Chiharu Shiota, The Soul Trembles @ Grand Palais

Chiharu Shiota, Uncertain Journey, 2016/2024

Chiharu Shiota's exhibition at the Grand Palais is magesterial. Visitors enter into a haunted space filled with frames of steel boats, and Shiota's signature red yarn creating complex webs of bleeding life in Uncertain Journey (2016/2024). On many levels the weave of red yarn is mesmerizing: most immediately, visitors will be amazed at the amount of work in the sculptures - clearly, the installation is time and energy consuming to put together with threads woven, tied, knotted, strung and entwined to fill the entire room. The threads create a dense, cloud of red, woven together, clinging to walls, sprouting up and around the space. It is as if the web is still in process, still growing, the traces of a creature who continues to work, invisible. For Shiota, the threads are evidence of her existence, her weaving of ideas, of relationships, of memories of the spaces she has traversed. Thus, for Shiota, that creature fabricating this web is us humans, and the work represents the "uncertain journey" of life as we sail around the spaces of our existence. The skeletal boat hulls, as if burnt remnants of some kind of apocalypse, appear to sprout the red woven yarn, like clouds of vapour filling the ten foot high space. At the same time, it is as if they threads are being guided by the boat hulls, pulled on their way to another land.

Chiharu Shiota, Inside-Outside, 2008-2024

The marriage of opposites—objects and installations that can be seen as depictions of creativity and destruction, life and death, possibility and entrapment—is the signature concern of Shiota's work. In Inside-Outside, for example, window frames collected from construction sites for the  rebuilding of former East Berlin in the early 2000s, climb skyward, one on top of the other, sometimes doubled by more windows, into a wall that separates inside from outside. It's impossible to know if one is on the inside or the outside of this wall of windows, what is excluded, what is contained, where one is standing. And even though we are walled in by windows, we know there is an other side. We cannot always see through the windows, or if we do, the image on the other side is blurred, or fragmented so that looking at the window becomes more satisfying than what is on the other side. Such was life in the former East Berlin. Some of the windows are broken, some frames have no windows at all, others are boarded up, the function of what we know as a window has become a thing of the past. None of the windows are open, all are old, deteriorated, more objects to look at than gateways to another world. And so, Shiota transforms the meaning of what we know a window to be.

Chiharu Shiota, In Silence, 2004

Thanks to Shiota's residence in Germany, it's difficult not to think of the Holocaust when wandering through the exhibition. Particularly because she uses the objects that are often found in Holocaust art representations. Old shoes and clothes are scattered throughout the exhibition spaces. And inside (or outside) the windows of Inside—Outside we are reminded of all those windows that don't open. The windows of Auschwitz block 8 that were permanently shuttered in order that the occupants would not see the killings taking place on the other side. Or those windows with their recognizeable frames on the barracks at Auschwitz, rendering life opaque and inevitable for their occupants.

Chiharu Shiota, Accumulation - Searching for the Destination, 2014/2024

In perhaps the most imposing, yet precarious of the eight installations that comprise The Soul Trembles Accumulation - Searching for the Destination sees Shiota put another symbol of the Holocaust to unique use. Old suitcases are suspended form red cords, cluttered together, slowly rising to the heavens. The stairway to heaven is said to be holding memories, experiences, but given their prominence in Holocaust art, we look at Shiota's suitcases and see the dispossessed. The suitcase is not only for those who move around by choice, but those whose lives have been confiscated, their destiny in a suitcase removed forever. I think of how much is held within the suitcase. When we travel, we are separated from our suitcases, they contain everything we need for the time that we are away from home, and yet, we willingly let go of them as we step on a plane. The suitcase, like old shoes, clothes, a burnt out piano, chairs without seats is, all at once, about motion and possiblity of what lies ahead, about new horizons. And in its association with the Holocaust, it is also about death, stagnation, stasis. 

Chiharu Shiota, Accumulation - Searching for the Destination, 2014/2024

Depending on which end we begin our exploration of Accumulation, the suitcases might also be a stairway from heaven to ground, gravity pulling us to a firm place, our own place on earth, thus, fixity. The suitcase comes with us from one world to the next, it is a vessel for all that we want to do in the future, and simultaneously, a memory of the past. For Shiota, the past and future are connected, unsurprisingly, with red thread, the blood running through one generation to the next. 

Heemin Chung, UMBRA @ Thaddaeus Ropac, Dover Street

Heemin Chung, UMBRA
Installation View @ Thaddaeus Ropac

I was thrilled to be back gallery hopping in London't West End on Saturday, looking at old favorites and discovering new work. The pick of Saturday's exhibitions was work by an artist I didn't previously know. Heemin Chung has her first exhibition, UMBRA, with Thaddaeus Ropac in the spacious Ely House, Dover Street gallery. The multi-dimensionality of Chung's work stretches beyond its use of different media, reaching to discourses on memory, birth, death, monsters, and the refuse of city life.

Heemin Chung, It Quietly Exhales Colors, 2024

Instinctively, the works reminded me of the mucus out of which monsters have crawled after their gory birth in science fiction films such as Aliens. The composite gel, resin, oil, and acrylic crumpled on canvases could also be the stuff left by a snail or related mollusk as it slides across a carpet, garden or piece of furniture in this world, not the future. At times the resin like material is shiny, at others matte plastic looking, at still others, it is ashen grey. It can be clouded or clear tinged with red or blue or pink, sometimes appearing as fabric fallen having been blown by the wind, at others spread on with a spatula like icing on a cake. Whatever the creature that has left this refuse in its wake, it has gone, nowhere to be seen on a canvas or in the space of the gallery. 

Heemin Chung, Days Unfold without Disappearing, 2024

This sense of something being born gives the material memories, a past, a history in which something important happened, but we can't be sure what. Because it leaves us to keep imagining the work becomes significant and dense, changing, living, breathing in time. Not all of what it evokes is creepy crawly; the gently fallen fabrics might a bride's veil blown off in the wind, for example. Carefree, playful, ethereal The gallery blurb quoted Chung as conceiving her work to speak to the transition from a physical to a virtual world in the city. "Through her process Chung addresses the material loss that occurs when three-dimensional forms are flattened into two-dimensional data, exploring the gap between technological and physical realities." In this sense, the works are also about transformation, metamorphosis and rebirth, not just birth and marriage. Of course, they are also invoking death, not only thanks to the darkness cast by dense black grounds. The blurb tells us that they also "reimagine the traditional Korean funeral ritual Chobun." In this ritual, the soul is freed from the body, and so, for Heemin Chung, even in death, there is anticipation of life, death as a form of rebirth. 

Heemin Chung, From the Old Prophet, 2024

Artistically, the work also resonates with abstract painting. Resin, gel and various other non-painterly materials form colours and shapes on a canvas on a wall. There are landscapes filled with ravines, angry seascapes, and abstractions appearing in the works, some might say emerging from the works given that the three dimensional gel and acrylic are stuck on top of a canvas. Chung's works are also the size of paintings. In this sense, physically, they remind of the work of someone like Kiefer who uses the canvas as a support for sculpture to challenge the line between two forms. 

There are also strong resonances with the work of Eva Hesse, again, speaking to the organic and the life that is held in hard resin. Fluids, forms, bodies, inside and outside are moving, shaping these odd sculptures. City refuse, death shrouds, brides veils, there is so much going on in these works that, like gooey mucus afterbirths of monsters, there is no telling where they came from or where they are going. A small amount of online research throws up hte fact that Chung is a rising star. And so she should be. This is definitely an artist to watch as her work is complex and dense, materially, conceptually, artistically. 

Stephen Shore, Véhiculaire & Vernaculaire @ Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson

Stephen Shore, Beverly Boulevard and La Brea Avenue, Los Angeles, California, June 21, 1975

Stephen Shore's current exhibition at the Fondation Henri Cartier Bresson is well-timed as people like me have America, cars, energy, and their relationship to each other on our minds. It's interesting to look at at Shore's best known photographs fifty years later, knowing what we do now about America, photography, and the car as vehicle of freedom, and independence. In America, the car is the enabler of mobility, not only in the obvious ways, but socially, economically, and today, it has become a political issue. Shore's snapshots and prints are nostalgic, showing an era when things were different. In the 1970s, the car was embraced as the carrier of so much promise and prosperity. 

The big Chevrolets, Dodges, Cadillacs in Shore's Uncommon Places series reminded me of my childhood, watching American cop shows on television. The thrill of watching the yank tanks—as we called them in Australia—ride the bumps and potholes in chase scenes around densely populated cities with their bad suspension was what kept kids like me entertained for hours. Watching the body separate from wheels on their axel was a neverending wow factor. These were the icons of what it meant to be American. Big cars, bad cops, and no following rules on the road. 

Stephen Shore, Meagher County, Montana, August 5, 2020

Once I looked past the nostalgia of my childhood, I recognized the isolation, loneliness and desolation of the worlds in Shore's photographs. Whether or not it is the isolation and emptiness of the American soul, I am not sure, but in this age of unexpected animosity and racial discrimination, it's difficult to look at Shore's photographs and see only perfectly composed vacant lots and empty streets. To a contemporary viewer, these spaces conjure up images of all the violence and injustice that has taken place in such streets over the years. But this is not necessarily the point of Shore's works. Rather, they show how the car has taken over the landscape and urbanscape of America as well as its psyche. 

Stephen Shore, 21st and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, PA, 1974

This exhibition emphasized Shore's use of moving vehicles to picture the vernacular of American life. Even though these images are taken from moving cars, trains, and more recently, drones, the worlds they represent are static, empty, like ghost towns, perfectly composed nowheres, rarely with anyone in the streets. He often sees the "uncommon places" from unusual angles, making them curious, pushing us to look at everyday worlds we might otherwise not bother to notice. In Ravena, NY for example, we see highways and train lines caving up the face of the American landscape, dominating the environment. We see the land cleared to make way for vehicles, taking pride of place, ignoring needs other than its own.

Stephen Shore, Ravena, NY, 2021

Beyond carparks filled with cars, the photographs show highways, gas stations, advertising signs, landscapes carved up for cars, towns built to accommodate cars, with parking spaces taking up over half the road, highways like rivers coursing across otherwise empty landscapes. Of course, today, we look at the car differently; it is the cause of the destruction of the environment, the problem for the next generation, the making of billionaires from oil money. Today, we are too well aware that greed for oil to drive our cars and fly in planes has led to the destruction of the global south for its natural resources. Shore doesn't really comment on that side of the automobile culture that booms in the postwar years across America. He is more interested in how the car has been given priority in the construction of space, and its consequent isolation of people. Yes, it is possible to travel from coast to coast, but it also brings about the end of conversation, on trains, on sidewalks, on a walk through nature. Nevertheless, it is a testament to the power and longevity of Shore's photographs that they continue to speak to the most pressing concerns of our times.