’ Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation

Orators, 2014, Glazed Stoneware, 29” x 25’ X 18’ Northern Clay Center, 
Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation

Orators (detail), 2014, Glazed Stoneware, Bronze Girl, 39” x 14” x 15”, Black Boy, 39” x 14” x 15”, Black Girl 2, 38 ½” x 15” x 9”

Flower Eaters, 2009, Stoneware, Floor Installation 41″ X 20′ X 18′

Orators, 2014, Glazed Stoneware, 29” x 25’ X 18’ Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation

Falling, 2011, Watercolor and Plaster over stoneware, Floor installation, 35” x 20’ x 40’ 
Vytlacil, Arts Student League of New York, NY Presented at Museum of Nebraska Art, Kearney, NE

Enamorados, 2014, Stoneware, 5 1/2″ x 5 1/4″ x 6 1/4″

The Bruised Sky, 2004, Ceramic, 46″ X 8′ X 14′ California College of Arts, San Francisco, CA

See more of Alvarez’s work at the links below:

www.claudiaalvarez.org

www.cca.edu/news/2014/11/10/claudia-alvarez-molding-art-life

www.ninamenocal.com/site/migrantes-claudia-alvarez-jose-bedia-ilya-y-emilia-kabakov/

www.ninamenocal.com/site/current/

www.sheldonartmuseum.org/exhibitions/current_exhibitions.html?topic=detail&exb_id=187&category_sent=Sheldon+Exhibitions

www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/gallery/2012/dec/08/art-basel-miami-beach-in-pictures

[i] Alvarez quoted in Who’s Afraid of Modern Art? By Dan Seidell (Eugene OR: Cascade Books, 2015), p. 121.

Mirarla, 2011, Watercolor over stoneware, Floor Installation 36″ X 15′ X 12′

Today’s “In the studio” explores Claudia Alvarez’s studio practice during diverse residencies. Alvarez’s residencies and awards include the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, the Art Students League, and Art Matters Foundation, all based in New York; SASAMA, Shizuoka, Japan; SOMA, Mexico City, Mexico; and The McKnight Foundation grant for a residency at Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis. Three additional awards by invitation are PV Art, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico; Gruber Jez Foundation, Cholul, Mexico; and FUTUR near Zurich. 
Claudia Alvarez’s ceramic art centers around images of children who mime adult behaviors in conscious and subconscious ways. Her art interiorizes children’s psychologically-complex life situations — some witnessed as she drove an ambulance for the Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, California.  Her glazes are original color studies (Wayne Thiebaud was her painting teacher at UC Davis). Her intuitive figure sculpting techniques allow her to create hollow standing ceramic figures (teachers Annabeth Rosen, UC Davis; Arthur Gonzalez, California College of Art). Alvarez sculpts children’s “strength, pain, innocence, and hope”.[i]

Castro: What have been your favorite residencies for sculpture?

Alvarez: Every studio I’ve worked in has been a meaningful experience. My favorite is the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts in Omaha, Nebraska. I had a large private live/work space for drawing and painting and a great sculpture facility across the street. At the end of my residency, I exhibited 14 sculptures in a large gallery (See Falling Rope of Silence, 2005, Ceramic, wood, and rope).

Falling Rope of Silence, 2005, Stoneware, rope, wood, 14′ X 40′ X 50′. Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts, Omaha, NE

 

Castro: How did settings and environments in Mexico and in Switzerland affect the work you made?

Alvarez: My experiences in Switzerland and Mexico were different. In Switzerland, I was completely alone at FUTUR Residency, on the top floor of a restored 13th century building with glass elevators. The village of Rapperswil near Zurich was founded in 1220. I did not know the Swiss-German language but most people spoke to me in Spanish, and I eventually made friends. The 6-month residency allowed me time to write my MFA thesis and to develop a new body of work. I spent the first 3 months walking around the village, reflecting, writing, thinking, and drawing. I was able to gesso and create large 7’ x 6’ drawings and paintings using oil and graphite. At FUTUR, I exhibited a series of 15 large paintings titled Sojourn, a dozen sculptures (made with available materials such as wood, wire, and plaster), and a few hundred small sculptures of feet (made of paper pulp from old newspapers). For the first time, I photographed my sculpture in an outdoor environment — along the village walkway, near the lake, in front of a 13th century church, and near an ancient castle.

My studio in Mexico City was different. Through a grant from Art Matters to research Pre-Columbian ceramics and have an exhibition, I had to find a studio for 3 months. Friends helped me discover a live-work studio to rent. It was in a community of great Mexican ceramic artists such as Javier de Cueto and Jimena Granados.

El Chingon, 2014, Watercolor on Stoneware, 32″ x 12″ x 8″

 

My time in Mexico had a significant impact. I was able to speak in my mother tongue and to see works at the Museo Nacional de Antropologia, the Stavenhagen Collection, and Museo Anahuacalli, which houses Diego Rivera’s private collection of 60,000 pre-Hispanic works. I discovered correspondences between some works I was making and those created long ago. One sculpture of mine titled El Chingon depicts a boy smoking. I discovered a sitting figurine of a boy smoking believed to be from the northern region of Mexico Culturas del Norte, created around 200 B.C. I approached other works more directly, for example, sculpture titled, Sentada, was influenced by a seated girl believed to be a young goddess from the Occidental period around 1500 B.C.

The most influential works were the tiny figurines collected by Kurt Stavenhagen. Their modest scale and content were captivating, intimate, and reflected everyday family life of people playing music, sports, cooking, dancing. They depicted intimacy between couples, conveyed love between humans and their dogs, and placed women in places of honor in society. The ceramic figurines referenced happiness, suffering, the young, old, and the sick, both in individual and community settings. I returned from Mexico with a deeper sense of meaning in my sculpture.

After my research and work, I did a one month residency at SOMA (provided through Art Matters by conceptual artist Joshua Okon, founder of SOMA), a lecture at UNAM Universidad Nacional Autònoma de México, and a solo exhibition titled, Acercáte at Centro Nacional de las Artes resulting in an exhibition catalog titled, Acécate ISBN 978-0-692-20841-0.

Castro:  How hard is it to set up a studio and to produce work in a limited time frame?

Alvarez: Stepping into a new environment and working in an empty studio is thrilling, especially if I have a deadline. I arrive with a few tools in my hand. Depending on the availability of the studio, I order large rolls of watercolor paper, a roll of canvas, or at times 600 pounds of clay. Then I start working. A new and unfamiliar place fosters a desire and search for meaning. I rely on intuition, memory, and understanding of the material I will use. It also allows me to reveal my immediate thoughts and to make something out of nothing. A lump of clay turns into psychological emotions and gestures. A blank canvas or paper narrates pictures, questions meaning, and searches for a hint of familiarity. It also allows me to see the work differently and possibly respond in a new way.

Dia de Los Inocentes, 2010. Stoneware, 32″ X 10′ X 8′. National Museum of Mexican Art, Chicago, IL

 

Castro: What are your plans for your month-long Japan residency in November, 2015?

Alvarez: I was invited to participate in an international symposium which turned into a one month residency in a village in Shizuoka, in Shimada City near Tokyo. This includes an exhibition, demonstration, lecture, and international symposium. My goal in Japan is to explore larger scale sculpture in public spaces. Most importantly, I will work directly on site, which means I do not need to move the work into a kiln. Instead, a kiln will be built around the sculpture, and it will be fired outdoors for permanent installation. Formally, I will be able to create more complex compositions. My goal is to create five works possibly depicting women and children that are connected. My current series of maquettes titled Mother and Child range in size from 5” x 6” x 8” to 14” x 18” x 12”. Religious paintings with the same title that I’ve seen through art history led to sculptural works addressing complex relationships ranging from domestic violence to the love between mother and child.

El Chupon 2, 2013, Glazed stoneware, 35″ X 17″ X 14 1/2″.

 

Castro: What are the best places to find out about residencies? 

Alvarez: Some are Alliance of Artists Communities Advocacy and Support and RU Residency Unlimited. (See www.artistcommunities.org/  and http://residencyunlimited.org/ )

Castro: Do you frequently sell work during residencies?

Alvarez: Sometimes a residency program is a great place to meet art lovers and patrons of the arts.

Castro: Are there added expenses not covered by the residencies?

Alvarez: Each residency differs in what it offers in terms of studio facilities, length of stay, stipend, and room and board.  I recommend carefully reading before applying. Most residency programs do not cover the cost of travel or personal expenses. Some places include travel expenses in the grant. One must consider travel expenses, living expenses, and the return shipping of artwork. I recommend applying for additional funding. WWW.foundationcenter.org  is a good place to start.

In addition to artist residencies, exhibitions and sales, Alvarez teaches children and exhibits at Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation.

Orators, (Black Girl), 2014, Graphite on Glazed Stoneware, 34 ½ ” x 14” x 10” Northern Clay Center, Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation	Orators (detail), 2014, Glazed Stoneware, Bronze Girl,  39” x 14” x 15”, Black Boy, 39” x 14” x 15”	Mother and Child, 2014, Gold Glaze over Stoneware,  18″ x 15″ x 8″

Acécate, 2014, Watercolor on Stoneware, 41” x 40’ x 60’ Centro Nacional de Las Artes, Mexico City, Mexico

Orators, 2014, Glazed Stoneware, 29” x 25’ X 18’ Northern Clay Center,  Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation

Orators (detail), 2014, Glazed Stoneware,  Bronze Girl, 39” x 14” x 15”,  Black Boy, 39” x 14” x 15”, Black Girl 2, 38 ½” x 15” x 9”	Orators, 2014, Glazed Stoneware, 29” x 25’ X 18’ Northern Clay Center,   Minneapolis, MN, The McKnight Foundation

Flower Eaters, 2009, Stoneware, Floor Installation 41″ X 20′ X 18′

Falling, 2011, Watercolor and Plaster over stoneware, Floor installation, 35” x 20’ x 40’ Vytlacil, Arts Student League of New York, NY  Presented at Museum of Nebraska Art, Kearney, NE

The Bruised Sky, 2004, Ceramic, 46″ X 8′ X 14′ California College of Arts, San Francisco, CA

See more of Alvarez’s work at the links below:

www.claudiaalvarez.org

www.cca.edu/news/2014/11/10/claudia-alvarez-molding-art-life

www.ninamenocal.com/site/migrantes-claudia-alvarez-jose-bedia-ilya-y-emilia-kabakov/

www.ninamenocal.com/site/current/

www.sheldonartmuseum.org/exhibitions/current_exhibitions.html?topic=detail&exb_id=187&category_sent=Sheldon+Exhibitions

www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/gallery/2012/dec/08/art-basel-miami-beach-in-pictures

[i] Alvarez quoted in Who’s Afraid of Modern Art? By Dan Seidell (Eugene OR: Cascade Books, 2015), p. 121.

Meadowlands Picaresque, site-specific installation and performance, Smack Mellon, Brooklyn, NY, 2013.

Bryan Zanisnik is the art world’s Woody Allen. Today’s “In the studio” will explore how Zanisnik organizes projects for disparate venues, works in and out of studio spaces at art institutions, and addresses copyright and legal issues involving his Philip Roth projects. Zanisnik’s recent solo exhibitions incorporating performance span the globe, including locations in The Netherlands, China, and New York at the Brooklyn Museum, The Sculpture Center, and Abrons Arts Center. His upcoming solo exhibition, Philip Roth Presidential Library, takes him to Locust Projects, Miami, January 30 – March 19, 2016.  All involve ample disparate materials associated with his family, his personal history, street finds, archival matter from the exhibiting institution, and, for Abrons and Locust, materials related to novelist Philip Roth. His live performances transform his built environments into a rich psychoanalytical stew.

I caught up with Bryan as he was between teaching classes at Pratt and flying to Chicago for a project. He was also between studios; starting October 1, 2015, he is one of the lucky five chosen for a studio at the Queens Museum for one to two years. In 2014-2015, Bryan had a studio at the Walentas Family Foundation in Dumbo.[i] Using his laptop and other resources, Bryan took me on a virtual tour of past and present projects.

Every Inch a Man, site-specific installation and performance, Abrons Arts Center, New York, NY, 2012

 

Zanisnik related, “Constantly moving between studios is a challenge in New York, but there is no way around it – it’s the reality of most artists today in this all-too-expensive and quickly gentrifying city. Moving into the Queens Museum this fall, it will be the seventh studio I have worked out of since graduating from Hunter College in 2009. One of the reasons I recycle and discard so many of my installation materials is because I think of those works as ephemeral, temporary, and existing at only one site and time in history. That said, there is a practical side to this recycling. In moving studios from year to year, it’s nearly impossible to move all my materials with me. It’s easier to discard them, or photograph them, and move on. Not to mention, I rarely have huge studio spaces that allow for extensive storage. In 2011, my exhibition at the Guangdong Times Museum in Guangzhou, China was de-installed, and I was told that all my materials were crated and put in storage. Somewhere in Southern China, a crate with 5,000 pounds of dirt belongs to me. I love the idea of this ephemeral material waiting for me on the other side of the world. Unfortunately, that’s not possible here in New York. I’d like to have a permanent site where I can continuously work over decades. Until that happens, there won’t be any giant storage containers of dirt here on the east coast.”

A Woman Waits For Me II, performance, Pace University, New York, NY, 2013.

 

I met with Bryan at his “studio” apartment in Ridgewood, Queens near the Ridgewood Library. His exhibitions at Abrons Arts, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Sculpture Center each had an “over-the-top” floor-to-ceiling layering of disparate toys, papers, familiar and found objects. At the Sculpture Center, Bryan was “buried” inside an odd wood and glass box with his father hovering nearby in an authoritative manner. At Abrons Arts, Bryan was on top of a wooden box and inside a Plexiglass display case silently reading The Great American Novel by Philip Roth as baseball cards and money fluttered symbolically at his feet.

Unlike the seeming chaos of his installations, Zanisnik’s apartment/studio was minimal in décor, combining homey fifties retro furniture, happy plants near the open front windows, a round mirror with panels over a mantel, and a few objects, such as a found golden head with alternating eyes and mouths, among four or five rows of A+ books – from Neitzsche to Ghandi to Jonathan Safran Foer. Four Philip Roth novels were waiting, like props, atop a polished and finished, partially-hollow tree stump table.

03. It Will Never Be As It Was Before Rhadamanthus, performance, Horton Gallery, New York, NY, 2011.

 

Bryan recounted, “I was initially drawn to Roth because of so many overlaps between his writing and my own studio practice. We’re both from New Jersey, and have both drawly heavily from the state. He’s written a lot about suburban life, familial relationships and growing up in New Jersey. Having been so influenced by the landscapes and objects that surrounded my own childhood there, I felt that his writing became a literary counterpoint to my own experiences and art practice. I also was very drawn to his particularly dark sense of humor.

“Having said all that, I wasn’t a huge Roth fan before I made my first work that referenced him – Every Inch a Man at the Abronss Arts Center in 2012. Initially I was more drawn to the ideas he explored than to the writing itself. Once the legal battle began, I became more fascinated with him, both as a writer and as a sort of “celebrity” figure who was obsessed with his reputation. This back and forth made me delve further into Roth, and in the time since, I’ve only grown to appreciate his writing. In many ways, the absurdity of our legal battle felt straight out of a Roth novel.”

Every Inch A Man, the title of the Abrons Arts exhibition and catalog, is the chapter 4 title in Roth’s The Great American Novel. On the opening day of the exhibition, Zanisnik was served with a cease and desist letter by Roth’s “white shoe” old money law firm Milbank, Tweed, Hadley and McCloy. The Abrons Arts lawyers were cowed, but not Zanisnik. After consulting a Columbia University copyright lawyer, they decided that a person silently reading in public a book he had purchased could not be considered a copyright infringement. So copies of this letter became part of the Abrons installation. Every Inch a Man catalog essays by David Everitt Howe, Wendy Vogel, and Eric Winkler suggest congruencies and influences including Mike Kelley, Jason Rhoades, and Thomas Hirschhorn. Eric Winkler’s cartoon stories about Zanisnik’s ‘failed’ projects included a “Bed-In” cartoon showing Zanisnik in bed with his parents that suggests the Yoko Ono John Lennon “Bed-In.”

For The Philip Roth Presidential Library in Miami, Zanisnik is ordering hundreds of copies of Philip Roth’s novels – first editions, foreign language translations, and critical texts for an installation that will be both a site-specific sculptural work and also a real functioning library. He is also creating a series of monolithic, drywall and wood sculptures that will house Roth memorabilia.  He has also made two Roth diptychs; one is a photograph of a laboratory-like sculpture alluding to Roth with a handmade textile portrait of Roth.

“Last year, in fact,” Zanisnik related, “an anthology of critical essays on Roth, titled “Roth & Celebrity” was published by Lexington Books, and one of the essays discusses our copyright debate. With this, I feel that his literary practice and my own sculptural practice have become tightly wed.”[ii] Even artist Richard Prince, no stranger to appropriation, blogged about Roth’s attempt to silence Zanisnik (from reading silently).[iii]

“For the Philip Roth Presidential Library,” Zanisnik continued, “I was thinking of these Presidential Libraries that are built after a president gets out of office. Roth obviously isn’t a politician, but he is in many ways a cultural icon of America. When I received the first Cease and Desist letter at Abronss Arts Center, I was mistakenly told by the gallery’s curator that it was from his estate. I had to correct him and tell him, to his surprise, that Roth was still alive. I think of these dedicated libraries as something that would usually be constructed after a writer or politician’s death. In this way, the installation is irreverent and critical towards Roth, but at the same time, it’s entirely celebratory. I imagine the installation as a site people will come to engage with my work, but also to think and talk about Roth.”

Just as Woody Allen plays the awkward, ill-equipped suitor in Annie Hall, Zanisnik has exposed his body and persona to countless awkward, embarrassing, and peculiar situations in his performances. His kind parents and grandmother act as murderers and villains in his films and installations. It is important to pay close attention to the psychological situations the artist is addressing, including the ways that guns and violence are nightly family entertainment on television screens in living rooms across America.

15. A Cup of Coffee For the Man in My Office, 14” x 19”, photograph, 2013

Alternative Colors and BHT, site-specific installation, Aspect Ratio, Chicago, IL, 2014

13. The Problem With Appetite, performance, LAXART, Los Angeles, CA, 2014

Meadowlands Picaresque, site-specific installation and performance, Smack Mellon, Brooklyn, NY, 2013	Meadowlands Picaresque, site-specific installation and performance, Smack Mellon, Brooklyn, NY, 2013

Meadowlands Picaresque, site-specific installation and performance, Smack Mellon, Brooklyn, NY, 2013

Every Inch a Man, site-specific installation and performance, Abrons Arts Center, New York, NY, 2012

Museum of Americans in China, site-specific installation and performance, Times Museum, Guangzhou, China, 2011

02. When I Was a Child I Caught a Fleeting Glimpse, performance, Hunter College, New York, NY, 2009

16. Roth Laboratory, 11” x 9.5” and 6.75” x 6”, Photograph and Handmade Textile, 2014

The following links, including a beautifully-filmed Art 21 tour of a New Jersey waste site, the Meadowlands, offer a fuller picture of Zanisnik’s art.

Check out these links for more information:

1. Bryan Zanisnik Goes to the Meadowlands, Art21 / New York Close Up
2. Bryan Zanisnik (solo), March 20 – April 19, 2015   The Hague, The Netherlands
3. University Art Museum at Albany, New York, February 17 – April 4, 2015
4. ARTNET: PHILIP ROTH TELLS ARTIST TO STOP THE SHOW

[i] All Zanisnik quotes are from live conversations or recent emails. Information about Queens Museum studio residencies is at http://www.queensmuseum.org/artist-services. The Walentas Family Foundation doesn’t advertise its residencies and there is no application process. www.resartis.org  lists artist residencies worldwide but many charge residency fees.

[ii] See  http://www.amazon.com/Roth-Celebrity-Aimee-L-Pozorski/dp/0739197533.

[iii] See http://www.richardprince.com/birdtalk/

4/5/2012   “Say it ain’t so”. I think Phillip Roth is one of the best American writers in the past forty years. It seems like he comes out with a book a year, and every time one comes out I look forward to reading it. So it’s pretty distressing to hear that he and his lawyers sent a cease and desist order to an artist over in Brooklyn who put himself inside a plexiglass box reading from Roth’s book, The Great American Novel… (apparently he’s reading it “silently”). Another part of the performance is he’s getting hit with baseball cards. (I’m picturing a kind of baseball card snow globe). It’s strange, because Roth was good friends with Philip Guston up in Woodstock and hung out together, and was exposed to Guston’s “crazy” cartoon paintings. I thought that would have been enough to sign off on any “shenanigans” put out by an up and coming, “starting-out” artist. Instead, more paper work, more depositions, more briefs, more letters, more money. Fuck it…I would have thought that some of that Woodstock vibe would have rubbed off on Roth… you know… “It’s a free concert from now on”.

Meadowlands Picaresque, site-specific installation and performance, Smack Mellon, Brooklyn, NY, 2013.

Bryan Zanisnik is the art world’s Woody Allen. Today’s “In the studio” will explore how Zanisnik organizes projects for disparate venues, works in and out of studio spaces at art institutions, and addresses copyright and legal issues involving his Philip Roth projects. Zanisnik’s recent solo exhibitions incorporating performance span the globe, including locations in The Netherlands, China, and New York at the Brooklyn Museum, The Sculpture Center, and Abrons Arts Center. His upcoming solo exhibition, Philip Roth Presidential Library, takes him to Locust Projects, Miami, January 30 – March 19, 2016.  All involve ample disparate materials associated with his family, his personal history, street finds, archival matter from the exhibiting institution, and, for Abrons and Locust, materials related to novelist Philip Roth. His live performances transform his built environments into a rich psychoanalytical stew.

I caught up with Bryan as he was between teaching classes at Pratt and flying to Chicago for a project. He was also between studios; starting October 1, 2015, he is one of the lucky five chosen for a studio at the Queens Museum for one to two years. In 2014-2015, Bryan had a studio at the Walentas Family Foundation in Dumbo.[i] Using his laptop and other resources, Bryan took me on a virtual tour of past and present projects.

Every Inch a Man, site-specific installation and performance, Abrons Arts Center, New York, NY, 2012

 

Zanisnik related, “Constantly moving between studios is a challenge in New York, but there is no way around it – it’s the reality of most artists today in this all-too-expensive and quickly gentrifying city. Moving into the Queens Museum this fall, it will be the seventh studio I have worked out of since graduating from Hunter College in 2009. One of the reasons I recycle and discard so many of my installation materials is because I think of those works as ephemeral, temporary, and existing at only one site and time in history. That said, there is a practical side to this recycling. In moving studios from year to year, it’s nearly impossible to move all my materials with me. It’s easier to discard them, or photograph them, and move on. Not to mention, I rarely have huge studio spaces that allow for extensive storage. In 2011, my exhibition at the Guangdong Times Museum in Guangzhou, China was de-installed, and I was told that all my materials were crated and put in storage. Somewhere in Southern China, a crate with 5,000 pounds of dirt belongs to me. I love the idea of this ephemeral material waiting for me on the other side of the world. Unfortunately, that’s not possible here in New York. I’d like to have a permanent site where I can continuously work over decades. Until that happens, there won’t be any giant storage containers of dirt here on the east coast.”

A Woman Waits For Me II, performance, Pace University, New York, NY, 2013.

 

I met with Bryan at his “studio” apartment in Ridgewood, Queens near the Ridgewood Library. His exhibitions at Abrons Arts, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Sculpture Center each had an “over-the-top” floor-to-ceiling layering of disparate toys, papers, familiar and found objects. At the Sculpture Center, Bryan was “buried” inside an odd wood and glass box with his father hovering nearby in an authoritative manner. At Abrons Arts, Bryan was on top of a wooden box and inside a Plexiglass display case silently reading The Great American Novel by Philip Roth as baseball cards and money fluttered symbolically at his feet.

Unlike the seeming chaos of his installations, Zanisnik’s apartment/studio was minimal in décor, combining homey fifties retro furniture, happy plants near the open front windows, a round mirror with panels over a mantel, and a few objects, such as a found golden head with alternating eyes and mouths, among four or five rows of A+ books – from Neitzsche to Ghandi to Jonathan Safran Foer. Four Philip Roth novels were waiting, like props, atop a polished and finished, partially-hollow tree stump table.