tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30568063446724258472024-03-18T19:02:28.026+01:00Fx ReflectsFrances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.comBlogger520125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-9921652191816464972022-12-28T22:09:00.003+01:002022-12-28T22:09:36.909+01:00Carol Bove, Vase/Face @ David Zwirner<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJSDgKCjD-DdQxAjT--ITghMZ6hsDchhZcwCZIicGTCD2tomJIEJXPtXaaDOWeBPDZeeYdE7Kn_vMcg9OX-YDW6ZSdqUGzwt7RRUMthVhJ1GNHKHJ-y9iJ1S4NDnJRxCTQvFGjuvzy_UQZEb6wPVeSNudaIpeM1NF2isckhM_05qGrYfdpZOQVHHG/s3000/Bove.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2249" data-original-width="3000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJSDgKCjD-DdQxAjT--ITghMZ6hsDchhZcwCZIicGTCD2tomJIEJXPtXaaDOWeBPDZeeYdE7Kn_vMcg9OX-YDW6ZSdqUGzwt7RRUMthVhJ1GNHKHJ-y9iJ1S4NDnJRxCTQvFGjuvzy_UQZEb6wPVeSNudaIpeM1NF2isckhM_05qGrYfdpZOQVHHG/w400-h300/Bove.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Carol Bove, <i>Vase/Face</i>, 2022</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Steel is one of those materials that surrounds us. Yet, despite or perhaps because of its ubiquity, we tend to ignore it. At best, we dismiss it as dull, sterile, uninspiring. Steel is the fabric and function of industrialized life, and therefore, it bears no more thinking about. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Once we have seen John Chamberlain's crumpled steel sculptures, and learnt of the expressive possibility of the material, we probably won't look at steel in the same way again. Chamberlain's steel sculptures fly in the face of everything that steel is meant to do. It is meant to be stalwart and unflinching, cold and repellent. And yet, for Chamberlain, steel creates puzzles, it is an enigma, an idea without weight. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSpX1SZm0X-kY_JMEBeNUOOO__M3bCCg3gQpvF2614_d70VeO_KJ8e8zyDqPLmxcmRbSmuhPFrr4G7T4qpZMHAcEyTUwBY5BSp0sSHuHRaaAajqbD9ow6hr-2bD2VokLXMTq4zIpKQd7vdV13brCXbHkjHRXZkEj7snaEp5VnxqkIlOQhXgSDl5tL/s628/Chamberlain.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="603" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSpX1SZm0X-kY_JMEBeNUOOO__M3bCCg3gQpvF2614_d70VeO_KJ8e8zyDqPLmxcmRbSmuhPFrr4G7T4qpZMHAcEyTUwBY5BSp0sSHuHRaaAajqbD9ow6hr-2bD2VokLXMTq4zIpKQd7vdV13brCXbHkjHRXZkEj7snaEp5VnxqkIlOQhXgSDl5tL/w384-h400/Chamberlain.jpeg" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">John Chamberlain, <i>Opera Chocolates,</i> 1994</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Carol Bove's current exhibition at David Zwirner's Marais gallery does something different again. Something that we would never expect steel to do. Bove makes steel into a warm material, filled with emotion, a sense of play, a material that even has the innate tendency to exude tenderness. In Bove's sculptures, steel is everything it is not meant to be. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Seeing Carol Bove's new steel sculptures on exhibition around the corner from John Chamberlain's familiar crumpled cars at Karsten Greve makes Bove's work even more peaceful, delicate, and emotionally charged. The cynic might want to say that Bove couldn't possibly do anything new with steel, that Chamberlain took steel to its ultimate beyond. But Bove's work is different, made in a different moment, speaking to a different world. Unlike Chamberlain's, Bove's sculptures are not in conversation with abstract expressionism and the fraught energy of brushstrokes by the likes of De Koonig and Kline. Her curious lengths of manipulated tubular, painted steel might be in conversation with painting. The pink, yellow and orange pieces, bent, turned, folded and scrunched together might be hung on walls, but unlike Chamberlain's, Bove's sculptures do not use the language of painting. Rather, they remind us of animated stick figures and squiggles, always about to jump off the walls and change their shape. If Chamberlain's meticulously worked, spray painted piles of steel make sense in an era when images were influenced by a need to move away from representation, Bove's connect to an era in which images are technologically determined.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvFlhVqE4wgeDni5VNB_niAbO7igJOqVJ3-OE_xH733el7IIv17VPEYcMWsTQxokDAO4oY-hodXXu1pNxA2mqpaTzxap3EeEW_LQgjW2ReqOhmZkiq501s6lRTecFiD3zVVpxfH3r67TZY2lYx9vwhBfMGY3q-y1bGvlwjfRRtHcJ74PRu6sE_7fC/s1400/cbdzpshow2022_install_v2_b.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1400" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvFlhVqE4wgeDni5VNB_niAbO7igJOqVJ3-OE_xH733el7IIv17VPEYcMWsTQxokDAO4oY-hodXXu1pNxA2mqpaTzxap3EeEW_LQgjW2ReqOhmZkiq501s6lRTecFiD3zVVpxfH3r67TZY2lYx9vwhBfMGY3q-y1bGvlwjfRRtHcJ74PRu6sE_7fC/w400-h309/cbdzpshow2022_install_v2_b.webp" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Carol Bove, </span><i style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Vase/Face</i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">, 2022<br />David Zwirner</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Again in a refusal of the deterministic nature of the image today, Bove makes works that are intensely physical and material. They are strikingly sensuous - not something that can easily be said about steel. The smooth matte paint, evenly applied, bears no trace of gesture or the artist's thoughtful application (unlike the rainbow of colours sprayed and painted over Chamberlain's). But the surface is given the appearance of velvet. It is all we can do to stop ourselves from reaching out to touch them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqPyfBSil_SXAi71f2Swrp2SLIct_HeF3Cg6yE0F0z4MOmvskGJjrnOff0E8aKSGnyW6wJdOQVNLXfYHtAdp4FBDC_HVbtVvJj1XdEeoNrXkVLTj_yDSXYmrNx9kY8nAsoSF2csAwaABpM1T31zYV_Hob4WwrT6dAKaEeU84wVv-FxgxBkrrrv7Qe/s1400/cbdzpshow2022_install_v14.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1400" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqPyfBSil_SXAi71f2Swrp2SLIct_HeF3Cg6yE0F0z4MOmvskGJjrnOff0E8aKSGnyW6wJdOQVNLXfYHtAdp4FBDC_HVbtVvJj1XdEeoNrXkVLTj_yDSXYmrNx9kY8nAsoSF2csAwaABpM1T31zYV_Hob4WwrT6dAKaEeU84wVv-FxgxBkrrrv7Qe/w400-h288/cbdzpshow2022_install_v14.webp" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Carol Bove, </span><i style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Vase/Face</i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">, 2022<br />David Zwirner</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">In Zwirner's main gallery, the sandblasted steel tubes are contorted and crumpled, folded over huge glass disks, as though hugging or stroking the human-sized circular shapes. The grey walls, floor and wrought iron glass ceiling create an environment in which everything is possible. The challenge to the materials of both glass and steel through creating relationships between them that are more like friends in a grey space, turn sculptures into living, breathing beings that shift and change as we walk around the gallery space, seeing them from different perspectives. There is no doubt after visiting this exhibition, that neither grey, nor steel, can be said to be the unyielding and uninteresting phenomena that the world claims them to be. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1400" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ5hAPJvgwu7FmJkB3n3IfBAhsk_dmXkQG6yw6yP6LBYx9SUbRL_Ev8DrVxBthPERjiKR6VqyRl_UiChFOQr3wktUMkppidvAn_nqZQgJU7LK0LyhLCW_5QIPbC4WcsrUaNy1nWYwqG-42Jsu88D5v9HWfMm_2eGq8BsGrnA-e424grVtgAu_m1BK/w400-h304/cbdzpshow2022_install_v16.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Carol Bove, </span><i style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Vase/Face</i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">, 2022<br />David Zwirner</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ5hAPJvgwu7FmJkB3n3IfBAhsk_dmXkQG6yw6yP6LBYx9SUbRL_Ev8DrVxBthPERjiKR6VqyRl_UiChFOQr3wktUMkppidvAn_nqZQgJU7LK0LyhLCW_5QIPbC4WcsrUaNy1nWYwqG-42Jsu88D5v9HWfMm_2eGq8BsGrnA-e424grVtgAu_m1BK/s1400/cbdzpshow2022_install_v16.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">If Chamberlain creates a physical experience inviting us to navigate the twists and turns of newly manipulated metal scavanged from scrap heaps and abandoned cars, commenting on capitalism, car culture, the hard edged industrial world that has gone awry, Bove's is a world in which our eyes and our emotions come into conversation. Her works don't so much shape space as Chamberlain's do. But they do push our senses to limits that they have not otherwise been challenged to go. </span></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-35798028886613385702022-09-04T23:14:00.000+02:002023-01-15T23:15:03.035+01:00Charles Ray @ Centre Pompidou<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-zyUYO-HSSXdwUnWxXJkJ_ynw_uuFKNxzRRZ-_czHEPVx_2kvqJV3TUFPh174Fhrcthr3xbmh-brtXs5KhY27LLjJelg2v9pLBJ0y5oZtX_62pQjIUh97Whg0mzLDPf4acvWuLumk93qs8EcYvmE927RVPSkgKbFd0z8ZAZlM0cvWVAIPwr1fK8se=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-zyUYO-HSSXdwUnWxXJkJ_ynw_uuFKNxzRRZ-_czHEPVx_2kvqJV3TUFPh174Fhrcthr3xbmh-brtXs5KhY27LLjJelg2v9pLBJ0y5oZtX_62pQjIUh97Whg0mzLDPf4acvWuLumk93qs8EcYvmE927RVPSkgKbFd0z8ZAZlM0cvWVAIPwr1fK8se=w268-h400" width="268" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Self-Portrait</i>, 1990</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Ray entertains the similarities and differences between mannequins and sculpture. His sculptures are mannequins, but they take poses that are one step removed from familiar classical sculptures. For example, a boy crouched down to pick something from the ball of his foot reminds us of the Hellenistic sculpture of a boy removing a thorn from the same. <i>Boy with Frog</i> 2009 stands in the pose of a classical sculpture, even though it is clearly a contemporary image of a typical boy with his catch. However, unlike its function in centuries past, for Ray, sculpture is a form of advertising, and a clothes horse for naked bodies. But it is also about the mannequin as a double, the mannequin as art work, as a performance of the social, cultural sexual relations that we actually live. </span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEZgaY3qOHUibhbffcu_rmZsIWNdFNz9ph-RtOObtqiAuGUosy7wxGLvpyTa2tQteHIOWAqqi6qkUGpJ5-OM4VwtVCtBfY6hbhC3evDsUGddiUJLJR_5Z2mvq4rViHGwLifWXeThHR65QlfiajCTPiIUx8BO1SJeF4hGuIOdD_htVljUOFmci07K1Q=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="641" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEZgaY3qOHUibhbffcu_rmZsIWNdFNz9ph-RtOObtqiAuGUosy7wxGLvpyTa2tQteHIOWAqqi6qkUGpJ5-OM4VwtVCtBfY6hbhC3evDsUGddiUJLJR_5Z2mvq4rViHGwLifWXeThHR65QlfiajCTPiIUx8BO1SJeF4hGuIOdD_htVljUOFmci07K1Q=w320-h400" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Fall '91</i>, 1992</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">All of Ray's figures are the wrong size. That is, they are over or undersized, asking us to look up to or down on the figures. Thus, our relationship to his sculptures is quite different from what we expect. In a work such as <i>Fall '91</i>, an oversized mannequin changes her size, depending on where we stand as we look. From afar, she looks like a mannequin of human size, but up close, she is a giant. Unless, of course, we see someone standing next to her when we are at a distance, then we know how big she really is. This is deception of size has been a characteristic of sculpture for centuries. Michelangelo's David was made for a pedestal in a public square, therefore, from below. Accordingly, his figure is distorted so that when we look up at him, the figure is perfectly human-sized and proportioned. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYSYXYxxpyGagj0hEKWWHxfYDWyGAdYU1uSVLbgrL977MpmDgmDVc7joGbbfqWmNTQG7LjwnheaqV_4LpfCk-Ftjzsg5TvMRgkqUUcr9qvmXefcHwfpBKfN76tSrYOeKiBT6TyrDUfcha1UEVC8DKyl36L82cD7oz9g1iXq5Uya-4WBizoVlHT7ERb=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYSYXYxxpyGagj0hEKWWHxfYDWyGAdYU1uSVLbgrL977MpmDgmDVc7joGbbfqWmNTQG7LjwnheaqV_4LpfCk-Ftjzsg5TvMRgkqUUcr9qvmXefcHwfpBKfN76tSrYOeKiBT6TyrDUfcha1UEVC8DKyl36L82cD7oz9g1iXq5Uya-4WBizoVlHT7ERb=w400-h268" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Portrait of the Artist's Mother</i>, 2021</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Much of the work seems to be about generations, about the relations between children and parents. The sculpture of his mother in the pose with a slight twist on that of Manet's <i>Olympia</i> is sees an oversized woman masturbating. Mothers are clearly a big influence on Ray. It's difficult not to see the large and the small figures as playing on the power relations in families. When the children are the same size as the parents, surely Ray is not creating bridges between generations, but giving a very immediate sense of how one generation is threatening and overwhelming another. Alternatively, we may see the sculptures of things and people as proportioned according to the size that they take up in our minds. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3FFE9UdvRGPXYEwcimmDa0C9LL4DxNSbUYcVV7oq_N5NDIoZV3Rl_rslCi8xBzPemtKcpxoWfRV0qKKYeznFbCGksNpLQUYPu9QVpHjlPj2pKIGMFb8xeTcN2Y33LFH03UDCtKrdWLP5dmENqf9GTbhc3oeuHWm5o-0WkrCIJDV0eK81BwYdUbLBZ=s300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="300" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3FFE9UdvRGPXYEwcimmDa0C9LL4DxNSbUYcVV7oq_N5NDIoZV3Rl_rslCi8xBzPemtKcpxoWfRV0qKKYeznFbCGksNpLQUYPu9QVpHjlPj2pKIGMFb8xeTcN2Y33LFH03UDCtKrdWLP5dmENqf9GTbhc3oeuHWm5o-0WkrCIJDV0eK81BwYdUbLBZ=w400-h325" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Family Romance</i>, 1993</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Ray also has a fascination for fabrics. But like the sizes of his sculptures, the material in which they are made is always off. The small person bending down to tie his shoe lace (reminding us of the boy taking the splinter out of his foot) is fabricated in stainless steel. The sensuousness of classical sculptures in marble and bronze are transferred to the industrially produced steel. Similarly, there is always an emphasis on the plasticity and construction of the body as a performative vessel - even when it is in a photograph of Ray himself. Even when he uses real hair, the figure looks plastic, or fabricated. This, of course, makes them completely different from the realist figures of a sculptor such as <a href="https://fxreflects.blogspot.com/2021/11/ron-mueck-25-years-of-sculpture.html" target="_blank">Ron Muecke</a> - in fact, Ray's are the exact opposite. The figures are clearly representations, without empathy, without any hold on the viewer's emotions. Again, even in the self-portrait photographs, Ray looks like a mannequin of himself,. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM8AZucMW8jMsBBk5qTiyDMwR8ORw_TNFGnBprFAJFiy8P8D3kLDr9FCoHql5oKOd_rBW6FTlof9KWoZcAQPibXWS7tDXlTVjykvltNYmFKVmXFl0aYx090WZr2I0GsMAr2zmunvtvScvFDQKJbegJf4uLB3AQTF1tVZzdJQ85t6yeXOtMFww7aoZG=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="633" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM8AZucMW8jMsBBk5qTiyDMwR8ORw_TNFGnBprFAJFiy8P8D3kLDr9FCoHql5oKOd_rBW6FTlof9KWoZcAQPibXWS7tDXlTVjykvltNYmFKVmXFl0aYx090WZr2I0GsMAr2zmunvtvScvFDQKJbegJf4uLB3AQTF1tVZzdJQ85t6yeXOtMFww7aoZG=w316-h400" width="316" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>No, </i>1992</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-29175947856203137902022-09-04T16:56:00.000+02:002022-09-04T16:56:35.731+02:00Boilly: Chroniques Parisiennes @ Musée Cognacq-Jay<div class="separator"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="https://www.connaissancedesarts.com/wp-content/thumbnails/uploads/2022/02/cda22_diapo_boilly__0004_calque-2-tt-width-1200-height-675-fill-1-crop-0-bgcolor-333333.jpg" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="https://www.connaissancedesarts.com/wp-content/thumbnails/uploads/2022/02/cda22_diapo_boilly__0004_calque-2-tt-width-1200-height-675-fill-1-crop-0-bgcolor-333333.jpg" style="height: 253.125px; margin: 0px auto; width: 450px;" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Etude avec cinq autoportraits de l'artiste,</i> vers 1823-1827</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Louis-Léopold Boilly was a revolutionary artist, in all senses of the word. His oeuvre sits between two revolutions—those of 1789 and 1848—and so it's not surprising that he often depicts the people of the streets. Unlike painters and portraitists of his and previous generations in France, Boilly had a suspicious view of the bourgeoisie, the police, the army. His real subject matter was everyday life. Moreover, it was everyday life on the streets of the city. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Most exciting about Boilly's painting was his thirst for new technologies and what they could bring to painting. I knew enough about his work from the pieces in the Louvre to know that he was pushing at the boundaries between painting and theatre, but what is revealed in full scale over and over again in this current exhibition at the Musée Cognacq-Jay is the way that Boilly looked forward to the cinematic image.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="Fichier:Louis Léopold Boilly - La prison des Madelonnettes, rue des Fontaines - P1310 - Musée Carnavalet (cropped).jpg — Wikipédia" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/88/Louis_L%C3%A9opold_Boilly_-_La_prison_des_Madelonnettes%2C_rue_des_Fontaines_-_P1310_-_Mus%C3%A9e_Carnavalet_%28cropped%29.jpg" style="height: 282.5px; margin: 0px auto; width: 400px;" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>La prison des Madelonnettes, rue des Fontaines,</i> 1815-1819</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In painting after painting, Boilly plays with what will become the defining characterstic of the cinema two hundred years later. His figures look from different perspectives, in motion, in scenes that give the illusion of motion. In <i>Le prison des Madelonnettes, rue des Fontaines</i>, for example, he juxtaposes light and shadow in the two halves of the painting and each is filled with people and their pursuit of morally good and bad activities respectively. Looking at this work, we also get a sense of a developing narrative unfolding across the width of a painting, statues being brought to life, in two halves that are like scenes whose relationship is only established in the image itself. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2g4K0Z-NG1d4Cly_gecrkQO4frFsUmVxRZRIvnaL9vjm74TGFdBkz5xRgENa6ey9LP7-DOn4C7Wyfm_4FswSRlysHLs9fv7c8fyM1BltNUafzu1RkSw51qiihiNGHfOXWKIDxeXv5tYigAWWcHiFBPo7SdYThUDaESsaW9I5C-br54EOUroEJD7rN/s1000/Boilly.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="1000" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2g4K0Z-NG1d4Cly_gecrkQO4frFsUmVxRZRIvnaL9vjm74TGFdBkz5xRgENa6ey9LP7-DOn4C7Wyfm_4FswSRlysHLs9fv7c8fyM1BltNUafzu1RkSw51qiihiNGHfOXWKIDxeXv5tYigAWWcHiFBPo7SdYThUDaESsaW9I5C-br54EOUroEJD7rN/w400-h318/Boilly.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Jean qui rit et Jean qui pleure, </i>vers 1808-1810</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Visitors to the exhibition will also notice that Boilly was fascinated with illusion, with effect, with expression as a way to attract a response. There are doublings and mirrorings everywhere in his work. His figures have exquisitely painted faces filled with emotions and expressions, the fabrics of their clothes are so textured that we want to touch them. But the bodies are often distorted, misshapen, slightly out of proportion. It is as if they are being seen through a distorting lens. And then in the final room of the exhibition, there is the object that the whole thing has been moving towards: a camera obscura and a selection of early optical toys—a zograscope, telescope, a pantographe. These are the instruments Boilly used to see the world differently, through new optics, that he then translated into painting. It's easy to imagine that had Boilly lived one hundred years later, he might have turned to the cinema for his artistic expression.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="Louis-Léopold Boilly - Trompe l'oeil of a Collection of Drawings, with Portraits of Boilly and" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="https://www.pubhist.com/works/57/large/louis_leopold_boilly_collection_drawings.jpg" style="height: 316.4px; margin: 0px auto; width: 400px;" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Un Trompe l'oeil,</i> detail, vers 1800</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Perhaps the reason that Boilly is not as well known today is his diversity and range. He moved from portraits to genre paintings, to city scapes, <i>trompe l'oeil,</i> caricatures and still life. Boilly never sat still long enough to develop a reputation for anything. Similarly, he painted the kinds of people that the salons had no interest in: prostitutes, criminals, poor artists such as himself, those mixed up in the hustle and bustle of the train station. In this, his voracious appetite for experimentation and innovation made him so far ahead of his time that no one would have known what to do with him. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="Humour, trompe-l'œil, libertinage... Cinq raisons de découvrir la peinture de Boilly au XVIIIe siècle, au musée Cognacq-Jay - Panomou" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.francetvinfo.fr/pictures/A2Ya6lnLI2Q57Ye3PpPzi3YUlp8/fit-in/720x/2022/04/25/phpvdD17K.jpg?resize=720%2C487&ssl=1" style="height: 270.556px; margin: 0px auto; width: 400px;" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>La Marche Incroyable,</i> vers 1797</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ultimately, this lovely exhibition shows Boilly to be a man of his age, but as such, he is a man ahead of his time. Boilly was inspired by streets taken over by masses of people, by train stations and street dwellers. And he was interested in depicting his modern world through the instruments of his time. He blurred the boundaries between mediums where painting and photography (hence the grey of his works) and sculpture are brought to life. His depictions of theatre in the streets, together with multi-perspectival pictures that preface the cinema made him a man reaching for modernity on the streets of Paris, even before it had fully arrived. </span></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com08 Rue Elzevir, 75003 Paris, France48.8581788 2.36144573.1266206042752813 -67.9510543 90 72.6739457tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-6200948408287552172022-08-04T20:06:00.011+02:002022-09-04T14:43:04.763+02:00Jean Painlevé, Les Pieds dans L'eau @ Jeu de Paume<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMHQsBqQhg-aKXMNeXuC3PBXheTSMULEs3q1HVyhDE2UepudBcD473QrhsAoHGz33Qb33XCdE7tUpgmKIBFsBh0mYayrucgWs2zwMrJA0nz8Pqgz_sIn2-VuaxQ5V9a2CipwT_6y_cWCk5GPb4sGBXLAjzAcvBbrhr9ZFQ6nyeON8E6bdKyXDdxDs/s2500/JP-22-Jdp-1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1868" data-original-width="2500" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMHQsBqQhg-aKXMNeXuC3PBXheTSMULEs3q1HVyhDE2UepudBcD473QrhsAoHGz33Qb33XCdE7tUpgmKIBFsBh0mYayrucgWs2zwMrJA0nz8Pqgz_sIn2-VuaxQ5V9a2CipwT_6y_cWCk5GPb4sGBXLAjzAcvBbrhr9ZFQ6nyeON8E6bdKyXDdxDs/s320/JP-22-Jdp-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jean Painlevé</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I loved the Jean Painlevé exhibition at the Jeu de Paume, if only for its offer of the opportunity to see these strange films on the big screen. There are a number of short films, many of which will be unique and revelatory to viewers. True to their intentions, the films are educative on many levels. We learn about male sea horses giving birth, watch octopuses mate, examine various oils under microscopes (mainly kaleidoscopic drops exploding like fireworks), and marvel at the effect of light on sea urchins. Some of the documents of flowers and other natural phenomena, accelerated to show slow evolution and natural processes in minutes of film were also fascinating for their resonance with early experimental film and new objectivity photography.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTRFuqQvT-quiBWAfTRQDhWxnL4JhQBLrj7s2XqDDBr9DFr5WRJmzhg05V2DK-NiqL9S1DYlS6mEXp6ZfTa6wGqO1hj4Z7AOFI27pzPp5654cZ6Wl554s7DMfKCVEdU2xK7v6e4n0jr-zByCi02psDhsDOGXIppZMvwsxp8ztc9bBlJ9fI8NVigK9/s2560/jp2-scaled.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1956" data-original-width="2560" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTRFuqQvT-quiBWAfTRQDhWxnL4JhQBLrj7s2XqDDBr9DFr5WRJmzhg05V2DK-NiqL9S1DYlS6mEXp6ZfTa6wGqO1hj4Z7AOFI27pzPp5654cZ6Wl554s7DMfKCVEdU2xK7v6e4n0jr-zByCi02psDhsDOGXIppZMvwsxp8ztc9bBlJ9fI8NVigK9/s320/jp2-scaled.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jean Painlevé, <i>Étoile de mer,</i> vers 1930</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Also wonderful was the exploration of the cinema in these films. Painlevé was concerned to educate and convey information, but he was just as focussed on exploring the possibilities of the cinema which, in his time, had not yet been fully revealed. In images that in which sea creatures merge into their environment or flowers /plants bloom, and asteroids move around the sky, </span><span style="text-align: left;">Painlevé</span><span style="text-align: left;"> uses natural events to explore the possibilities of the camera. The beauty of his manipulation of light and dark, the framing, the keen awareness of the cinema's ability to manipulate time and space were all quite breathtaking. </span><span style="text-align: left;">Painlevé</span><span style="text-align: left;"> may have been trained as a scientist, but he also had a keen sense of the way that images work. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipof7ApumoEsMBvuxlxndls7IthzBIUY7SdxgTzd0bEx683b1_8ogyAW2nxbyz8gD9ngirqPo1YBJW0daniUheZhRHd94PjqboH2KagwNn_p1OwvFk0Q-T9jRCD3c8uadDYwFxwVDwCLF7MVlXhi-GsWRbI7PnWHejkXow9KaOnIxFEWFRTlVXYCVN/s2560/JP-3-Jdp-1-scaled.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1905" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipof7ApumoEsMBvuxlxndls7IthzBIUY7SdxgTzd0bEx683b1_8ogyAW2nxbyz8gD9ngirqPo1YBJW0daniUheZhRHd94PjqboH2KagwNn_p1OwvFk0Q-T9jRCD3c8uadDYwFxwVDwCLF7MVlXhi-GsWRbI7PnWHejkXow9KaOnIxFEWFRTlVXYCVN/s320/JP-3-Jdp-1-scaled.webp" width="238" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jean Painlevé, <i>Buste d'hippocampe</i>, vers 1931</td></tr></tbody></table><p>More disappointing, however, was the exhibition's contextualization of Painlevé's experiments. The films are presented as objective documentary records of Painlevé's scientific experiments and research. Thus, there is little to no mention of the staging of the films. Because of the way that Painlevé filmed, namely, removing the manipulation of the pro-filmic, we watch sea horses in their life cycles as if Painlevé was underwater with them. The removal of the marine life from their natural habitat, their placement in tanks, the staging and manipulation of the animals, clearly compromised, or at least, contributed to the definition of the kind of documentary film that he was making. This isn't to detract from the splendour of his images, or the amount that we learn from watching the films. Rather, it speaks more my disappointment that there was not enough information on what these films were actually doing.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Jyoi0MH46j6fXPm3uH-Ro00LL1Xmct9LRMEYbbKcPFZstWuLsftUfz392QSr1zt5XXAYIaDWAOKQFGUMSL4zx8C-Y4ZS_2Z79yAeZkOWoedT_nDLxa1eigzNaTE5KaaO1gkCA98L0LMsclcd3IOtTjTAHElae_WwbuG5CAPFF2lOiTEz9ZfliqMc/s2500/JP-11-Jdp-1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="1846" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Jyoi0MH46j6fXPm3uH-Ro00LL1Xmct9LRMEYbbKcPFZstWuLsftUfz392QSr1zt5XXAYIaDWAOKQFGUMSL4zx8C-Y4ZS_2Z79yAeZkOWoedT_nDLxa1eigzNaTE5KaaO1gkCA98L0LMsclcd3IOtTjTAHElae_WwbuG5CAPFF2lOiTEz9ZfliqMc/s320/JP-11-Jdp-1.jpeg" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jean Painlevé, <i>Détail de la pâle d'une queue de crevette,</i> 19229</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Another, related, thing that is not acknowledged by the exhibition is the historical moment of the cinema in which he was making these films. Painlevé was filming at a time when the lines between fiction and documentary, between experimental and documentary were not yet fully drawn or defined. Theorists were still trying to come to terms with what the cinema was about in this moment, and Painlevé was one of the experimenters asking these questions. Thus, his contribution to the very important debates about the cinema is elided in this otherwise fascinating exhibition</p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-37654370020433413682022-07-02T16:05:00.002+02:002022-07-02T16:05:25.558+02:00Tatiana Trouvé, Le grand atlas de la désorientation @ Centre Pompidou<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Gqg9t_W_EvSf3byGf6Irp6WrT4xyWiH3qHOMk1IFt2cTLweQYOvDD2kO0qlfL0ux5hMvUW6WKaPXQKM9bKsz78VPT4XWpNlmhBWDXkpVxWT0gJQdha4G8i_Tv45bJPZUdeIYkRHUCvNczcK8Wy5caSIs5wDXfQjFfPpckP0D6PrR-9Mr80FyHtsK/s4032/IMG_0318.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Gqg9t_W_EvSf3byGf6Irp6WrT4xyWiH3qHOMk1IFt2cTLweQYOvDD2kO0qlfL0ux5hMvUW6WKaPXQKM9bKsz78VPT4XWpNlmhBWDXkpVxWT0gJQdha4G8i_Tv45bJPZUdeIYkRHUCvNczcK8Wy5caSIs5wDXfQjFfPpckP0D6PrR-9Mr80FyHtsK/w300-h400/IMG_0318.HEIC" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tatiana Trouvé, <i>The Guardian</i>, 2022</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I am such a fan of Tatiana Trouvé's <i>The Guardian </i>sculptures that I would travel around the world to see one of these quietly, contemplative chairs resting in a corner of an exhibition. The handful included in the current Pompidou exhibition are gorgeous. It is all I can do to stop myself sitting down, sinking into a wicker seat to rest my weary legs. As I stand there, I want to rifle through the open bag on the chair, throw the cardigan around my shoulders and read the interesting books. That is, having cleaned away the cigarette box used as an ashtray to make way for myself on the seat. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJuXK9c8YjaXk5i6X1GCDFC_kke_ZIKB6iK1qShiNJxcsV78GzUSocljHEbymFJbTLrOx4uygI34RTJHTrCD0Ktcho5QV6VI92lheBodKigAoJEl2O1S5QtNsJIHs9UeosAsZy9IrZQlUFqiNE8iSZvzKRg3koEQk_D97s-vHzGpDzCsWyJ4SkGzW/s4032/IMG_0322.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJuXK9c8YjaXk5i6X1GCDFC_kke_ZIKB6iK1qShiNJxcsV78GzUSocljHEbymFJbTLrOx4uygI34RTJHTrCD0Ktcho5QV6VI92lheBodKigAoJEl2O1S5QtNsJIHs9UeosAsZy9IrZQlUFqiNE8iSZvzKRg3koEQk_D97s-vHzGpDzCsWyJ4SkGzW/w300-h400/IMG_0322.HEIC" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Tatiana Trouvé, <i>The Guardian</i>, 2022</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In the Pompidou exhibition, as always, The Guardian examples sit quietly, unassumingly, at the edges of the room, to the side of the other works. I waited and watched other visitors, only to see them ignore the seats filled with someone's belongings. They chairs are so understated and discrete, to the point where they don't ask to be looked at like art works. And yet, they are art works. They are intricately crafted from bronze, marble, onyx, brass and sodalite. The sculptures are fascinating and inviting when we recognize the work that has gone into making hard, inflexible materials into lusciously soft fabrics and objects. <br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodFGtlfW4ycUPTyWns_HTGMaA2Ktxuzyx82yYKHyAffUaY_urI47trIQUdkVnKFIzV98cyifBiAS5E4KWR3_a0E7FtTt9Fx9RBi7RTy7kszWPqXrKGsdGKySCa-QPzyUnGI0h2BpwlbUM_R1F81kmY1aAPLOdbTDcmlKlhjY9PxXBrjnEnw6UTfqy/s4032/IMG_0320.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodFGtlfW4ycUPTyWns_HTGMaA2Ktxuzyx82yYKHyAffUaY_urI47trIQUdkVnKFIzV98cyifBiAS5E4KWR3_a0E7FtTt9Fx9RBi7RTy7kszWPqXrKGsdGKySCa-QPzyUnGI0h2BpwlbUM_R1F81kmY1aAPLOdbTDcmlKlhjY9PxXBrjnEnw6UTfqy/w300-h400/IMG_0320.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tatiana Trouvé, </span><i style="font-size: small;">The Guardian</i><span style="font-size: small;">, 2022</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The sculptures are also compelling because they are simultaneously life like and not. Their placement against the wall, aside from the other works makes them appear to me as if they belong to the attendant who has just slipped out for a moment. There is always a book, a bag, a personal item, usually cast in sensuous marble, sitting on the seat. They show more than the traces of human presence, tell of beings more real than ghosts of the past. These are the chairs of people who have just popped out, with all the signs of "I'll be back" left on the seat. They speak of an immanent presence. They are also about the people and things that are invisible: the sculptures themselves are invisible to some visitors, as if they are or were occupied by an invisible guard, those tireless museum workers whose presence allows us to be in the company of fragile art works.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHQPI0tnNnSSaRsoAEEmzEXViy6fNgq8Ah5OcS5IEqH15eLcVrAWIqleYySp7_eK5oH0DiIqFCFPeske2grOkGJdw8YufmJPMPtJ8rZG9PZkT-iH7N8tbGCXHlliSYxSKS4P24DRCu0mY4YtuuWS54eyLIBrwNBRewYbKBeBQ-7OGe9E7LEgWw234/s329/Trouve%CC%81%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="233" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHQPI0tnNnSSaRsoAEEmzEXViy6fNgq8Ah5OcS5IEqH15eLcVrAWIqleYySp7_eK5oH0DiIqFCFPeske2grOkGJdw8YufmJPMPtJ8rZG9PZkT-iH7N8tbGCXHlliSYxSKS4P24DRCu0mY4YtuuWS54eyLIBrwNBRewYbKBeBQ-7OGe9E7LEgWw234/s320/Trouve%CC%81%201.jpeg" width="227" /></a></div></div></span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This exhibition also includes a wall of Trouvé's lockdown drawings that she made on the covers of the world's leading newspapers. Trouvé draws her bed, her dog, her wardrobe, her everyday life in her studio over the top of the dramatic headlines that accompanied us through the months from <i>March to May</i> (2020). The superimposition of the everyday over the devastating news of death and disease, the recounting of numbers and alarming headlines often acting as warnings, makes obvious sense. This is how we all lived in lockdown; our ordinary lives and a world in crisis outside our doors overlaid each other for months on end. As I browsed the warnings of war, death knells and governments on their knees, I was astounded at how far away it all seemed. When I think about how consumed we all were by statistics, masks, government restrictions, and vaccines, and yet, today, most days, it doesn't even cross my mind that we are not even one year out of a global pandemic. </span></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0Place Georges-Pompidou, 75004 Paris, France48.860642 2.35224520.550408163821153 -32.804005000000004 77.170875836178851 37.508494999999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-60929928760780291522022-04-30T11:52:00.002+02:002022-05-01T00:57:15.645+02:00The Delight of Contemporary Art @ Pinault Collection, Bourse de Commerce<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtzTBEazx_5eLc2QyNcR_INPgML8XZoZoZidyOdklJ5iNXZ2E1sLCGbTkE5xYjwYqrK3gWGie8laXE05ur2q5rMsqafzSfy2cqxnMkKHdUwQHiOHmjvUIExNWu8LDu_DCuk1-accW5WiCOTv3l5Vvu6e3allIPK-qJ0Cip1Ou2u5BLkLsnALwgK1Y/s661/pigeons.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="661" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtzTBEazx_5eLc2QyNcR_INPgML8XZoZoZidyOdklJ5iNXZ2E1sLCGbTkE5xYjwYqrK3gWGie8laXE05ur2q5rMsqafzSfy2cqxnMkKHdUwQHiOHmjvUIExNWu8LDu_DCuk1-accW5WiCOTv3l5Vvu6e3allIPK-qJ0Cip1Ou2u5BLkLsnALwgK1Y/w400-h300/pigeons.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Maurizio Cattelan, <i>Others</i>, 2011</span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I took my friend Harriet to see the new exhibitions at the Bourse de Commerce last night. As we walked along the outside of Tadao Ando's concrete cylinder, laughing at some of Bertrand Lavier's objects in the display cases that have been there since the building's days as the Bourse, marvelled at the fresco depicting trade in the colonies, and the magnificent reflections of the early evening sun shining through the latticed roof of the dome, I thought that this magnificent building should be the mandatory first stop on every tourist visit of Paris. Visiting the Pinault collection is pure pleasure. It is, perhaps, the most comfortable and welcoming modern art museum in a major city. It's difficult to describe how delightful it is to wander the exhibitions and the building itself.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQ3COEME6VyfZiti8Uvb3wz4N91kyF7cpy3cZHs-VN_opuSmtxDHAdNduwufUdxE9FJ3c62c7fUdpVngiBWUjz633t6cPQRDoc07mOABL5lqhDGHnK0qf8DbYpxDKcfnq9db7uP0_Ls7zxLn5h0-TRdYv7ztfb6pKosnmKG1DkAe6GL99UR6A7rqh/s4032/IMG_9533.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQ3COEME6VyfZiti8Uvb3wz4N91kyF7cpy3cZHs-VN_opuSmtxDHAdNduwufUdxE9FJ3c62c7fUdpVngiBWUjz633t6cPQRDoc07mOABL5lqhDGHnK0qf8DbYpxDKcfnq9db7uP0_Ls7zxLn5h0-TRdYv7ztfb6pKosnmKG1DkAe6GL99UR6A7rqh/w300-h400/IMG_9533.HEIC" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Boy With Frog</i>, 2009</span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We stopped in front of a Lavier piece of two crystal vases accompanied by the text "only one of these vases is real" to have a long discussion with two other visitors about which they thought was real. Being the know all, I was convinced as soon as I saw the display that the two vases were identical, and Lavier had simply included the text to keep us guessing. As Harriet pointed out, if only one was real, what kind of real would that be? In fact, whether or not the vases were real or fake was not the attraction of the display, but rather, the point of the piece was its play with our heads and temptation into animated conversation with strangers. This level of visitor engagement is maintained throughout the exhibitions on the first and second floors. </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTT0t8gCEZo1FpWk6WX7vh6oLBQLQzaQD4cCkOGEEN2_LB51K9piiPvvIQptrofFzg6ySlHD1m6h0SNLmpRBB22r-aACXIyhcDXCP5aNn_4V_6AtFKW3S3CizUia_L8nyy484KnrL_1NMgoIJs7MMpu--gllhyMNzd3PeKApL_pxfusiU5d73ZFuH/w400-h300/IMG_9538.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ryan Gander, <i>With /.../.../...,</i> 2019</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTT0t8gCEZo1FpWk6WX7vh6oLBQLQzaQD4cCkOGEEN2_LB51K9piiPvvIQptrofFzg6ySlHD1m6h0SNLmpRBB22r-aACXIyhcDXCP5aNn_4V_6AtFKW3S3CizUia_L8nyy484KnrL_1NMgoIJs7MMpu--gllhyMNzd3PeKApL_pxfusiU5d73ZFuH/s4032/IMG_9538.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember a friend bemoaning that she didn't really understand the Urs Fischer statue in the collection's opening exhibition. However, I am pretty sure that a lot of the art on display at the Pinault is not that difficult to "get". Ryan Gander's stuttering Animatronic Mouse who has gnawed its way through the gift shop wall, or Marizio Cattelan's pigeons looking down from the third floor railing are exactly what they appear to be. The mouse and the pigeons are intruders into the precious world of art, making fun of its seriousness, showing us all that laughter and wonder are valid responses to art. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVsCsAUa1tdv_NRxq0Tkgs2SW3ZrhUFi-55VvYf5h2Asqbpaf4g9XjCahP4clEm6t7ASvKRU_HyhzZ0SI3yxIuIHllCWwDdrOWjqy29OGjZqgCDcPMpUmmW9Nsb0d1q2Ld6LoG3vzBPEY-0SZNiCsh8xMkqiFwQAAlrVGJlpo9l0cFuDjoGq8Ckna/s4032/IMG_9532.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVsCsAUa1tdv_NRxq0Tkgs2SW3ZrhUFi-55VvYf5h2Asqbpaf4g9XjCahP4clEm6t7ASvKRU_HyhzZ0SI3yxIuIHllCWwDdrOWjqy29OGjZqgCDcPMpUmmW9Nsb0d1q2Ld6LoG3vzBPEY-0SZNiCsh8xMkqiFwQAAlrVGJlpo9l0cFuDjoGq8Ckna/w400-h300/IMG_9532.HEIC" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Roni Horn, <i>Dead Owl</i>, 1997</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The two temporary exhibitions also encouraged a frolick with art, eliciting physical and emotional responses. Roni Horn and Felix Gonzalez-Torres' exhibition on the ground floor created a lovely dialogue between the two artists. My absolute favorite piece was Horn's <i>Dead Owl, </i>1997. The two fluffy white owls are both adorable and creepy. Their soft silken feathers make them like dolls sitting on their perches. But the title reminds us, they are dead, stuffed animals. The owl was photographed in Iceland, a country for which Horn has an ongoing fascination. But as an American, I am sure, Horn is aware of their symbolism within Native American culture as harbingers of death. Making the owls even more cuddly and curious, but simultaneously, unnerving is the fact that when standing in front of them, our eyes never rest. We constantly flit between one photograph and the other, comparing them, looking for differences, as if expecting them to reveal the answer to a puzzle. Of course, walking from side to side, the eyes of both owls never leave us, following our every move. Being watched by art works is always the most unsettling experience in a museum.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CZBaypwx_ZwzhEmbl0ETI2hc5oaD21UonTBIG80-l_EEbfxYe0e5YZN7HlYGratyUBhqjQH_8Z9y3PjkCmSW8nJhgzwcCyrmQrmAjRFlyQCW3ei6JOuZUl5HH6wf3q6PJ6y_tGgRG6r-GwX6rTD-dnC5zgOq5lO6fb-s4geLODMAZGGjklL1N0X7/s4032/IMG_9536.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CZBaypwx_ZwzhEmbl0ETI2hc5oaD21UonTBIG80-l_EEbfxYe0e5YZN7HlYGratyUBhqjQH_8Z9y3PjkCmSW8nJhgzwcCyrmQrmAjRFlyQCW3ei6JOuZUl5HH6wf3q6PJ6y_tGgRG6r-GwX6rTD-dnC5zgOq5lO6fb-s4geLODMAZGGjklL1N0X7/w400-h300/IMG_9536.HEIC" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Charles Ray, <i>Oh! Charley, Charley, Charley,</i> 1992</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There is a large Charles Ray exhibition in the level two galleries, complementing the Centre Pompidou's spring exhibition. Ray also has three pieces under the dome in the main circular gallery: a child, himself and an old, reconstructed truck. Ray's works are also unnerving, but unlike my experience of the Pompidou exhibition, my resounding response to the pieces on display at the Pinault was his obsession with naked male bodies, especially his own and those of young boys. It's true that a lot of his works re-conceive religious and classical sculpture, they also play with the traditional display of sculpture. In addition, Ray manipulates spaces and size and makes our movement through the gallery visible through the changing size of the sculpted figures when seen from different perspectives. But these works are not only working on an intellectual level. Ray has an obsession with pubescent male bodies and sexual fantasies, and you don't need an art history degree to get that!</span></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com02 Rue de Viarmes, 75001 Paris, France48.8629044 2.342379220.552670563821152 -32.813870800000004 77.173138236178843 37.498629199999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-24778989742004290332022-04-29T00:02:00.000+02:002022-04-29T00:02:06.075+02:00Richard Serra, Transmitter @ Gagosian Le Bourget<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiTGMRB2isVpy3l95n03TxChHRIqqhzIpas_XsMHJrOqNEwgp50mQ_X8WLFw0MgVO5wbvogMjGvd98DYkwaXjRA4YAStSWNinM_RfQ51mwj1HLCgqZtS4fIQmEpPMs43qGNMruNeU8shkwBqJluRuoVP3TVNM2MFL1KaK92AoFA6_zmunxHIYUn3l/s4032/IMG_9505.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiTGMRB2isVpy3l95n03TxChHRIqqhzIpas_XsMHJrOqNEwgp50mQ_X8WLFw0MgVO5wbvogMjGvd98DYkwaXjRA4YAStSWNinM_RfQ51mwj1HLCgqZtS4fIQmEpPMs43qGNMruNeU8shkwBqJluRuoVP3TVNM2MFL1KaK92AoFA6_zmunxHIYUn3l/w400-h300/IMG_9505.HEIC" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Richard Serra, <i>Transmitter</i>, 2020</span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last weekend, I ventured out to Le Bourget with my friend Sylvie for an initiation into Gagosian's space in a former airplane hangar. It's quite a trip out to the northern suburbs of Paris by train, and then bike for a few kilometres to the small airport. On arrival, it was a different world, until of course, we stepped inside Gagosian's space. It was like being back in the centre of Paris, surrounded by familiar white walls, skylit space and hip, surly gallery staff. I had anticipated a much bigger space, and surprised to see that the gallery was not so much bigger than Gagosian's London galleries.</span></p><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglL9w9FvXBrz8SGamrGwNB1DYG5Zrd9LTyfZviFxCK1rLvDlE6Yy4ZCLTsWClFvDKiog2mrtKqXBeHo-OMPL3Mv6LzVbZn7kGrhP5M7e1MbwUJZXO-OD1EiiNrYfzBPpt475rRdo_Pqbo5wkH-AAnfiJ3xCmsisTicNAIQx_hscB4C-CaM0n83qLAV/s4032/IMG_9513.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglL9w9FvXBrz8SGamrGwNB1DYG5Zrd9LTyfZviFxCK1rLvDlE6Yy4ZCLTsWClFvDKiog2mrtKqXBeHo-OMPL3Mv6LzVbZn7kGrhP5M7e1MbwUJZXO-OD1EiiNrYfzBPpt475rRdo_Pqbo5wkH-AAnfiJ3xCmsisTicNAIQx_hscB4C-CaM0n83qLAV/w400-h300/IMG_9513.HEIC" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gagosian @ Le Bourget</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Serra's sculpture itself was magnificent, of course. The dizzying, nausea-inducing lean of the Corten steel was intense, and the journey of discovery through corridors, opening out onto two circular enclaves where the visitor was invited to rest and relax, only to be pushed out through the sense of instability was unsettling. We wanted to stay, but on discovery that there was nowhere to sit because of the awkward lean of the steel, we were left with no choice but to keep moving. The narrower the corridor, the faster we moved.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dznL6U_enxXlh9mxAwm9gpV1ShfC5h5_vYRAf2DKNVx8wjM9kws5qoUeDei0dqpSoSjKC0rYMUfV7MzGLVymg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As the only visitors to the gallery, Sylvie and I had fun with the echoes and reverberations of sound that must have been Serra's intention, though it's difficult to know if he sculpted the steel knowing the visitor would create echoes and voice modulations. But surely, a work titled <i>Transmitter </i>is designed to create a sound scape? The sonic element made the piece a departure from other Serra sculptures I have experienced: the steel curves, ribbons, caves and canyons becoming a device for transmitting data through sound waves lift sculpture to a whole new level. I could almost feel the sensations of being in a chasm, then a gorge, then in a clearing in the wild, alone, isolated within the space. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMhZ97UNAKKKDlYkWbVMH8IWO3o9ckdY1PXE5qKHAaSnySbFJkcwn-aZAs079TkngZaj3MVN2g5iTuXYhNiVitUlMutp1bjghDCAGZ_f5XAMHqg_qyn8tIbwx6FlRk8t1gmN-6nzCxvjnZKPkYdPOb9tzNY5PydsvPSqv8KADhXbmuu1-rH7Z-M_0/s4032/IMG_9485.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMhZ97UNAKKKDlYkWbVMH8IWO3o9ckdY1PXE5qKHAaSnySbFJkcwn-aZAs079TkngZaj3MVN2g5iTuXYhNiVitUlMutp1bjghDCAGZ_f5XAMHqg_qyn8tIbwx6FlRk8t1gmN-6nzCxvjnZKPkYdPOb9tzNY5PydsvPSqv8KADhXbmuu1-rH7Z-M_0/s320/IMG_9485.HEIC" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIAvOtoDw6ki4so2duiVzIFnxNGOSKRipJLAWYxTAS5hxYRZ4P9uhGgsIn635TvOHi94xpC9Y6il-rPg1saDQZKGbH1iwufaDvPaCrUoj2NPuZF0dVgG-VPnFia7yjUUx5EDyFIXcdbSy65svwvq6wHI7pL5SISvFd8vWRGsv5w4pL7aod4d87MJe/s4032/IMG_9491.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIAvOtoDw6ki4so2duiVzIFnxNGOSKRipJLAWYxTAS5hxYRZ4P9uhGgsIn635TvOHi94xpC9Y6il-rPg1saDQZKGbH1iwufaDvPaCrUoj2NPuZF0dVgG-VPnFia7yjUUx5EDyFIXcdbSy65svwvq6wHI7pL5SISvFd8vWRGsv5w4pL7aod4d87MJe/s320/IMG_9491.HEIC" width="240" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAg0Ysw7KXZQANBJjESaok2IFwbCnGjGrhvmcd-Wx3OWgVzrLBmPjzqXQvbgCMv0UYkRR9GjAB-8_h-RQtqO66UbKt-gES6Dv-0aUHeUqJMqttkr0-ETJdDxWvgGbJ-q-bEb2Wva9i48psqk9AOTM3XarEeeJZK10wZfTpPkdHMK_M_F_m9J1DHLb9/s4032/IMG_9493.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAg0Ysw7KXZQANBJjESaok2IFwbCnGjGrhvmcd-Wx3OWgVzrLBmPjzqXQvbgCMv0UYkRR9GjAB-8_h-RQtqO66UbKt-gES6Dv-0aUHeUqJMqttkr0-ETJdDxWvgGbJ-q-bEb2Wva9i48psqk9AOTM3XarEeeJZK10wZfTpPkdHMK_M_F_m9J1DHLb9/s320/IMG_9493.HEIC" width="240" /></span></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK6Yj97YcOgWIBtOw39cek6M5hH1lUia1ZqVacwvJ6grva4n4rlFkS79aLzgRC133gTUomw8g-qoQyqT52DFic9NASc5KzU3lQGyTF6OByS5sf_54yVZX-Vt-YzODQ7u_tCC3MSwXYJqJ7KBhAJpcBQ8RE_RkZhc84vaYz8W8qtjZLaS3vmG_Tkj5/s4032/IMG_9495.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK6Yj97YcOgWIBtOw39cek6M5hH1lUia1ZqVacwvJ6grva4n4rlFkS79aLzgRC133gTUomw8g-qoQyqT52DFic9NASc5KzU3lQGyTF6OByS5sf_54yVZX-Vt-YzODQ7u_tCC3MSwXYJqJ7KBhAJpcBQ8RE_RkZhc84vaYz8W8qtjZLaS3vmG_Tkj5/s320/IMG_9495.HEIC" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The echos were long and resonant, changing tone, volume, and density as we moved through different spaces, again, dependent on the curve of the steel, the width of the corridor, the lean of the steel opposite where we were standing. As is always the case inside Serra's sculptures, I felt my body transformed, my senses brought alive. It was an incredible experience. Sadly, the wonder of discovery mixed with the disorientation that comes with physical movement in a Serra sculpture was cut short. As we were having fun with our voices, feeling the reverberations as though we were lost in the outback, the young man from the gallery's front desk came running to find us. Apparently, it wasn't permitted to make such noises in the gallery. The irony was not lost on us: as we were engaging with a work titled <i>Transmitter</i> in an airplane hangar stretching the length of a city block, the only visitors in the gallery, that we were asked to lower our voices. I would have thought that our physical responses to the works was exactly the point of it?</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhL-Sjqt6FukAhyYiSTX4Y5Wuzyqt2xtrwbh_I_QcsEk_PeoDU3EFdtb6_Ie3BLLG-Uju4zG6UeNhRUgZ5_4GICl8Uw3yHoMbtHaoFVhJdYYTJnjJoMcb0Nw7OP3EsREuG2evcikr-vw-KJeUEppkTh-j3XHzWB867_-lZJhJrSuBvQuCNWm2Bct-/w253-h191/IMG_9503.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="253" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQIC_SX_Kli5zJlpyKbklQuRGSrUnQhwO8hqYBrl9ERU-7WoEjig3xJwFtqRV3cHT9vvdgdweZr9JnYRvo1Ft7FiE47wZ1-FZSq_kwyMVcv8eUAySSy7vqwbUmsIrvU_-Eg-K2jEm1fz9qapZCAwTIUtcHfQDGKQqse11A9UXS-VmI3cKJ52m4V_z/w265-h199/IMG_9497.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="265" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">And so, not to be defeated by what seemed like the illogical orders of the gallery, Sylvie and I moved up close to experience the weathered, changing surface with other of or senses.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I ran my fingers across the rough metal until they reached its seams, and when I removed my hands, they were orange. We stood back and watched the light streaming in through the roof as it changed the colour of the sculpture from orange to brown, to tan, to a deep dark black when seen from certain angles. Ultimately, the physical relationship struck up between Serra's sculpture and the visitor is magnetic. When our bodies move around, through, up close and away from <i>Transmitter</i>, our senses are so enlivened that, like filings to a magnet, nothing can break the pull and the revelation of being in its presence. </span></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0Le Bourget, France48.936752 2.42537740.401056273293037 -6.3636855 57.47244772670696 11.214439500000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-52977291085046127452022-04-16T21:46:00.000+02:002022-04-16T21:46:06.270+02:00<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyG4EBVKnScubonIVgrkxk5MsgzgMgszgUsHcErBtViOTp3YTs1sT6-MsX_3I3cnpXcUXmz1rXxe-BtorC92ci-daPBHs3EnUSJIp3gnLJlJs27DbdCt3mch_gAo9oK4GbfgMdv_j3nG_fbPlCm2dHKJhQV70jD0pGD9cy3WHUCs3YN6dEu1Jw7pmk/s567/Mother.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="567" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyG4EBVKnScubonIVgrkxk5MsgzgMgszgUsHcErBtViOTp3YTs1sT6-MsX_3I3cnpXcUXmz1rXxe-BtorC92ci-daPBHs3EnUSJIp3gnLJlJs27DbdCt3mch_gAo9oK4GbfgMdv_j3nG_fbPlCm2dHKJhQV70jD0pGD9cy3WHUCs3YN6dEu1Jw7pmk/w400-h353/Mother.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Abbott McNeill Whistler, <i>Arrangement in Grey and Black no. 1</i>, 1871</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />This single room exhibition of Whistler's works from the Frick, together with the masterpieces owned by the Musée d'Orsay is breathtaking and surprising. The small, but rich exhibition includes three pastels and twelve prints of Venice. The three pastels are among the most exquisite works in the Frick collection. With what seems to be a single sweep of sky-blue pastel across brown woven paper, Whistler captures the light flickering on the waterways, apparently seen from his gondola's approach to the island of the San Michele Cemetery. Most magnificent of all is the austerity and darkness hanging around the island, a mood captured in a few rubs of black pastel. In an more sketchy pastel, the quiet and lazy afternoon along a back canal is brought to life in <i>Venetian Canal</i>, with atmospheric window shutters, gondolas rocking on shadowy water created through more rubbing of pastels. From these Venetian drawings, I have the feeling that Whistler was as interested in time as it is measured by the sun, as he was in the surface of water, buildings, boats.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBAkIBOm8pDr5ynOYesnphhn3RqDyR85FUscvGwAZgu_XZb8_SGsBTjyXNs0s-zMykCkzAOpNwavQ8BinrZNaUwlCY9iSnik0F4hy0mrHjjEVkBMkgGIFyXkebfFxxWIiOK6eIcCBII18cPjdaseDRQING4aaa7QBT5O0410cltc9KK9K4w4NDj4v/s700/Cemetary.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="700" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBAkIBOm8pDr5ynOYesnphhn3RqDyR85FUscvGwAZgu_XZb8_SGsBTjyXNs0s-zMykCkzAOpNwavQ8BinrZNaUwlCY9iSnik0F4hy0mrHjjEVkBMkgGIFyXkebfFxxWIiOK6eIcCBII18cPjdaseDRQING4aaa7QBT5O0410cltc9KK9K4w4NDj4v/w344-h230/Cemetary.jpeg" width="344" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Abbott McNeil Whistler, <i>The Cemetery: Venice,</i> 1879<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Equally as insightful and filled with the secrets of Whistler's preoccupations in the late nineteenth-century—the same reasons for which he was so criticized by the Paris Salon—were the ocean paintings. Included here is Symphony in Grey and Green: The Ocean </i>(1866)</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcm9Hp1VouRgw3S8bjub3SURsdTMRnFT5VXLy5DrZtDb-EYcJzXUtBu14deRjR3MXbdkJibSCLvU0nWUPAV-WE5kGmris6_9Vw0rdFCeY0W9YFj-7yN61jTG04UVQ63nVARB-aU9kaB6O78Pea1Jkbhly9r2_4Sz-QCCQziVgavxj-Xa5ykfRCX7kF/s800/Canal.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="553" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcm9Hp1VouRgw3S8bjub3SURsdTMRnFT5VXLy5DrZtDb-EYcJzXUtBu14deRjR3MXbdkJibSCLvU0nWUPAV-WE5kGmris6_9Vw0rdFCeY0W9YFj-7yN61jTG04UVQ63nVARB-aU9kaB6O78Pea1Jkbhly9r2_4Sz-QCCQziVgavxj-Xa5ykfRCX7kF/s320/Canal.jpeg" width="221" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Abbott McNeil Whistler, <i>Venetian Canal,</i> 1880<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In this painting from Whistler's time in Chile, we see him dragging his brush horizontally across the canvas to create movement and light on a calm sea. The visibility of the brush strokes produce wispy clouds and sea waves, much to the outrage of the keepers of acceptability in art in the nineteenth century. Most striking of all is the flatness of the painting with sky and sea distinct, yet without depth. The only indication of perspective comes from the branches in the foreground which were apparently painted in at a later date. With this flatness comes a timelessness. Therefore, while the canvas may show the sea at a particular moment in the day, it is also placeless and ahistorical. </span></span></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4VzkumgC0YCHzfJtPSh9JgO6UCMDMtCdvQTZJeEzG0x6ofHNd6VQ8LVqF6lPh50NIOhcpDxXrri-MClM_M8ODKVwyKo_TzOElvR3Im0b7ZbX7JRt-nmqt0gMUH-LjyajNT5ttPTJqgEWG9UTnG5G4eYySfAXA79xwQdsGiPzmujJvNjWhY2dICPc/s800/Ocean.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="800" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4VzkumgC0YCHzfJtPSh9JgO6UCMDMtCdvQTZJeEzG0x6ofHNd6VQ8LVqF6lPh50NIOhcpDxXrri-MClM_M8ODKVwyKo_TzOElvR3Im0b7ZbX7JRt-nmqt0gMUH-LjyajNT5ttPTJqgEWG9UTnG5G4eYySfAXA79xwQdsGiPzmujJvNjWhY2dICPc/w400-h318/Ocean.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Abbott McNeill Whistler, <i>Symphony in Grey and Green: The Ocean,</i> 1866</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The same can be said of the Musée d'Orsay's <i>Variations in Violet and Green</i>, 1871. The stamp on the right hand side reminds us of Whistler's debt to the Impressionists' and theirs to Japonisme. Indeed, we can see the compositional dynamics of Hokusai and Hiroshige in Whistler's otherwise natural world. The composition on the vertical, the separation of spaces making the painting appear without perspective, enabling it to engage multiple narratives. Taking pride of place in the exhibition is Whistler's portrait of his mother. For all of the beauty and risk of the sea paintings, the insight into what was most important to Whistler in the Venice pastels, the <i>Arrangement in Grey and Black no. 1 </i>is still the masterpiece in Whistler's oeuvre. At least, it is the most exciting piece on display in this exhibition. The three portrait paintings as symphonies in colour from the Frick collection, said to be in the tradition of Velazquez and Gainsborough, are impressive for their balance between naturalism and modernism. But Whistler's portrait of his mother is the most exciting work, if only for its audacity in breaking all the laws of painting from the period. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><br /></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com01 Rue de la Légion d'Honneur, 75007 Paris, France48.8599614 2.326561425.616661335664958 -32.8296886 72.103261464335048 37.4828114tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-85053381366816616022022-03-27T22:27:00.000+02:002022-03-27T22:27:20.169+02:00Ed Clark, Without a Doubt, Hauser & Wirth, London<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1057" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGHWXOUu_BI9W2JU-FRw0eepYo7uHrFVg37ayF3PfB-szDHYnXj84VGVjn8rf1-Z2Je0tN57plQyZfofoHLoBhMw2NNnAwPamPjjHif3YcphFr2idTWhOnzWOrHKwCiEkOFYlxSAVqFJ_jxl7rkXe7-d1MXirjhhMZqhTBjS7SwJzO6axYncDfiFbQ=w353-h400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="353" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ed Clark, <i>Untitled (Paris),</i> 1998</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGHWXOUu_BI9W2JU-FRw0eepYo7uHrFVg37ayF3PfB-szDHYnXj84VGVjn8rf1-Z2Je0tN57plQyZfofoHLoBhMw2NNnAwPamPjjHif3YcphFr2idTWhOnzWOrHKwCiEkOFYlxSAVqFJ_jxl7rkXe7-d1MXirjhhMZqhTBjS7SwJzO6axYncDfiFbQ=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Before going to see the Ed Clark exhibition at Hauser & Wirth's Saville Row space, I was convinced I would find something familiar. Even though I didn't know Clark's work, I thought "how different can it be?" New York School emerging in the 1950s, working in the 1970s and 1980s, pushing painting. beyond abstraction ... it all sounded like something I knew well. </span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1200" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLPrYIeGhcsZKg_Pj9sCnxWUl3ohHKwr7iA3cM1geHptLjBxaZJo9cACU42mRtf1MhQoVqyXzSxYLUd2wusoHMVvJeaPLs0nBOMwVhTzJ6xM3gbQABlJj-2pWPF9SXovX0BJPfo1moV6VkUPyS5bdGlrrDVsN8RmvTPfFv3JjClVAiWxWw-YRGOhDT=w400-h256" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ed Clark, Without a Doubt<br />Installation View, Hauser & Wirth</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">However, the work turned out to be different from what I was expecting.The surprise in the painting comes in the frequently hard lines of the stroke and the rainbow of colours inside those lines. The colours and composition were familiar —blues, pinks, some spectacular reds moving across the horizontal line of the canvas. In some paintings the movement was on the vertical, or in curvature, always stopping short of connection with other colours and other movements.The innovation of the movement's direction was curious and gave pause for reflection. But what makes Clark's brushstroke special is its application. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="1200" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRTS3FjKtj8dA-qd98t1_qSAwRfyLopB2vgSfcol0wI43mGoNOc5qhlx9pjzSCk27gPL59_17WJDErHmwI7IcsuD7bOgwN9BkO9SFPRaw-VkM9jAwPz79W2jwCICdWMbKmowFKhAICX8zoVjOsdW86FnymP0E_L3kyzqtvoS9MaYT0kbhX6oH10PpF=w400-h371" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ed Clark, <i>Untitled</i>, 1996</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRTS3FjKtj8dA-qd98t1_qSAwRfyLopB2vgSfcol0wI43mGoNOc5qhlx9pjzSCk27gPL59_17WJDErHmwI7IcsuD7bOgwN9BkO9SFPRaw-VkM9jAwPz79W2jwCICdWMbKmowFKhAICX8zoVjOsdW86FnymP0E_L3kyzqtvoS9MaYT0kbhX6oH10PpF=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Clark pours multi-coloured paint and then uses a household broom to sweep swathes of thick oil paint across, up and down and around the canvas What the art world knows as Clark's "big sweep" results in wide multi-coloured strokes in which purples, greens, yellows, greys appear out of opposite and unrelated colours to surprise us. Though, at first sighting, it seems as though the unexpected colours emerge from the crevices of the main colour, when we realize that Clark has swept the paints with a broom, the painting starts to makes sense. This is how he has produced the distinct line that cuts through many of the images.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkfcnLueky_u9w3vEafOrf5I1ek1NHh8GI1u44-8nJB2Qzp0qMMQfjt1zMOI4Z3W58nC2Zq_GgoHciEdZ_EdLN0FlHRenVs5HLgkoiUzbyp6hCt4TaRrdmHPrBkWQcV_udBBfIZCkIeLaZjO_peiFFQwPFdXusPr91kvVvK_w9gLETUVoPA7hLfce/s2144/ed-clark-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2009" data-original-width="2144" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkfcnLueky_u9w3vEafOrf5I1ek1NHh8GI1u44-8nJB2Qzp0qMMQfjt1zMOI4Z3W58nC2Zq_GgoHciEdZ_EdLN0FlHRenVs5HLgkoiUzbyp6hCt4TaRrdmHPrBkWQcV_udBBfIZCkIeLaZjO_peiFFQwPFdXusPr91kvVvK_w9gLETUVoPA7hLfce/w400-h375/ed-clark-01.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ed Clark, <i>Paris Gothic,</i> 1993</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As I walked around Haus</span><span style="font-family: arial;">er and Wirth's gallery, I couldn't help thinking of Mondrian's sea compositions. While Mondrian's canvases were muted and limited in palette, the shape and composition seems like the obvious precursor to Clark's. The oval composed on the vertical, that strange, in between shape that is neither circle nor oblong is the shape that Mondrian used a century ago to challenge the conventions of composition. As early as 1911, he painted within an oval matte, and then by 1914, the edges of the oval themselves had become blurred. Clark similarly pushes at the limits and boundaries of the expectations of painting. He becomes one of the first artists to paint on shaped canvases. Assuming that Clark had his supports custom made, I was reminded also of his distance from the gestural marks of painting so beloved by his fellow Abstract Expressionists. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img class="lazyloaded" data-ll-status="loaded" height="203" loading="lazy" src="https://d2csxpduxe849s.cloudfront.net/media/7F8951FF-19D4-45D4-B982D6125B7E7BD3/06D66CCE-D620-4DF1-AB33677749464D98/5EDB1956-826F-48C2-9D9F919A3DFAB1AF/lowres%20jpg%2072dpi-CLAED101200%20TB211119.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ed Clark, <i>Untitled</i>, 1976<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Brooms and buckets, together with custom made frames should produce an aesthetic of coldness and remove. Yet, they are warm and sensuous, reminding us of sun rises and sunsets over the ocean. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Thus, what makes the paintings unexpected and unique is that the application of paint, and the sometimes aggressive changes he makes to the canvas add up to something quite different again: these paintings are nuanced and lush, reminding of nature, where their technique would logically suggest the very opposite. </span></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com023 Savile Row, London W1S 2ET, UK51.5118444 -0.141041723.201610563821156 -35.2972917 79.822078236178839 35.0152083tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-11349907654941464482022-03-04T23:13:00.002+01:002022-03-04T23:13:28.138+01:00Lubaina Himid @ Tate Modern<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuj3MUyBfCTJ8XfOA6qkITq29QX_-0GFnmF6PhC93jYkgcLCCleUvdtrfW7bcesbTeTK-Cq5YVVvYvp-zeNqMwS-pThFgyKh2arg3hurSrCdcl2pgHGGz32Lu0BlG6Tr_BjgkNClEnvvJwTL9djPBfV_BZ2otxlD2rwia0FTxjnHSF6MWtmsMgWdFs=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuj3MUyBfCTJ8XfOA6qkITq29QX_-0GFnmF6PhC93jYkgcLCCleUvdtrfW7bcesbTeTK-Cq5YVVvYvp-zeNqMwS-pThFgyKh2arg3hurSrCdcl2pgHGGz32Lu0BlG6Tr_BjgkNClEnvvJwTL9djPBfV_BZ2otxlD2rwia0FTxjnHSF6MWtmsMgWdFs=w400-h225" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid,<i> Between the Two My Heart is Balanced, </i>1991</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a real treat to see this superb exhibition of Lubaina Humid's work on my first visit back at Tate Modern since BC. It was also my first visit to the new wing, and happily, I didn't need to spend much time in the access spaces. While I understand their architectural innovation, they were too far on the dark brick and concrete side to make them anything more than transitional.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNdsZ69zFdLwQQ6l5j49nX_FI6NGJai-A_y42S8cAQ-CnXRiTT--DL6E8OLyRcpSjWFxhmjv_va7Cmr_j0UgTbvsmrOTDj2hfOQ4TEw_QjjyFdVg0inR81GqHv7RknodH2SjVl2l0hmcnAA60Ecb37PwronW0kOzb1XBhNq6y2vTC_R7NfogKUvRYU=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1200" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNdsZ69zFdLwQQ6l5j49nX_FI6NGJai-A_y42S8cAQ-CnXRiTT--DL6E8OLyRcpSjWFxhmjv_va7Cmr_j0UgTbvsmrOTDj2hfOQ4TEw_QjjyFdVg0inR81GqHv7RknodH2SjVl2l0hmcnAA60Ecb37PwronW0kOzb1XBhNq6y2vTC_R7NfogKUvRYU=w400-h302" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid<i>, Le Rodeur, The Exchange,</i> 2016</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The critics have not been kind to Himid or Tate Modern for the exhibition's apparent acquiescence to the institutional demands of art, but I couldn't help thinking these detractors had missed the point of the work. This is not angry, volatile art designed to stir up a revolution. Of course, this lack of attention to racial and colonial politics is what disappoints the gatekeepers of who says what in art today. Himid's are paintings in which people have conversations, in which the interactions between multiple figures are more important than the public impact of their conversations. The paintings are peopled with black people discussing, rather than black and white people arguing or raising fists. Indeed, the absence of white people from the paintings in direct contrast to the near-absence of black people from the exhibition could hardly be missed. Although Himid's work is easier to access, more narrative and efflorescent, I kept sensing that these paintings would juxtapose for their contrast to those of Marlene Dumas or Kerry James Marshall. In Himid's work, there is none of the pain and sorrow of the South African painters. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsHvslu1ooVZEL8ZVlCYf82zx2aQLSPx44sAu09xlSw7Yc0Mszf_DrnVwH9GBBCASoXqdlVZ541AXh4V9MdJjdEVB2RoxyLz_iLIW6YYBYoGEL4RGe37_MtJv9zPkx31zoDCLfWG-FxSxbjIp09lEgxWO5_b48byBHr6bVtXOoYArFwt5GWKxXkWTL=s420" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="420" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsHvslu1ooVZEL8ZVlCYf82zx2aQLSPx44sAu09xlSw7Yc0Mszf_DrnVwH9GBBCASoXqdlVZ541AXh4V9MdJjdEVB2RoxyLz_iLIW6YYBYoGEL4RGe37_MtJv9zPkx31zoDCLfWG-FxSxbjIp09lEgxWO5_b48byBHr6bVtXOoYArFwt5GWKxXkWTL=w400-h301" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid, <i>Ball on Shipboard,</i> 2018</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The exhibition is, like much of Himid's body of work, in many ways, about space. it is about the spaces we occupy, the things with which we fill spaces. The creation and building of space, the conventions and colours of construction, and how we are living in spaces that are given us, rather than spaces we create. The paintings are about how often those spaces don't suit us, don't work for us. Moreover how we are constantly trying to fit into these spaces nevertheless, to change ourselves to fit. Similarly, Himid's painted spaces are about colour. The colours are magnificent, they are very much those of Africa, used to distinguish unfinished spaces, infinite spaces, as well as those that are limiting and falling in on us. The spaces are typically the spaces in which we (especially women) live, but they are also spaces opening up onto public and political life. In <i>The Operating Table,</i> for example, three women discuss a map, the ownership and use of land.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5MIMg_Gkn6X_lnpJxV7EDxcOmuwOwsDhgh6QhJrdnr_0a985gQNN0W50AozpMayUu0VujxJwOXQS0KxjJtTqBI_qGfx0ah2q2kT5t75oTKFa5y00x8HZaColOy2O818avwwn81QDWiJSyHkXUe-XObRwxUZy2WR7-vDjSE2lw8LbIIkaeu1hWmCe=s1860" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1852" data-original-width="1860" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5MIMg_Gkn6X_lnpJxV7EDxcOmuwOwsDhgh6QhJrdnr_0a985gQNN0W50AozpMayUu0VujxJwOXQS0KxjJtTqBI_qGfx0ah2q2kT5t75oTKFa5y00x8HZaColOy2O818avwwn81QDWiJSyHkXUe-XObRwxUZy2WR7-vDjSE2lw8LbIIkaeu1hWmCe=w400-h399" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid, <i>The Operating Table, </i>2019</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One room of the exhibition is given over to blue and the language we use to describe, evoke and recall blue. In a connection to the discourse on space, Himid's reflections on colour are about how blue creates perspective (how we see it/ how we describe it/how we occupy it) depending on our culture and language. The installation shines a light on what we are told of space, what we learn through reading, culture, tradition, and of course, advertising. And then, in the blue room, questions of memory and history are everywhere as they are sequestered in blue furniture, blue objects, fabric from the past. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1600" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7mKCc3jmM7nFCrLvj6vjESdG-ocvw1REAJj6RP4advI3i4J3fhk0bGjxLCPAyaQM3Csd33QP5M850ga3Hlgu4atsUDaU9H6EUOS1lLgfd9l7TVqZwGtLxNcVcnOdBWRwOW9QaRDtwNY/w400-h291/himid9.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid, <i>Three Architects, </i>2019</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7mKCc3jmM7nFCrLvj6vjESdG-ocvw1REAJj6RP4advI3i4J3fhk0bGjxLCPAyaQM3Csd33QP5M850ga3Hlgu4atsUDaU9H6EUOS1lLgfd9l7TVqZwGtLxNcVcnOdBWRwOW9QaRDtwNY/s1600/himid9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I found the exhibition to be delightful. The brilliant colours are enchanting and uplifting, themselves creating complexity within the image. One of the things that I loved about the groups of people in each painting was that they were never in power struggles and neither were they buying into gender stereotypes. Women discuss what it would be to have had women discover the world, build houses and lead countries. Men meet each other in bars and turn up at the bottom of drawers. Somehow Himid manages to communicate the result of the power and manipulation that is now invisible. Just as it is in the world that we live in.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1240" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJaQhBRENCGFKUQ9YCoXrXKsH1eiZTgNXRnIrCYiuVT1zFGuJ3mA0zB8MQoOYyoBeigLFuenHF74FOT6Lm074wxl-RZHztx1GWcKVqQKHnSCegrouxWiYu_nKiqFfhxKnwWrVdiSU2w6k/w400-h366/Himid1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Lubaina Himid, <i>Tide Change,</i> 1998</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>In many of Himid's paintings, the sea is the central element. Even when the image depicts people in conversation, at parties, and at work, they are often surrounded by the sea. For Himid, in the presence of the sea, her paintings reveal what is a pivotal concept in her art. The exhibition reveals double-entendres, inviting the visitor to see differently, see things from multiple different perspectives. And we see the ocean from every angle. </span>We see it through windows, as a backdrop to conversations, surrounding a lookout, and even in abstract composition. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Himid's work may be "old school" as one reviewer for <i>The Guardian</i> put it, or as others have insisted, lacking the cutting edge so key to a growing recognition of racial and cultural identity. But that makes me a fan of the old school. As narratives these paintings take time to digest, to read, to incorporate into our understanding of the way things are. I would rather look at art that makes me think, than art that gives predictable answers to complex contemporary concerns.</span></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-57778725821759811032022-01-22T23:06:00.000+01:002022-01-22T23:06:08.484+01:00Baselitz. The Retrospective @ Centre Pompidou<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIQoSypx0xGVJx975cCdbnDDSr3cNn97bxlPIjNrUollSQYZiNDH5NGcv7aizqxucu0fHqbFANATmXWZ_wVej9nWBMNVQM0lN9jccSRVPAdg7svG420UZQVJO-ngGavEfmdZWQnW-pejDEcaxdtRCVLEtWRTjOuAXrw8c9KtiI43VXebw1x9KFNBh3=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="575" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIQoSypx0xGVJx975cCdbnDDSr3cNn97bxlPIjNrUollSQYZiNDH5NGcv7aizqxucu0fHqbFANATmXWZ_wVej9nWBMNVQM0lN9jccSRVPAdg7svG420UZQVJO-ngGavEfmdZWQnW-pejDEcaxdtRCVLEtWRTjOuAXrw8c9KtiI43VXebw1x9KFNBh3=w288-h400" width="288" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georg Baselitz, <i>Fingermalerei-Adler, </i>1972</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There's no mistaking the world that breathes life into Georg Baselitz's creativity. From the very start of this exhibition, we are confronted with an artistic output infused with war, violence, trauma, and a national identity that is everywhere pushing and pulling at personal identity. Baselitz's paintings are inseparable from the history of postwar Germany. The canvases are huge, oversized even, and yet, like <a href="http://fxreflects.blogspot.com/2021/12/installation-view-of-anselm-kiefer-pour.html" target="_blank">Anselm Kiefer's installations </a>across town, there is nothing monumental about them. it is though size is the measure of the pain and suffering that gave birth to Baselitz's paintings, rather than the ego that executed them. </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAzAuzs4IPLo_wa_MeKSn8bEHfqEk7k1W6KJMbKvL7HC4HEJW6J6MQC6j64ipSnYWsSfqpYUH8OaM6TAbv4gmLsL-eQIPqQ0eW4XKSLkzxQMGdkDlvw9CfJFZ8hbc8kc7wMhCAE397D5Sy7kY5_NOilRyn06bv2vRWs-jsjkblR969Hu2NVK5tGdOr=s370" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="370" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAzAuzs4IPLo_wa_MeKSn8bEHfqEk7k1W6KJMbKvL7HC4HEJW6J6MQC6j64ipSnYWsSfqpYUH8OaM6TAbv4gmLsL-eQIPqQ0eW4XKSLkzxQMGdkDlvw9CfJFZ8hbc8kc7wMhCAE397D5Sy7kY5_NOilRyn06bv2vRWs-jsjkblR969Hu2NVK5tGdOr=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Georg Baselitz, Exhibition<i> </i></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Installation</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Centre Georges Pompidou</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am not one to dwell for too long on the biography of an artist as it usually doesn't offer particularly astute insights into the works in front of me. But, Baselitz's paintings are an exception. Born in the former German Democratic Republic, near Dresden, with a father who served as a Nazi soldier during World War II, Baselitz's biography has given him material to paint for a lifetime. In so many of his works, including the early fragmented bodies and the later inversions, the bloodied, deformed, tormented or oppressed body is usually struggling within a hemmed-in space. In nearly all of the paintings, this torment is depicted through a furious brushwork that is too often labelled as expressionist. To me, it's so much more than expressionist. Baselitz's paintings are frenzied, showing an urgency, either as a screaming out for help from the deformed and incapacitated or dismembered body, or as an indication of the artist's pressing urgency for solutions.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqi41UhKVsvA3ibrNkOxvqzJcsXtF-GLR1tE4MCf7eERAZ3gaXuDZ0YW9xodoU5Vy2_X3lpF42T8KtoVFvdM2OViS26KgC6WAqURBq_qXcCHtKEdLUeaTuhjDq7WbrQrpgTUiDdVYy9hYQqX-JnreFkuLIU2M3Ll3xK1tLQi1lbKW01I27hPmknk7J=s862" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="862" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqi41UhKVsvA3ibrNkOxvqzJcsXtF-GLR1tE4MCf7eERAZ3gaXuDZ0YW9xodoU5Vy2_X3lpF42T8KtoVFvdM2OViS26KgC6WAqURBq_qXcCHtKEdLUeaTuhjDq7WbrQrpgTUiDdVYy9hYQqX-JnreFkuLIU2M3Ll3xK1tLQi1lbKW01I27hPmknk7J=w400-h400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georg Baselitz, <i>Mann im Bett,</i> 1982</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was particularly drawn to those spaces on the canvas where nothing is apparently represented. A painting such as <i>Mann im Bett</i> (1982) is typical of Baselitz's proficiency at creating balance in a canvas in which the figure is never or rarely centered. The isolated and scared individual in this painting is pushed to the top of the canvas, curled into a fetal position, in agony. And yet, the energy of paint on the rest of the canvas fills the empty space around the body with vitality and hope. My friend Loren and I discussed at length the negative space created by Baselitz's depressed, distorted and maimed bodies. The spaces where bodies are not are so rich, replete with a different kind of intensity on the canvas thanks to Baselitz's handling of paint.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZe6AXTs5NF1quYJgM3COCFqPDjCex6b_5fNWtVKzD1v4nQXUzBlli3aGL3fiX68nQr3x9RoPqeWnkCVNnYf4upYWDi0975cl9-UaoC5n8oZueXLBB9wBsSEO7uSJTwDjH5ukNoHedDQKxEg7JEFs0xS2eMeXx4lfbIEXMXX4YtOBU2AzH1F_0WL69=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="463" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZe6AXTs5NF1quYJgM3COCFqPDjCex6b_5fNWtVKzD1v4nQXUzBlli3aGL3fiX68nQr3x9RoPqeWnkCVNnYf4upYWDi0975cl9-UaoC5n8oZueXLBB9wBsSEO7uSJTwDjH5ukNoHedDQKxEg7JEFs0xS2eMeXx4lfbIEXMXX4YtOBU2AzH1F_0WL69=w231-h400" width="231" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georg Baselitz, <i>Gold drauf und drunter, </i>2019</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This theme of the negative or "unused" space of the canvas becomes writ large across the whole painting in those works occupying the exhibition's final room. In a convincing conclusion to the exhibition, the figure is a shadow, a silhouette, or a dying body behind a curtain. Moving on from the deformations and distortions, the final bodies are not simply abstracted—we can still see the outline—but bodies receding, washed away by Baselitz's process of layering, working over to create intensity in the spaces and places that are otherwise empty. The text accompanying the exhibition mentions that Baselitz inverted the figure as a way to explore the problem of painting in the 1960s. However, there is another way of looking at these painfully emotive figures: the inverted and doubled figures lead to the veiling of the body, the slow disappearance of the figure from the painting altogether. This is, after all, Baselitz's fascination with mirrors, shadows, reflections, and their connection to the camera obscura. It is as if Baselitz asks again and again, how can I represent the violent and murderous world in which I live? And in response, we are given paintings that claim the representation can only ever be an image, an upside down mirror image.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUjCamBrfzkGDus6qMCdOSE3-qqqwurR4kFsiJuEkZEsLzlitVIBXLaIz04mWn3XLirB33xJm_GdDStq5qhauptqj-b8p9T6H3IPaT-vR1tDr-XvFAOF_hzIsffnzyxHP-CXyB30tcplhRbkpSuK0Cyhk8OBUxA8v3CGEpeErdQ1NC1ZwanR_yZCbO=s830" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="830" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUjCamBrfzkGDus6qMCdOSE3-qqqwurR4kFsiJuEkZEsLzlitVIBXLaIz04mWn3XLirB33xJm_GdDStq5qhauptqj-b8p9T6H3IPaT-vR1tDr-XvFAOF_hzIsffnzyxHP-CXyB30tcplhRbkpSuK0Cyhk8OBUxA8v3CGEpeErdQ1NC1ZwanR_yZCbO=w400-h224" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georg Baselitz, <i>Dresdner Frauen,</i> in Installation<br />Centre Georges Pompidou</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Of course, the doubling and inverting, the images of eagles falling out of skies and otherwise pretty pastoral scenes of the finger painting period speak about the turmoil of German history, the devastation of a country blown to smithereens at the end of the war. The minute he starts turning heroes upside down, whether they be war heroes or a man-eagle drinking beer at the beach, the canvas becomes infused with tragedy and poignancy. And even when he represents a world rebuilt after the war in Germany — in the <i>Women of Dresden</i>—the figures are cut with a chainsaw, the deformed faces are hacked out of wooden blocks with an axe. There is nothing warm and reassuring about Baselitz's memories of the German past. I think this is what makes Baselitz's work great: these works are about personal individual history and German history, the two intertwined, inseparable in the mind of the artist and the artworks he produces. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYI3rqtHljD85NH-jjouJfp0vkRg-RcTKoKLj9KGBvv9icDgbL2Y3mUGbdDMP7cnyv4_iVFPyNydOt25mFY9JyCbonTlTW3bs7CuxiBsQBTM10iojVY-OiMSI6UTM9kdYC3iMghoxCWOc9tQlMzZpespSBfaEbIcH8kYH6SE1radNJzvp5L6_6-FeP=s690" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="690" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYI3rqtHljD85NH-jjouJfp0vkRg-RcTKoKLj9KGBvv9icDgbL2Y3mUGbdDMP7cnyv4_iVFPyNydOt25mFY9JyCbonTlTW3bs7CuxiBsQBTM10iojVY-OiMSI6UTM9kdYC3iMghoxCWOc9tQlMzZpespSBfaEbIcH8kYH6SE1radNJzvp5L6_6-FeP=w400-h274" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georg Baselitz, <i>Die Grossen Freunde</i>, 1965</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Adding to the allegorical dimension of works that are simultaneously about an individual inner turmoil and a frenzied search for meaning, identity, stillness, is the debt that Baselitz owes to the history of German art. Where the most obvious references in his work probably come by way of Abstract Expressionism from across the Atlantic, they are, as I say, also deeply rooted in the German imagination, the German aesthetic. In them we see the vibrant colour of <i>die Brücke</i> artists, the adherence to structure of the moderns, the commitment to the feverish world of emotions of the expressionists. There are also the debts to German woodcutting, to Romanticism—always—as the benchmark for a way out of the drama marking a world in the midst of change and upheaval. And as the exhibition text said, there are the references to the grand history paintings of Géricault, the art brut of Dubuffet, the distortions and dream world of the surrealists. Thus, their reach for inspiration is as extensive as their historical significance is profound. </span></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0Place Georges-Pompidou, 75004 Paris, Franc48.860642 2.3522453.1304931377546552 -67.960255 90 72.664745tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-40317333263723543742021-12-31T17:29:00.445+01:002022-01-22T22:59:19.987+01:00Anselm Kiefer Pour Paul Celan au Grand Palais<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYszprLtNQpOXReZZnpghYRWw8mocOWHnr_GRTlKTfX_bCGFrtsIj8viLsy8FkvNQFCtAKp1atXewEz1y1dhOdwggmO5sIm9JsEqVBjGckZOdVJwoX32Njd9RHvDCYa0Pr2AHOtgMrrWmjvCBk-xmatt2Pg97XGaM6Yx5VJJUbrpj9WNujdH3Am5kq=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYszprLtNQpOXReZZnpghYRWw8mocOWHnr_GRTlKTfX_bCGFrtsIj8viLsy8FkvNQFCtAKp1atXewEz1y1dhOdwggmO5sIm9JsEqVBjGckZOdVJwoX32Njd9RHvDCYa0Pr2AHOtgMrrWmjvCBk-xmatt2Pg97XGaM6Yx5VJJUbrpj9WNujdH3Am5kq=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Installation view of Anselm Kiefer pour Paul Celan<br />Grand Palais</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It's difficult to know how to put Anselm Kiefer's installation at the Grand Palais' ephemeral space into words. <i>Pour Paul Celan </i>might be inspired by the poetry of the German language writer, but there's something about these works that allows them to exist in a realm above and beyond the mere human world of expression and emotion. Kiefer is attracted to Celan for his creation of a language in the silence and blind spots of language. If Celan speaks what cannot be spoken, writes what cannot be written, in this series of massive works, Kiefer paints something that cannot really be painted. The works are material objects that don't so much represent as give visual and textual articulation in a space where the ability to find form through materials no longer exists. These works are unlike anything that we know art to do.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfi0CIDu_-Lk2eS9WvpQbp55KQJ57m7nCN8dDrkwy8LQuO_aW69zhSC9DfsvOqlwmM69nG1YZ21zRCGB4frBIZ7fZGjg-cZf4lj1E_tT1zGwE6yapIGijpcD_ozljkPKYMwIqeChf1fP8wvjThj2gv2yBWgvjIFWke6tDCUVgQdJBlZoOUogu_R0yr=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfi0CIDu_-Lk2eS9WvpQbp55KQJ57m7nCN8dDrkwy8LQuO_aW69zhSC9DfsvOqlwmM69nG1YZ21zRCGB4frBIZ7fZGjg-cZf4lj1E_tT1zGwE6yapIGijpcD_ozljkPKYMwIqeChf1fP8wvjThj2gv2yBWgvjIFWke6tDCUVgQdJBlZoOUogu_R0yr=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anselm Kiefer, <i>Denk dir - die Moorsoldaten, </i>2019-2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On entering the hangar-like space, visitors step into a dark world, filled with enormous, monumental canvases sitting on moveable bases. I was fascinated by the contradictions immediately thrown up by enormous canvases on wheels—all of the intransigence of the past layered onto their surfaces is undone by the suggested transience of their place in an ephemeral space. This undercutting of the monumentality of his works is, of course, typical of Kiefer's tendency to undo his most definitive claims. Indeed, we find it repeated at every level of every work in the exhibition.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRnGLohvwU2FK5R1z3nkGI7MyVy8y5-VT0PU-eQw8HqPN6HCLmaoCzr2rMuhthrQgZkOCUe3kq31PvvUVbyt17ZqZYhlXMNRJMHHJceuYVnMP_7r5PAoppk4mkpZXdQE4bSFcEF5ngukL67vI7ClqY-67rm8BAAj0AnaRiehct4gd_y3yVYCq65obY=s852" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="522" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRnGLohvwU2FK5R1z3nkGI7MyVy8y5-VT0PU-eQw8HqPN6HCLmaoCzr2rMuhthrQgZkOCUe3kq31PvvUVbyt17ZqZYhlXMNRJMHHJceuYVnMP_7r5PAoppk4mkpZXdQE4bSFcEF5ngukL67vI7ClqY-67rm8BAAj0AnaRiehct4gd_y3yVYCq65obY=w245-h400" width="245" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anselm Kiefer, <i>A la pointe acérée, </i>2020-21</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Looking across the floor of the space to works such as <i>A la pointe acérée</i>, the gold shines out from the centre of composition, like a successful alchemical experiment looking over a field of snow and dirt and ash. Words fall down the side of the huge canvas, where words, landscape and a mythical promise merge into one. This is Kiefer's characteristic bringing together of elements that cannot coexist anywhere but on his canvases.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSeIJcT9P2aTDVJVkRMV2h29p9iFojEqi69VlrzgfrKZZ013eYWoVKcmVV0M5u8mbr482x_FsbQMNA4dyyMWyHS0Yqon1DCSMbx7Nzlr6dMAuz-Rj_kP8z-UeiiWn4foZviSfd8mbg1DwoVyeiKw4vyWBPwkZhx26wg6p5NndYgR1OLTi5ooFMr2ML=w300-h400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In typical Kiefer style, it's difficult to call these works "paintings" because they are not exactly paint on canvas in the way that we think of it. Rather, Kiefer adheres any number of ephemera to the canvases, ranging from dirt to clothes, shoes, gold leaf, glass, straw, axes falling out of the sky, rocks and lead books. In one of the first pieces we come across, a shopping trolley full of burnt coal or rocks sits at the centre of a cyclone of celestial ash above a field of fallen soldiers' gold-dipped clothes. Through the attachment of these conceptually and materially loaded objects, the work tells a deep, complex history. As Celan writes, death is the moment of reawakening, creation is forever connected to destruction. Further, beyond the story of Celan's poems, beyond the narrative representation of his poetry, the world's of Kiefer's canvases go deeper, have multiple layers and levels of meaning, metaphor, and references to myth and history. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB9kRXkCDmvwuLwBXp6RZczO_IFlOEvUb1nb5R-e238xmDNt7cB3SQD_vvULvQ5ofYj1p10FO8Qg0ilBoXRqfOyw_ACKR263fEyL-1A_QkFT8kUn0bxY42XeABAa0YAzNuFYODUswPpbtYmVqXonibhIL2sCODSqdox-UxWYlyeXan6SJojYiyQ8xa=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB9kRXkCDmvwuLwBXp6RZczO_IFlOEvUb1nb5R-e238xmDNt7cB3SQD_vvULvQ5ofYj1p10FO8Qg0ilBoXRqfOyw_ACKR263fEyL-1A_QkFT8kUn0bxY42XeABAa0YAzNuFYODUswPpbtYmVqXonibhIL2sCODSqdox-UxWYlyeXan6SJojYiyQ8xa=s320" width="240" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlYar1qItx5Ew1l6qBN6tJtmhbxyNhesc3CnB0i_aou0BCauszxBO3MvhLPEmRt8PLnrxMOYqFZodPkYNPfOQ-P44ROjVJ7kJmDdXIDL2WzW4oYmi3-7lAuXO7cSY5xKl1NViq9cAyJETG9n3t8TilywpcuKxOLkY8Tlq3t-v4S9Pcll01yisHqNGD=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlYar1qItx5Ew1l6qBN6tJtmhbxyNhesc3CnB0i_aou0BCauszxBO3MvhLPEmRt8PLnrxMOYqFZodPkYNPfOQ-P44ROjVJ7kJmDdXIDL2WzW4oYmi3-7lAuXO7cSY5xKl1NViq9cAyJETG9n3t8TilywpcuKxOLkY8Tlq3t-v4S9Pcll01yisHqNGD=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Even on a single canvas, when Kiefer paints, what would seem to be the most transparent of mediums, he cakes it on and forms it like clay to tell a story about what happened that is anything but straightforward or linear. Stories are told about the violence of history, about soldiers traipsing through mud, losing their shoes and their limbs. There are stories about forgetting, about being buried, being saved, being protected and being buried. The works in the exhibition are intended to be a bringing together of German and French history, but at the end of the day, this exhibition is about so much more. It asks how do we remember our past, how do we bring our knowledge, even as it has disintegrated, into the present, to redeem our future? Do we remember in the interests of creating a different future?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYE5ESZilKwqrxTyHvWGDur4ExALlw9fCl4E0xm7Ok3gPnAVIN1bLyvDelSxKyuCBBoyVZoLv0nuDbsuLEcXSJCAbWtKAuWTwWMjVWASMZh0wkdVTVe5zjIt36jQDUWQeLwKsveSt4ADIFglX6s3e-GVEDzmWVGgG8xQ8LT03ANQa5E4Ny7r0V3F1S=s600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYE5ESZilKwqrxTyHvWGDur4ExALlw9fCl4E0xm7Ok3gPnAVIN1bLyvDelSxKyuCBBoyVZoLv0nuDbsuLEcXSJCAbWtKAuWTwWMjVWASMZh0wkdVTVe5zjIt36jQDUWQeLwKsveSt4ADIFglX6s3e-GVEDzmWVGgG8xQ8LT03ANQa5E4Ny7r0V3F1S=w400-h266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anselm Kiefer, <i>Monh und Gedächtnis/Poppy and Memory, 2</i>020-21</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />In a signature Kiefer installation, a lead plane, still standing, but without windows has become a bed for dead poppies and a shelf for lead books. The significance and symbolism of the work is infinite: a lead plane without windows that might never have flown, covered in books, objects that remind us of a country that burnt its books and its Jewish people. Without books, planes, people, what's left to us is a blindness and an ignorance. We have let go of knowledge that we should never have forgotten. The plane may not be going anywhere, but its presence reminds us of a past that is still with us, recalling all who died on and beyond the battlefields. Remembrance, death, and the promise that it never happen again is everywhere alive in the graveyard that is this exhibition. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLqWvHmTeyctRcwv5wHoIkTI9wku5faK0K-6mVMPvgc2PlD-q5rMysdnu_m7ZxX4IPJsUI2qw1tFDZGDoZcnMIMc_KHZqtSmfdJxwbrJuxESN4lYvEghJEZHbSMsy74fv4kO52pISGxT7b6k43j29roI86EuSSzh4pimuwlNLIMCHCSXnwJVc5nUtb=w300-h400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anselm Kiefer, <i>Arsenal</i>, 2021</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><span style="font-family: arial;">In one of the most intriguing installations, shelves of matter and material are displayed as the "arsenal" of the artist. At face value, I assume we are meant to understand the shelves to be filled with Kiefer's ammunition, but the objects are so much more. The structure both reveals Kiefer's tool box and takes the form of an archive of a past that reaches well beyond his own. It is a display and a documentation of the (left over) materials of his artistic practice, comprising many battered objects and desecrated materials that we have seen in earlier sculptures. The objects collected, organized, archived, and sometimes put in drawers range from garden chairs, through the model of a wedding dress, a box of bicycles, shards of glass, ash, dirt, lead sheets, and a wealth of other dusty, dirty ephemera. But the installation is also a materialization of memory, of a past that we have already forgotten, a past that stretches into the depths of the twentieth century. It is a past that belongs to all of us, a past that we have nevertheless deemed no longer useful. On the one hand, we no longer have enough space in our world for the rubble of our material past, for glass shards and dead flowers. On the other hand, for Kiefer, this past is the very substance of who we are. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuVOMRd--eoCLhxVKyBYrgjqQAea5i0jk_jLBIHWOhjgvExAU7yM30bLG3_dAdNjnoH10AcFcJjhV_IrXufg7nomSi9kuMeGCa_Wune0VihJccGuD0K51aqvH_vyC_5sOYTU2sKUsAh4q7Edk2o8sye03m93Kol97joY16tbOb13xy2lHPIBdz9_X2=w240-h320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anselm Kiefer, </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Arsenal</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, 2021<br />Detail</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiALOXRBiFOmOJAHM7IW4g9QTbhZdEsDTcYm8Tthll6lPZG2VDP0TofrzQYf-rlMSsujCOuQCdLiHSbrpnFRXyYW_lLEX46GO5V9N-HsMQYxr3BNT_73qUDZLZZqyLiFZIAUmeemxYLLg9lPyzxXxgum3ByPXhrkaVPHcgikj4E2MvS-6_xWUbqqtMp=w240-h320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anselm Kiefer, </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Arsenal</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, 2021<br />Detail</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuVOMRd--eoCLhxVKyBYrgjqQAea5i0jk_jLBIHWOhjgvExAU7yM30bLG3_dAdNjnoH10AcFcJjhV_IrXufg7nomSi9kuMeGCa_Wune0VihJccGuD0K51aqvH_vyC_5sOYTU2sKUsAh4q7Edk2o8sye03m93Kol97joY16tbOb13xy2lHPIBdz9_X2=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiALOXRBiFOmOJAHM7IW4g9QTbhZdEsDTcYm8Tthll6lPZG2VDP0TofrzQYf-rlMSsujCOuQCdLiHSbrpnFRXyYW_lLEX46GO5V9N-HsMQYxr3BNT_73qUDZLZZqyLiFZIAUmeemxYLLg9lPyzxXxgum3ByPXhrkaVPHcgikj4E2MvS-6_xWUbqqtMp=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a><span style="font-family: arial;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />In a world in which the past is so quickly erased by the swipe of a finger, or the closure of a window on a screen, Kiefer's practice is about stuff, about material, about the weight of a past that will not go away. These shelves hold the substance of memory in all its multiple and metaphorical meanings. As my friend Loren said as we stood, looking up at the shelves of broken treasures with the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the background, it is as though Kiefer carted the weight of history from his studio to the Grand Palais. As Loren observed, these monumental installations are so far and above the significance of one person's memory, even of Germany or France. It is as though Kiefer has collected the detritus and reignited the history of human kind. We see the remnants of a world left to decay and disintegrate through the passing of time. In this sense, the installations are of an unimaginable magnitude.</span></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicbfMIneex8AxwIiT73nD-6F_NP3z7g9JhRO4bS4yBG62D4sfNGlc80d0epizVu_DvQk93EnOh7g2GpjmyngFdxCzXKu5DeYCgGAUvWiYlMisYk9l6eUym7yWuGOO54AsGple0YxuQ7lKrFnawemBLdLRS7nAFmMTQOSSnTrzLu35TZzyrjLSZ1HJL=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicbfMIneex8AxwIiT73nD-6F_NP3z7g9JhRO4bS4yBG62D4sfNGlc80d0epizVu_DvQk93EnOh7g2GpjmyngFdxCzXKu5DeYCgGAUvWiYlMisYk9l6eUym7yWuGOO54AsGple0YxuQ7lKrFnawemBLdLRS7nAFmMTQOSSnTrzLu35TZzyrjLSZ1HJL=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Understandably, the first response on entering the space is the overwhelm of the size of these works. It is difficult to deny that we are seeing the work of a towering artist's ego, someone whose work dwarfs that in other exhibitions around town. Kiefer certainly makes art that takes over enormous spaces. But in this gesture towards the life of the universe, it's as though his work becomes the greek myth itself, like something religious whose plots and themes are speaking the truth of our existence form ancient to classical and into the twentieth century. Of course, the Holocaust has ruptured any hope of continuity. Thus, it is as though the work is happening outside of any concern for Kiefer as an individual artist. While the Nazi Holocaust was at the centre of every painting in Kiefer's earliest days, today, the bigger the artwork, the more ethereal and mythically relevant the "paintings" have become. In the same way that the concern for violence and destruction spreads further and wider than any one genocide, so the works are about something more than him as an individual artist. Nevertheless, it's difficult not to think of Anselm Kiefer labouring in his studio over the months of Coronavirus lockdowns and restrictions, the artist constructing an understanding of history, culture and being in our time. </span></div></div></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com02 Pl. Joffre, 75007 Paris, France48.853270599999988 2.302383120.543036763821142 -32.8538669 77.16350443617884 37.4586331tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-22418449606594842002021-12-27T18:19:00.000+01:002021-12-27T18:19:23.140+01:00Georgia O'Keefe @ Centre Pompidou<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCOJrCGa_bea_tGsQmzhKyAgs5rppYSAHpDvxd-oIUzSmONTsh5VusRbu46f-dr34aXOFQeXsXmDnlUawIEq0hk1f-PSPut3G5nAJevD8ZkYApmjk5pLiQA8TfpLl7JuYtqOBiruY9z38bZV3f_CIXSdY0CvzOFVBIjlc4mOonKI3-Lahlg3Qtn9Lu=s1000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1000" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCOJrCGa_bea_tGsQmzhKyAgs5rppYSAHpDvxd-oIUzSmONTsh5VusRbu46f-dr34aXOFQeXsXmDnlUawIEq0hk1f-PSPut3G5nAJevD8ZkYApmjk5pLiQA8TfpLl7JuYtqOBiruY9z38bZV3f_CIXSdY0CvzOFVBIjlc4mOonKI3-Lahlg3Qtn9Lu=w400-h299" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>Grey Blue and Black Pink Circle, </i>1929</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a great pleasure to visit the Georgia O'Keefe exhibition at the Centre Pompidou. Particularly because a number of people had said that the exhibition wasn't very interesting. Sometimes low expectations can lead to the most enjoyable exhibitions! </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjakT5qtePBqqtuPBwHVGuSEdLWOJfwfddkLu5uFNDg3_YvjJ1mS4FsTGcAS6HzQhwjpA-1XgYFIkq_VHu8NI7tTZ4HpFCbmO4kNaunk42nYL9g6KR9_A0wfl-ZBgIkr3Fa_uTqI0qetb5Iz3U5iKOO9Bpt5uyq9_VwJ3XJcAwRMGMHrHhf3GxVtmKk=w400-h210" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>Series 1 - no. 4,</i> and <i>Series 1 - no. 3</i>, 1918</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjakT5qtePBqqtuPBwHVGuSEdLWOJfwfddkLu5uFNDg3_YvjJ1mS4FsTGcAS6HzQhwjpA-1XgYFIkq_VHu8NI7tTZ4HpFCbmO4kNaunk42nYL9g6KR9_A0wfl-ZBgIkr3Fa_uTqI0qetb5Iz3U5iKOO9Bpt5uyq9_VwJ3XJcAwRMGMHrHhf3GxVtmKk=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For me, the most surprising discovery at the Pompidou exhibition was that O'Keefe was an abstract painter. In my—and no doubt many others'—minds, O'Keefe was a painter of flowers bursting into bloom in the shape and form of vaginas and other female body parts. But really, O'Keefe was an explorer of colour and light, shape and definition of form through colour from the earliest works on. We see an ongoing interrogation of colour as light to create dimensionality, often in forms that become abstract thanks to their push at and beyond the picture frame. It is true that O'Keefe's paintings recall the female form, but they are also about much more: O'Keefe brings a connection between abstraction, the woman's body and nature to the development of modern art. On the one hand, as we know, the paintings represent a mass of skin and blossoming flesh, ripe for the picking. In this, the connection to surrealism is also very apparent. Like the surrealists, however, this obsession with the woman's body also connects to a dreamlike tendency. This can be seen especially in surrealist works painted in the 1920s and 1930s by artists such as Ithell Colquhoun. Thus, on the other hand, we are under no illusion of the reality of O'Keefe's sensuous forms. </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1322" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhzyDYvlQf2GirWBPYp-02BbtoZbhH-jCVMCXam1lwAM8eeMDPm3cmHX7E2-MQ4PBnXQsMm3kYi9-8cP9Fr6xn05GlFEfMz80PImNpzKgWuAAqR4fjCbKJ-qRmz9YpNTZVHBsTgjAqelE4OP8Q3iHiItCx_RVO1UIbp0NYXiK0LwgU8D0-Lc9zrA1e=w331-h400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="331" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>Jimson Weed/White Flower No. 1, </i>1932</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhzyDYvlQf2GirWBPYp-02BbtoZbhH-jCVMCXam1lwAM8eeMDPm3cmHX7E2-MQ4PBnXQsMm3kYi9-8cP9Fr6xn05GlFEfMz80PImNpzKgWuAAqR4fjCbKJ-qRmz9YpNTZVHBsTgjAqelE4OP8Q3iHiItCx_RVO1UIbp0NYXiK0LwgU8D0-Lc9zrA1e=s1599" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Beyond O'Keefe's skilful use of colour, the exhibition shows her deep understanding of colour. I was in awe at her sophisticated grasp of the relations between colour, how different colours interact on the canvas, how the introduction of white or black changed the mood and tone of the representation, how shape informs the perception of colour. This is not surprising given that she was actively painting over decades when these questions were being asked by painters in her midst. However, what is surprising is how the exploration of colour comes together with a very precise and careful use of her medium of paint. She is also interested in transparency and opacity, shapes to look at and look into, as well as the more abstract and pure philosophies of colour and paint. Thus, O'Keefe is, in many ways, doing much more than her contemporaries.</span><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPv7x6_r0grNPseX4vPZPpqOsShCXj5qVfpJSreQv007d_Qo1Z1JfkYu0NsBrofqeqn67k6XjhxUti5H0Poq-mi_7mOeiZQuu_RJOOX3c45-LoxPnVAyjeZ5uCSKJI7lTsX4jf8OOSwILOI41vddydQyjQuS1j39krMa2gyLEZUpvqaHfm08qxxYQa=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="813" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPv7x6_r0grNPseX4vPZPpqOsShCXj5qVfpJSreQv007d_Qo1Z1JfkYu0NsBrofqeqn67k6XjhxUti5H0Poq-mi_7mOeiZQuu_RJOOX3c45-LoxPnVAyjeZ5uCSKJI7lTsX4jf8OOSwILOI41vddydQyjQuS1j39krMa2gyLEZUpvqaHfm08qxxYQa=w318-h400" width="318" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>White and Blue Flower Shapes, </i>1919 </span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was also delighted to see the connections between O'Keefe's paintings and explorations in lens-based media that began to flourish in her lifetime. Her focus on the shape and contours of the natural world, the turning of leaves into abstract patterns in light and shade (and for O'Keefe, colour) are consistent with what photographers around her were doing. The flowers becoming abstract may be recognized as Mapplethorpe before his time, but they also resemble some of the images that were being produced in abstract photography. From Man Ray's surrealist photography to postwar German realism by artists such as Karl Blossfeldt, O'Keefe's painting is absolutely of its time. In addition, O'Keefe's painting is incredibly cinematic. I kept finding myself thinking about the images of 1920s and 1930s avant-garde filmmakers: in closeup, exploring the object in detail as it burst out of the frame. This idea of motion inside and outwards from the four sides of a frame, the explosion, the moment of waking up in the process of coming to life was of course the concern of the filmmakers in her midst. I couldn't help using the language of cinema when I was thinking about how to describe her work. The soft petals, skin of the woman's body, in "close up," represented the very desire of the film theorists for more than the human eye could see. The same can be said of the undulating landscapes that double as naked women. In particular, their capture of the sensuousness of the body was considered to be the <i>raison d'être</i> of the cinematic camera.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQZkQ7GTyk9jYsfZQToFcwLRz-4JXbUENmsuox-oLIp8gauSbuoZmJQeoylZLDZB-2iSmFJx1gvzQGwp5gPNTkqmoeefRhwvc3rfwQ8GSVx6M2zCctpzOYQ95sQ8vsfnGQBhopycqZOx0JBAEdTaHsNZAcMFThogdsDTyeBuo6Ty-0QVBLQrY0iBFL=s600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQZkQ7GTyk9jYsfZQToFcwLRz-4JXbUENmsuox-oLIp8gauSbuoZmJQeoylZLDZB-2iSmFJx1gvzQGwp5gPNTkqmoeefRhwvc3rfwQ8GSVx6M2zCctpzOYQ95sQ8vsfnGQBhopycqZOx0JBAEdTaHsNZAcMFThogdsDTyeBuo6Ty-0QVBLQrY0iBFL=w400-h229" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>Sky Above Clouds/ Yellow Horizon and Clouds, </i>1976-77</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition to the photography and cinema connections, O'Keefe's concerns were familiar from what Mondrian was doing. Even though her work is not about line and breaking the boundaries of geometrical form, it's about flatness. In this, particularly in the later landscapes, O'Keefe's work is about perspective and seeing the world anew. And when the flowers and other natural forms burst out of their frames, they challenge the threshold in a different, but related way to Mondrian. The abstractions of landscape that the exhibition called the Cosmos were all about interrogating perspective through a fascination for areas of colour.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3cwTopEAe8GqUrgEMiw71rQg_afMm8Gun5Tyg2246CcBPXn9KZPA91_1Kz4LxzgyQ1z6vgYJVEvdJWxQj7Y-ylanL_xlf4FCSWA4VURkcVty4EHoFETW2gVF_cnO7LN7gxaVcdwS0WU6elhAF96P0JMOcF6w_OCFc5odz-I33NMKTjNwDuWjuROIK=w400-h225" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Georgia O'Keefe, <i>Pelvis with the Distance</i>, 1943</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3cwTopEAe8GqUrgEMiw71rQg_afMm8Gun5Tyg2246CcBPXn9KZPA91_1Kz4LxzgyQ1z6vgYJVEvdJWxQj7Y-ylanL_xlf4FCSWA4VURkcVty4EHoFETW2gVF_cnO7LN7gxaVcdwS0WU6elhAF96P0JMOcF6w_OCFc5odz-I33NMKTjNwDuWjuROIK=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ultimately, with all of these references, it's difficult not to see O'Keefe's art as steeped in European traditions of painting. Which, in turn, make this retrospective at the Centre Pompidou a well overdue event. It's a great shame to think that without her famous photographer husband bringing her work to the public eye, these great paintings may have gone unnoticed altogether.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-27877997435389746592021-11-14T23:13:00.001+01:002021-11-14T23:13:58.440+01:00Ron Mueck, 25 Years of Sculpture @ Thaddaeus Ropac, London<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZyOIYiTppOAjk3FWR6-9n8fB3rJ1g0y2A-SpiLHg9SrNsKVLIxsVcz-5MEIBLdtg_kSnlbveV66Q6UiFM9oiGCGYhZMYIrFcRywSzG5rDm4u5Ui8vieRyPpY9eT7I1zHMsRcMt8dUGc/s1600/ron_mueck_show-014_crop.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZyOIYiTppOAjk3FWR6-9n8fB3rJ1g0y2A-SpiLHg9SrNsKVLIxsVcz-5MEIBLdtg_kSnlbveV66Q6UiFM9oiGCGYhZMYIrFcRywSzG5rDm4u5Ui8vieRyPpY9eT7I1zHMsRcMt8dUGc/w400-h300/ron_mueck_show-014_crop.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ron Mueck,<i> Old Couple under an Umbrella,</i> 2013</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span>The most arresting thing about Ron Mueck's sculptures, some of which are on view at Thaddaeus Ropac's London Ely Street gallery, is their size. These works are always the "wrong size." They are diminutive or oversized, but never life-sized. Everything else about these carefully crafted figures is as realist as realism will allow, but their size makes them all at once, curious, tragic, frightening and poignant.</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC6Dr5MwX_Nme0lcuJpNL6yl-0toezMQxyREGTEobA6YvSHQQsZn6mbdAjdx4AHFb8seZQ2uTybwT64tnPP49SYvvZ6cI5hzslONjcSvqVTtsIWkBb9pEPz231KIy1nBC6eiNEJz4O00/w400-h300/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ron Mueck, 25 Years of Sculpture<br />Installation View</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC6Dr5MwX_Nme0lcuJpNL6yl-0toezMQxyREGTEobA6YvSHQQsZn6mbdAjdx4AHFb8seZQ2uTybwT64tnPP49SYvvZ6cI5hzslONjcSvqVTtsIWkBb9pEPz231KIy1nBC6eiNEJz4O00/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Although many of the same works are on show in London as were in the <a href="http://fxreflects.blogspot.com/2013/06/ron-mueck-fondation-cartier-pour-lart.html" target="_blank">Mueck exhibition at Fondation Cartier in 2013</a>, I saw them from a new perspective. I was particularly struck by the sculptures' overwhelming focus on life and death. They are n</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ot necessarily reflecting on the cycle of life, but about birth and death. There is little in the exhibition that would suggest the joy of life being lived in between times, despite the blurb on the gallery website. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">In all the works of mothers with their children, life is just beginning, and often shows the exhaustion that brings for the mother. In others, life is coming to an end, through expiration, or through growing old. In the well-known, <i>Dead Dad</i>, 1996/97, life has already left the figure who lies supine on a plinth. In<i> Youth</i>, 2009/10, a young black boy </span><span style="font-family: arial;">lifts his t-shirt to </span><span style="font-family: arial;">examine a wound on his midriff. The resonance with St Thomas poking at Christ's laceration is immediate. However, of course, this young man is black, and as visitors we are hard pressed to ignore the immediate thought of the danger and threat of the streets for people such as him today. The figure tells a multitude of stories—biblical, art historical, and a simple narrative of urban life—that makes him very familiar. At the same time, his diminutive figure makes him vulnerable and his sensuous, life-like skin gives the urge to protect him. He is both realist and a representation of violence—or not. Perhaps he has simply cut his torso accidentally. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpWG38jk8D_2Gedl6FiQgyRtww2w2yIXrLIQ2PsfZ3fVsAA0-H6jSpMndhF5CyXlSXUlQlBxO0S-wXY7B4uT0sqmkSd2gaBGkbhZ0Oba9NVCEAsdF1XXxpJZ0QQa8KTA3HsQqwsWQhsg/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="760" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpWG38jk8D_2Gedl6FiQgyRtww2w2yIXrLIQ2PsfZ3fVsAA0-H6jSpMndhF5CyXlSXUlQlBxO0S-wXY7B4uT0sqmkSd2gaBGkbhZ0Oba9NVCEAsdF1XXxpJZ0QQa8KTA3HsQqwsWQhsg/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ron Mueck,,<i>Youth</i>, 2009.2010</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thus, we are constantly moving between the stories associated with the figure and marvelling its status as an art object. Moreover, we keep questioning our responses. In the sculptures that depict dead beings—an oversized chicken, a tiny father, a huge skull which shows its signs of production—the vividness of the decaying skin can be somehow repellent. The melancholy has been removed from the body as matter. Similarly, the baby just born, lying on its mother's stomach with the umbilical cord still attached is overwhelmed by the blood and mess of bodies opened and connected, emptied of emotion. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="1400" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxf2bZnGbuER-P2WJ5LlbhIp_deL0xz0k6FDi0dYp9N_v3mq67-0bXdAVHSDAdqEjHc4b8hxtBA5zF-yCzE3YYBcY-x0EeU9r9_o7iwhccJ8xmh8E_7YiPQtgpH9MdA4m2X6KmJA7hXU/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ron Mueck,<i>Dead Dad</i>, 1996-97</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />And yet, they are both empty and overflowing with emotion. By turns, there is a sadness and poignancy to the fact that some of them are like masks, they are not full faces. The masks are sad or angry, violated in some way, even if that violation happens in the form of a baby being born. Amid the well of emotions, there is intimacy to the figures. This often comes in the multiple figures, for example, the mothers with their children, or the enormous couple under a beach umbrella. The couple are complete with wrinkles, sun spots, hairs sprouting in unsuspected places. The physical body stripped bare reveals an emotional vulnerability. Indeed, the figures are often at their most vulnerable - the father, naked on his death bed, a man wrapped in a blanket, perhaps trying to survive on the streets. Even the old couple are caught in an unguarded moment, enjoying the depth and longevity of their relationship together as she bends her head to look into his eyes, he gently rests his hand on her arm. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tMnBnQ164gqwJzVXfXNF2MgP7z4aOmnsHbz2y5pbYjmQ81Pi1_iU60IAqs3O-jk18yjtfzj4yxHbyqWd1GMTiu0ZshnuQS-ycS-54cpBm0kMgx1GXa6TU6d9VBKIyAhYLsLA0_zo0Kc/s837/ron_mueck_show-049-copy-2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="837" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tMnBnQ164gqwJzVXfXNF2MgP7z4aOmnsHbz2y5pbYjmQ81Pi1_iU60IAqs3O-jk18yjtfzj4yxHbyqWd1GMTiu0ZshnuQS-ycS-54cpBm0kMgx1GXa6TU6d9VBKIyAhYLsLA0_zo0Kc/s320/ron_mueck_show-049-copy-2.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ron Mueck, <i>Mother and Child,</i> 2003</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Wandering through the exhibition, I felt as though I was walking in the land of the giants, particularly as I watched other people hover over tiny figures, or look up to massive ones.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> When others surrounded the miniature figures, I started to sense a discomfort, wanting to protect them. Then as I moved up close to the giants as if gawking at them under a microscope, I felt as though I was intruding on their privacy. The complexity of Mueck's sculpture, as well as our responses to it, envelop them in endless intrigue. That said, this exhibition included a series of stills of Mueck in his studio, unveiling the mystery of these life-like compositions. Which is to say, we may see how they are made by the artist, but the photographs only served to underline that the sculptures might be constructed, but we nevertheless continue to behave towards them as though they are beings. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter.</span></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-65359280038757326802021-10-28T16:47:00.000+02:002021-10-28T16:47:27.209+02:00Gerhard Richter: Drawings @ Hayward Gallery<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCJn6NV6SFdpiFeRv95zruiSVhwTDf4aDDg2_lcu4h5P5pTjQHHgzUzbZm094QjA8T-gUhojHnRoop2qQ_NO3r1BQQ2QHYYcbJ6gaZY0rnXo3Vg_Lpp5RlqOJ1RmmL4gopLVF02yCVVg/s900/Dynamic-47445a6b-8b16-51d4-ada7-b0b78fe467c7.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="900" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCJn6NV6SFdpiFeRv95zruiSVhwTDf4aDDg2_lcu4h5P5pTjQHHgzUzbZm094QjA8T-gUhojHnRoop2qQ_NO3r1BQQ2QHYYcbJ6gaZY0rnXo3Vg_Lpp5RlqOJ1RmmL4gopLVF02yCVVg/w400-h300/Dynamic-47445a6b-8b16-51d4-ada7-b0b78fe467c7.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Gerhard Richter, <i>22. Juli 2020</i>, 2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />This small exhibition in the HENI Project Space at the Hayward Gallery offers a peaceful respite from the crowds milling around the Southbank Centre. Surrounded by this series of drawings and watercolours, it felt like I was seeing Richter, the old man still thinking about issues that have preoccupied him for over six decades. The works are, in the vein of pencil drawing as a medium, very delicate. Nevertheless, they are filled with familiar scratchings and scrapings, erasure and redrawing that we know from Richter's paintings. Similarly, the rubbing of the pencil sketches so that the definition of the line is smudged remind of the characteristic obfuscations of his paintings. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVM3CnGVZz3Zvc-rIx7u2FToB_Pz88p_OJ70_uG2SBqQsKfJTihKmwVmK0JMmERide-T21U9FF9JJ7mAZSaFtWCGOm_1creEB07W6zd64ZpHKAx0KstMoohu88knsJvIC65Gl2oEzi7BA/s2048/Gerhard-Richter-24.-Juli-2020-2020.-Pencil-ink-and-coloured-ink-on-paper.-420-x-593-mm.-%25C2%25A9-Gerhard-Richter-2021.-Courtesy-the-Artist-FAD-magazine-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="2048" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVM3CnGVZz3Zvc-rIx7u2FToB_Pz88p_OJ70_uG2SBqQsKfJTihKmwVmK0JMmERide-T21U9FF9JJ7mAZSaFtWCGOm_1creEB07W6zd64ZpHKAx0KstMoohu88knsJvIC65Gl2oEzi7BA/w400-h284/Gerhard-Richter-24.-Juli-2020-2020.-Pencil-ink-and-coloured-ink-on-paper.-420-x-593-mm.-%25C2%25A9-Gerhard-Richter-2021.-Courtesy-the-Artist-FAD-magazine-scaled.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Gerhard Richter, <i>24 juli 2020, </i>2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In some of the scrawls and scratches we see faces beginning to emerge, reminding of those faces and figures studied in the drawings of Leonardo. Pensive faces, gaping mouthed cherubs and hands, eyes, noses, in the same way that artists have practiced these forms in their drawings over centuries. This debt to the renaissance masters and their use of the drawing as a medium to explore the possibilities of expressing emotion has to be a conscious exploration. It is as though Richter asks this question (like he does in his paintings): what is this medium I am using? What is drawing? In many ways, Richter explores the medium</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> what drawing is, as if it were a painting. Line is not a simple, one dimensional phenomenon in Richter's drawings. Line is heavy and straight, it is gentle and flowing, dark and airy, shown through multiple different intensities of the pencil. In addition, there are multiple forms of line, multiple meanings of line: scraggy, confident, rethought, playful.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKBTTyTmzUmci09yR8qjqaEJkWqdZC-N1eG5_ECIx-2vvbRI2EqorJpwEu1KIOSNWdPbW0ci_qtJtdkxyqFKAFkGK6-p9QzIVSdkpoTdnzAiK9etfvFeYUeDchfhPE65rHNgCD1258lg/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKBTTyTmzUmci09yR8qjqaEJkWqdZC-N1eG5_ECIx-2vvbRI2EqorJpwEu1KIOSNWdPbW0ci_qtJtdkxyqFKAFkGK6-p9QzIVSdkpoTdnzAiK9etfvFeYUeDchfhPE65rHNgCD1258lg/w400-h266/image.png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Gerhard Richter, <i>27.4.99 (1), </i>1999</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">He also includes interesting explorations of time and space. Space in the drawings is fragmented, reflected, refracted, made multi-dimensional and superficial, it is created and destroyed, but space is always multiplied, though not necessarily in a geometry and dimension that we can compute. In this play with space on the paper, we see Richter push his art into abstraction. </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxe9jMBTSYelUAD84quyQw1z9gitFsBVsCZMs03lJ5DXQ2e02KC8jAbu9vP7hhLOkhQeotZabYB1a3zRv9ytrZjHlZZ1OcwDrhRPRTViy2sczMHY6cb7PJ2MuiSFhyVPOFcd_J74pqh0/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="678" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxe9jMBTSYelUAD84quyQw1z9gitFsBVsCZMs03lJ5DXQ2e02KC8jAbu9vP7hhLOkhQeotZabYB1a3zRv9ytrZjHlZZ1OcwDrhRPRTViy2sczMHY6cb7PJ2MuiSFhyVPOFcd_J74pqh0/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Gerhard Richter, <i>31.08.2008,</i> 2008</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Included in the exhibition are a handful overpainted photographs. If I didn't know how involved Richter was in his exhibitions, I might have assumed that the gallery's curator had added these works out of some unexplained desire to confuse. But Richter has surely included the overpainted photographs to push still more insistently at the definition of what a drawing is. By placing them in an exhibition of drawings, they question the definition of a photograph. Is a photograph a form of drawing, preparation for a larger, more ambitious (and colourful) work to come? Is photography the way to engage with the history of painting and representation? Again, we find the process of erasing, smearing, obscuring through the use of grey paint over a photograph that he uses in the drawings. For Richter, the photograph as support for painting or drawing as an idea for painting puts the emphasis on the process, the application of the medium. This enquiry is as important as the questions that surface about definition of the medium itself. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOqsdGqh9NydFgKlhtx8GHPkoYvfGyau3uoTklOjxkpI_DipMxEnpGTHV65Dwvmll8D3rKE8RMeItmp1O40970F7hOUmzke0tBxRLHsEP3LsYBcx4qcwdiD9lRE8CdMX7IUolOXKyi44/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1016" data-original-width="812" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOqsdGqh9NydFgKlhtx8GHPkoYvfGyau3uoTklOjxkpI_DipMxEnpGTHV65Dwvmll8D3rKE8RMeItmp1O40970F7hOUmzke0tBxRLHsEP3LsYBcx4qcwdiD9lRE8CdMX7IUolOXKyi44/w320-h400/image.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gerhard Richter, <i>21.11.2017,</i> 2017</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">If <a href="https://fxreflects.blogspot.com/2021/10/anish-kapoor-lisson-gallery.html">Anish Kapoor</a> spent his lockdown reflecting on the violence and rage of the world in which we are living, as well as the need to bring animals and humans inside out and drag them through their undoing in the abattoir, Richter spent his in a very different way. The old man approaching the end of his life was deep in thought about his medium, about representation, about the impossibility and unfinishedness of all expression. </span></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0Hayward Gallery, Southbank Centre, Belvedere Rd, London SE1 8XX, UK51.5063207 -0.115493623.196086863821158 -35.2717436 79.816554536178842 35.0407564tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-14572391117901790082021-10-27T23:19:00.002+02:002021-10-27T23:19:19.348+02:00Alex Katz, Mondes Flottants, Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, Pantin<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfkq4iWtlX6j1Abc2Iz-0mJNAexH6nOub5F16ZqRr8vVp7IU3bT7PVqPdfCEGfzuA_bRlCr16E1768iziEOrXJPE2xSk5bIvFiCldPEHuU0355GlC_o0Z1-FXiFKhxDP5TcrRtOTjPFc/s2048/Katz+4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfkq4iWtlX6j1Abc2Iz-0mJNAexH6nOub5F16ZqRr8vVp7IU3bT7PVqPdfCEGfzuA_bRlCr16E1768iziEOrXJPE2xSk5bIvFiCldPEHuU0355GlC_o0Z1-FXiFKhxDP5TcrRtOTjPFc/w400-h320/Katz+4.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Alex Katz, Floating Worlds, Installation</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Thaddaeus Ropac, Pantin</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I have never been a big Alex Katz fan. I know that he's an important 20th century painter, and that the high society women in sometimes gaudy colours are sophisticated critiques of capitalism and the art market. But, there's something about the hyperrealism that I find off putting. The works in current exhibition at Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac's Pantin space are, however, a different story. The paintings of water of different types, in different states are mesmerizing, even when they are painted in glaring blues and greens.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFuoKpTa39Bwa_W2Z5ejQfK6NjqitTkuLerELFFITQVbrJqxYuTukA2O13G5bLn2v_XTFzB6LcimC14_6mk0XZu3XbJI80H71YPe2x1enAY1HIhpq1ZJyJEuS-pRTxC7-9DcJa-ixc_ec/s940/Katz.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="940" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFuoKpTa39Bwa_W2Z5ejQfK6NjqitTkuLerELFFITQVbrJqxYuTukA2O13G5bLn2v_XTFzB6LcimC14_6mk0XZu3XbJI80H71YPe2x1enAY1HIhpq1ZJyJEuS-pRTxC7-9DcJa-ixc_ec/w400-h234/Katz.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alex Katz, <i>Hommage to Monet, 5, </i>2009</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">A few of the works in the exhibition include people. I couldn't help notice how the human figures interrupt the cool, flow of the water. The human disturbs the expanse of blue that is nature's existence. Even though Katz painted these reflective works a decade ago, I was struck by their resonance with today's alerts for our devastation of the environment. In works such as <i>People</i> (2012) featuring people, the bathers horizontally dissect the water, interrupting, the figures seemingly conversing, playing, bathing, create a wave around them. The peaceful aqua blue of the sea is forced to change direction, lap around them.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpbMsnOogR87EE1ci8z6wXDtRLQrxF2GfKGibPsanWeQIWSMIHTYmyZLadejkVRM1FhsjXp-1S-7ntyqowFW93RahQdBxv5mIw6dwZJWNwkxjoAeqjAbvrRR26und7m3lWLE-Hz1-i_M/s324/Katz2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="324" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpbMsnOogR87EE1ci8z6wXDtRLQrxF2GfKGibPsanWeQIWSMIHTYmyZLadejkVRM1FhsjXp-1S-7ntyqowFW93RahQdBxv5mIw6dwZJWNwkxjoAeqjAbvrRR26und7m3lWLE-Hz1-i_M/w400-h291/Katz2.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Alex Katz, <i>Reflection with Lilies</i>, 2010</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The paintings are also about reflection, about light as it dances across the surface of the water, and in this, the water, comes together with paint. The sea and painting have been partners in exploration of the limits of what we see and know. For centuries, artists have used the sea as a way to move beyond the human world, and in Katz's works that push is found at the limits of abstraction. Abstraction enabled through the marriage of paint, blue, water and light is brought to the fore of the paintings. Without depth and sometimes without any articulation of orientation or definition of space, we are left looking at the flow of paint that is the flow of the water.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WTscnFMQm4pyfksjDMl6B-KaVgJRwo6AR6zxsQJAY1MdH0jjzoXjWkWjLxMvaMsNGxHR4XQeaBfXMvTXipAX7_EClIFLlR2xACM3J6LQqsOVvKsri_P5-KvvcoMy2_qhoVOMHMpxXu0/s2048/AF27313E-A25E-4DFA-A394-589A76626FBA_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WTscnFMQm4pyfksjDMl6B-KaVgJRwo6AR6zxsQJAY1MdH0jjzoXjWkWjLxMvaMsNGxHR4XQeaBfXMvTXipAX7_EClIFLlR2xACM3J6LQqsOVvKsri_P5-KvvcoMy2_qhoVOMHMpxXu0/s2048/AF27313E-A25E-4DFA-A394-589A76626FBA_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRUcKHYNJo84xKq8HKXde94RXa-VdEZAXGUFjor0_lu3O2wRlGbXbrnMZIBQfN0WQRAnHG2J5NSFmNG2ciqQmNunr1IMNSbA3c4-4GtgbcGrb6zBPW_TlKsshpIe3nmk5wFhtj5B_pwU/" target="_blank"><img alt="" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="557" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRUcKHYNJo84xKq8HKXde94RXa-VdEZAXGUFjor0_lu3O2wRlGbXbrnMZIBQfN0WQRAnHG2J5NSFmNG2ciqQmNunr1IMNSbA3c4-4GtgbcGrb6zBPW_TlKsshpIe3nmk5wFhtj5B_pwU/w400-h320/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alex Katz, <i>People</i>, 2012</span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Another thing that is striking about these works is that we often don't know whether we are looking down at the water, across it. We lose orientation, in space as well as time: is that the moon shining on a night sky reflected in the water? Is it a grey day and raining? Is that a sea covered in mist? Is it a reflection, upside down in a lake? The intrigue and ambiguity of what we see in the image contributes to its oscillation between abstract and figurative. Again, the ambiguity like the abstraction comes in their bringing together of water, paint, perspective and light bounding around the canvas, reflecting and refracting off the water.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfrU8tyCyoW0nuiO-56sDekt-IZYMBdncJ8Ss6E8RvuEertbPlwEUU5nWC1LY9r-x1HDjNazNeTQx10WDZ8nRA3-DtcigbuJ4M4rQxkXA1LLWKi7QA-_5dspIUPG4V2fBwVy-HX55RuI/s2048/Katz6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="201" data-original-width="251" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRFeZR1iPYfzmDD4QLssAMNdUqS5uoyA21gBeI-4dpGW8LfLuf-yGGyEDCsHfHEtNyvfs6kwSxrSbR5bcGTdOQXTZMD0tbramYJJTroRpiS3EbKD3WbpO20Rrfg2jtnMRvlooIp8nbh4/w400-h320/image.png" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alex katz, <i>Wave 4,</i> 2000</span></div></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ultimately, these works are more personal, more intimate, more reflective than anything else I have seen by Katz. And in the oasis that is Thaddaeus Ropac's Pantin gallery, housed in a renovated 19th century red-brick boiler house - its xenethal lighting makes the experience one of a calm, cool summer afternoon, far away from the noise and pollution of the city</span></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com069 Av. du Général Leclerc, 93500 Pantin, France48.8995819 2.4078455-5.5411130689393744 -67.9046545 90 72.7203455tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-68845889320496096942021-10-06T23:57:00.002+02:002021-10-06T23:57:23.780+02:00Anish Kapoor @ Lisson Gallery <div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSZhwBAFm7UEu0xL_zXtqQr_aSFu2jOteNdJ4l93DDejPowksrDQgGSGE747lvqzbM-tI1Gys2ftCYAs4nDW3sN9zcK-zMqkeyppTEJr7-zEwW5Je7HBotv8a6_jxsTzv21eeYTgKoIY/s2048/KAPO_Lisson_Gallery__London_2021_005_1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSZhwBAFm7UEu0xL_zXtqQr_aSFu2jOteNdJ4l93DDejPowksrDQgGSGE747lvqzbM-tI1Gys2ftCYAs4nDW3sN9zcK-zMqkeyppTEJr7-zEwW5Je7HBotv8a6_jxsTzv21eeYTgKoIY/w400-h300/KAPO_Lisson_Gallery__London_2021_005_1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Anish Kapoor</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Installation @ 27 Bell Street, London</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I opened my London season of gallery visits with Anish Kapoor's latest creations at Lisson Gallery. I can't remember the last time I was so inspired by an exhibition. I realize many people reading this will not get to London to see this exhibition, but hopefully, there will be other opportunities to experience the works. As we walk into Lisson's main gallery space, we are met by Anish Kapoor's <i>Sacrifice</i> (2019). A steel structure draped in red resin that immediately brings associations of the innards of a slaughtered being. Whether that being is animal or human is not so important as we are overwhelmed by the mess of blood still dripping out the gutters that have been installed for this very purpose. The bloody entrails of what we imagine to have been a ritualistic killing—whether of the industrial or mythical kind—globbing and bubbling into their disintegration is gut wrenching. <i>Sacrifice</i> is filled with trauma and the slow painful death that we sense viscerally, even if we do not see the murder taking place. The rest of the exhibition offers no escape from the gaping wounds of a world filled with death, destruction and no promise of rebirth.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOat7Y3q-v55Y8iRCkCugGV16r0bFkE_ZBzi52T4aeMcJaY39xrP7_Yupa4OS0sbzKN4UcS6DHN1AkuXFIxQiOcZmyQTkASiZ_ikBHsi9e6t2BUihboH-oh68G3ib-RaOSMYP7xMsVlq0/s2048/KAPO200038_001.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOat7Y3q-v55Y8iRCkCugGV16r0bFkE_ZBzi52T4aeMcJaY39xrP7_Yupa4OS0sbzKN4UcS6DHN1AkuXFIxQiOcZmyQTkASiZ_ikBHsi9e6t2BUihboH-oh68G3ib-RaOSMYP7xMsVlq0/w400-h300/KAPO200038_001.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anish Kapoor, <i>Inhuman</i>, 2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The shapes and forms in sculptural and painted works remind us of things as variant as vaginas, bleeding wombs, monsters running rampant through volcanic landscapes, fire and rage of mythical proportions. The body and the natural landscape join forces in agony, screaming for help, watching their own disintegration at the hands of an unrelenting force. It's mindboggling to think that this is what Kapoor produced in lockdown, while we were all on Zoom meetings, avoiding people in the supermarket and getting depressed on our sofas. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAh0TaWxj5ZF9jFuNMtuV41texQYo9K7CUk6SG82ia1hZ7okAn7nGoq_MlNJvcfWJdsUfR3wYuz8FNScnznTfLX23B4u4EUTi0HKM4ExdJ8eXteEsG0PDwFXRIizrc-cU_P03SMaAltBQ/s2048/KAPO200033_001.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAh0TaWxj5ZF9jFuNMtuV41texQYo9K7CUk6SG82ia1hZ7okAn7nGoq_MlNJvcfWJdsUfR3wYuz8FNScnznTfLX23B4u4EUTi0HKM4ExdJ8eXteEsG0PDwFXRIizrc-cU_P03SMaAltBQ/w400-h300/KAPO200033_001.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anish Kapoor, All There Under my Skin III, 2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The Lisson gallery flyer mentions Kapoor's engagement with the history of art, reminding us that artists from Leonardo all the way to Francis Bacon have been obsessed with raw flesh and meat. Halfway through the exhibition, it becomes clear that Kapoor is not making vague references to his predecessor's concerns, but rather, that he draws specifically on the work of Francis Bacon, if not others. Kapoor followers will remember the Rijksmuseum's coupling of Kapoor's <i><a href="https://www.rijksmuseum.nl/en/press/press-releases/Anish-Kapoor-and-Rembrandt" target="_blank">Internal Object in Three Parts</a></i> (2013-2015) and Rembrandt's <i>Carcass of an Ox</i>. The artist's debt to Rembrandt is well known. And in the works on view at Lisson Gallery, the debt to Bacon is unmistakeable. Even before seeing the three-dimensional frame in the corners of the untitled works on paper, Bacon's gaping mouths, bleeding wounds, distorted and deformed flesh, screaming with pain are so clearly haunting Kapoor's intense and angry abstract compositions. As much as the triptych <i>Diana Blackened Reddened</i> (2021) might be about fertility and hunting, it is also about Francis Bacon's Second Version Triptych 1944. As Tate's website blurb quotes, Bacon's is a work that reflects "the atrocious world into which we have survived." One gets the feeling that Kapoor's triptych is saying something similar. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2a25mlL1yYsSMBB3W7V8RRODr_R3aJwVBprpcya6zOFLoIH0VTEtZUbm0FfopFfC5qAMnQ_WEQJnor0sfhX_PeLcb07Thh6DOiSsUU1lx3kxXOTeVhl6Lk8BPha1Ft4Zqu919tVktwqw/s400/KAPO_Lisson_Gallery__London_2021_010.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anish Kapoor<br />Installation @ 27 Bell Street, London<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLjqjmzN75wDZ9idabLd7BLnLsbUj1zb4rPiCnYhPdgrQzKBBO_NTmM8clfAtG2chYSNVGkkEsa5GdIarOsajyIZSLHVi8R9esmK5O8vA8YgY_bltHySTMe_cyhYvR1urHLmh_i7Ql_8/s480/francis-bacon-second-version-of-triptych-1944-%25283-works%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="480" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLjqjmzN75wDZ9idabLd7BLnLsbUj1zb4rPiCnYhPdgrQzKBBO_NTmM8clfAtG2chYSNVGkkEsa5GdIarOsajyIZSLHVi8R9esmK5O8vA8YgY_bltHySTMe_cyhYvR1urHLmh_i7Ql_8/w400-h180/francis-bacon-second-version-of-triptych-1944-%25283-works%2529.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Francis Bacon, <i>Second Version Triptych, 1944</i> 1988</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>And then, we must not forget that these works are also about painting. Where the raw flesh of a body slaughtered body hangs limp over an unrelenting steel frame, so paint is filled with emotion and rendered alive in the accompanying paintings. But, by extension, paint is as connected to death in these works as <a href="http://fxreflects.blogspot.com/2021/08/damien-hirst-cherry-blossoms-fondation.html" target="_blank">Damien Hirst's Cherry Blossoms</a> are to life. It is as though Kapoor were saying something to the effect of painting cannot be separated from flayed bodies, oozing entrails and violently desecrated souls. Painting is about the destruction of our humanness. In turn, if Kapoor is so intent on seeing our bodies slashed and slammed in the abattoir of existence, then he must also be saying something about the modern condition. Certainly, there is not much to look forward to—unless of course, the pleasures of the flesh are also captured in these visceral distortions. Certainly, the proliferation of bleeding orifices and spewing volcanoes would strongly suggest that death and sex are never far apart.</span><br /><br /><span>This exhibition is breathtaking from beginning to end.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span></div></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com027 Bell St, London NW1 5BY, UK51.5208753 -0.16956423.210641463821155 -35.325814 79.831109136178839 34.986686tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-42823589239088330612021-08-29T23:24:00.002+02:002021-08-29T23:24:48.098+02:00Damien Hirst, Cherry Blossoms @ Fondation Cartier pour l'art Contemporain<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MW7AfxOcMeOHRNKnruDV4kQlFm-TetvvSJVj75pR1H0mNA1dM7Y1L8C26aSH9y9pfJN6wv4_ik2fMsyWjg9m0bhbYCXHh3qm8Sqsd4_o4rKqw8HFHavnlPT4CsjqM2_-qPOhBi8vqns/s2016/IMG_8468.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MW7AfxOcMeOHRNKnruDV4kQlFm-TetvvSJVj75pR1H0mNA1dM7Y1L8C26aSH9y9pfJN6wv4_ik2fMsyWjg9m0bhbYCXHh3qm8Sqsd4_o4rKqw8HFHavnlPT4CsjqM2_-qPOhBi8vqns/w400-h300/IMG_8468.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cherry Blossoms,</i> 2020<br />Detail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst's <i>Cherry Blossoms</i> are like nothing else shown at the Fondation Cartier in recent years. Likewise, the Cherry Blossom paintings are, at first glance, unlike much of what Hirst has produced over the past decades. This is apparently his first institutional exhibition in France, and that makes the exhibition even more unusual. One would expect to see sharks in formaldehyde, dots and diamond studded skulls in his inaugural exhibition. And yet, the lush, delightful oil paintings seem to find their perfect home in an exhibition set inside the glass house of Jean Nouvel's dynamic building, itself in the lush gardens of the Fondation <i>Cartier</i>. With the light streaming in at the end of the day, glinting on the surface of paint and making the colours sparkle, it's difficult to imagine the <i>Cherry Blossoms </i>anywhere else.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPLEW22hBwxR7OnvDZnibQhjadKuvs0zpIosb35NaNJQPCfexOZvUMT-0SRLUYM8tUpuhdNxKW3O95VlU5alhA1BTAuprCgbPg6Fk0A9EdCU6vtp3OcOu1nZAsy8pPWDjLFL7I-c4Uks/s300/210701-FONDATION_CARTIER-DamienHirst-0247.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPLEW22hBwxR7OnvDZnibQhjadKuvs0zpIosb35NaNJQPCfexOZvUMT-0SRLUYM8tUpuhdNxKW3O95VlU5alhA1BTAuprCgbPg6Fk0A9EdCU6vtp3OcOu1nZAsy8pPWDjLFL7I-c4Uks/w400-h267/210701-FONDATION_CARTIER-DamienHirst-0247.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, Cherry Blossoms, 2020<br />Installation @ Fondation Cartier</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">While these luscious and sensuous paintings are quite different from anything we have seen Hirst make over the years, there are obvious similarities to the visual candy and the dot paintings. If the dot paintings are about control and systematization of colour, the uniformity of the application of paint, the formal geometicality of the canvas, the cherry blossom paintings are the very opposite. Thick globules of paint are lovingly applied with fingers, sticks, and brushes, left to coagulate and blister unpredictably over time. The intensity of paint still in the process of drying mimics the ephemerality of the blossoms that will, eventually, wither. And yet, in this, they continue the artist's career-long preoccupation with death, the body, the disintegration that comes with the passing of time — in a dead animal, a promise of renewal in medicine cabinet. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wCeIiwhfa-lrNgGNP_5tDYpE8sDLvC2ec-bvn_daN8008mBrq2Tjq_C0P5XgMgAxjgBKHCjYNx-dLeZK7WtcwbtMjY2tn-J6050bMGKrpWv1_yoFWao9a0bNHAoo0r4li1Fl7-hBj9U/w300-h400/IMG_8465.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cherry Blossoms,</i> 2020<br />Detail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wCeIiwhfa-lrNgGNP_5tDYpE8sDLvC2ec-bvn_daN8008mBrq2Tjq_C0P5XgMgAxjgBKHCjYNx-dLeZK7WtcwbtMjY2tn-J6050bMGKrpWv1_yoFWao9a0bNHAoo0r4li1Fl7-hBj9U/s2016/IMG_8465.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Up close to the paintings, I was reminded me of Cy Twombly's mid-career works in which congealed paint sometimes falling off or moving around the canvas makes visible the presence of the artist's body that was once there. The difference, however, from Twombly's paintings is that the traces of him on the canvas are revellations of the artist thinking, even in the doodlings. Hirst's blobs and globules of paint are intensely physical and emotional. They are the manifestation of an artist at one with the canvas, delighting in the possibilities of his medium. Unlike much of Hirst's other work from the past 35 years, they are the work of a painter playing in his studio, alone with his paints. On these brilliant canvases,</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> we see Hirst free from the demands of the structures, grids, formal principles that overwhelm his work of the past thirty years. It is as though he lets go of all the pressures of being an artist from whom the world has expectations.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mYiWv_5uSf_NRDRuFiIO7-i6PTiQLkEevgAxYrOP57jKuCB5OlXsKn4wzLza6Kx-_LBmo4LVO4_y4bSh2tPQGuTmOvZ7eOagFU_mMH5rkO8dE2ibe25u9asy2ZWIMs44pMmIOMAqA5E/s600/210701-FONDATION_CARTIER-DamienHirst-0187.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mYiWv_5uSf_NRDRuFiIO7-i6PTiQLkEevgAxYrOP57jKuCB5OlXsKn4wzLza6Kx-_LBmo4LVO4_y4bSh2tPQGuTmOvZ7eOagFU_mMH5rkO8dE2ibe25u9asy2ZWIMs44pMmIOMAqA5E/w400-h266/210701-FONDATION_CARTIER-DamienHirst-0187.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, Cherry Blossoms, 2020<br />Installation @ Fondation Cartier</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span>It is also refreshing to see how non-masculine these paintings are. They may be huge in size, and placed side by side in his studio, forming one enormous frieze of cherry blossom trees, but they are not big powerful works expressing an overblown male ego. This is not to say that these canvases are delicate, but they are ephemeral. It is as though they capture the lightness of air blowing blossom from the trees and swirling in the air. There is no control to the blobs and daubs, but rather, they appear, like a rainbow in the sky. Indeed, the arbitrariness of their application gives them movement as they blow in the wind. </span><br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tnnySvv0KbB2DFzU_j91-wFiHiWNaS7w466bjy32aWJ5cyELtl-iOWaho9M4Wv30_sgPeEURmPMiCW2lWg93_us_eKyzr7B89ACY_WxCK__Chyphenhyphen1BN_JzFTpbwiXCAhB47uoaMgS2u4I/s600/Detail_Cherry_Blossom1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tnnySvv0KbB2DFzU_j91-wFiHiWNaS7w466bjy32aWJ5cyELtl-iOWaho9M4Wv30_sgPeEURmPMiCW2lWg93_us_eKyzr7B89ACY_WxCK__Chyphenhyphen1BN_JzFTpbwiXCAhB47uoaMgS2u4I/w300-h400/Detail_Cherry_Blossom1.jpeg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cherry Blossoms,</i> 2020<br />Detail<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">On display at the Fondation <i>Cartier</i>, the abstraction of the compositions is underlined by the fact that they are placed out of order. That is, they were painted as trees across multiple canvases in the studio, but the panels are separated on display, mixed around so that the figure of the tree is often lost. We are left looking at abstract canvases of colours. Up close we are left to ponder the colours which, surprisingly, are not all pink leaves and brown tree trunks. There are bright oranges and greens, purples, reds, yellows, greens. And every colour comes in a spectrum of shades. The result is that each canvas is a different tone, a different temperature, a different hue, has a different personality. This, of course, is Hirst's lifelong obsession with abstraction, played out in his exploration of colour, scale, application and the tension between technical virtuosity and the aleatory.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLatL5wbNotsIwfHJzBQIfgRNJcILXYoEgMfoX72L2iS9NDmVLooaerObavMP6ZvyuSVsbD61q1qJJoc5Ekjenab9E_1ETpIa92q2dEUYYuQkdjbW2MtXVQyA5cht1RniaP0QmhQhADA/w300-h400/IMG_8472.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cherry Blossoms,</i> 2020<br />Detail<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLatL5wbNotsIwfHJzBQIfgRNJcILXYoEgMfoX72L2iS9NDmVLooaerObavMP6ZvyuSVsbD61q1qJJoc5Ekjenab9E_1ETpIa92q2dEUYYuQkdjbW2MtXVQyA5cht1RniaP0QmhQhADA/s2016/IMG_8472.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I overheard one of the guides saying that because the paint is so thick, much of it has still not yet dried. And when it does, the colours will change, they will become dull, like the falling of blossom from the trees as the seasons move from one to the next. The transience of Hirst's paint, the abstraction of the compositions, and the sensuous joy that we experience in their presence fills them with surprise and joy. But, let's not forget, these works are also pervaded by the promise of death. After the sun has stopped shining over fluttering blossom, the only thing for them to do is to die. </span></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0261 Bd Raspail, 75014 Paris, France48.837291699999987 2.331915120.527057863821142 -32.8243349 77.147525536178833 37.4881651tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-48843881087194313582021-08-19T00:19:00.001+02:002022-07-03T17:20:43.050+02:00Damien Hirst, Cathedrals Built on Sand @ Gagosian<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm9CDXRhRu5mYAgFcfD0rS9dOUQ83MN7hVo8Vb0pwwwqYGW9GyKGa2M-bSt3ht-o2Cx8LDfULiK3agDpsUw5_kRsJtrAJwhSetGmXj6HFE8xOMLC3d1xtwaUvKIN1qTenhSebCyBfJ8hQ/s495/Hirst.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="495" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm9CDXRhRu5mYAgFcfD0rS9dOUQ83MN7hVo8Vb0pwwwqYGW9GyKGa2M-bSt3ht-o2Cx8LDfULiK3agDpsUw5_kRsJtrAJwhSetGmXj6HFE8xOMLC3d1xtwaUvKIN1qTenhSebCyBfJ8hQ/w400-h266/Hirst.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cathedrals Built on Sand</i><br />Installation View @ Gagosian</span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Popular wisdom would have us believe that Damien Hirst is all sparkle and no substance. It's just visual candy, as one critic put it in 1993 when Hirst burst onto the contemporary art scene. Critics love to tell us that his work is superficial, mass cultural trash. I have never understood this estimation, and always wonder if these same critics have ever been face to face with these </span><span style="font-family: arial;">conceptually</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> complex and aesthetically gorgeous art works? If ever anyone was in any doubt about the value of Hirst's sculpture, the current exhibition at Gagosian's rue de Ponthieu gallery will surely convince that this is contemporary art at its most sophisticated.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqE_HYPkMgdyrAyRntRESGQdNuYEIim-_FwG6l6N22kvqyjvPptTYz706XqQgV2EMTUBnU4HTLXaLyLyDXmqI_Spg8HOClZp3DJi8imJNE9wOCyPpSA0-lv0QJIyMqKqyPVAz8DIPy14/s495/Hirst4.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="495" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqE_HYPkMgdyrAyRntRESGQdNuYEIim-_FwG6l6N22kvqyjvPptTYz706XqQgV2EMTUBnU4HTLXaLyLyDXmqI_Spg8HOClZp3DJi8imJNE9wOCyPpSA0-lv0QJIyMqKqyPVAz8DIPy14/w400-h266/Hirst4.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Damien Hirst, <i>Cathedrals Built on Sand</i><br />Installation View @ Gagosian</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The exhibition features pill cabinets made between 1996 and 2021. Row upon row of candy coloured pills—it's that candy reference yet again—in cabinets with mirrored backs and locked sliding glass cases. As if these objects were precious paintings, they are perfectly framed in shiny, mirrored aluminium. From the start, I couldn't decide if I was being plunged into the pill aisle at Rite Aid or a gallery filled with priceless art works. The mirrored display cabinets, lighting, reflections and all those candy-look alike pills can be found in both contexts. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">The cabinets also seem to be indicating that as the ultimate consumers, there is nothing more tempting than our own image. We watch ourselves in the mirrored backings, however, our faces and features are blurred. Our figures studded with pills and our vision is made foggy, as if we are under the influence of a mixture of pills.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKYWFBvhv9tgIm2LcaIfCs8Fz_41RkfMpKZQMiNMGSA81821O90Anef67loBrxxs834UX3WqM3UEWGbY6B8Ldwl9iakXzxFU5z3PbDQQZm6M74ndQEp_8aUvcnYkadHeJw0J7E0iPFQg/s2048/IMG_8406.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKYWFBvhv9tgIm2LcaIfCs8Fz_41RkfMpKZQMiNMGSA81821O90Anef67loBrxxs834UX3WqM3UEWGbY6B8Ldwl9iakXzxFU5z3PbDQQZm6M74ndQEp_8aUvcnYkadHeJw0J7E0iPFQg/w400-h300/IMG_8406.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The pills themselves are mesmerising. We move up close to study them on their shelves, and our perception shifts from looking at an art work to studying pills (many of which are fabricated in Hirst's studio). Then, as we start to recognize some and wonder about others, our salivary glands are activated. They look so delicious that we want to pop them into our mouths, and enjoy their flavour. This is, of course, the problem. The works discourse on the pharmaceutical industry, our dependence on pills, the ease of access, that feeling of gratification when swallowed. All of these thoughts are aroused by looking at the pills on their shelves. And because the lighting is designed to arouse our desire to buy, the works are as much about shopping as they are about popping pills. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">The title of the exhibition reminds us of the impossibility of filling the emptiness of these desires. Our hope and hunger to escape through pills is sure to remain unsatiated when consuming from these <i>Cathedrals Built on Sand.</i></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlQ1n5sMwhKjb7bjiJgXx0GaYLz_v4Qjn0y7gpe-SVr4LaGwSxOHITPm2TK9cVXmzbYEgitGTSnZp2dYNEPRRxYxt9n1okVDVAbfsb1c_o0Yt5EP1EEoBlD2i26H4ycBk1sapx_o1yVE/s600/Hirst3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlQ1n5sMwhKjb7bjiJgXx0GaYLz_v4Qjn0y7gpe-SVr4LaGwSxOHITPm2TK9cVXmzbYEgitGTSnZp2dYNEPRRxYxt9n1okVDVAbfsb1c_o0Yt5EP1EEoBlD2i26H4ycBk1sapx_o1yVE/w400-h266/Hirst3.jpeg" width="400" /></i></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><i>Damien Hirst, When the Heart Speaks, 2005</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As is the case with Hirst's animals in formaldehyde, the pills on shelves in glass cabinets explore notions of aesthetics. As much as the works are about the pharmaceutical industry, our insatiable desire to be fixed with a pill, they are also about the art industry. The sparkling frame and shining object on the gallery wall makes them gorgeous to look at. They are precisely the eye candy that Hirst has been accused of producing. But they are much more. The cabinets are aesthetically pleasing, addressing us on an intellectual, visual, emotional and physical level as we are pulled towards and away from them, drawn into their spell, to wonder at the meticulous detail of their making and as we try to get a better glimpse of ourselves. Each work asks something different of the viewer: some create intense confusion as we are tempted to find patterns in the layout of the pills on their shelves. Others are best viewed from a distance, like cabinets of curiosity filled with once living beings now dead and stuffed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The cabinets also engage the ongoing tensions between industrialization of art and culture as opposed to the hand made art work. The stainless steel cabinets are industrially produced, and of course, the pills are supposed to be industrially produced. But many of them are made individually by hand in Hirst's studio - itself a form of the manufacture of art.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEc9XIT6uXYHdN0IhA_E7GBoimIaccgZ-LB7ts4Sp3sfxMFxKNa_czAbpquNqCnq6vUBN4xIsG84xTMwBuhfDPUuQw750rpBN8im3c3egCyjcrfvundbC1luNWzzWSUirv3QZmy4ibME/s1200/Hirst2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEc9XIT6uXYHdN0IhA_E7GBoimIaccgZ-LB7ts4Sp3sfxMFxKNa_czAbpquNqCnq6vUBN4xIsG84xTMwBuhfDPUuQw750rpBN8im3c3egCyjcrfvundbC1luNWzzWSUirv3QZmy4ibME/w400-h266/Hirst2.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damien Hirst,</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Cathedrals Built on Sand</i><br style="font-family: arial;" /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Installation View @ Gagosian</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">In one of the lovely surprises in the show, as we walk around the corner into the office space, we are met by small blue and pink cabinets at eye level. Both are filled with viagra; a blue case for the male, pink for the women. Gender is not usually found in the medicine cabinet, but when it comes to viagra, Hirst makes a his and hers display. When we get upstairs and see the reiteration of the blue and pink cabinets we start to smirk. The perfect blue and pink cabinets downstairs are a reinforcement of the gendering of illness and virility, but upstairs, after several repetitions, we start to realize the hyper articulation of gender in the medicine cabinet. Does anyone really believe in the blue = male and pink = female categorizations today? That said, our response is not straightforward. As we are pulled up very close to the pink and blue cabinets to examine the pills inside we are looking at something quite different from the others. Lo and behold, who has manufactured the pills? Pfizer, the manufacturer's name on everyone's lips in our age. And so, the cultural criticism digs deeper. The same manufacturer saving us all from death and eventual extinction by the virus has organized virility along clear-cut gender lines that are easily coded in blue and pink boxes. </span><p><br /></p><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com04 Rue de Ponthieu, 75008 Paris, France48.8702108 2.311431220.559976963821157 -32.8448188 77.180444636178848 37.4676812tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-79541183928435824972021-08-08T23:56:00.003+02:002021-08-08T23:56:44.024+02:00Pinault Collection @ Bourse de Commerce<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJs976F79t2a2p0mOiDoZi7tCsyVowuKhKpi61zDw_QgIbBeyZju4XN3e6q7gijB0bpvyPXjLqbm_KS1S5_Lsqva4yCG7zk5X6n877yHV7CYy0EOBbzO9-d6MzyqTvfQFPngOMr0tQyvQ/s1733/fischer-untitled-2011-detail_detail-altenburger5.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="1300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJs976F79t2a2p0mOiDoZi7tCsyVowuKhKpi61zDw_QgIbBeyZju4XN3e6q7gijB0bpvyPXjLqbm_KS1S5_Lsqva4yCG7zk5X6n877yHV7CYy0EOBbzO9-d6MzyqTvfQFPngOMr0tQyvQ/w300-h400/fischer-untitled-2011-detail_detail-altenburger5.jpeg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Urs Fischer, <i>Untitled</i>, 2011</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I had seen plans and 3D models of the renovations to the Bourse de Commerce, but nothing prepared me for Tadao Ando's magnificent refurbishment of what was built as a wheat exchange. On entry to the museum, it's impossible to resist the structure's pull to stand under the dome. While the evening sun shone through the lattice iron work of the cupola, some visitors stood unsure of how they were meant to respond. The natural inclination is to look upwards, where we see the original frescoes celebrating the history of trade between the continents. Needless to say, the frescos tell a story of colonialism, racism, and oppression. This history stays with us as </span><span style="font-family: arial;">we wander through the circular building. It is</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> impossible to forget the history into which we have stepped. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMfPRsjsRXPnssoMHsmpYYNxGSg6O_EynEPh8zA5PF_sNvVWddVTsX9f_vYaKxWXh-1EGyhcvcJH5fmBUXlKqWoGCEN5E9lrhXB_SCmKi9VYqtC7hMBEmxDGP5qHXcNAXpe0TRfj4t4Y/s934/dumas-mamma-roma-2012.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="749" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMfPRsjsRXPnssoMHsmpYYNxGSg6O_EynEPh8zA5PF_sNvVWddVTsX9f_vYaKxWXh-1EGyhcvcJH5fmBUXlKqWoGCEN5E9lrhXB_SCmKi9VYqtC7hMBEmxDGP5qHXcNAXpe0TRfj4t4Y/w321-h400/dumas-mamma-roma-2012.jpeg" width="321" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Marlene Dumas, <i>Mamma Roma</i>, 2012</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">François Pinault is known for his eye for contemporary art that challenges its world. Thus, it is no surprise to see that all of the works on display in these inaugural exhibitions are concerned to challenge the purveyors of power. Whether it be the excoriating portraits of Marlene Dumas and her fellow South Africans, such as Kerry James Marshall, or Ryan Gander's mouse appearing to have eaten its way through the wall by the elevator, the works are constantly challenging all that their surroundings. Dumas's depictions of violated sexuality, racial injustice, and brutality of the powerful over the powerless scream at us from their walls. There is no mistaking what these exhibitions want to convey. The building may have been constructed at the intersection of industrial modernity and colonial power, but art of the centuries since has unravelled the legitimacy of this power.<br /></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkRSyLdCgD3VZ6uMeJuLnD7GX3C2iqP0YxgeEbojopSYQoSYixM262vdkjpfxx_yiEjxPGmwb9PVn4pxyZc0Sd6VH441fNKcuyCLqPzORnCEzlhM6nNvZmmhahg5WeOmTPlJ8748zwgZU/s800/stingel-untitled-paula.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="800" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkRSyLdCgD3VZ6uMeJuLnD7GX3C2iqP0YxgeEbojopSYQoSYixM262vdkjpfxx_yiEjxPGmwb9PVn4pxyZc0Sd6VH441fNKcuyCLqPzORnCEzlhM6nNvZmmhahg5WeOmTPlJ8748zwgZU/w400-h291/stingel-untitled-paula.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Rudolf Stingel, <i>Untitled (Paula),</i> 2012</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">From the very first steps inside the museum, the challenge to power is not simply represented, but felt. Urs Fischer's irreverence sets the tone. His central installation is both monumental and searing in its critique of the monumentalism of art, commerce and white male sexuality—effectively everything that the history of the Bourse de Commerce encapsulates. As we contemplate the installation, we realize that Fischer and his friend Rudolf Stingel are concerned to undo the narrative of power that we look up to. Beneath the grand narrative of colonization and the triumph of French nationalism of the ceiling frescoes, Fischer has placed a wax sculpture of Giambologna's </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Abduction of the Sabine Woman</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (1579-1583). The original sculpture, on view in the Loggia in Florence, shows a woman desperately struggling to free herself from her male captors. Demonstrating an irreverence and dismissal of its history, Fischer's work is a candle that will burn for six months. Already, when I visited one month after opening, the captor's head was in a state of disintegration. Surrounding Fischer's statue, his Stingel has installed wax—also in the process of melting—chairs of all kinds from around the world. Board room chairs, airplane seats, indigenous seats. Thus, the artists transform monuments into ephemeral objects that, ultimately, cannot be looked up at or down on. They are in the process of disappearing.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhay9pTxsiSsCMNYJbjZJ6-IAYxYdDe5eUfd17ctw93T_-rIGuWsJzUNr8viD0uZiEZa3qyjy12dBQAh7s4Km3eUotFWIgsW9B3Gf6h5xUjZOxofBSGBOFBL_ayg7LNqRKUDUWQ_s7o0Xo/s2048/IMG_8323.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhay9pTxsiSsCMNYJbjZJ6-IAYxYdDe5eUfd17ctw93T_-rIGuWsJzUNr8viD0uZiEZa3qyjy12dBQAh7s4Km3eUotFWIgsW9B3Gf6h5xUjZOxofBSGBOFBL_ayg7LNqRKUDUWQ_s7o0Xo/w400-h300/IMG_8323.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Reflections of the late afternoon sun</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Speaking of chairs, Tatiana Trouvé's eight chairs, <i>The Guardian</i> dotted throughout the museum are one of the delights of the permanent exhibition. The chairs cast in bronze, copper and filled with the bags, shoes, pillows and books in marble and onyx are all at once curious, inspiring, sensuous and sad. It is as though the owner of the objects under, next to, or on the chairs has just stepped away and will be back any moment. Trouvé's use of materials against themselves—marble that looks as soft and comfy as the pillow it represents, books made of onyx that we feel the urge to turn the pages—creates an impossibility. The impossibility of the materials and the absent owners come together in intriguing, playful sculptures that somehow distract us from the paintings in the room. The chairs are also indicative of the frequent shifts of attention that we experience as we wander—iron lattice reflections on the cupola's frieze, a double staircase for operation of the wheat exchange, a medici column, and arched passageways. Trouvé's chairs tell of yet another history having taken place in the building. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQubedq3i6VIG2hkiO0zGRCE90baBBk7xDk_2mtgfqzV3gnesY13AxZfXkQk1i3cwtTk1Rl9nR27pFwhWHZlWUbk9rHYw2i9pS-yRIp5pRqx5LH78PCpOfuXJQbrwD2IASZVAPqiET5U/s2048/IMG_8332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQubedq3i6VIG2hkiO0zGRCE90baBBk7xDk_2mtgfqzV3gnesY13AxZfXkQk1i3cwtTk1Rl9nR27pFwhWHZlWUbk9rHYw2i9pS-yRIp5pRqx5LH78PCpOfuXJQbrwD2IASZVAPqiET5U/w300-h400/IMG_8332.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Tatiana Trouvé, <i>The Guardian</i>, 2018</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There are so many wonderful works on display that it's difficult to pick a favourite, but I was delighted to see Louise Lawler's installation, <i>The Helms Amendment </i>series (1989). The 94 black and white photographs of a plastic cup, each given a supporting senator's name and state —red for Democrats and blue for Republicans. Among other things, I didn't know that the Democrat/blue and Republican/red colour coding for American political parties wasn't introduced until 2000. The photographic series was Lawler's response to the US Senate vote in favour of an amendment to government spending, which in 1987 saw the refusal of funding for AIDS education, information and prevention materials, under the pretext that it encouraged homosexuality. Most powerfully, the six abstainers and naysayers do not get a cup in Lawler's series. A quotation from the amendment accompanies the naysayers names: "none of the funds made available under this Act to the Centers for Disease Control shall be used to provide AIDS eduction, information, or prevention materials and activities that promote or encourage, directly or indirectly, homosexual sexual activities." <span face=""Art Basel Text", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #444749;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDx3VXUfr1JvIr7JlUlgGl3VN_Bdc1Jh2DphyfUulgqVOvAHj9QgYq14NAKDcTng6KVSN-xaiHd3eAc7uHQRqhFkB9SI_VN3eYyGqU826xdMLwAQRe6F-xjWLv5HsAH9kTWC9IeLG5Q00/s2048/louise-lawler-helms-amendment-1989-detail2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1605" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDx3VXUfr1JvIr7JlUlgGl3VN_Bdc1Jh2DphyfUulgqVOvAHj9QgYq14NAKDcTng6KVSN-xaiHd3eAc7uHQRqhFkB9SI_VN3eYyGqU826xdMLwAQRe6F-xjWLv5HsAH9kTWC9IeLG5Q00/w314-h400/louise-lawler-helms-amendment-1989-detail2.jpeg" width="314" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Louise Lawler, <i>Helms Amendment,</i> 1989, detail<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The seemingly benign empty plastic cup, its reflection, and the black silence surrounding it incites viewers to reflect on the deep political divisions of our time. In addition, the fact that 94 of the senators voted to uphold the amendment surely prompts wonder and outrage at the ongoing violation of human rights and senseless discrimination of the political system. The work's eerie relevance in 2021 gives further cause to pause at the mechanisms and institutions of power and manipulation that are critiqued throughout this, Paris's newest museum. </span></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com12 Rue de Viarmes, 75001 Paris, France48.8628236 2.342916720.552589763821153 -32.8133333 77.173057436178851 37.4991667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-58341338799643432882021-06-26T23:58:00.005+02:002021-07-24T17:00:29.182+02:00James Coleman<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="800" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1x5zwrthV9pw98Ym-Knu29gYbawbjRlvDTFHI20dU0Hdu5CHJHy5-3sH9-nNVIGXPM1cOW8XtLaV1MhG0YPs0tyCjKOZ04kGCrI8ehfm_31PWA0ywkhqTtePo7MCNFVhxB4hsa3SnLE/w400-h272/Coleman.jpg" width="400" /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>Slide Piece, </i>1972-1973</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I have been reading about James Coleman's work for almost thirty years, but have seen very little of it in that time. The small, but superbly curated exhibition at the Pompidou is as challenging as it is welcome. Coleman's is a provocative body of work that has fascinated some of the most prominent figures in the worlds of experimental film, art and photography studies. And with good reason.</span><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The work is challenging because it doesn't fit into the neatly arranged categories that we give art and visual culture today. Coleman's work characteristically occupies the interface between still and moving images. He also plays with the relations between photograph and cinema, art history and cinema, and more recently, the spectacular visual culture of advertising, television, fashion photography and police imaging. Known for his use of transparent images projected through multiple stacked slide carousels, sometimes accompanied by audio tracks that don't describe what's in the image, Coleman's signature works are also about the tension between image and word. We are sure to come away wondering about the efficacy of words and images as modes of communication.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="640" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoY595PgvitIuoett0TZZZ0TP5DAlUyYVO1YBCfThhpsPuYnhFXFz1jdkaZPRzTadUOGdXUv05D1gaA55ftjmCVDOZJbKThsVm5ncb9SxSsx2orRIppUQYRlUOnckku4C849yj-l-fZA/w400-h265/james-coleman-retake-with-evidence.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>Retake with Evidence</i>, 2007</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoY595PgvitIuoett0TZZZ0TP5DAlUyYVO1YBCfThhpsPuYnhFXFz1jdkaZPRzTadUOGdXUv05D1gaA55ftjmCVDOZJbKThsVm5ncb9SxSsx2orRIppUQYRlUOnckku4C849yj-l-fZA/s640/james-coleman-retake-with-evidence.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In one piece at the beginning, Harvey Keitel stands on a stage, intermittently backgrounded by a plain white stage, archaeological ruins, monumental columns, antique sculptures that might be in a museum. Keitel delivers a monologue from Sophocles that is about as impenetrable as the Greeks get. Keitel is not preened and prissed for the camera, but wears a sweatshirt and perspires under the lights. Sophocles text is focussed on questions of social violence and democracy, but it's the contexts and modes of presentation that draw our focus. Issues of performance, staging, frustration of viewer expectations through fragmentation and repetition are brought to the fore. Even if they don't watch the entire performance, viewers will understand they are watching their own process of watching. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt0_udmTtUGmrY3aV6pY3B3CAVIoEa4EUbb8xki3uZPqMS4bTQr5BebtxflXQQP4xy_suOGUucsWeey-p8vREv2VKbgy5GluH9IZqE8Rg0txJGBri6IoUkBQW2l6ZvHbted6moyjEUuk/s1920/Tache+aveugle.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt0_udmTtUGmrY3aV6pY3B3CAVIoEa4EUbb8xki3uZPqMS4bTQr5BebtxflXQQP4xy_suOGUucsWeey-p8vREv2VKbgy5GluH9IZqE8Rg0txJGBri6IoUkBQW2l6ZvHbted6moyjEUuk/w400-h225/Tache+aveugle.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>La Tache Aveugle,</i> 1978-1990</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Also towards the beginning is a signature Coleman slide projection with synchronised audio, <i>Slide Piece</i>. The voice describes the most important aspects of the image before us: a drab, nondescript square in Milan. Each time the slides move past the light source, a new description begins. But the image is the same, even if it is a new slide. And the audio simply describes different aspects of this same drab square, honing in on what might be important to different viewers. Over time, our eyes will have moved around the image having noticed a window above the awning, the pylon behind the cars, and other innocuous details. The work gives the idea that what is in the image depends on who is looking, and what's important to that viewer. </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: -webkit-standard; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; orphans: auto; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; text-transform: none; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpDytHWsaqENoOlnfIMHKkmGuG3iQJ9bScqZZeFR5dcI-OXctoTAJFv73teZh_-V9zopZy8ia56bGNTvGCF_PAOBbpEkYDb9SqFKXDBbbIO8tw8rffhSGMNhJJO0hU5SiZd8gGrIh8f4/s400/picksimg_large.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="400" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpDytHWsaqENoOlnfIMHKkmGuG3iQJ9bScqZZeFR5dcI-OXctoTAJFv73teZh_-V9zopZy8ia56bGNTvGCF_PAOBbpEkYDb9SqFKXDBbbIO8tw8rffhSGMNhJJO0hU5SiZd8gGrIh8f4/w400-h293/picksimg_large.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>Charon (MIT Project),</i> 1989</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In other works, such as <i>Charon</i>, the slides are self-conscious performances of the way that moving images are constructed. Even if the images are not moving. Thus in <i>Charon</i>, a synchronised audio tells stories about the people who are in the image, but again, the slides don't fully correspond to the stories we hear. However, there are</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> just enough details—the presence of a child, a hotel room, a window, a fancy outfit—to keep our desire for a sound/image link alive. Unlike the construction of narrative desire that promises an ending, here it is the promise of audio that goes with the image before us. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Again, we are faced with images about the frustrations of viewing the moving image, even if we look at still images.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Likewise, a piece such as <i>Charon</i> thrusts the difficulty of an image's communication into the foreground. We are made aware of all the elements that aid (and ultimately manipulate) our understanding and consequent interpretation. We start to become cognisant of the</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> influence of things like the title, the descriptions, the uses to which the image is put, who takes the photographs, who directs the set, who dresses the models.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPK9FW7JHcbXAujwsSHX-oMv57-LKlPki9J2gtWFP1F0HsThPChHE49qknUsJOMqurkoIqHT0BoXNCvS8fLeSYTsBugga0swG5SkaK0Tv_g4ZZS8fgPstfO1A8IziVVClolB6kyKF55c/s486/coleman-12153-0004dig-l.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="486" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPK9FW7JHcbXAujwsSHX-oMv57-LKlPki9J2gtWFP1F0HsThPChHE49qknUsJOMqurkoIqHT0BoXNCvS8fLeSYTsBugga0swG5SkaK0Tv_g4ZZS8fgPstfO1A8IziVVClolB6kyKF55c/w400-h300/coleman-12153-0004dig-l.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>(Documenta 11 Project), </i>2002</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In a work such as (Documenta 11 Project), Coleman removes the title altogether. Thus, we are left looking at some kind of transient shape in the light that is presumably moving slower than the human eye can perceive it. And we have no idea of what we are looking at because he has removed the title. That said, the work has a title, even if it has been untitled: it is given (Documenta 11 Project) as title. The work was commissioned for Documenta 11 by Okwui Enwezor in 2002, a Documenta that had its unique identity. Coleman's work in turn takes on that identity. In other words, we are never left to fall into the illusion of the works.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgbyQYsaoioN0x4tSmS2hRQtEFAeIL3sGJ4-sfVc0AeBM8qYBRFkbIMtxB3dNnbs4vDKKPnGZhEha7VJYEm6zQCnTSwDVo1WVyJs2PxNCGFo-AwrCrFVHXvNZfZQzpeI70Z0rGMnF5vY/s1024/james-coleman-centre-pompidou-james-coleman-still-life2013-2016-700x1024.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgbyQYsaoioN0x4tSmS2hRQtEFAeIL3sGJ4-sfVc0AeBM8qYBRFkbIMtxB3dNnbs4vDKKPnGZhEha7VJYEm6zQCnTSwDVo1WVyJs2PxNCGFo-AwrCrFVHXvNZfZQzpeI70Z0rGMnF5vY/s320/james-coleman-centre-pompidou-james-coleman-still-life2013-2016-700x1024.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>Still Life, </i>2013-2016</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Even when illusion motivates the representation, we are confronted with the exposure of inauthenticity. In <i>Still Life</i>, Coleman plays with the French translation of dead nature. The poppy has been pulled out of the ground, thus destroyed, and is re-animated by Coleman's camera when the flower makes minuscule movements. The piece is projected on the black wall without a sound. Given the looping of audio tracks in other works, the silence of <i>Still Life</i> is itself somehow frustrating. So used to playing games with the audio/image relations, it's difficult to stand still and watch the flower which may or may not be real, in absolute silence. </span><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4Urw4jHm-Nv6uEtW5ZpdAlA2zqntVuINvT5BrX24-cp9amSJK9BnYifk1QZFpx4W_6OsL8W5PsiFxZI5UC1lbSF2HRH48mvW1NbGGG66G7h30Qt6KPKDQbZX0fsER3ysAAyyB-o18KY/s640/coleman-mumok.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="640" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4Urw4jHm-Nv6uEtW5ZpdAlA2zqntVuINvT5BrX24-cp9amSJK9BnYifk1QZFpx4W_6OsL8W5PsiFxZI5UC1lbSF2HRH48mvW1NbGGG66G7h30Qt6KPKDQbZX0fsER3ysAAyyB-o18KY/w400-h265/coleman-mumok.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">James Coleman, <i>Lapsus Exposure</i>, 1992-1994</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Ultimately, this exhibition requires a lot of energy, but it is richly rewarding. Time spent with each work is revealing of our expectations of images, and the relations we take for granted. The bonus reward comes when we stand for long enough and find that we are watching ourselves watching, or at least, we are confronted with the processes with which we engage and the expectations we bring to looking at still and moving images.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All Images courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery © James Coleman</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><br /></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com1Place Georges-Pompidou, 75004 Paris, France48.860642 2.35224520.550408163821153 -32.804005000000004 77.170875836178851 37.508494999999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-24516614184677281162021-06-22T21:32:00.000+02:002021-06-22T21:32:02.736+02:00Anne Imhof, Natures Mortes @ Palais de Tokyo<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6b3B1C0zcTir17WLtcgGMnYB3A5MqKWfrdzDbPomR4JcSn5oRVgG57BbaBAmPR7sJKMTWXFjCGdzydxinLhaJLezh2wi1BPpqPDZEWiOsvZOrff3PtL6J3mKYswWdxddxnS6Dru9dfzk/s1000/anne-imhof-palais-tokyo-vittoria-matarrese-numero-magazine-10.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="1000" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6b3B1C0zcTir17WLtcgGMnYB3A5MqKWfrdzDbPomR4JcSn5oRVgG57BbaBAmPR7sJKMTWXFjCGdzydxinLhaJLezh2wi1BPpqPDZEWiOsvZOrff3PtL6J3mKYswWdxddxnS6Dru9dfzk/w400-h265/anne-imhof-palais-tokyo-vittoria-matarrese-numero-magazine-10.jpg.webp" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anne Imhof, <i>Natures Mortes</i><br />Installation</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">It took a while for me to work out what was going on in Anne Imhof's latest exhibition, <i>Natures Mortes</i>, at Palais de Tokyo. This is not art that necessarily puts the viewer in awe or happily consuming its beauty. It is, first and foremost, a cerebral experience. As we wandered around the sprawling spaces of the Palais de Tokyo, there were moments when my friend Nicole and I were not sure if we were looking at the exhibition or the desecrated walls of the museum. Imhof's installations are designed to blur the line between art and its context (here the Palais de Tokyo). They go further when it becomes unclear if the structures are to be looked at, stepped on, sat on, or if they are designed to direct our movement through different spaces. For example, in one section of the exhibition, black and white photographs of warehouses on lower Manhattan peers are juxtaposed with an industrial plinth topped with a white mattress. Similar mattresses are scattered throughout the exhibition, but on first encounter, it's impossible to know if it is intended for visitors to sit on while watching an adjacent film. Or is the mattress in the "do not touch" vein of an artwork in installation. We tried our luck and were promptly approached by the guards and told to get off the artwork.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-f73RCM4TtRkbYcydEGNfqtlIRuZpBHKY5lcN3W6LvYXP9u7EvM1teKChWsA7KoFatrHcpxxTNBqtqkguhnkUmN-Oo6oWEDk3quxvhUULXXW_Y13HqDMw1eqsvaMSLfU-fZ99CoMMhoA/s620/60a6a3e59978e20c60df43dc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="620" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-f73RCM4TtRkbYcydEGNfqtlIRuZpBHKY5lcN3W6LvYXP9u7EvM1teKChWsA7KoFatrHcpxxTNBqtqkguhnkUmN-Oo6oWEDk3quxvhUULXXW_Y13HqDMw1eqsvaMSLfU-fZ99CoMMhoA/w400-h266/60a6a3e59978e20c60df43dc.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anne Imhof, <i>Natures Mortes</i><br />Installation</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the same way, Imhof creates a fluidity between modern art and street graffiti, railway yards and, depending on the visitor's imagination, torture chambers in the gallery. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Beds made of steel girders will remind some visitors of torture tables and others of a feature found in an S & M club, and still others of a NYC loading dock.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Throughout the spaces, smoked glass - or perspex, it's difficult to say - panels are desecrated, scratched, graffitied and then juxtaposed to form curved walk throughs, walls, mirrors, or objects that might be part of the architecture. They can be around the corner from a drawing by Piranesi or Géricault, a painting by Cy Twombly or Joan Mitchell. Ironically, the guards were </span><span style="font-family: arial;">huddled around panels of what looked like spray-painted metal sheets and scratched glass walls, ensuring that visitors stood well clear. The Mitchell painting and the Géricault drawing, however, were there to be examined and no one would have known if they were touched. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">It's impossible to know what we are meant to be thinking or to give these works a definitive meaning. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghP98aqhfdLVEmQEgCcNA9cgdmCUYgBQdsue-jOYcS6XgC-33vuicilaDITsevZ6eFKcZbwsed0SEngmZU_y4tElKKxukOc-VN1t-Fa6cPU4WLJn57Y7GsKYprZpjBkNyKQDs1Iu8MEUo/s800/AI_122-533x800.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghP98aqhfdLVEmQEgCcNA9cgdmCUYgBQdsue-jOYcS6XgC-33vuicilaDITsevZ6eFKcZbwsed0SEngmZU_y4tElKKxukOc-VN1t-Fa6cPU4WLJn57Y7GsKYprZpjBkNyKQDs1Iu8MEUo/s800/AI_122-533x800.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIvLO8RYXDq8k1vNxoLzO0Y2fdHTlFFgmyy61pgvrO2PN7XV811K9b_wrJEF-E3jnXFos3jLUBnzH79lYiMe0j4RbCKPLUqCIpGUzzWpzXj5VhmoBcftfCllYhUleKXeeWeNj_QWd-d0/s1200/palais-de-tokyo-natures-mortes-vue-expo-05-1200x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIvLO8RYXDq8k1vNxoLzO0Y2fdHTlFFgmyy61pgvrO2PN7XV811K9b_wrJEF-E3jnXFos3jLUBnzH79lYiMe0j4RbCKPLUqCIpGUzzWpzXj5VhmoBcftfCllYhUleKXeeWeNj_QWd-d0/w400-h266/palais-de-tokyo-natures-mortes-vue-expo-05-1200x.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There are works by Sigmar Polke, Adrián Villar Rojas, Wolfgang Tillmans, and others sprinkled throughout the exhibition. However, again, it's not always obvious that we are looking at works by different artists. The environment created in the bowels of the Palais de Tokyo is one of curated exchange rather than one that singles out works to be applauded </span><span style="font-family: arial;">by unique individuals</span><span style="font-family: arial;">. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">The use of other's works also functions as an admission of Imhof's debt to art history. She is anything but a lone, romantic artist to be revered.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">In another installation, a fridge full of plastic decomposing food faces a Mitchell painting hung on bare, warehouse walls. Around the corner from the fridge is a Cy Twombly painting and some photographs. My first reaction was to wonder what on earth these works were doing there. But of course, Imhof has curated works by herself and other artists to fashion a world through which we walk, wander and discover, rather than a conventional gallery exhibition.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPB8QKSWLkkeBQVllxtzB0o2JdikVY80W43i1tZGANqG84d1BgsNhcZvJ7-DFwYB01aSHIWF_WE7UMDmefQjBlwDu0f6ajcGhXK0nbRb34yp8V9u-mXtRzOgGAniM6SIKYB9QZ5v6lSU/w400-h266/image.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Anne Imhof, Installation<br />Palais de Tokyo</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPB8QKSWLkkeBQVllxtzB0o2JdikVY80W43i1tZGANqG84d1BgsNhcZvJ7-DFwYB01aSHIWF_WE7UMDmefQjBlwDu0f6ajcGhXK0nbRb34yp8V9u-mXtRzOgGAniM6SIKYB9QZ5v6lSU/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The sea is everywhere in this exhibition. It is photographed at night, in the day time, in film and evoked in other images. In the two works titled </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Nature Mortes</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, Imhof has scratched the surface of a light-charged red, Sugimoto-esque seascape. Like Sugimoto's romantic photographs, the horizon is blurred. But, in distinction, we lose sight of the overwhelm and power of nature thanks to the distress to the surface, often at the place where the horizon would be. Imhof's own gender fluid body stands on a beach where two images of the sea intersect. Her body repeatedly whips the sand, body and movement of her arm with the rope as an extension in come together in a mesmerizing movement. But in this film, shod footprints in the sand suggest the presence of a man, a threat. Is Imhof whipping this place in the sand to fight off danger? The ambivalence of what happens at the sea is typical of Imhof's exploration of the tensions in an otherwise sublime nature.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2_TVC8rbaMFCeslDo0-PWfyhv7_JtESEPd2O-7fAzPW_QH7UDf6O4huy9CjB4rkyURSt2oC42bFxb4nheFakPF4OW9WXfpJR_siaI4s5xFSn-pXQiSQD0ImK5h6aKTPmU_ICWga_M7c/s1200/microsoftteams-image-1200x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2_TVC8rbaMFCeslDo0-PWfyhv7_JtESEPd2O-7fAzPW_QH7UDf6O4huy9CjB4rkyURSt2oC42bFxb4nheFakPF4OW9WXfpJR_siaI4s5xFSn-pXQiSQD0ImK5h6aKTPmU_ICWga_M7c/w400-h225/microsoftteams-image-1200x.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Anne Imhof, Installation</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Palais de Tokyo</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Each piece is matched or echoed, repeated throughout the exhibition by something not always its double. In a film on a monitor, a different woman makes the same movement as Imhof with the whip at the sea. However, on the monitor, the woman is violently attaching a bike. Ironically, in relationship to the other film, the bike poses no threat. The bike is already dead matter. Again, typical of Imhof's constructed environment, life is always juxtaposed with death, nature with culture or industry. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxOVBaAhU_vM-1o70GEmD7rHUycKlojd5Kl8EeKaapkHxPNWEr5R34XknZMi8zvOrNSREr_tt3DcVOlSh6EspIKanSAff1_ghWsfnVigmlDMv0yKfJRaW6QEjQRab4pLoOpl0by26Uew/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxOVBaAhU_vM-1o70GEmD7rHUycKlojd5Kl8EeKaapkHxPNWEr5R34XknZMi8zvOrNSREr_tt3DcVOlSh6EspIKanSAff1_ghWsfnVigmlDMv0yKfJRaW6QEjQRab4pLoOpl0by26Uew/" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The set up of the exhibition was also impressive for its showcasing of the Palais de Tokyo as a space that emanates decay of the past, itself like a Piranesi ruin. Visitors were invited to wander the exhibition and discover the building crumbling, as much as the significance of Imhof's art. Architectural features, eroded floors, and exposed bits and pieces are as fascinating as Imhof's walls. Thus, if the exhibition is about death and destruction (still life/natures mortes), it is also about walking and discovering. Each object and installation runs effortlessly into the next, even if appearing somewhat haphazardly placed. Thus, the exhibition encourages us to move rather than look. And because there's little enticement to look and ponder, the experience is one of ideas and associations coming to us as we wander - in itself a Romantic pursuit.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="667" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVDoFiJ3_55fPU2tYjbDAd7yDAKeU-lkyDEmez1xKh51Buk-9g0u-MoSzE7sqCn04i6bNfH0jG40WoEos3z8SEu1qPb5WT0X4Co1EUymRz0Zg1VV29K459aG1qQM1GicfJKleNfBcXVk/w267-h400/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="267" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ultimately, this is an exhibition about contradictions and tensions in the urban environment. The composed music is beautiful and romantic, rising above and falling below the crashing and banging that can be heard throughout. As we walk through the detritus of capitalism, we are in the presence of great works of art on crumbling and stained walls, sprawled across the wartorn floors of the Palais de Tokyo. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com013 Avenue du Président Wilson, 75116 Paris, France48.8645866 2.296674820.554352763821157 -32.8595752 77.174820436178848 37.4529248tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-33753230404757930472021-06-12T23:52:00.005+02:002021-06-12T23:52:38.826+02:00Hito Steyerl, I will Survive Physical and Virtual Spaces @ Centre Pompidou<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9qNocw33iaHWEv7oIedpxNRMnmFlmc558X5IaunlKUeLCwMJYBdxovCaXh3JWDb454L7xmRQXVzUrJQTd6uY4wIAzOY7EdJeR6rpj8z2TCsYEHU6iOItLu5Xj2zyw6xb72F6TwaT3Zo/s800/Hell+Yeah.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9qNocw33iaHWEv7oIedpxNRMnmFlmc558X5IaunlKUeLCwMJYBdxovCaXh3JWDb454L7xmRQXVzUrJQTd6uY4wIAzOY7EdJeR6rpj8z2TCsYEHU6iOItLu5Xj2zyw6xb72F6TwaT3Zo/w400-h265/Hell+Yeah.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Hito Steyerl, <i>Hell Yeah, We Fuck Die</i>, 2016</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">After months without museums and galleries, I am now overwhelmed with choice for exhibitions to visit. After sitting in my apartment since last October, I am being reminded of why I live in Paris—and it's not because my apartment is anything special. Despite booking a ticket for the </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Women and Abstraction</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> exhibition at the Centre Pompidou, this afternoon I ended up in the Hito Steyerl "retrospective in reverse," as the museum calls it. Other than the fact that the most recent works are shown at the beginning of the walk through and Steyerl's 1990s German films are at the end, there's nothing particularly radical about the decision to move from the present to the past. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o3TaLmC-QCbqpxaPkVkjcIusVmnfK3rJGUgRCW7eMP_yb7fP9d4wxkpbEHGXmU7CHPp-MMs811znPz9MlzOqmyPzFRJEKtDnahIE77cGG8qcnCYPoNbqnEJ_VYFvGkH-_3oO5VMfLqM/s800/Steyerl2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o3TaLmC-QCbqpxaPkVkjcIusVmnfK3rJGUgRCW7eMP_yb7fP9d4wxkpbEHGXmU7CHPp-MMs811znPz9MlzOqmyPzFRJEKtDnahIE77cGG8qcnCYPoNbqnEJ_VYFvGkH-_3oO5VMfLqM/w400-h225/Steyerl2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hido Steyerl, <i>How Not to be Seen: A Fucking Didactic Educational.MOV File</i>, 2013<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Steyerl is one of the art world's most celebrated contemporary artists. Her high impact videos are politically outspoken and raise issues that get people talking. In addition, her work is often about making visible the invisible contradictions driving the power structures of global capitalism. The odd piece included in group shows at the Jeu de Paume aside, Steyerl's work is rarely shown in Paris. My suspicion is that this might be because it's very much in the tradition of German documentary film of the 1980s in particular. Especially the early essayistic work which might not have so much appeal to a French audience. Reasons aside, it was a treat to see the exhibition which has come from K21 in Düsseldorf.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdikmqgfiv1V9IvSt2g9BeOAXYHUe3NlX6bp7cesG1I1fqIU1GwalHTXg9zymSKMJWnoPTQLclnM-QyNFLhJgCOgJMRL6E19dCzTshUsclJd0yUDed3_hDdtF4PdWOyqjhKIWUe_cDXyI/s800/Liquidity.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdikmqgfiv1V9IvSt2g9BeOAXYHUe3NlX6bp7cesG1I1fqIU1GwalHTXg9zymSKMJWnoPTQLclnM-QyNFLhJgCOgJMRL6E19dCzTshUsclJd0yUDed3_hDdtF4PdWOyqjhKIWUe_cDXyI/w300-h400/Liquidity.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Hito Steyerl, Liquidity Inc., 2016</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Steyerl's best work creates connections where we least expect them. <i>Liquidity</i> Inc., for example, is a video that follows a man who is made redundant from his job in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. The man takes up martial arts. You would think there couldn't be two activities more different, but Steyerl connects them through water! The liquidity and unpredictability of the financial markets are likened to the need to be flexible, always on one's toes, prepared to react, and to re-establish equilibrium following an opponent's surprise attack move. As viewers, we sit in rubber rings on a raked floor, already on our life boats as the man in the video attempts to get back on his feet. The video floats through a stream of references, images from the media, pop art, high art from different cultures such as Hiroshige's famous waves. Images from the media, GIFs, memes, hashtags, documentary films flow into each other suggesting the liquidity of everything around us. Before the screen, judo mats and pieces of broken raft are littered. They are the only concrete material objects in the piece.</span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9XrhSKAZBsvIM5rJCXs8v7Tf1MGTwHR8b_r4hdxMUdOM7jJCQw5HqAbE-vZ7d22ZAgn8k10jfGmvrrNENd_oQJ19zEkULi4R2irxnC5zJNbUwaTKxs2wh2LpoHx3v01QJzQmi8H_xa4/s2000/Steyerl3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9XrhSKAZBsvIM5rJCXs8v7Tf1MGTwHR8b_r4hdxMUdOM7jJCQw5HqAbE-vZ7d22ZAgn8k10jfGmvrrNENd_oQJ19zEkULi4R2irxnC5zJNbUwaTKxs2wh2LpoHx3v01QJzQmi8H_xa4/s320/Steyerl3.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Hito Steyerl,<i> In Free Fall</i>, 2010</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">In another video, <i>In</i> </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Free Fall</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, 2010, Steyerl films an ex-airline pilot who talks about making movies using mangled airplane bodies that he locates in a desert graveyard for airplanes. What's so perverse about the practices of recycling is that after the metal is no longer needed for the movies, it is recycled to make DVDs. Ironically, they too are now objects that are all but obsolete, like the airplane wreckage. A young Israeli man tells the story of crashing 707s as it is reported in the Israeli press. They considered the crash a success: the statistics are manipulated to make the government look good. The fact that the only thing left lying beside an airplane carcass are all the dead bodies that have fallen from the sky is nowhere mentioned by the Israeli press. No one survives an airplane crash. But the body of the airplane can be recycled without a problem. The young Israeli man and Steyerl herself perform the airline stewards saying their familiar safety routine. It is shown as the performance it is with lines such as the reminder to put your mask over your own mouth first being </span><span style="font-family: arial;">accompanied by images of the plane exploding into fire. Such is the show put on to make us all feel good within capitalist consumerism. Again, the force of the video comes in its juxtaposition of unlikely faces and voices, images and texts.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">`</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj995BquKKLBl2si89OcC3q9P6z4iTPW-sdDn3AiI4e8uQccPHF-OHGxp-QvefagC6yhnGXDaNbqwA1Dk9zB1xmDPy7lygn8VBUSwt3NXiemlidaF8EM0fNn4dHCzNNvXzEke4QV1SfU98/s800/Broken+Windows+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj995BquKKLBl2si89OcC3q9P6z4iTPW-sdDn3AiI4e8uQccPHF-OHGxp-QvefagC6yhnGXDaNbqwA1Dk9zB1xmDPy7lygn8VBUSwt3NXiemlidaF8EM0fNn4dHCzNNvXzEke4QV1SfU98/w400-h225/Broken+Windows+.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hito Steyerl, <i>The City of Broken Windows</i>, 2018</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Another fascinating work <i>The City of Broken Windows</i> sees two facing video installations at either end of a long hall-like space. On the one end, sound engineers smash windows and record sounds for clients to download onto their devices (presumably as an app). Armed with these sounds, the wealthy home owners will be alerted and know if someone breaks into their house. It's a violent, if precisely carried out process, in which destruction is enacted in the name of technological advance. The engineers are more interested in the replication of the sounds than they are in reflecting on the aggression of their method of smashing sledge hammers into glass panels. At the other end of the corridor, T<i>he City of Unbroken Windows </i>shows a second video documenting a diametrically opposed practice . Members of a community organization in New Jersey paint the boards that have been used to replace broken windows. One of the men was an army officer charged with dropping bombs during the Iraq war. And here he is decorating once vandalized windows as a way to stop violence through beautification. This half of the installation is about real people, addressing the problems that have come with capitalism, urban crime and vandalism. The other one shows the implications of technology, at a remove from the violence needed to advance it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWRi0Q9Yy6Y9bkzlV9nZ8yBmBGxkBfmvAZGTVF5a9nE4plTPJZuss0J_c1yINy3WrRnBne_a40R49rCBCndbferc3ilujnOpB6GqnVm97XWwc1Ov30Ap0mmw_SdB8KqwpP8qNKxUk4aA/s800/Steyerl4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWRi0Q9Yy6Y9bkzlV9nZ8yBmBGxkBfmvAZGTVF5a9nE4plTPJZuss0J_c1yINy3WrRnBne_a40R49rCBCndbferc3ilujnOpB6GqnVm97XWwc1Ov30Ap0mmw_SdB8KqwpP8qNKxUk4aA/w400-h268/Steyerl4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hito Steyerl, <i>Guards</i>, 2012</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ultimately, the exhibition is a compelling walk through of Steyerl's practice. It is particularly rewarding if viewers sit in patience to watch and wait for the revelations that reveal themselves over time. The videos are satisfying because they are easy to understand, even if we do find ourselves laughing in horror at the secrets behind how our power structures operate.<br /> </span></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com0Place Georges-Pompidou, 75004 Paris, France48.860642 2.35224525.617624439782883 -32.804005000000004 72.10365956021711 37.508494999999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-63923621139892530912021-06-07T00:03:00.000+02:002021-06-07T00:03:22.811+02:00Sean Scully, Entre Ciel et Terre @Thaddaeus Ropac, Marais<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="324" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie8p8swtRqLTQ4hUTvkR1_YaDQELMZE2DWBF7XahZVmZvg5lMWGQFnxavv48DzFBoP7hgHCQgUE4dpL_qvz1FDzBJin-b_8vGtMOFj3k4l9ZtvrunWjOudYRy6dM85w-LIgJfStv8CSLQ/w400-h251/2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie8p8swtRqLTQ4hUTvkR1_YaDQELMZE2DWBF7XahZVmZvg5lMWGQFnxavv48DzFBoP7hgHCQgUE4dpL_qvz1FDzBJin-b_8vGtMOFj3k4l9ZtvrunWjOudYRy6dM85w-LIgJfStv8CSLQ/s324/2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I had seen this exhibition in its online version on Thaddaeus Ropac's website during the confinement. Alas nothing about the online version could have prepared me for the experience of being in the presence of these magisterial paintings. The works in the main gallery are huge, filled with energy, but quietly understated, drawing us into their reflective world. The paint is luscious, at times thick and sinewy, at others thin and transparent. It seems as though each band is applied differently to create various effects across each work. This sense of repetition is continually established across the exhibition only to be withdrawn upon reflection</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="750" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yNEGTEY472g1KP-_k3XIpGYv9PcIDHdflhPfP0BOZUrnx0eMe7HKGqDIpttMZUCu1BfGRnKSXKiOcyIpqhVCVS0DXpf6EGBIJ1qehbqY960XK-Ku9GWIFqGfH402XKpJe9H7ynf-5NU/w400-h250/sean-scully-entre-ciel-et-terre-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sean Scully, Entre Ciel et Terre<br />Installation @ Thaddaeus Ropac, Marais</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yNEGTEY472g1KP-_k3XIpGYv9PcIDHdflhPfP0BOZUrnx0eMe7HKGqDIpttMZUCu1BfGRnKSXKiOcyIpqhVCVS0DXpf6EGBIJ1qehbqY960XK-Ku9GWIFqGfH402XKpJe9H7ynf-5NU/s750/sean-scully-entre-ciel-et-terre-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Each of the five paintings in the main gallery is a huge steel-supported stack of horizontal bands. The paint races across the metal surfaces with a feeling of urgency and intensity, a combination not often seen in contemporary abstract painting. The constantly moving paint flows, weaving strokes as if we are watching the brush dance across steel, rarely pausing for breath. The movement of paint across steel makes for restless, sometimes even agitated scapes of colour, turning from green to brown, catching some orange and blue on the way to make a rainbow that, together with the steel underneath sees them shine and sparkle. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkqKfk4AVxxWdrjmO3y7_JYhPbZVMPsFA3BsRevSuWSeiNGYGLbTiDJ9ow3UxjKwArMUmujkodL6dTAxBjRJ1psFE-3JTeOGf1KOzpSdwusI70yTHeaRfabSPClK3xDFrp9FBGonm2_4/s2048/IMG_8118.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkqKfk4AVxxWdrjmO3y7_JYhPbZVMPsFA3BsRevSuWSeiNGYGLbTiDJ9ow3UxjKwArMUmujkodL6dTAxBjRJ1psFE-3JTeOGf1KOzpSdwusI70yTHeaRfabSPClK3xDFrp9FBGonm2_4/w400-h300/IMG_8118.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Detail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The panels in the main gallery are doubled, communicating in pairs created in the same palette, even when the colours are varied on either side of the centre. Up close we note that a multitude of colours have been used to make up the range, even when it looked from a distance to be limited. A strip of steel is left bare on the left hand side and in the middle of each. Scully explains in the online video that he deliberately left these spaces bare so that each work would resemble a book with a gutter. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB40QDGdsKOb9B-jZlX-ydmoCcrmuAUMIvbu5uwGLTImfMV9TccQcmj5vY9QIva7OIy89JBhTlQHPu1_a-yDh4Z3BYCVQerBRUMICu0bQfhjLhr58aIHOIOmVorJ7g72Kp8Zazo77UF64/s1680/scu_1014_300dpi.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1680" data-original-width="1482" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB40QDGdsKOb9B-jZlX-ydmoCcrmuAUMIvbu5uwGLTImfMV9TccQcmj5vY9QIva7OIy89JBhTlQHPu1_a-yDh4Z3BYCVQerBRUMICu0bQfhjLhr58aIHOIOmVorJ7g72Kp8Zazo77UF64/s320/scu_1014_300dpi.webp" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Sean Scully, <i>Black Window Pale Land</i>, 2020</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Two smaller works are hung in the gallery's portico space. Both are on a copper coloured metal.</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> One is black, white, grey, the bands not touching and the steel underneath shining through. </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">It is as though each band has been very hastily applied, using a few short strokes.</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">The merging of the industrial metal and the paint is like a coming together of different worlds. In those works where the steel support becomes a visible part of the painting, I was reminded of </span><span style="font-family: arial;">the title of the exhibition: Between Heaven and Earth. The bringing together of different worlds is a feature of the exhibition: beyond colour and steel, the industrial and the natural merge in works that resonate with seascapes and landscapes, and as is always the case with Scully's work, the geometrical patterns of the natural world. </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">On some of them the paint is calm, like waves and on others there are storms tossing the ocean. On still others, a square in the middle of the painting makes them resemble windows, even when nothing can be seen on the other side.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg09UJjcxG-JBTmLOEi3OuC07yDftTIviVgqdJcvZZfP2xRqQYjkmyiqHYzzvw-SvALbvmguXB7_b1yYdRofhYMGk5h9AG04RvZR-DHMhn129ntnfwzd9Ti8geIyhhLaft9AAJl5tXWQU/s820/sean_scully_x10396_a5.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="820" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg09UJjcxG-JBTmLOEi3OuC07yDftTIviVgqdJcvZZfP2xRqQYjkmyiqHYzzvw-SvALbvmguXB7_b1yYdRofhYMGk5h9AG04RvZR-DHMhn129ntnfwzd9Ti8geIyhhLaft9AAJl5tXWQU/w400-h269/sean_scully_x10396_a5.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sean Scully, <i>Landline Star</i>, 2017</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />If the bigger ones are reminiscent of landscapes, the smaller ones are like puzzles in which no two bands of colour are the same. Again, this changes up close where we see that t</span><span style="font-family: arial;">he colours don't meet, and drips interrupt the rational organization of colour bands. Up close, the rhythm and energy changes to a force field of moving colours.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">Scully talks about being at the intersection of European and American abstraction. The catalogue likens them to the work of Cezanne and Scully himself has talked of the influence of Van Gogh's bedroom chair. Equally, abstract expressionism, minimalism, the American painting's turn inwards to refer only to what lies within its own frame is everywhere identifiable Between Heaven and Earth.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtHssZV2jv4mHEzo6ktsJOoO7Roa4pIUizS4nR1ziZ1ZNSQuC5mPznZGMAQu5taOEmeznLI25tozOLK5THSNbiXgMPXAej8KVHkSwgX8K3-YXQy3i9Z0M_gtuIWOSRaDAS3-twiuIn28/s1680/scu_1019_300dpi.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1680" data-original-width="1677" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtHssZV2jv4mHEzo6ktsJOoO7Roa4pIUizS4nR1ziZ1ZNSQuC5mPznZGMAQu5taOEmeznLI25tozOLK5THSNbiXgMPXAej8KVHkSwgX8K3-YXQy3i9Z0M_gtuIWOSRaDAS3-twiuIn28/s320/scu_1019_300dpi.webp" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Sean Scully, <i>Star</i>, 2021</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The question I often ask of Scully's painting is "Why is he not doing the same thing over and over again?" After all, he has been painting bands of colour in different shapes and sizes, made into stripes, stacks and building blocks for over fifty years. But, of course, every series explores different colours, materials, sizes and arrangements on the support. In <i>Between Heaven and Earth,</i><u> the</u> colour schemes, application of paint, the relationship of thick oil paint and the metal support changes everything. Like the natural world to which they speak, even if he changes a single element, these paintings are in constant motion. </span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><br /></p></div></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com07 Rue Debelleyme, 75003 Paris, France48.860661099999987 2.363647220.550427263821142 -32.7926028 77.170894936178826 37.5198972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056806344672425847.post-56777954589306772002021-05-21T17:53:00.001+02:002021-05-23T00:12:46.676+02:00Zhang Wei @ Galerie Max Hetzler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB_cEd4KhmhyFaL3dKMi1XXgQoMYl5QCG4y27C8ymf-C_zzU6Dvv-SYYLPYiDwFopzAajwIY7eo3QeBh5lxazbcJfV-OGDJ81POethsGU-EdZqGelb6dZJJANI07anXdtJ6acS0nH1p8/s1000/a2a0b50b281eabfa3c8733b46593daeb_f16194.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB_cEd4KhmhyFaL3dKMi1XXgQoMYl5QCG4y27C8ymf-C_zzU6Dvv-SYYLPYiDwFopzAajwIY7eo3QeBh5lxazbcJfV-OGDJ81POethsGU-EdZqGelb6dZJJANI07anXdtJ6acS0nH1p8/w400-h266/a2a0b50b281eabfa3c8733b46593daeb_f16194.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;">I visited this exhibition months ago. When Paris shut down to stop the spread of the Coronavirus, these fresh and vibrant paintings representing the first exhibition of Chinese artist, Zhang Wei were shuttered inside Galerie Max Hetzler for the remainder of the Spring. As often happens with abstract painting, the images in representation don't begin to show the complexity of what the painter is doing on the canvas, and so I lost all motivation to post this blog.</span><div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zhang Wei at Galerie Max Hetzler" class="n3VNCb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="https://cdn.galleriesnow.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Galerie-Max-Hetzler-Zhang-Wei-3.jpg" style="height: 266.8px; margin: 0px; width: 400px;" /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Both in their size and their often sometimes aggressive approach to the canvas, these abstract paintings are highly unusual for a Chinese artist. The application of paint is varied and contrasting even on a single canvas. The artist moves from sweeping paint across a canvas t</span><span style="font-family: arial;">hrough splashing to </span><span style="font-family: arial;">delicate touching. The gallery blurb mentions that the works are influenced by action painting, and there is also a clear influence of the painting of Americans such as Franz Kline. However, there are also strong connections to the calligraphic mark, a trait developed from eastern traditions. It is as though east and west meet in the traces of the calligraphic made into paint. And with these different techniques come unlikely combinations of paint. Purple and orange, pink and green share space on the same canvases. It is typical for t</span><span style="font-family: arial;">he colour that takes up most of the canvas to be applied through a huge swathe pulled across and around. In contrast, the other colour is like a visitor to the canvas, splashed on, an afterthought, something not meant to be there. Like the unusual mint green in the smaller work on paper, we are left wondering how the dashes and splashes ended up on the canvas.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS55ERWcoV0ReFNWGiMUaj7JjfUBoLsCSYvsKqOF-RMRxJBX4UgRrT2g4J1SogY1TFZBzezHGACK2xrQBurmujOlfkf4qItkOA9w4j8g5yo52IlUwQIvt5GXGfEXwfm_iO1zyoCeL9tk/s1000/614312e62180b2db4aef998be13c27bc_f16198.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS55ERWcoV0ReFNWGiMUaj7JjfUBoLsCSYvsKqOF-RMRxJBX4UgRrT2g4J1SogY1TFZBzezHGACK2xrQBurmujOlfkf4qItkOA9w4j8g5yo52IlUwQIvt5GXGfEXwfm_iO1zyoCeL9tk/w400-h266/614312e62180b2db4aef998be13c27bc_f16198.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There are also moments in these paintings that are filled with such enormous energy and vibrancy in these daring colours, giving the impression that the paint ended up on the canvas as the result of an explosion. The paint moves in multiple directions, often frenzied, and yet, always with purpose. In other moments, it is tipped onto the canvas, flicked on. It has an alarming sense of speed, immediacy, as though not a lot of thought has gone into it. The gallery text also likens Zhang Wei's paint to breath; light, airy, gentle. In some paintings, I also noticed water splashing, and in other works there was something in motion that couldn't be seen by the human eye. Thus, the paintings are both real and mysterious.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8bfPXFS9YwYiRwv3eJ5SahnHRqMlPjIDOmJFtkC1RryQKkK8l776k1fTfuPJJpcP9aEHPQd5vDM-DQlbr0FZ2MbIfssek1osEWz2D4_Cqp4mPoDr5jGBtsPwS32Pi6AO-J1e5ObGmnM/s800/53dcb2ce91963ba1c45917627de4ec58_f16195.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8bfPXFS9YwYiRwv3eJ5SahnHRqMlPjIDOmJFtkC1RryQKkK8l776k1fTfuPJJpcP9aEHPQd5vDM-DQlbr0FZ2MbIfssek1osEWz2D4_Cqp4mPoDr5jGBtsPwS32Pi6AO-J1e5ObGmnM/w400-h265/53dcb2ce91963ba1c45917627de4ec58_f16195.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There is a conversation between the different colours. A yellow in standoff with splashes of purple, the inclusion of grey into a field of yellow. The colours never sit comfortably together, although sometimes there is a sense of resignation, as though they have given up their argument and decided to sit together calmly.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uMUz10Qnaxtxl7Kgqk7cvGH7iYQfWlG74mrLSVQjwtPDekvH8rAZQ2_lh3ZFX64Xuu6cCXq-6C2lICnQG5fpCcWR1q30IzOc4V1jMf7RQKUIF0a3OlPtiUIogKgHbzW2MA8PH3kufiw/s800/8f3f8811d6f214c2d4440f2fa09eadd2_f16199.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uMUz10Qnaxtxl7Kgqk7cvGH7iYQfWlG74mrLSVQjwtPDekvH8rAZQ2_lh3ZFX64Xuu6cCXq-6C2lICnQG5fpCcWR1q30IzOc4V1jMf7RQKUIF0a3OlPtiUIogKgHbzW2MA8PH3kufiw/w400-h265/8f3f8811d6f214c2d4440f2fa09eadd2_f16199.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The gallery blurb also says that the works are explorations of the canvas as space, and that because the colours don't cover all the space on offer, the works can be</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> unfinished. However, to my eyes, there was nothing unfinished about Zhang Wei's paintings. Rather, the vivacious colours have been deliberately placed in their space on the canvas. The consciousness of emptiness is confirmed by the dense white layer of paint over a thick hessian canvas in those areas identified as empty. Indeed, white is </span><span style="font-family: arial;">everywhere in these works, as though white is the retort to any attempt to make assumptions about </span><span style="font-family: arial;">the consistency of colour, their relationships and their status on the canvas.</span></p><p><br /></p></div>Frances Guerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09601712331094033951noreply@blogger.com057 Rue du Temple, 75004 Paris, France48.8602572 2.354629420.550023363821154 -32.8016206 77.170491036178845 37.5108794