Vibrant Colors and Silver Allusions at the Pentimenti Gallery

From a Thousand Pages...
(November 2 - January 25 ?)
Pentimenti Gallery
145 North Second Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106



Untitled from the "Project for a Revolution Series" #6
Matt Haffner
13 x 30 in.
Silver leaf, vinyl, and spray enamel on panel

"Here's looking at you, kid." Those famous words from the indelible Casablanca (1942) were the first that came to mind upon viewing Matt Haffner's Project for a Revolution Series. It wasn't hard to get from silver leaf to the silver screen due to the dramatic narratives and the "widescreen" format. I started yelling, "Don't Go!" at the work until I realized I was still in a gallery and the representative was glaring at me.

Allusions to classic movies weren't the only cogs spinning in these sleek junctions however, Haffner put an illustrative twist on my filmic impressions reminiscent of the recent cinema/comic hybrid Sin City (2005, Miller/Rodriguez/Tarantino). Both Haffner's work and Sin City are highly stylized, unapologetically melodramatic, and all the better for it.

Mischief

Glenn Fischer
40 x 30 in.
Collage on panel

The insect, plant, and animal pictures scattered through Mischief, along with the typed "entries" underneath the ovals led me to an encyclopedic reading (which I temporarily enjoyed) but instead of categorizing and systematizing, Fischer seemed to be flaunting randomness and utter confusion. Feeling hopelessly perplexed, I sought the gallery statement out...maybe it would shed some light.

It reads, "Fischer's work focuses on the convergence between our conscious and subconscious thought [dreams?]. He attempts to offer a visual dialog [who doesn't?], filled with images and text that connects one's past with one's life [memory]. These images and their coupling have been placed together with the intention to provoke [provoke what? color burn?]." Whatever Fischer's intention, the vibrant, seemingly arbitrary (or not) colors are off-putting and they drown the subjects. The amount of images and ovals strewn about cause eye jitters and not in a good, Op-art way. I did get a genuine interest in "things" from the work, though, and I just wish I could've immersed myself in the curiosity.

Armada #5
Nate Moore
42 x 62 in
Origami planes on graphite grid on museum board

Japanese origami evolved from folding paper and letters for functional purposes to "an exquisite and beautiful form of art" in the 1600's (1) and since the question of "function" is prevalent in the art world, it's always interesting to see it pop up in different contexts.

Moore's origami is inspired by science fiction novels (according to the gallery statement. I would never have known otherwise) and he's crafted "thousands...in the same manner he has used in his childhood." Since the "a lot" aesthetic is rampant through the contemporary art scene, a work really has to demand multiplicity to justify its use and Nate Moore's repetitive, origami jets do accomplish this task. What better time for "many" than through origami (due to its inherent simplicity and natural succession)? But similarly to Fischer's work, Moore's use of color is unrestrained and since his images are so incredibly diverse, there's no cohesiveness to the content. The grid and the jet-form serve as firm constraints for discord (more effectively than Fischer's ovals), but what good is a frame without readable content? Maybe that's the point and I'm missing it...

Actually, chaotic content with a sturdy framework is a really great metaphor for a successful government's relationship to society, if it's what he intended...the gallery statement does mention that Moore sees the grid as related to "power." And if the grid represents power, it could be seen as a Patriot Act-like structure which frames every detail for the scrutinizing eye. But for me, that association is too much of a stretch and is not really in the work. It's more like a string of loose associations..."Oh, a grid represents structure and as structure it can signify government which holds power." And how does that relate to origami jets? The jets could symbolize the army. But if the jets represent the army, that reading defeats the anarchical interpretation because the jets can't simultaneously stand for societal pandemonium and the army. If his sign (origami jet) implies both order and discord, Moore's vocabulary breaks down (does it?). Then again, maybe the form is discipline and the content a free-for-all? Now, we're back where we began but not really. How does the childlike perspective fit into all this? Are the jets more representative of a child's toy than their actual counterpart? And if this interpretation is true, like the gallery statement would suggest, how does that change the governmental control estimation?

I'm certainly over-interpreting but this situation arose out of an honest attempt to make sense of the work.


The more I consider the similarities between Fischer and Moore's work, the more I wonder why Haffner's art was grouped in with them. Haffner's color-drained cinematic experiences have seemingly nothing in common with Fischer and Moore's tension between form and content.

Anyway, I enjoyed the show, especially Haffner's AMC-like engagement, and even the challenges posed by the saturated colors and disparate "subjects."

One final note: There was a fourth part of the show that included Rebecca Rothfus' work but the gallery was already preparing for First Friday next week (which I intend to attend and then report on in next Monday's blog), i.e. some of her stuff was already down and the space was disheveled.

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(1) "The Art of Japan" Think Quest 1999 http://library.thinkquest.org/27458/nf/origami/history.html

Defining the Other Side

Outsider Art: Spontaneous Alternatives Colin Rhodes (2000)
Image courtesy of

http://www.artwords.co.uk/acatalog/outsider_art_spontaneous_alternatives.JPG

Simply by (one's) discussion of a book, a movie, or an artwork, one advertises its existence; a thought encapsulated in the expression "any press is good press." The job of the critic, through this "promotion", is to either say, "Seek this work out" or "If you see this work, run the other way."

In this case, our object of attention is Outsider Art: Spontaneous Alternatives (2000), a book by Colin Rhodes. While this book is very well researched, the amount of artists the author knows of is astounding, and it's a good introduction to Art Brut, Jean Dubuffet, and several kinds of practitioners, I'm holding up a sign that says "Wrong Way." "Outsider Art," as I want people to understand it, is a label applied to artwork made by artists who are circumstantially ignorant of "mainstream" artistic practices but who are, and here's the important part, mentally capable. The title of this book should have been Relics of Psychological Imbalance: Mental Illness and Art.

Cloisonné de théâtre Aloise Corbaz, 1950/51

Image courtesy of http://www.museum-kunst-palast.de/mediabig/751A.jpg

Instead of considering Rhodes' book a proper survey of Outsider Art and its history, I'm giving it the more fitting description: "Use of a far too inclusive history of Outsider Art to argue for the inseparability of insanity and Modern Art. " And that thesis is only true when the book is coherent (which lasts as long as he discusses Jean Dubuffet, Art Brut, and asylum artists). It quickly descends into endless lists of far too many diverse histories including child art, asylum art, prison art, "alternative world" art, spiritual (or mediumistic) art, folk art, obsessive environmental art, "primitive" art, and in a move that truly seems tacked on for P.C. reasons, culturally relative art. I'm sure the folk artists and "self-taught visionaries" would love to be grouped in with pedophiles and psychopaths.

Anyway, when I cracked this book open, I didn't expect to see sentences like, "The exploration of connections between art and insanity by modern artists began..." If you're looking for "art" (marks representative of psychological delusion) by the mentally ill, then pick this book up because it's a thorough collection of such people, along with outstanding reproductions of their work (both in quality and quantity), to potentially explore elsewhere. But if you, like me, think associations between asylum-dwellers (Gustan Duf) and gem-like artists who labor over their work without any expectation of audience through perspectives uninfluenced by art history (Kane Kwei) are offensive, stay clear.

Mercedes Benz-Shaped Coffin Kane Kwei, 1989
Image courtesy of http://bushofghosts.wmg.com/images/MercedesCoffin_large.jpg

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The views expressed are solely those of the blogger and do not reflect the views of
the University of the Arts.

Feel like you're missing out on something?
Want to rub elbows with your fellow artist?

Then come join us for the return of InLiquid's Member Meet and Greet Date: Tuesday, January 29, 6-8 pm. Where: London Grill 2301 Fairmount Avenue, Upstairs Bar Philadelphia *Please note this is not an open bar.
This is an agenda free opportunity to mingle with your fellow InLiquid members, possibly exchange ideas, and come up with solutions to the world's problems through art (please have the outlines of your proposal with you). It's also a great way for any artist you may know to find out about joining InLiquid in a casual setting. So come join us. Come on.
Name tag optional

Metaphysical Reflections: Do-Ho Suh at Lehmann Maupin

Image courtesy of www.lehmannmaupin.com
From the Hermes, Tokyo Exhibition of Reflections
(http://www.lehmannmaupin.com/artists/dohosuh/)

The phrase recto-verso is directly taken from Latin. Recto is defined as the “right-hand page in an open book-- and the back of that page, when the page is turned, becomes the left-hand page [verso]." (1) Today, I’m (continuing the style of ) extending the meaning to two-sided artworks like Do-Ho Suh’s Reflection, showing at the Lehmann Maupin Gallery in New York City until February 2nd. In this case, however, the work is over/under instead of front/back and the other side will seem like an apparition.

Upon entering the space, one sees a Korean gate made of translucent, cerulean (the tealish color in the pictures doesn't match what I remember) nylon hanging upside down from a stretched “ceiling” or divider (made of the same material), connected to the walls by small turnbuckles. Through the divider, one finds a parallel gate and remembers (in my case) that the gallery representative said there’s another view from the second floor.

Underneath, one can get personal with the intricate sewing and closely examine the repetitive dragons and roosters (?) woven into the fabric. In Korea, dragons represent “holy power,” protection from “evils,” “good luck,” and “king.” Roosters, if that is indeed the animal pictured, stand for “intelligence,” “patience,” and “trust.” (2) These symbols give one a feeling of tradition, history, and serenity while the gate itself and the title Reflections provoke the easy but fitting associations of passage and contemplation. It’s difficult, though, to sustain focus on the first floor after the initial “wow” because one is holding the information that there is another virgin perspective, an unknown variable above.

The shadow, reflection, and parallelism of Do-Ho Suh’s presentation conjure a feeling of duality and when the viewer occupies the space of one, “the other” is rendered a figment. From above, a work that seemed imposing and fragmentary just a moment ago now becomes lucidly whole and commanded by the viewer. With this collective vision gained, the viewer feels satiated but has sacrificed the previous almost touchable intimacy of the piece (on the second floor the viewer stands a good distance back from the gate due to the architecture. On the first floor, one could get dangerously close).

Image courtesy of www.lehmannmaupin.com
From the Hermes, Tokyo Exhibition of Reflections
(http://www.lehmannmaupin.com/artists/dohosuh/)

I was awestruck by the simultaneous feeling of structure and space and according to Do-Ho Suh, space is where it’s at. He said,

The space I’m interested in is not only a physical one, but an intangible, metaphorical, and psychological one. For me, space is that which encompasses everything. So in that sense, one could say that my art looks at diverse forms and media through the prism called reflection on space.

-Taken from the Lehmann Maupin official release
“Do-Ho Suh: Part Two, Reflections”

The artist’s statement is reminiscent of the quantum physical contradiction that everything is a gradation of seemingly infinite space and the arguable point that extensions of consciousness propagate through every facet. The sprawling, two-tiered form of Reflections embodies presence, non-presence, solidarity, porosity, temporality (in the gate as a contemplative purgatory), memory, history, and culture. It’s not bad.

(1) "Bartleby.com." Originally taken from "Kenneth G. Wilson (1923–). The Columbia Guide to Standard American English. 1993." 1/13/08
http://www.bartleby.com/68/33/5033.html

"Tate Online." 1/13/08
http://www.tate.org.uk/collections/glossary/definition.jsp?entryId=444

(2) "Life in Korea: Cultural Spotlight." Life in Asia Inc. Network. 1997-2008.
http://www.lifeinkorea.com/Culture/spotlight.cfm

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One final comment: Do-Ho Suh’s statement accentuates the work, it doesn’t make or break it. His words act as a fruitful addition instead of a necessary component. I point this out because recently I’ve been considering the impact of the statement upon the mindset of the viewer. If you appreciate the work, can the statement influence that value judgment? Can a statement decrease your appreciation if the artist’s intent doesn’t match up with your understanding of the form? If you don’t appreciate the work but read the statement out of curiosity anyway, can that change your opinion? These questions are explorative and relative to the connection and tension between the work and the artist’s verbal expression about the work. I realize the question “can?” is poor word choice but I use it for the momentary lack of a better one. The answer to “can?” in this situation is probably yes. A statement can change your view of the work, but if it does, how and why?

The Importance of Systems

I had a "Eureka!" moment today and I wish to convey it to you with the hope of transmitting not only the ideas but the energy that coincided with it.

Recently I read Stanley Fish's essay "Consequences" (1985) which was written in reference to an argument about the validity of theory provoked by Steven Knapp and Walter Michaels' essay "Against Theory" (Don't let the name-dropping put you off, where I'm going will be understood above specific references). In the writing, Fish explicates foundationalism and antifoundationalism. I'm paraphrasing but Fish says that foundationalism is the belief that there can be an absolute systems of rules implemented which can govern practice (in this case, the practice of interpretation). Antifoundationalism is the belief that rules are contextual and therefore cannot be overarching in terms of regulating all practice.

This distinction is familiar in its relation to structuralism/poststructuralism, modernism/postmodernism, etc. Where the "Eureka!" moment came in was from watching CBS's Sunday Morning when they were interviewing the actor Daniel Day-Lewis. I watched and listened as he described the systems of knowledge he learns to maximize the potential of each of his roles. For example, for the movie "Boxer" he spent months training as if he were an actual boxer. Therefore, to act as if he were a person deeply entrenched in the system of knowledge and, dare we say it, "rules" that accompany a profession in boxing, he had to submerge himself in that "discipline."

This brings me to my point, the status of the contemporary artist, after Duchamp introduced philosophy to art and artists subsequently illuminated the arbitrariness of every foundationalist theory of art practice, has been one of an anti-foundationalist nature. Relativism, the nature of antifoundationalist "theory," has become the elephant in the room for all artistic (as well as philosophical) practice. The unspoken agreement is "Well keep marching ahead pretending that these constructs (whether they be formal or conceptual) matter because it's what we do even though we know that they are all foundationally invalid."

But this conclusion doesn't have to determine our condition. The artistic practice doesn't have to be this way (and one could argue that it isn't)! As Duchamp exhibited by quitting the visual arts (even though he really didn't), there is nowhere for the artist to go in an absolutely relativistic realm. Therefore, the importance of implementing a system of knowledge/beliefs and rules, with either an implicit or stated aim, becomes the paramount necessity of artistic practice. Sol Lewitt was the seminal artist in terms of setting parameters for practice but I'm not just reiterating what he taught by example.

I'm restating this method with Daniel Day-Lewis' acting methods in mind (every truly good actor subscribes to thorough dedication of knowledge accumulation in terms of getting a role right but Day-Lewis is fresh in my mind). One doesn't have to create his or her own rules, one can assume the position of being a player in a pre-established body of knowledge for the sake of assimilating the mental framework of that practice. Like Day-Lewis studied boxing technique to play a boxer, an artist can study type-rope walking in order to first, comprehend the system of knowledge and skill that accompanies a master type rope walker and can then creatively explore that system with the mindset of the studio artist by prodding every variable of the practice (I mention type rope walking because I know there's an artist who has done just this but I fail to remember her name).

Kinga Araya, who just taught at Uarts in the graduate program over the summer, explained to her students that she had been granted a residence for an artistic program in which she would learn German. This example is a perfect one for my exploration here. Araya will learn German and assimilate the body of knowledge and mode of thought that accompanies the German language. Then, I'm sure, she will maximize the creative potential of altering the variables in terms of the rule set of that language. How she accomplishes this, is exactly the question that will determine the success of her artistic practice (and the one the critic/interpreter will be happy to examine).

Hanne Darboven constructed a system of constraints derived from musical score, took the fruits of the musical body of knowledge, and creatively altered their purpose, method, and the questions they pose. Joseph Kosuth adopted the perspective of semiotics (the study of signs and their relation to meaning) to view the artworld from and with this congregation of previously separate practices (in terms of intellectual investigation but still a very arguable point), he came to a new conclusion which was that visual art was irretrievably intertwined with words and that the true artistic battle was to be waged in linguistic philosophy and not in visual aesthetics (the validity of his conclusion notwithstanding, his methods of getting there are the focus here).

My final point is that an artist has the freedom to move through bodies of knowledge and systems of rules without direction by hollywood, without determination by study (my fellow audiology graduate student must study audiology and that's it), without any requirement of stasis. From this unique place, the artist has the ability to find new relations like a rigorous researcher and previously unseen parallels not simply in terms of theories or abstract ideas but in practice, as a conductor of an open range of skill-based knowledge. Antifoundationalism does not defeat knowledge, it opens it up for true exploration.

(this post was done all at once and perhaps there's inconsistencies in thought and mistakes in type but I think it serves it's purpose well...choose and/or create rules, learn, learn more, organize, mismatch, and accomplish).