Leo Gestel, (Stedelijk Museum- Amsterdam)

Hi everyone!

As you may know, I usually write exhibition reviews on temporary exhibitions. When I was abroad in Amsterdam last spring, I wrote an average of one post per week, usually on an exhibit that would close within a few months. I always perused the permanent collection of whatever space I was in, but it never occurred to me to devote a post to any assortment of permanently-owned works.

My thesis research brought me to Amsterdam again this past January. I was on the hunt for works by the Dutch Cobra artists (you can read about my trip here). 1/3 of my trip entailed viewing works by these artists in the modern art wing of the Stedelijk Museum. As I walked through the chronological galleries, I was fascinated by the way Dutch painters encapsulated the progression of European modern art. And so, today I am going to take a closer look at one of these painters in particular: Leo Gestel.

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Leo Gestel was one of the leaders of the Dutch modernist movement. His painting style ranged over the years, though he was especially influenced by cubism and post-impressionism. Take a look at the following painting entitled Reclining Nude (1910).

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This painting was made in 1910. Some of the most famous post-impressionists- Vincent van Gogh, Georges Seurat, and Paul Cézanne- died in 1890, 1891, and 1906, respectively. Yet their influence is unmistakable. Note the geometric treatment of each brushstroke:

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One of the defining characteristics of post-impressionism was the mathematical attention paid to the brushstroke. Seurat was famous for ordering his brushstrokes so that certain patterns of closely painted colors would trick the eye into mixing the colors together, and perceiving a different shade entirely. Such was the magnificence of a work like A Sunday on la Grande Jatte (1984). Note how different the colors of the figure’s hair look in the zoomed-in image vs. the whole painting. Up close we can see blue, green, orange, yellow and red bits of color sitting next to each other within the confines of her hair. From far away, the eye doesn’t completely blend the colors as it does with a Seurat, but there is a fair degree of optical mixing. I feel a sense of blue, green, and brown when I look at the figure’s hair from far away, which supports the notion that Gestel was interested in scientific, painterly tricks.

But if he was interested in optics, why not devote his attention entirely to this process, as Seurat had, and Gestel’s contemporary- Paul Signac- was doing? Perhaps there was something to accomplish in failing slightly. In other words, there can be great significance in the act of failure to represent, or to fall short of representation. Paul Cézanne’s landscapes often oscillate between two and three dimensionality. His Mont Sainte-Victoire Seen from Bibemus Quarry (1897) illustrates this phenomenon. Notice the flattening effect of the rectangular brushstrokes. Try to make sense of the orange space in the middle ground; are these cliffs dividing a lower and a higher plane? They seem to be collapsing in space, allowing these two planes to fold in on each other.

I believe that the partial optical mixing that Gestel employs was inspired by a Cézanne-esque failure to fully represent a scene. The genius of Cézanne (and Gestel, in my humble opinion), is the ambiguity of space that this failure creates. Both artists’ paintings leave questions for the viewer about the significance of this ambiguity.

In Reclining Nude, Gestel places colors tightly together, but fails to mix them completely. The background is a vibrant splash of pink, green, and blue. The bedding is composed of rich gold and yellow with bits of pink and green. These colors hint at sumptuous fabrics and gaudy wallpaper. Are we supposed to infer that she is a courtesan, because she exists within a sumptuous and gaudy world? Or do these ambiguous spaces reflect her beauty? Are we meant to envision this woman as existing within an Eden of lovely colors and patterns that reflect the color of her spirit? These are the questions that ambiguity leave behind.

Also note how Gestel uses color to draw attention to her gender:

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Like the hair on her head, the hair on this figure’s body is painted with ‘unnaturalistic’ colors- purple, yellow, and green. It is already marvelous that a work in 1910 featured a woman with pubic hair. Doing so contradicted the Hellenistic ideals of beauty that characterized female nudes for thousands of years. On this figure, her gender and its natural accouterments are viewed as vibrant and colorful- just like the rest of her body.

Now, it is impossible to ignore the positioning of the figure. She lays on the bed, naked, with her entire body visible for the viewer to consume. And yet, she hides her face in her arm. And so, she remains anonymous to us. What is the purpose of this positioning? First, it is important to look back on all of the early modern nudes that Gestel would have been well aware of. Perhaps the most famous, Manet’s Olympia (1865), challenged the traditional depictions of the courtesan as a Venus figure, averting eye contact with the viewer and allowing him to take in her idealized body. Olympia was extremely controversial at the time, as her piercing gaze confronted the viewer for his voyeurism. Her unidealized form blatantly revealed her occupation as a courtesan without shielding her behind the moral legitimacy of Greek myth. She appeared as an actual prostitute in 1865 would, and she did not pretend to enjoy the encounter.

Olympia paved the way for more honest depictions of prostitution and less idealized images of the female form. So where does Leo Gestel fit into this, and how can we understand the Netherlands within this narrative?

The Netherlands, though famous for legal prostitution today, was extremely conservative in 1910. Society was divided into distinct pillars- the Liberals, Catholics, Protestants, and Social Democrats- and people kept within their pillar. Paris was the land of courtesans, Moulin Rouge, and debauchery, not Amsterdam. Keep that in mind as we analyze the significance of this figure’s nudity.

There is celebration in the colors utilized here, and in the pleasure Gestel takes in filling in the contours of the figure’s body with paint. And yet, her hidden face is anything but celebratory. She is either extremely distressed or fast asleep.The alertness in her leg tendons suggest to me that she is awake and in a state of distress. Were she asleep, her legs would relax, and her muscles would not appear so engaged. Pre-Manet nudes depicted hollow-eyed Venuses who graciously accepted voyeurism. Manet and his contemporaries put forth confrontational nudes, in charge of their own sexuality.

It is here that I am faced with a dilemma. It seems  unlikely that Gestel, especially given his interest in post-impressionism, would turn back the clock 100 years and paint an idealized, nude, Venus. And yet, the way he blatantly positions her gender forward while hiding her face seems strikingly old-fashioned.

And yet, there is no power or confrontation in this figure’s body language to suggest her agency. She hides her breasts and burrows her head in the pillow. This is clearly not a work after Manet.

So what, then, are the implications of Reclining Nude? Is she a Venus or an Olympia? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

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I hope you enjoyed this sampling of Dutch modern art. The Netherlands is a truly fascinating place, and its journey from Rembrandt to van Gogh to Gestel is absolutely fascinating. I can’t wait to share more.

Until next time!

 

xoxo, Chloe ❤

 

Amsterdam Research Trip

Hallo!

This morning I woke up and was not in Amsterdam and let me tell you- I was disappointed. But at the same time, I was so so SO happy that my thesis research brought me to my favorite city for a wonderful week of museums, mayonnaise, and dancing. (For those who have not visited the Netherlands, the mayonnaise and music scene are out of this world).

Today I’d like to do something a little bit different. Instead of giving you an art historical analysis of an exhibit or a work of art (or even a DIY!), I am going to tell you about my wonderful week. After all, Canvas and Crumpets is about beautiful living, and my week in Amsterdam was the perfect combination of academic research and basking in the beauty of life. I’ll touch on my research, pointing to specific works and explaining how they contributed to my research process. However, I’ll be posing lots of open-ended questions about these works and leaving you to put some of the pieces together. Keep your eye out for a post later this week that answers a lot of these questions. For now, enjoy!

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Day 0: I am referring to the day I landed as Day Zero because I went 34 hours without sleeping and spent a decent amount of it in bed. Additionally, the airline lost my luggage so I don’t know if this day deserves a positive number. However, my friends Sofi and Thijl took me to a Jewish Dutch Deli for breakfast after I landed. This was by far the standout of Day Zero. No, there are no pictures. I was too busy devouring my sandwich(es).

I also went to the zoo in between naps with my good friend Sofi. Here we are:

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Just kidding, here we are:

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I believe this day ended with me asleep by 20.00.

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Day 1: I woke up bright and early to go to the Stedelijk Museum. When I was abroad, I was absolutely OBSESSED with the Stedelijk. This museum is where my thesis topic was born. It started as a research paper for one of my abroad classes, A Social History of the Netherlands. In April and May I spent about four hours a day, five days per week in the Stedelijk research library reading old documents. When I left Amsterdam, I decided to turn this research paper into my senior thesis.

The topic of the original research paper- and my senior thesis- is the art movement Cobra. Cobra stands for Copenhagen, Brussels, Amsterdam- the three cities from which the major members of this group originated. I am specifically focusing on the Dutch members of this group, and exploring how the socio-political atmosphere in the Netherlands following World War II led to the groups’ creation.

My research necessitated me returning to the Stedelijk, this time to perform visual analyses on several different works, rather than to visit the Stedelijk library. The museum feels like home to me, and I was beyond excited to go back.

I first took a look at some Mondrian paintings. The following is a work entitled Composition No. IV, with Red, Blue, and Yellow (1929). On the right is a detail of the viewer’s bottom left corner.

And here is another Mondrian work, entitled Lozenge Composition with Two Lines (1931).

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Mondrian was the founder of an important Dutch art movement called De Stijl. You can read a bit about the movement here. What characterizes De Stijl is an emphasis on geometry and primary colors. At the time of its founding in 1917, the movement was radical. It represented the next step in the breakdown of traditional art-making. Mondrian and De Stijl are important for my research because I am investigating the reasons that Cobra came about in the 1940s. De Stijl was the primary Dutch art style before Cobra, so it’s important for me to understand its theories and methodologies. Only then can I ascertain why the Cobra artists rejected De Stijl in favor of something new and different.

Take a look at these two works. What words would you use to describe them? How are line, color, shape, space, texture, and light utilized? These are called formal aspects, and they’re useful for comparing works.

Next, I went to the Cobra room, where I promptly almost fainted of happiness. The following is an incredible three-dimensional work entitled Cat, by Constant Nieuwenhuys (1948). Constant was one of the Dutch founders of Cobra, and one of the central artists in my research.

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Here I am looking more composed than I feel with Cat.

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I’ll be publishing a post soon where I go into detail about the progression of Dutch modernism through key works, so take a moment to think about how Cat compares to Composition No. IV or Lozenge Composition. How are the formal aspects utilized in different ways? And how does each work make you feel? Really focus on that sensation, as both Mondrian and Constant painted to evoke a sensation in the viewer. Furthermore, Constant actively despised Mondrian’s works. Why do you think this is?

Here is another Cobra work from this room entitled Questioning Children, by Karel Appel (1949).

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Here’s a detail of the three-dimensional work made from paint on wood.

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Appel and Constant worked closely together. What do Cat and Questioning Children share that Mondrian’s paintings lack?

Day 1 was made even more strange by my run-in with the famous Dutch talkshow host Humberto Tan. I was on my way to buy clothes (luggage was still not returned at this point) when he stopped me on the street and asked to take a photo of me for his street blog. I figured he was a photographer. Several screaming girls asking for selfies later and I realized he was a famous figure on Dutch TV. Go figure. Here we are smiling. You can still see the jet lag/confusion in my delirious eyes:

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Day 2: Day 2 was, essentially, the reason I came to the Netherlands. I called the Stedelijk museum several months ago to inquire about the works that would be on view at the museum in January. I was directed to the head of the offsite depot, where the entire Stedelijk collection is stored when it’s not on view. Museums only display a small fraction of all the works they own, so offsite depots are massive! The head of the Stedelijk depot informed me that, because I was doing research, I could request any works from the collection to study during my visit. I chose 7 paintings and 1 print, all by Dutch Cobra artists.

I arrived last Wednesday at noon feeling extremely excited. I had been looking at tiny thumbnails of these works on my computer screen, and I was about to see them in person! The building itself was very imposing, with barbed wire and an electronic gate. My taxi driver actually asked me if I was visiting someone in prison.

Anyways, I walked into the viewing room and was completely stunned for several seconds. The colors of these paintings were more vivid than I’d imagined. They leapt out at me like they were alive, swimming within the confines of their wooden frames. Here’s a snapshot of a portion of the paintings I selected:

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And here I am feeling rather posh between two of my favorite works:

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Now, two of the works that I selected were oil paintings by Karel Appel, painted before Cobra. Sitting Girl and Sailor Girl were both created in 1946. Take a look and answer this question: What styles or artists do these works remind you of?

Sitting Girl reminds me of Modigliani’s manneristic portraits of women with elongated necks. Compare Sitting Girl to Jeanne Hébuterne (1919). Sailor Girl reminds me of Picasso’s simplified, deconstructed figures. Do you see a similar utilization of line and color in Picasso’s Girl Before a Mirror (1932)?

I was interested in looking at these two works because I am demonstrating in my thesis that the future members of Dutch Cobra did try out the styles of different contemporary artists. What they found- which is well documented in their published periodicals- was that these styles were not sufficient vehicles of self-expression. They rejected cubism. They rejected all kinds of genres. In order to show that Cobra was a result of the socio-political climate of the Netherlands following WWII, I must first explain that contemporary modes of expression were inadequate for artists struggling with the social and political conditions in Holland.

The following work is perhaps the most haunting of all. Constant Nieuwenhuys painted Concentration Camp (War) in 1950.

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How do you feel looking at this painting? I imagine rather sad, especially given the fact that the title is Concentration Camp (War). Yet the sadness comes from within the painting. It does not feel as if the title were slapped on like a price tag. How does Constant achieve this mood? How does he manipulate line, color, shape, space, light, and texture to evoke sadness? I was particularly struck by the use of line and shape to create otherworldly beings with whom I feel an empathetic and spiritual connection.

I also was shaken by another of Constant’s eerie paintings, The War (1950).

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Are you starting to see similarities in the subject matter of Dutch Cobra art? Remember that 75% of the Dutch Jewish population were killed in the Holocaust. Hundreds of thousands of non-Jewish Dutchmen died when German blockades caused famine in the last winter of the war. This was a population that had known suffering and death. It’s not surprising that the Dutch Cobra artists felt compelled to express their pain by depicting these dark subjects.

But what about the style of these works? Are you starting to see trends regarding the formal aspects of Dutch Cobra art? In The War, the outstretched arm of the central figure captivates my gaze. It is very much alive, reaching into the air against a backdrop of fire and decay, though it sits atop a mound of dead creatures. This dichotomy is gruesome yet compelling and utterly devastating.

Here are the last three works I studied. The top left is Constant’s Dead Cows (1951). The top right is Constant’s Scorched Earth (1951). (For all my history buffs out there, think about the term ‘scorched earth’ and how it was applied as a military tactic in the Second World War.) The gouache print at the bottom is Cornielle’s Composition (1948).

The Dutch Cobra paintings really are beautiful, aren’t they? Yet they also manage to be uncanny, sad, gruesome, and desperate, sometimes all at the same time. I think that’s why I like them so much. I am fascinated by their historical context, but also by the tension within each work. It is as if the artist himself couldn’t decide if he was hopeful about the future or resigned to the death of humanity.

After my four hour visit to the Depot I met up with my Dutch language teacher, Lisa. She took me for coffee and then to her work borrel. A borrel is a Dutch party for a specific group of people. You could have a tennis borrel for the members of the tennis team, or an art history borrel for art history students. I met all of the creative people she works with at this fun party! Here we are smiling:

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Day 3: I woke up on Thursday at the Hilton Apollolaan, where I spent two of my seven nights in Amsterdam. The rest of the time I stayed with Sofi. Here I am wearing a coat I impulsively bought the day before from Daily Paper, ready to start the day:

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I headed south to Amstelveen, the city right below Amsterdam, to visit the Cobra Museum.  This museum is entirely devoted to the works of the Cobra artists, including the Dutch, Danish, and Belgian contingents of the group. My intention in visiting the Cobra Museum was to perform visual analyses on the works of Danish artists. After the Dutch artists rejected De Stijl, cubism, and a number of other genres, they encountered the Danish Expressionists. This interaction led to the creation of Cobra and the development of the works like Concentration Camp (war) and Dead Cows.

Carl-Henning Pedersen painted Salomon’s Kingdom in 1939. Take a look:

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Do you see a relationship between this painting and the works by the Dutch Cobra artists? Does Pedersen handle formal aspects in the same way? How does his subject matter compare? I am particularly drawn to a quality of creaminess on the painting’s surface that is missing from the rougher Cobra works… but I see a lot of similarities in color and shape. What do you think?

The following is a painting by Egill Jacobsen entitled Sea (1947).

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And here is an untitled work by Asger Jorn painted in 1949.

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Just by looking at Sea and Untitled, it is clear that the Danish artists (and the Dutch artists, for that matter), were not clones painting identical pictures. The point in comparing works is not to conclude that the whole movement painted the same subjects with same color palette, but to draw connections between works that point to a larger ideology and methodology. Sea and Untitled could not be more different in their utilization of color, but what about shape? There are haunting eyes, formed from small bubbles of color, in both works. When I look at both paintings, I have the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. See what other connections you can come up with!

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Days 4, 5, 6: I only had three days of research which left three days for visiting old friends and enjoying the city. However, as I left the hotel to go to my friend’s apartment, I started chatting with the concierge. And wouldn’t you know it, he agreed to take me on a tour of John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s famous honeymoon suite. Instead of going about and enjoying Amsterdam, the couple spent their honeymoon in bed, protesting the war. They called this the “bed-in for peace.” You can read more about this story here. I took lots of pictures of the suite. Take a look!

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And of course I had to get a picture of myself in the suite. I wanted to lie down on the bed and pose but didn’t think that’d go over too well with housekeeping, so I went for this pose instead:

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My last three days were an absolute whirlwind. I went to my favorite Dutch restaurant, Moeder’s, for traditional Dutch fare with my friend Tiemen. I went back to my old dorm with my old suitemate Ellie who has since moved to her own place in Amsterdam. I cooked dinner with Ellie and our other friend Thijmen, and many meals with my host, Sofi. I reconnected with some friends I lost touch with and we went out dancing to my favorite club, De School. On my last night, Sofi took me to her favorite bar and I got to meet all her friends! Here’s a little collage of my time spent with wonderful friends last week:

I also managed to spend all my emergency money on clothing. If you’re in Amsterdam and in need of some clothes to wear because your suitcase was also left in Dublin, check out The Girl Can’t Help It, a 1950s-style boutique. Also stop in to T.I.T.S. for whimsical, feminist designs and Nobody Has to Know for ageless, genderless, and sizeless clothing.

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That’s all for now! I hope you enjoyed reading about my research trip to Amsterdam. I have been mostly writing exhibition reviews as of late, and it made me quite happy to share my everyday adventures with you all as well. Perhaps I’ll make a habit of it! Like I always say, inject art and happiness into your life at every possible moment.

Until next time!

xoxo, Chloe ❤

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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.

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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.

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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.

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“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 ❤