Spotlight on Clayton Woolery

I first encountered Clayton Woolery in a basement on Ossipee Road by Tufts University, during his performance Removing Targets in our final Pokykhroma exhibition. I had been unfortunately under the weather for his previous performance with Polykhroma, so I was delightfully in the dark about Woolery’s work. All I knew was what the other curators had told me– that his work was both simple and complex, utilizing simplistic, repetitive movements to unravel multifaceted ideas. Removing Targets was no exception.

He began by unpacking a large plastic shopping bag and setting up its contents on the floor. Woolery brought with him a mental contraption, a long stretch of green Ikea packing paper, white paste, and folded clothing, amongst other items. He then began setting up the paper on the contraption, so that the front of the paper was stretched across the metal and onto the floor in neat folds. Then, the writing commenced. Take a look:

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Woolery would write in thick, capital letters on the stretch of paper until a certain amount had been filled with words. He then removed the paper and stood to attach it to the posterior wall.

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By the end of the evening, Woolery himself was caged within the metal contraption, layers and layers of inscribed paper all over the walls and floor of the space. Phrases such as “REMOVING ENGLISH” and “BURY ME” overwhelmed both his figure and the space, taking on a louder voice than the harsh din of the exhibition opening occurring behind him.

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The entire experience was mesmerizing. Woolery moved with a quiet fluidity, seemingly unaware of voyeurs. There were six other (wonderful) concurrent exhibitions and more than fifty people in the basement at time, but Woolery remained in his space, only concerned with the world he was building on plaster and stone. A small group of us stood for long stretches of time, watching him. It felt meditative to follow his smooth, repetitive movements. The build-up of materials also carried a hypnotic weight. The more Woolery himself was covered up in paper the more I craved an understanding of these cryptic texts. Simultaneously, the more I attempted to decode these texts, the less alphabetical they seemed. Though they signified what I instinctively knew those words to mean, their entire meaning became clouded. The sheer amount of words made it difficult to zero in on one verbal idea. Instead, the entire mass of words seemed to be the subject; the concept of language as a whole.

After the show, I was eager to hear more from Woolery about Removing Targets. It had been a spellbinding experience for me, but I was curious if my interpretation matched what Woolery had walked into Ossippee Road hoping to impart on viewers. I also had many questions about his perspective on the art world– after all, millennial/Gen Z artists are carving out the future of art-making and consumption.

We met for tea at Diesel Cafe and discussed all the above. It was important to me to connect with Woolery on a human level. If we involve technology in every interaction we have, we dilute their importance int he moment. It can come to feel like every action we take is made for the purpose of documentation. And so, my conversation with Woolery was unrecorded. It flowed naturally in all directions, leisurely making its way around to all my questions.

I followed up with an email asking Woolery to answer questions that related to our discussion the day before. And so, before you is a condensed version of our free-form conversation at Diesel Cafe. Read on to discover the truth behind Removing Targets and the details of Woolery’s artistic practice.

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CH: Tell me more about your performance piece at Polykhroma! What inspired it? What were you hoping to accomplish? I’d love to detail for my readers your explorations with language.

CW: Removing Targets stems from a longer term incrimination of language that inflects my art practice.  Embedded in every language are the cultural mores of the society developing that language, and American English is a prime example. From polarized gender expression to phonaesthetic regimes (i.e. “this is america: speak english!”) even the most radical explorations of meaning making must tread the fraught space of language, which flattens the relationship between signifier and signified. I first came in touch with these ideas in the context of queer theory and incorporate them into an abject, provisional art ethics.

In performing a durational “exorcism” of language I wanted to explicitly place myself and my presentation of myself in the paradoxical dimension of western ideas of utopia/dystopia. I caged myself in my nicest clothes, accompanied by many indicators of conspicuous consumption (swell bottle, DSLR, tablet, “Madewell” bag) and began to work tirelessly unpacking these contents from a laundry bag that illustrates a certain cluttered world view in the form of a red, white, and blue target.  In truth the material elements of the performance are selected specifically but treated anonymously— the experience of the performance, im sure, was that of watching a hunched, billowing scribe attack long swaths of green ikea packing paper.

The language I graft, paradoxically, too, was a free form treatise on how best to achieve utopia, a line of thinking that quickly falls apart. I was left to sift through my tattered science fictions and face the apparent long-windedness white men are afforded in magisterial and abject spaces. Here I’ve gone on for so long!


CH: How did your work change once you got into the space?

CW: Performance art in my experience always feels like a circus I am stubbornly staging alone. It was important in terms of labor and exhaustion for the actor in this piece to be myself, and therefore I didnt want to have myself elevated or removed in my original conception of the work.

When viewing “Art” people have accepted the training of galleries and museums and, in this scenario, even being in a basement could not counteract the formation of spectacle. The work became highly dissociative, with a clear ring of people several feet from me. I felt no ability or desire to draw them closer, and allowed this to free me from attempting to be legible in the ways I had planned to be.  I let the action take center stage and released myself from an obligation to posture their experience. It became about execution and in many ways simplified helpfully the extravaganza of content i had prepared.

(Quick note: I was a dedicated member of the ‘ring of people’ watching. I can attest to the strange energy between performer and voyeur during Woolery’s performance. It is true that he made no attempt to invite us in, in fact seemed completely oblivious to our existence, and yet we were too mesmerized to turn away. What resulted was  an uneasy balance, like a rope tied tightly between two points, vibrating from the tension.)


CH: We talked about how your work bridges the gap between wall-painting and performance art, as you enact the application of art to wall surfaces. Tell me more about this middle ground you’ve created.

CW: The terminology that is sticking the most for the work I’m doing is “performed composition.” I am presenting a collection of abject materials and material applications that deliver a sense of provisional and incomplete gestures, thus opening a space for this completion to occur in the form of live or instructional interventions.  This then creates a space beyond indication for the labor of creativity — you see the activity of painting in a Pollock, but never is that labor performed and examined as the painting itself.  This is to say that painting is an action and never an object. Furthermore, such actions that result in aesthetic (performative) objects are yet another form of labor.  I am highlighting a critical need for a reevaluation of labor.  Who is doing the work that makes this industry possible? What meaning can be derived from being delusional about this labor, and the cost of supporting the arts but not the artists? The space is really one that seeks to excavate work from an artwork, and place it coyly in the gallery.  It is also a post-studio space that problematizes ideas of finish and rarification that make the art world a beacon for ridicule.


CH: What generally inspires you creatively? Who are your influences?

CW: Creativity is a box full of lenses with which seeing can be filtered.  I get inspired when I am able to identify something between two previously separate elements that the lens of poetry, theory, activism, etc. may make apparent.  So it can be anything, most often occurences in my daily life are the beginnings of my favorite pieces. There can’t be an end or border on the creative practice.  But these thoughts have sources, such as Joseph Beuys and J. Jack Halberstam.  I take particular interest in and support works by established artists such as Sarah Sze, Janin Antoni, and Edgar Arceneaux, as well as emerging artists like Jesse Kanda and Puppies Puppies.


CH: What do you think is the role of the artist in society today? How do you see yourself fitting into that role?

The artist has an identity crisis on their hands.  Some art theorists and practitioners believe, as Donald Judd put it, that the ideal artist is “original and obdurate; they’re the gravel in the pea soup.” However this breaking of homogeneity operates from a space of art as a service for or against society rather than as a labor intrinsic to it. Do artists seek harmony or discord, and is seeking either through art only a swinging pendulum? I am inticed by more collective action in the art world, allowing for the tyranny of the artist-ego (Foucault’s “author-function”) to be subsumed into a symbiotic relationship with radically earthy art institutions.  I am wanting everyone to feel inclined to say “I am an artist” or at least understand the importance of establishing an ecosystem for the consumption and recapitulation of art.


CH: What do you think is the role of the curator in society today? We discussed how positive the dialogue was between artist and curator in the Polykhroma exhibit. Tell me more about how you envision the relationship between the two to be.

CW: Developing an active and attentive community that balances artist and audience, resources and risks, taste and tact, has always been the admirable and impossible task of curators.  Igniting an appreciation for engagement with ideas is crucial; placards and pacing and replication of the white cube, however, are hindering this endeavor.  Curators must really open artists, technicians, and audiences to the possibility of doing things differently than how they believe they must do them, and in turn reap unexpected and surprising results in the pursuit of inventive solutions to the problem of the gallery.


CH: We talked about spectacle art and blockbuster exhibits. Tell me a bit more about your thoughts on this trend. 

CW: I have heard about 15 different takes on the Whitney Biennial. As someone who decided, in light of the protests of Black Americans against the showing of Dana Schutz’ Open Casket, to abstain from visiting as an act of solidarity, I have yet to hear a review that is positive and descriptive.  People no longer know why they go see the things they go see. Institutional loyalty precludes the mass acceptability of exhibitions— and there is money to be made.   And we see even further surreal elements of the same show: Katy Perry promoting her singles by hiding beneath a silver serving tray to the beguiled response of visitors to the Whitney, who have paid $18-$25 dollars to believe they are spending an afternoon devoid of such marketing. In late capitalism this form of collective cognitive dissonance is not surprising. Art cannot settle for its current place as a condensation of social-media-informed modes of escapism/inspiration. There is no community, no real stakes, only a self-aware act of conspicuous consumption.

(Quick Note: Dana Schutz is a white female artist whose graphic depiction of violence against black bodies was included in the Whitney Biennale. This created a huge controversy last year. Read more here.)


CH: You told me about your desire to participate in a larger artist collective. Tell me more about that! What would this entail ideally? How has your knowledge of past collectives informed this decision? 

CW: Ideally it would entail utilizing technology at hand to create an engaging and accessible space of committed and regular collective creative practice. I’m talking rotating collaborations, conference presentations of ideas, and streamlined collective decision making. These goals could be achieved through first a smaller team of people that develop this space as an inaugural iteration of this. I am wanting an art government, essentially! One that erases borders that limited collectives of the past through open enrollment and collaborative spirit. In addition, I am seriously interested in the VR potential for exhibition “space” and making the production of the collective as public as possible.

In reality, a collective could exist just attempting to illustrate this ethereal realm i’ve dreamt up in the paragraph above.


CH: What are your thoughts on the Boston art scene?

CW: I am still exploring it, but do believe that it does not know how to incorporate the energy of young artists into a cohesive space with the galleries and museums here.  I do think art institutions are strong but almost entirely leashed to their percieved clientele (students, brahmins, etc) rather than to a specific goal or movement of art.

That said, I am particularly impressed by organization in the audiovisual scene and believe there is potential in a coming together of music, visual art, and tech-savvy creatives.  Boston holds back so many potential convergences, the social structure is made of countless interlocking bubbles and such social carbonation is disorienting and difficult to navigate.


CH: What are your thoughts on art at Tufts?

CW: There is certainly a great deal of potential in the hands of an administration that has very little track record in pushing for an integration of art on or for campus.  I find the estrangement between creative student organization and adequate resources to be a hurdle in need of overcoming before this potential may be accessed. 

I would say many things are special for what they are. Maker spaces like Crafts Center have been influential in my appreciation for collectivism in art; the museum school has yet to lose its radical energy for me in the wake of all the money suddenly coming its way.   I deeply cherish the flash collective I participated in with Avram Finkelstein in 2015 that resulted in the billboard on the Lower Campus Center lawn, despite it no longer existing.


CH: What’s next for art? Where do you see artistic trends going in the next few years?

CW: I see event based art organizing at critical mass: controversy in other creative arenas such as Fyre music festival and Noma Mexico luxury dining display a serious tone-deafness to global issues of disparity and neglect. In its wake all sorts of radical activity could take an unexpected center stage.  I would be very keen to see socially engaged art practices recieve more coverage and be more fully inducted into the canon of art as artists working in this way such as Pablo Helguera and Paul Ramirez Jonas are allowing people to feel welcome in the art world that may previously have been disenfranchised.  I am also for an art world that empowers and better documents performance artists and art of protest.

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 Thank-you so much to Clayton Woolery for participating in Polykhroma Presents: Utopia/Dystopia and for sharing your ideas with me (both over tea and email!)

To my readers: I hope you enjoyed reading Woolery’s insights into art and its global significance. It was especially exciting for me to take part in this conversation after seeing his work live. Woolery will be exhibiting his work next spring in a thesis exhibition at the SMFA. In the meantime, check out his instagram to keep up with his work. And if you find yourself in the Boston area, keep a look out for exhibitions occurring through Polykhroma. There’s a good chance you’ll catch a performative piece by the hypnotic artist, Clayton Woolery.

Until next time!

xoxo,

Chloe ❤

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Modern Art in Berlin Pt. 2 (Berlinische Galerie- Berlin, Germany)

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed my previous post about modern German art at the Berlinische Galerie. As explained in my previous post, there is simply too much to say about this collection/topic to do it in one post. And so, I am analyzing key works from the collection in four increments. You can read Part 1 here.

Part 1 discussed the Berlin Secession and the Pre-War years. Today I am going to discuss a little-known work painted during World War I: Stürzender Engel, by Benno Berneis (1914). There is so little information about Berneis, we will have to use only our eyes and knowledge of historical context to make sense of this eerie painting.

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At the outbreak of war in 1914, the artist Benno Berneis painted Stürzender Engel (Falling Angel).

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For such an extraordinary painting, very little is known about its painter. Benno Berneis (1883-1916) was a German Jewish painter who served as a pilot in the First World War. He died in service in 1916. According to journalist Von Nicola Kuhn, from the German newspaper Tagesspiegel, Berneis’ work was exhibited with that of Lieberman and Matisse before the War. He was poised to follow in the footsteps of his fellow German Expressionists. Unfortunately, his death cut short what was sure to be an incredible career. Now we are left with a smaller collection, albeit a beautiful one. You can look at his other works on his website, which is run by his grandson, Michael Berneis. I have been struggling to find much academic information on the artist (in German OR English). Please let me know if you come across anything!

And so, in lieu of any academic information, we shall have to use our eyes and knowledge of historical context to sort through Stürzender Engel. Take another look at this beautiful painting:

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What stands out to you? The loveliness of the pastel color palette? The illusion of roundness on the canvas surface? The obfuscation of the figure’s face? The curious nature of the figure itself? How about the tree bending sideways- does your mind attempt to find the source of wind contorting its thin branches?

My mind tries first and foremost to make sense of the space. It is (relatively) clear to me that the tree stands on some sort of green hilltop. The curving nature of the earth next to the tree resembles rolling hills. Additionally, the green pigment coloring the hill becomes less saturated as it approaches the bottom of the canvas. Pinks and browns are introduced, and are blended with larger, swirling brushstrokes. Not sure what I mean? Here’s a detailed look at this part of the canvas:

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Note how the inch above the canvas is a wash of different colors, blended into an ambiguous mist. It is only as the eye rises up the canvas a couple inches that the brushstrokes fall into place and one can make out the appearance of a grassy mound. What results from Berneis’ manipulation of color and texture is the sensation of mist rising, clouding one’s view and understanding of the hilltop’s appearance. My extremely limited experience hiking has taught me that there is quite a lot of mist and fog at higher elevations. Atop the highest mountain in Arcadia National Park, I could see only a few feet in front of me due tot he immense amounts of fog. And so, decreased color saturation and the decreasing specificity of brushstrokes lead me to believe that this painting is situated at a very high altitude… and the drop-off from here is incredibly steep.

What sorts of things do you associate with being at a very high altitude? I think of Heaven, spirituality, isolation, pilgrimages, extreme weather, Mt. Everest and all the people who have died trying to climb it, Cloud Forest in Ecuador and my sister’s incredible experience there, and getting altitude sickness at Yellowstone National Park when I was 15. What all these associations have in common is a sense of otherness of which we are in awe. We look to the highest points on earth with a sense of amazement– for the people and creatures who inhabit them, and for their unique (and often dangerous) climates. For some, the way of life atop Earth’s highest points is so foreign that it accumulates otherworldly associations. Mountains in the sky become religious symbols. It is this angle that Benno Bernis took in painting Stürzender Engel (Falling Angel). The title immediately indicates a religious, or at least supernatural, perspective.

Because of our location atop a misty hilltop, close to the heavens, we are poised to watch the angel’s fall from grace right at the moment of its happening. Take a closer look at her exit from the clouds:

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The angel’s body is still touching the voluminous clouds from which she falls. What are we to make of her descent? Firstly, she is nude. Perhaps her stark nudity symbolizes the loss of her wings; without them, she is naked. She covers her head and face, as if in shame. Berneis has actually emphasized the hiding of her face by blurring the outlines of her forearms and her head until what remains is a mass of pink and yellow over the remnants of dark brown. I have to wonder if this signifies Berneis’ chastising of the angels’ actions, or the angel’s own anguish at her fall from grace.

I think it also bears noting that this angel’s fall is more of a graceful descent. She is not plummeting out of the empty sky. In fact, the cloud from which she is released bears likeness to a human hand. Its three-dimensionality, achieved through careful shading and use of light, provide the form a firmness not characteristic of vaporous clouds. It feels thick and soft to the viewer’s eye, like a human hand. If we take this to be true, whose hand is it? The hand of God? The hand of Fate? It is a kind hand, who carefully releases the angel, newly wingless, into the world.

It follow, then, to ask what the angel has done to merit her expulsion from Heaven. Here is where context plays an important role in visual analysis. Given the context of the years preceding WWI which I detailed in my previous post, and the fact that WWI erupted in 1914, it is impossible to separate this painting from the world in which it was born.

Angels are beings believed to be messengers of God. They are women of extraordinary virtue and moral conduct. For one to be expelled from Heaven, she would need to act in an immoral manner. In 1914, what would qualify as such? Perhaps the angel represents Berneis’ homeland, Germany, and her fall from grace, Germany’s descent into violence. Or perhaps the angel is Europe, in which case Berneis’ criticism of violence would incriminate all of the countries involved in the conflict.

I also wonder if Stürzender Engel (Falling Angel) could be making commentary on the effect of war on spirituality. If angels are God’s messengers, could it be that an angel’s fall represents the death of God’s ties with the human race? Had people finally reached a violence so evil that He no longer wished to communicate with them through His messengers? If this is the case, it would explain the delicate way in which the Hand releases the angel. Her fall is not a plummet; the effect of being thrown in disgust from Heaven. Her fall is a gentle, reluctant push, enacted by a remorseful hand. It seems that Benno Berneis wondered if mankind had reached a low so low that God no longer wished to have contact with people. And so, the angels were dismissed.

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I hope you enjoyed this analysis. It was exciting to dive headfirst into a work of art with no literature to bounce my ideas off of. This is a wonderful example of using visual analysis and historical context to understand a work of art. That is how accessible art is! All you need are your eyes. (And if you paid attention during history class, that is a tremendous plus…)

Until next time!

xoxo, Chloe ❤

Post-Grad Updates

Hi everyone!

It’s been a while since I last posted, but I am happy to say that my hiatus from Canvas And Crumpets has come to an end. This year was a busy one academically and artistically (those two things go hand in hand for me…) I taught an art history course to freshman, wrote a senior thesis on Dutch Cobra art, played Roxie in the Tufts production of “Chicago,” and took both my math and science requirements in my senior spring. I ended up falling in love with my math course, an exploration of the math behind M. C. Escher’s symmetrical tessellations.

All my hard work paid off! I am happy to say that I won both the Art History Prize for my graduating class and the Madeline Caviness Prize for my senior honors thesis. Additionally, I won highest honors for my thesis and graduated summa cum laude. I celebrated these achievements with copious amounts of pizza from my favorite pizza place in Davis Square, Oath. (Try yours with ricotta…mmmmmm)

So what’s next for me? Next Friday I leave for a three week Euro Trip. First I’m visiting my family in Northern England. They live in a suburb between Manchester and Liverpool. During my stay, I hope to visit as many museums in both cities as possible, and also take a ride to the beach in Wales. Next, I’m flying to Amsterdam to see my abroad friends and travel around my favorite city with my best friend, Lara. It’s the 100th anniversary of De Stijl in the Netherlands, so I’m sure our trip will include some Mondrian! On my list for art spaces to see in Amsterdam are the Stedelijk (of course), the Rijksmuseum, the Witteveen Visual Art Center, and Foam. Lastly, Lara and I are traveling to Berlin for the first time! We hope to see as much art and history as physically possible. Luckily for us, the art fair Documenta is open in Kassel during our stay in Germany. Documenta only arrives every five years to this small German town. We plan to take a day trip or overnight trip to Kassel to experience this politically-charged exhibition.

When I get back from Europe, I plan to spend a good five weeks relaxing in New York City. I’ll likely hit up a July 4th Barbecue and see a bunch of Broadway Shows. You can expect lots of posts about my Euro Trip and the exhibitions I visited, as well as reviews of exhibitions here in NYC.

And after that? I’ll be starting GRE prep and German classes in August. During my gap year between undergrad and my art history masters, I need to learn as much German as humanly possible! Translating art history texts is an important part of the art history masters curriculum. So I’ll be in New York City for the next year, learning German and hitting up all my favorite museums, galleries, and brunch spots. Hit me up if you’d like to join me!

xoxo,

Chloe ❤

grad

Link to my review on the Public House of Art’s Website

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a sunny Wednesday.

It’s been a very exciting week for me. I just found out that I am going to be interning at Sotheby’s this summer in New York City! I will be very sad to leave Amsterdam (temporarily!!) but very happy to start a new artistic chapter in my life. More to come on that later 🙂

My review of the “The Awesome” at the Public House of Art here in Amsterdam was also published on their website. You can check it out here. Many thanks to the Public House of Art for featuring me!

I’m looking forward to the next Thursday’s launch of new artwork at the Public House of Art. Check out the event here. 

Until next time!

xoxo, Chloe ❤

Seth Siegelaub: Beyond Conceptual Art (Stedelijk Museum-Amsterdam)

Hey everyone!

Today I’d like to discuss a unique exhibit I recently saw at the Stedelijk Museum, a modern art museum in Amsterdam. “Seth Siegelaub: Beyond Conceptual Art” is a retrospective of the work of Seth Siegelaub, famous New York curator, author, collector, and bibliographer. He was a contemporary Renaissance man whose impact on the art world cannot be overstated. What I find most important about Siegelaub was his multi-disciplinary approach to art. He did not view art in a vacuum, but in the context of physics, media, history, globalization, politics, and english. Furthermore, his definition of art reached from abstract conceptual art to the study of headdresses and textiles. In “Seth Siegelaub: Beyond Conceptual Art,” the Stedelijk Museum introduces a new generation to the legacy of Siegelaub. What is this legacy? That the interconnectedness of everything can be felt through the practice, collection, and study, of art.

This is what one sees when one first enters the exhibit:

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Transferred. To transfer is, by definition, to cause to pass from one to another. It can refer to a tangible transfer, such as the passing of goods from one person to the next. It can also be used to explain non-tangible exchanges, such as the transfer of ideas into words. So why focus on this idea of transference in Siegelaub’s retrospective? I think that Siegelaub’s multi-disciplinary approach to art is actually a web of transferred ideas, manifested in words, motifs, and abstract concepts. In order to understand what I mean, I’ll take you through the exhibit as I saw it. At the end, I’ll show how underlying themes are transferred in Siegelaub’s understanding of the world.

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The first part of the exhibit that I explored was Siegelaub’s large collection of headdresses.  Siegelaub started collecting headdresses in the early 1980s, and continued until his death. His collection spans the whole globe, with pieces from six continents. They represent a range of cultures, materials, and techniques. And yet, together, they form a beautifully coherent whole. Take a look.

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These headdresses, all arranged on thin white pedestals of varying heights, form a unit. But upon closer inspection, it is clear that these ornate works are very distinct from one another. This first headdress is made from banana fiber, cane marrow, bark, leaves, pigment, and feathers. It is called a “Rom Kon” mask and was made on Ambrym Island, Vanuatu, in the mid-20th century.

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This second headdress was made at the same time by the Kuba People of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It is composed of wood, vegetal fiber, shells, and glass.

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By displaying these headdresses together, Seigelaub indicates that people all over the world have intrinsic similarities and interests, simply due to the fact that we are all human. Cultures that are oceans from one another independently chose to wear headdresses, whether for protection from the elements, for spiritual reasons, or for stylistic choice. It is a fascinating and beautiful thing to think that people from different places have similar desires, fears, and solutions to their problems. Taken together, this collection is both a celebration of humanity’s similarities and an exposé of cultural individuality.

I am curious here about the relevance of transference in this aspect of the exhibit. The transference of human emotion to creation is clear.  The fear of the elements and the need to protect oneself, as well as religious sentiment and the creation of spiritual garment, are apparent precursors to the use of headdresses in various cultures. But what kind of exchanges may have occurred that allowed ideas to bounce between existing groups? Do trade and tourism impact the resources available to the creators of these headdresses, influencing how they construct them? And do these activities expose them to different styles and intellectual concepts that affect their approach to making headdresses? These are questions I would like to find an answer to in Siegelaub’s writings, and in literature on anthropology/textiles in general. I am not a student of globalization, but perhaps, as Siegelaub suggests, we all ought to be. After all, art is a reflection of globalization, and the two are intrinsically tied.

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Siegelhub was also an avid collector of textiles. His collection was just as global as his compilation of headdresses, and it indicates his fascination with woven and stitched art. The majority of these textiles are non-western, and feature complex patterns and motifs like the one featured below. These textiles are displayed in horizontal glass cases throughout the exhibit. The light in the room is kept low to preserve the pigments of these fragile works, but their beauty radiates through the dim glass.

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Many of the textiles, despite being from different cultures, share similar motifs. Geometric shapes, symmetrical patterns, and motifs within larger shapes are abundant. I wonder if, like the global popularity of the headdress, these similarities can be attributed to some extent to human nature. If there is something, perhaps, psychologically pleasing about a repetition and straight lines, or a perfect circle. Does the human mind find pleasure in symmetry? Is there a transference of human desire into the methodical design of a textile?

I also believe that the transference of ideas and materials between cultures is an important element of Siegelaub’s study of textiles. The same logic can be applied here that I explained in relation to headdresses, but more so, I believe, because textiles are a more portable medium of art. They form the basis of clothing, blankets, tapestries, scarves, prayer shawls, rugs, and any other fabric-based item. One can trace the pattern of human movement by mapping the transference of motifs and ideas between cultures. For instance, it is easy to see when Europeans began trading with and colonizing the East, because they brought back with them notions of the “Orient” that manifested themselves in European textiles. The appearance of Japanese, or mock-Japanese fans and parasols became prominent in female quarters, as well as layers of velvet and silk shawls shading the windows and covering wooden furniture. Mens’ smoking rooms saw increasingly padded upholstery in vivid colors. Oriental rugs became commonplace in western Europe. Such trends of global movement can be seen on a smaller scale as well, as cultures diffused information through local interactions.

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After examining Siegelaub’s collections of headdresses and textiles, I moved on to the area of the exhibit examining his work as a curator. Siegelaub is often referred to as the Father of Conceptual Art. His early years were spent curating in New York City. The ideas he fostered during this busy time would influence his later endeavors.

One of Siegelaub’s most famous projects was the exhibit, January Show, which he curated in 1969. Up until then, conceptual art was popular, but people were unsure how to package it to the public. Siegelaub presented conceptual art in a way that was digestible and purchasable, by expanding its definition to encompass things that were tangible, and others that were arrangeable. What I mean is, a book or a poster could inhabit a wealth of meanings that made it conceptual. An entire space could be arranged to convey a meaning, and that in itself was conceptual art. In reference to January Show, Siegelaub said, “The exhibit consists of (the ideas communicated in) the catalogue; the physical presence (of the work) is supplementary to the catalogue.” The artists whose work was represented in January Show were Robert Barry, Douglas Huebler, Joseph Kosuth, and Lawrence Weiner.

You can view the catalogue here. 

Congratulations. You are now in possession of conceptual art.

Because the concepts outlined in the catalogue are the art itself, the physical representations of these ideas in the show are supplementary. As Lawrence Weiner indicates in the catalogue, “the piece need not be built.” And so, the fact that we do see the piece built is merely by chance. Had it not been built, the concept would have remained.

Here are some photographs of the physical representations of January Show. 

“Art as Idea as Idea,” by Joseph Kosuth (1968).

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This concept, as explained in the catalogue, is composed of the artist creating nine dictionary definitions. Each time one of the definitions is exhibited, he instructs that it be enlarged to different, specific, dimensions. In this way, the work has no constant shape. It doesn’t even have a constant form, because there are nine different definitions that can be printed to follow the directions of “Art as Idea as Idea.” Here I have shown ‘Painting’ and ‘Definition,’ but there are seven other options. Both the small version printed in the book and the larger canvas version represent “Art as Idea as Idea.”

The photo below is of Lawrence Weiner’s “AN AMOUNT OF BLEACH POURED UPON A RUG AND ALLOWED TO BLEACH” (1968).

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In this work, Weiner emptied a can of bleach on the carpet of the exhibition the day before it opened. What makes this work a fine example of conceptual art is that it is not about the final image of the bleach on the rug. While it is visually arresting, it is supplementary to the statement, “an amount of bleach poured upon a rug and allowed to bleach.” This statement is the act of art-making. It represents the control the artist has on the space around him. The rug is not bleached; it is ALLOWED to bleach. In this way, Weiner shifts the focus of the work to the act of making, and what this says about individual will and power, rather than the aftermath of this power.

I think of it a bit like physics (which becomes even more relevant later in this post). In physics there is a concept of kinetic energy vs. potential energy. Kinetic energy is the energy one has from moving, such as the flow of a river. Potential energy is the energy one has from positioning in space, such as the water right at the brink of a waterfall. In AN AMOUNT OF BLEACH,  the potential energy of the artist, instructed to bleach the carpet, is the focus. His position in the world allows him to yield force to create a lasting impact.

It seems to me that Siegelaub deliberately chose to curate works that revolved around the idea of transference. The ideas present in the catalogue of January Show could only be seen if they were transferred into something physical, but the original idea, written down in the catalogue, was purest in the minds of visitors. Transference is what allowed these ideas to be seen by more and more people. Reprints of “Art As Idea As Idea” hung in various countries may be secondary to the concept, but they transfer its meaning to new audiences.

I linked you with the exhibit catalogue. You are now a PART of this transfer.

* * *

Siegelaub’s intellectual publications are also a central aspect of this exhibit. After Siegelaub moved from New York to Paris, he became interested in mass-media and left-wing politics. He created the International Mass Media Research Center and started writing bibliographies, one of which was titled Marxism and the Mass Media. Towards a Basic Bibliography. Before the internet made it easy to do research, bibliographies like Siegelaub’s were immensely important for researchers.

This exhibit focuses on the influence of mass media and leftism on Siegelaub’s personal ideology and publications. Siegelaub was inspired to create a radical daily newspaper that would combine his passion for conceptual art with its natural ties to journalism, mass media, and politics. The following is an excerpt from a draft of this paper.

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One can see the influence of conceptualism in the layout and design of this page. It is handwritten, and squeezed for space at the top. The focus is clearly on the message of the work, rather than its aesthetics, a key characteristic of conceptual art. It is also a sly yet direct attack on censorship. It is easy for the reader to decode this page for the censored words, yet it does not technically break any rules. This loophole underlines the absurdity of censorship. The content of the page also shows Siegelaub’s opinion that censorship is a direct attack on the First Amendment. Such a stance reveals his radical political leanings. He believes in free expression, which was associated with a leftist political mindset at the time.

We can also see how political views translated (or transferred, if you aren’t completely sick of that word yet) into a visual, almost artistic, work.

* * *

Lastly, the exhibit ends with a video installation entitled, “The Causality of Hesitance.” It was created posthumously to explore Seigelaub’s ideas about time and causality in physics in a visual way. Although the curator and researcher died before he could finish exploring these theories, he left behind a wealth of bibliographic information about the relationship between and time and causality. Furthermore, his interest in these ideas stems (transfers!!) from his early involvement with conceptual art. One cannot separate the two, as conceptual art in the 60s often dealt with questions of time . And so, “The Causality of Hesitance” takes Seigelaub’s theories and builds off of them, creating a work that is both thought-provoking and chilling. Here is a still of the video:

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In “The Causality of Hesitance,” a man in a turtleneck monologues his ideas about time, all the while acting out these ideas. It sounds confusing, but let me give you a few examples:

  • He says, “Hesitation carves time…” [he hesitates] “…out of time.”

The very act of hesitating is a demonstration of what he is saying.

  • And then he starts talking about radio broadcasting, and its relationship to time. He wonders how long it takes for words to bounce from one person’s mouth, through the radio, and into another’s living room.

“How… long… does… it… take?” He pauses between each word, emphasizing the delay of broadcasting, and how that warps our perception of time.

  • The man then begins to talk about time in relation to art.

“Can an artwork hesitate itself?” he asks. “Can we make an exhibit about not saying?”

If art is about saying something to a viewer, what happens when it says nothing? Is this still art? He says yes, that “unvoiced ambivalence can be an artwork.” It is a poetic utterance, to hesitate. Choosing to not speak, choosing to not represent, elongates time.

  • “Am I talking now?” he hesitates. “How about now?

Does the act of talking cease when he pauses?

  • “Is anyone else listening?”

(Are you still reading?)

  • “Let us make time itself lose its patience. Let us remain. Let us dwell.”

He goes on with this point for a while, dwelling eternally on the concept of dwelling.

  • At this point, I wonder if this man has said anything substantial. I realize that this whole speech is one longgggg hesitation. A deliberate choice to not say anything but to leave us on the verge. He stretches time by explaining time. After all-
  • “Time is material.”

How long did it take you to read this portion of this post? One minute? Five? Did you reread any of it? Was anything that I wrote down actually substantial? Are you very confused?

Can you argue, now, that time is NOT material?

^This is the state of mind I was left in after watching this film. My friend and I had watched this together, and upon leaving, decided we could not see the rest of the Stedelijk that day. We were too emotionally drained from wondering whether we were wasting time or if time was dragging and we needed to sit somewhere and have a sandwich.

* * *

 

“Seth Siegelaub: Beyond Conceptual Art” has been one of the most interesting exhibits for me to review. I enjoyed focusing on a curator, rather than an artist, and looking at art from many different disciplines. I found myself drawing scientific parallels and investigating the evolution of politics. (How does physics relate to conceptual art? How has leftist ideology regarding censorship changed since the 1950s?) I think that this is the main takeaway of this exhibit. I hope that you take it upon yourself to view the world from many perspectives. It is not enough to look at art from a purely artistic lens. It is also not enough to view science or politics or communications in a vacuum.

Start small. I purchased a book at the Stedelijk called “How to Read Donald Duck: Imperialist Ideology in the Disney Comic.” Grow your frame of references and you will be able to draw more interesting and complex conclusions from any discipline you study.

Until next time!

 

xoxo, Chloe ❤

Galaxy Jar DIY

Feeling ~trippy~ ? Make a galaxy jar out of simple household items! Well, if fabric dye is not typically in YOUR household, then a trip to the craft store might be necessary. In my house we have 100+ jars of acrylic paint but no milk or detergent, so there’s that.

Anyway

Follow these simple steps to add some trippy, out-of-this-world vibes to your home.

MATERIALS

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-Cotton Balls

-Fabric Dye (I used some from an old tie-dye kit. Food coloring also works, if you can find pink, purple, and blue food coloring.)

-2 Glass jars

-Glitter

-A long stick (Mine’s a shish kebob stick)

-Water

STEP 1: Fill up one glass jar a little less than halfway.

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STEP 2: Pour in a few drops of fabric dye, and mix thoroughly with a stick. Just use one color.

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STEP 3: Put a bunch of cotton balls in the mixture. I used around 10 because they are very absorbent. Push them down with the stick so that they are completely submerged, and there is only a thin layer of mixture on top.

STEP 4: Sprinkle glitter on top and mix with the stick.

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STEP 5: Place another bunch of cotton balls on top of this mixture. Meanwhile, pour water into the other jar until it is 1/4 filled. Then use a different color of dye to dye this mixture.

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STEP 6: Pour the new mixture into the original jar. Put more glitter on top of this and mix with the stick.

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STEP 7: Repeat steps 5 and 6 with yet another color of dye, or just alternate between the two colors. Do so until the jar is mostly filled.

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STEP 8: Screw on the lid and find a good spot to house your new galaxy jar 🙂

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P.S. If you like the look of the coaster my galaxy jar is resting on, check out the Alcohol Ink Coaster DIY here: https://canvasandcrumpets.com/2015/01/02/alcohol-ink-coasters-diy/

xoxo, Chloe ❤

Wandering Around Chelsea

Helloooo all!

It’s honestly embarrassing how long it has been since I last posted. February. I’m cringing. Taking five hard classes at Tufts this semester completely took over my life. I think I dream now in a strange combination of english and french 1 vocab. (J’adore les croissants…) And what’s even more ridiculous is that the last few months have been filled with art even if I haven’t had the time to write about it! In the last few months I helped curate an exhibit of student work at the Tufts Art Gallery, helped plan a spring gallery party, went to LONDON and saw only my favorite Pre-Raphaelite paintings of all time, and went to the Neue Galerie to see the Egon Schiele exhibit.

But the good news is, I’m back in New York and the only thing on my mind is art. Living it, seeing it, and writing about it. I will definitely backtrack a little and post about all the exciting art-related things that I saw and did this spring, but I’m also excited to keep moving forward. Today I had brunch with my friend Vera and we attempted to go to the new Whitney on Gansevoort. Unfortunately, the line wrapped around the block and apparently the museum now requires tickets (?) to skip the line. Maybe this was always a thing and I’m only noticing now because everyone and their mother is going to the Whitney, but I’m definitely getting a ticket this week.

Instead, Vera and I decided to do a little gallery hopping. We started at the Kitchen on 19th street and 10th ave, which is currently showing the Parsons Fine Arts 2015 MFA Exhibition. It was incredible. I cannot wait to see what these artists continue to create. Then we crossed the street to see Yayoi Kusama’s “Give Me love.” You may have seen pictures on Facebook or Instagram of your friends covered in colorful dots posing in a room also filled with colorful dots. It’s part of an interactive exhibit that’s even more fun and visually appealing in person. After pealing stickers off ourselves, we walked through the David Zwirner Gallery to see the rest of Kusama’s exhibit, as well as a wonderfully ethereal exhibit of Lisa Yuskavage’s pastels and oil paintings. Lastly, Vera and I dipped into the Paula Cooper Gallery, which curated Bruce Conner’s 70’s punk photographs to a T.

By the end of the day, Vera could no longer feel her feet and I was dying for a glass of water. Our next stop? My apartment for late lunch and back-to-back episodes of SVU. Nothing could derail this beautiful dream. But, on our way to the E train, a sign caught our eye. “15,000 Books by Artists Inside.” Like a black hole of happiness (questionable metaphor) we were sucked into Printed Matter, a shop that sells artists books. While I had heard of artists books– essentially books that are considered art in their own right– I had never seen a shop devoted entirely to the genre. What followed was an hour of pouring over zines crafted with pom-pom spines and pamphlets smaller than my hand. And of course– well, I’ll save it for a post alllllll about Printed Matter.

Can’t wait to go into more detail about everything I saw today! Gallery-hopping was a very rejuvenating way to return to New York and start the summer. It’s comforting to know that there IS life outside of college. People eat real food. Food that is NOT cereal. And they wear outfits that DON’T include sweatpants! And go places that are NOT libraries!!!

My summer of art has just begun. The exhibits-to-see list on my wall is massive, starting with the Frida Khalo exhibit at the Botanical Gardens. I’m also very intrigued by the Russian Modernism exhibit at the Neue Galerie. Anyone wanna join me?

xoxo, Chloe ❤