The latest show at NAC, "Suffused" by Judy Graham, is not at all easy to pin down in words, and Judy herself does not make too much of an effort to describe it in words that convey and immediately accessible meaning. In her artist's statement, she says, "These images are most often a projection of memory, a memory that recalls the biological. They have taken up residence where the medical laboratorial self left off, or where research into human anatomy only exists now in the stacks. These drawings are meant to recall organic abstraction and the such-ness of biotic potential."
What really threw me in this oracular statement was the word "such-ness," which I have only come across before in a Buddhist context and is there used in a metaphysical sense to refer to what one can otherwise call "the nature of things as they are" -- the irreducible nature of reality which cannot be changed but only overcome. We live in "Samsara," that is material existence which is characterized by suffering, and the aim of the Buddhist is to rise above it by refusing to let oneself be dominated by it.
How does that apply to lab samples, since what I suppose Judy started out with were slides of cell structures, dyed and magnified for scientific analysis? For an answer, all one can do is look at the ink and pastel drawings on the walls of the Dennis Tourbin Gallery, since the function of the words in an artist's statement is to refer one back to the visual art they attempt to define.
These drawings are all quite large and essentially similar, since cell structures cannot vary dramatically and the colours were originally chosen to throw these cell structures into relief. A less metaphysical term than "such-ness" would be "a given." The given in this case seems to be a bean. Each of these remembered and consequently simplified cell structures, reduced to an abstraction, somewhat resembles a bean. Perhaps when I think of these cell structures as the building blocks of a human being with its potential for physical and emotional expression indicated by such titles as "Seeing Red" and "Repulsion," I might make a childish pun and call that bean "a human bean."
Each human bean or group of human beans is surrounded by a contrasting shadow which conveys in pastel much the same effect as a watercolour wash, throwing it into relief. The word "such-ness" comes back as no more precise word can serve as a technical, scientific definition of what Judy Graham is attempting to convey. It can only be an allusion, bearing the same relation to words as aboriginal smoke signals do the messages they convey.
In the end the words send one back to the pictures, which is what visual art is all about. Its "such-ness" consists of shapes and colours and whatever meaning they convey directly through the eye. In other words, are these drawings worth looking at? And I think I can safely say that they do have that worth to a considerable degree. What is ultimately Buddhist about them is that they can serve as a focal point for meditation. You may ask, for meditation on what? Insofar as meditation implies contemplation of a particular topic and not simply staring into space in order to cultivate detachment, I might say that its object is "the human condition," the state of being a human bean. In other words, I think I have ended up saying exactly the same things as Judy, only at greater length, as I try to explain her few, carefully chosen words to myself.
Thursday, 19 November 2015
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
Séan Benton and Aaron Thompson at NAC
Barry Joe, who usually posts my blog for me because he is so much more technologically adept than I am, has been laid up recently, which is one reason why I have not posted to my blog for a while.
Another reason is that I did not get an opportunity to speak to Séan Benton, who put on a portrait show in October, or to speak to anybody who could tell me much about him. I was just faced with a row of full face portraits, some of them actors and actresses, some of people he knew and three of himself, with nothing to explain to me why he thought these faces were important to him or how he felt about them. With the exception of the self portraits, which were poetic and humorous, all I could say about them was that they were technically successful without going into a lot of fine detail and probably resembled the sitters. The self portraits were intriguing, especially one with an eye patch which made me think of a pirate, and one with a raven which made me think of Poe's idea of "Nevermore." But when I tried to arrive at the artist's personal intention, which is what really interests me, I drew a blank.
I was lucky enough to get a personal interview with Aaron Thompson, who told me that he had been very much influenced by a series of paintings by a famous German artist, Gerhard Richter, which are visual references to the ideas of John Cage. As soon as he mentioned John Cage, I knew what he was talking about because during my last year at the University of Illinois, I spent a lot of time with John Cage, who was a good friend of a friend of mine in the Music Department. John Cage was there to work on a Happening. For this event he took certain melodies of Mozart and put them through permutations based on the I Ching. The I Ching is an ancient Chinese book of divination. To consult it, you take three coins and cast them six times. According to the way they fall, you get a hexagram which provides a wise and valid answer for the question you were asking.
The rationale behind this is that because everything in the universe is connected, when you do something completely random, you make a profound connection. John Cage, believing this, was interested in what was random for its own sake and was trying to make Mozart random. I did not feel myself that random notes by Mozart were an improvement on notes consciously organized by Mozart, but I found the idea fascinating and have consulted the I Ching ever since.
What Aaron Thompson does, following the example of Gerhard Richter, is apply the search for what is random and thereby meaningful. He takes a large panel with handles on either side, covers it with dollops of paint and draws it over a canvas. He repeats this process, with different layers of paint, until he feels it is time to stop. Knowing when to stop can be quite tricky. The result is not, as you might expect, a uniform series of messes, because the decision when to stop involves the artist's eye and judgement.
In fact, each canvas is different and has a kind of glow to it that I said made me think of sunrise or sunset on a different planet. He agreed. I also said that the light patches on a darker background looked like openings and made me think of the way the older religious literature used the word "opening" to stand for the perception of a certain mystical insight. He agreed with that too. But I would never have understood his work in this way if I hadn't inquired about his personal intention. Revealing each artist's personal intention I take to be the real purpose of this blog.
Another reason is that I did not get an opportunity to speak to Séan Benton, who put on a portrait show in October, or to speak to anybody who could tell me much about him. I was just faced with a row of full face portraits, some of them actors and actresses, some of people he knew and three of himself, with nothing to explain to me why he thought these faces were important to him or how he felt about them. With the exception of the self portraits, which were poetic and humorous, all I could say about them was that they were technically successful without going into a lot of fine detail and probably resembled the sitters. The self portraits were intriguing, especially one with an eye patch which made me think of a pirate, and one with a raven which made me think of Poe's idea of "Nevermore." But when I tried to arrive at the artist's personal intention, which is what really interests me, I drew a blank.
I was lucky enough to get a personal interview with Aaron Thompson, who told me that he had been very much influenced by a series of paintings by a famous German artist, Gerhard Richter, which are visual references to the ideas of John Cage. As soon as he mentioned John Cage, I knew what he was talking about because during my last year at the University of Illinois, I spent a lot of time with John Cage, who was a good friend of a friend of mine in the Music Department. John Cage was there to work on a Happening. For this event he took certain melodies of Mozart and put them through permutations based on the I Ching. The I Ching is an ancient Chinese book of divination. To consult it, you take three coins and cast them six times. According to the way they fall, you get a hexagram which provides a wise and valid answer for the question you were asking.
The rationale behind this is that because everything in the universe is connected, when you do something completely random, you make a profound connection. John Cage, believing this, was interested in what was random for its own sake and was trying to make Mozart random. I did not feel myself that random notes by Mozart were an improvement on notes consciously organized by Mozart, but I found the idea fascinating and have consulted the I Ching ever since.
What Aaron Thompson does, following the example of Gerhard Richter, is apply the search for what is random and thereby meaningful. He takes a large panel with handles on either side, covers it with dollops of paint and draws it over a canvas. He repeats this process, with different layers of paint, until he feels it is time to stop. Knowing when to stop can be quite tricky. The result is not, as you might expect, a uniform series of messes, because the decision when to stop involves the artist's eye and judgement.
In fact, each canvas is different and has a kind of glow to it that I said made me think of sunrise or sunset on a different planet. He agreed. I also said that the light patches on a darker background looked like openings and made me think of the way the older religious literature used the word "opening" to stand for the perception of a certain mystical insight. He agreed with that too. But I would never have understood his work in this way if I hadn't inquired about his personal intention. Revealing each artist's personal intention I take to be the real purpose of this blog.
Wednesday, 16 September 2015
I. Excelsior! 1975-2015 A Survey of Forty Years of Artwork by Dave Gordon II. Just like a buggy whip by Kevin Attic Daddy Richardson
There are two shows currently on at NAC and both are very pugnacious and in your face, although I think it highly unlikely that the two artists got together to plan this. They are both reacting to cultural pressures and refusing to fit into a prescribed mold. Neither wants to be popular in terms of what they perceive to be popular nowadays.
Kevin Richardson is a musician who refuses to agree that the sixties are old hat. So much of the music of the 20th century is now looked down on, in his opinion, in the way the maker of the buggy whip was put out of business by the horseless carriage. He has a picture of this, in fact, as well as pictures of other trades that have been rendered obsolete. Obsolescence and his refusal to consider the music of the 20th century obsolete are very much themes of this show. He refuses to make any concessions to present day popular taste, not only in his musical preferences but also in his painterly style, which is as pugnacious as his opinions. When he memorializes the official end of the hippies' era with the tragedy at the Altamont Free Concert, it is with real bitterness. It was an ugly event and he records it, like so much else, in an ugly way.
Dave Gordon has a great many perceived heroes and enemies, whether cultural or political. Some of his heroies and heroines are also mine, such as Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Frida Kahlo, Margaret Atwood and Arthur Rimbaud. I am not sufficiently au fait with politics to recognise all of his villains, although I agree about Stephen Harper. He even mocks the Group of Seven and plays games with Cézanne's renderings of Mont Saint-Victoire, which he reduces to a wood pile, even while he obviously admires Cézanne. He scoffs at the National Inquirer as wholeheartedly as he scoffs at more culturally prestigious phenomena such as conceptual art. No one is exempt. He even scoffs at himself with the James Thurber cartoon of his chosen motto, "Excelsior!" Sarcasm comes naturally to him, whatever the target.
Both artists are determined to be very much their own men. But Dave Gordon has already spoken up for himself at some length in an interview with Steve Remus published by NAC. They make me think of the Siamese in the old song:
Kevin Richardson is a musician who refuses to agree that the sixties are old hat. So much of the music of the 20th century is now looked down on, in his opinion, in the way the maker of the buggy whip was put out of business by the horseless carriage. He has a picture of this, in fact, as well as pictures of other trades that have been rendered obsolete. Obsolescence and his refusal to consider the music of the 20th century obsolete are very much themes of this show. He refuses to make any concessions to present day popular taste, not only in his musical preferences but also in his painterly style, which is as pugnacious as his opinions. When he memorializes the official end of the hippies' era with the tragedy at the Altamont Free Concert, it is with real bitterness. It was an ugly event and he records it, like so much else, in an ugly way.
Dave Gordon has a great many perceived heroes and enemies, whether cultural or political. Some of his heroies and heroines are also mine, such as Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Frida Kahlo, Margaret Atwood and Arthur Rimbaud. I am not sufficiently au fait with politics to recognise all of his villains, although I agree about Stephen Harper. He even mocks the Group of Seven and plays games with Cézanne's renderings of Mont Saint-Victoire, which he reduces to a wood pile, even while he obviously admires Cézanne. He scoffs at the National Inquirer as wholeheartedly as he scoffs at more culturally prestigious phenomena such as conceptual art. No one is exempt. He even scoffs at himself with the James Thurber cartoon of his chosen motto, "Excelsior!" Sarcasm comes naturally to him, whatever the target.
Both artists are determined to be very much their own men. But Dave Gordon has already spoken up for himself at some length in an interview with Steve Remus published by NAC. They make me think of the Siamese in the old song:
"We are Siamese
If you please.
We are Siamese
If you don't please."
Tuesday, 25 August 2015
On Expanding my Consciousness with Tony Cepukas
Recently I had to put Belinda to sleep. She was a cat I'd had for 20 years and who wouldn't allow any other animals in the house. But she was in rapid decline. Just a few days ago I went to the Court Animal Hospital to replace her and came home with two adult cats who are too fond of each other to be separated. I called a friend and said, "I'm living with two black gentlemen." He said he would have to tell an acquaintance of ours who's an inveterate salacious gossip.
On Saturday, August 22, 2015, I called NAC to ask when their next show would be. I was told it had just started and featured mosaics. I said I would be right over. I was glad to get out of the house in order to give my two black gentlemen a chance to settle in, as they have been hiding under my couch.
I took an indirect route to NAC, once I got off the bus. First I went to the bank, as I am short of cash. Then I went to the Arts and Crafts shop at 7 James Street and arranged for a small showing of some of my latest pictures, which have a connection with Goddess worship. Then I went across to Christopher's, where I got an occult magazine, "Watkins Mind Body Spirit," and a horoscope magaine. Next I got a Senior 10 Ride Card and bought two books at the Write Bookstore. One was on French New Criticism, which by now is at least 50 years old, and the other was on the Druids by a Greek contemporary of theirs.
Altogether I felt that I had a very wide range of interests and was reaching out to the world around me in many directions, without leaving my comfort zone. But when I got to Tony Cepukas' show, "Shine On, You Crazy Mosaic," I found that the artist was living in a completely different world from mine. We have this much in common, that we are both self-taught artists who took up art in retirement, but most of his cultural references are to rock stars and cult cinema -- a world into which I had never ventured and which I was hardly even aware existed. When I spoke to him I felt I almost had to apologise for my ignorance.
On entering the Dennis Tourbin Members' Gallery, I was startled to see a series of mind and body baring portraits in mosaic with names inscribed on them, but the only name I recognised was Obama. I had to ask the artist who the other men were -- mainly rock stars and one cinema actor. With my cult of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Gordon Lightfoot, Handel, Mozart, and Wagner, I go in for a completely different kind of music, and I had never even heard of cult cinema.
I was impressed by the passion bordering on violence he put into these portraits but felt more at ease with his mandalas and depictions of flowers, which are more like what I do myself. There were two mandalas I particularly liked and wanted to buy. One had a pair of cherubs at the centre and the other a rooster. In contrast to the portraits there were quite serene -- "emotion recollected in tranquillity."
I asked the artist where he got his art materials and how he put them together. He said he'd ordered his boards from an art supplier in Montreal who does free shipping, which as a piece of information I was glad to get. To get his mosaic chips, he buys dishes at such venues as garage sales and breaks them up. My cherubs and rooster must have come from commercially produced plates, as they are quite traditionally realistic, insofar as that can be said of cherubs.
I can't seem to get away from collage, in one form or another. I like its combination of the realistic and the fantastic, however it's put together. Of course his chips were stuck together with grout and white glue. Where Tony Cepukas says "Shine On, You Crazy Mosaic," allegedly with the song "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond" in mind, my message is "Dream On, You Crazy Approach to the Real World, and Take Me Into a Fairy Tale."
On Saturday, August 22, 2015, I called NAC to ask when their next show would be. I was told it had just started and featured mosaics. I said I would be right over. I was glad to get out of the house in order to give my two black gentlemen a chance to settle in, as they have been hiding under my couch.
I took an indirect route to NAC, once I got off the bus. First I went to the bank, as I am short of cash. Then I went to the Arts and Crafts shop at 7 James Street and arranged for a small showing of some of my latest pictures, which have a connection with Goddess worship. Then I went across to Christopher's, where I got an occult magazine, "Watkins Mind Body Spirit," and a horoscope magaine. Next I got a Senior 10 Ride Card and bought two books at the Write Bookstore. One was on French New Criticism, which by now is at least 50 years old, and the other was on the Druids by a Greek contemporary of theirs.
Altogether I felt that I had a very wide range of interests and was reaching out to the world around me in many directions, without leaving my comfort zone. But when I got to Tony Cepukas' show, "Shine On, You Crazy Mosaic," I found that the artist was living in a completely different world from mine. We have this much in common, that we are both self-taught artists who took up art in retirement, but most of his cultural references are to rock stars and cult cinema -- a world into which I had never ventured and which I was hardly even aware existed. When I spoke to him I felt I almost had to apologise for my ignorance.
On entering the Dennis Tourbin Members' Gallery, I was startled to see a series of mind and body baring portraits in mosaic with names inscribed on them, but the only name I recognised was Obama. I had to ask the artist who the other men were -- mainly rock stars and one cinema actor. With my cult of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Gordon Lightfoot, Handel, Mozart, and Wagner, I go in for a completely different kind of music, and I had never even heard of cult cinema.
I was impressed by the passion bordering on violence he put into these portraits but felt more at ease with his mandalas and depictions of flowers, which are more like what I do myself. There were two mandalas I particularly liked and wanted to buy. One had a pair of cherubs at the centre and the other a rooster. In contrast to the portraits there were quite serene -- "emotion recollected in tranquillity."
I asked the artist where he got his art materials and how he put them together. He said he'd ordered his boards from an art supplier in Montreal who does free shipping, which as a piece of information I was glad to get. To get his mosaic chips, he buys dishes at such venues as garage sales and breaks them up. My cherubs and rooster must have come from commercially produced plates, as they are quite traditionally realistic, insofar as that can be said of cherubs.
I can't seem to get away from collage, in one form or another. I like its combination of the realistic and the fantastic, however it's put together. Of course his chips were stuck together with grout and white glue. Where Tony Cepukas says "Shine On, You Crazy Mosaic," allegedly with the song "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond" in mind, my message is "Dream On, You Crazy Approach to the Real World, and Take Me Into a Fairy Tale."
Wednesday, 19 August 2015
"Far From Ordinary" by Emily Andrews at NAC
The latest show at NAC, August 8 to 21, 2015 has been put on by Emily Andrews. If I may quote from her artist's statement, she wishes it to be known that she is "a Niagara Falls based visual artist, actress and musician who has been involved in various artistic projects in the community over the past six years. A graduate of Brock University with a B.A. in Visual Arts, Andrews was one of the artists in residence chosen by the Ontario Trillium Foundation in 2012 and was last year's recipient of the Allister Young Arts and Culture Endowment Fund."
This show's full title is "Far From Ordinary: A Series of Dreamscapes Made with Very Precise Slices." It is Andrews' second solo exhibition and "includes a collection of Surrealistic scenes in the form of hand-cut photo collages. The intricately crafted pieces explore a whole new level of phantasmagoria that balances on the line of reality and imagination."
At this point, I go on with my own perceptions. The picture by Emily Andrews with which I am most familiar is also called "Far From Ordinary" and first appeared in her earlier solo shows. She makes and sells prints of her collages as well as showing and selling the originals and I bought a fairly large print of this picture and have it hanging in my house. It is based on a couple of the Tenniel illustrations to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and I am always a pushover for anything to do with Alice. The Alice books were the first two books I read as a child and they made a deep impression on me. I am sure I must have dreamed and fantasized about them. The picture "Far From Ordinary" presents the viewer with such a dream or fantasy.
In the front to the left, we see a startled Alice growing unexpectedly tall. To the back of the picture we see a quite untroubled Alice, unperturbed by the vagaries of her existence, standing with her back to us and looking into a window fitted with impossibly large stars. Or are they snowflakes? Both interpretations are possible and in a dream you don't have to choose. Various animals lurking around -- a dog, an owl and one and a half llamas -- do not owe their provenance to the Alice books but that need not disturb us. Doubtless they have their own dream reasons for being there. However the Cheshire Cat is also there, grinning from a large mirror to the left of the frontal Alice. Also to her left is a large clock which suggests that Time itself, having stopped, as in the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, has entered the dream. The only difference is that it is not teatime but may be one of the early hours of the morning when one is likely to be asleep. The background to all this is a well-appointed Victorian living room waiting for well-heeled residents to relax with a glass of sherry. The title of the picture is spelled out in acrobatic script above the window and all seems quite lucid and matter of fact, with one exception. A cupboard in the background seems to contain a brightly coloured modern abstract painting. Is this an intrusion from the workaday world?
I have described this picture in detail as it is fully representative, but there are twelve pictures in all, quite different and intricately detailed. Perhaps I should mention a few others that caught my eye. One is another Alice picture showing the White Rabbit running up a flight of stars while consulting his watch and exclaiming, "Mary Ann! Fetch me my gloves this moment!" Below him is a rather lackadaisical young woman propped on a couch, again in well-appointed surroundings. She obviously has no intention of fetching his gloves or paying him any attention whatever. The picture reproduced on the invitation and which may therefore by supposed to be a favourite of the artist, shows a marina in the foreground with a series of bathing beauties and a dog all packed into may equally well be canoes or coffins. Since the title of the picture is "Celestial Paradise," either interpretation might fit. But the most striking and even majestic picture is "The Butterflies of Versailles." This shows a gallery in Versailles with lit candelabra, a beautiful black girl in a fancy dress, a flying gull, a dog, the back end of a donkey and a much smaller cat chasing a mouse. Gorgeous large golden butterflies are scattered all over.
Andrews' framed collages are not unduly expensive but she also offers them as much cheaper prints, even on T-shirts. Altogether a very rewarding show with something for everybody and everybody's wallet.
This show's full title is "Far From Ordinary: A Series of Dreamscapes Made with Very Precise Slices." It is Andrews' second solo exhibition and "includes a collection of Surrealistic scenes in the form of hand-cut photo collages. The intricately crafted pieces explore a whole new level of phantasmagoria that balances on the line of reality and imagination."
At this point, I go on with my own perceptions. The picture by Emily Andrews with which I am most familiar is also called "Far From Ordinary" and first appeared in her earlier solo shows. She makes and sells prints of her collages as well as showing and selling the originals and I bought a fairly large print of this picture and have it hanging in my house. It is based on a couple of the Tenniel illustrations to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and I am always a pushover for anything to do with Alice. The Alice books were the first two books I read as a child and they made a deep impression on me. I am sure I must have dreamed and fantasized about them. The picture "Far From Ordinary" presents the viewer with such a dream or fantasy.
In the front to the left, we see a startled Alice growing unexpectedly tall. To the back of the picture we see a quite untroubled Alice, unperturbed by the vagaries of her existence, standing with her back to us and looking into a window fitted with impossibly large stars. Or are they snowflakes? Both interpretations are possible and in a dream you don't have to choose. Various animals lurking around -- a dog, an owl and one and a half llamas -- do not owe their provenance to the Alice books but that need not disturb us. Doubtless they have their own dream reasons for being there. However the Cheshire Cat is also there, grinning from a large mirror to the left of the frontal Alice. Also to her left is a large clock which suggests that Time itself, having stopped, as in the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, has entered the dream. The only difference is that it is not teatime but may be one of the early hours of the morning when one is likely to be asleep. The background to all this is a well-appointed Victorian living room waiting for well-heeled residents to relax with a glass of sherry. The title of the picture is spelled out in acrobatic script above the window and all seems quite lucid and matter of fact, with one exception. A cupboard in the background seems to contain a brightly coloured modern abstract painting. Is this an intrusion from the workaday world?
I have described this picture in detail as it is fully representative, but there are twelve pictures in all, quite different and intricately detailed. Perhaps I should mention a few others that caught my eye. One is another Alice picture showing the White Rabbit running up a flight of stars while consulting his watch and exclaiming, "Mary Ann! Fetch me my gloves this moment!" Below him is a rather lackadaisical young woman propped on a couch, again in well-appointed surroundings. She obviously has no intention of fetching his gloves or paying him any attention whatever. The picture reproduced on the invitation and which may therefore by supposed to be a favourite of the artist, shows a marina in the foreground with a series of bathing beauties and a dog all packed into may equally well be canoes or coffins. Since the title of the picture is "Celestial Paradise," either interpretation might fit. But the most striking and even majestic picture is "The Butterflies of Versailles." This shows a gallery in Versailles with lit candelabra, a beautiful black girl in a fancy dress, a flying gull, a dog, the back end of a donkey and a much smaller cat chasing a mouse. Gorgeous large golden butterflies are scattered all over.
Andrews' framed collages are not unduly expensive but she also offers them as much cheaper prints, even on T-shirts. Altogether a very rewarding show with something for everybody and everybody's wallet.
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
"Downbeat Downtown" by Dan Brown at NAC
The current show "Downbeat Downtown" at NAC consists of a series of photographs, mainly in black and white and quite straight forwardly representational, illustrating performances presented by the Twilight Jazz series and the newly founded TD Niagara Jazz Festival. Dan Brown, who took the photographs, says he “aims to capture moments of transcendence when the performers have lost themselves in the music.”
I am not a big jazz fan because I came to music through a mixture of folksong and opera and my tastes simply weren’t wide enough to take in jazz as well. I have heard it said that in the field of light reading people can take in fantasy and science fiction but not mysteries as well. Operating on the same principle, my capacity for musical enjoyment just can’t vast enough. “Had we but world enough and time”, as Andrew Marvell said to his coy mistress.
But there is no doubt in my mind that the jazz performers in these photographs are enjoying themselves, especially in two coloured photographs, one of singers singing their hearts out, and one of wind players taking over a vineyard. Among the black and white photographs I was particularly struck by one where his trumpet has completely covered the face of the player so that the player and trumpet form one entity. From what i have heard jazz this is actually what happens. There is so much improvisation, with players and singers abandoning themselves to melody, that it is as if the music were playing itself. This must be what Dan Brown means by “transcendence”.
I’m sorry I won’t be around for the reception and the screening of Jazz on a Summer’s Day, but I can’t stay awake between 6 p.m. and midnight. There’s a lot I miss that way but I can’t help it.
I am not a big jazz fan because I came to music through a mixture of folksong and opera and my tastes simply weren’t wide enough to take in jazz as well. I have heard it said that in the field of light reading people can take in fantasy and science fiction but not mysteries as well. Operating on the same principle, my capacity for musical enjoyment just can’t vast enough. “Had we but world enough and time”, as Andrew Marvell said to his coy mistress.
But there is no doubt in my mind that the jazz performers in these photographs are enjoying themselves, especially in two coloured photographs, one of singers singing their hearts out, and one of wind players taking over a vineyard. Among the black and white photographs I was particularly struck by one where his trumpet has completely covered the face of the player so that the player and trumpet form one entity. From what i have heard jazz this is actually what happens. There is so much improvisation, with players and singers abandoning themselves to melody, that it is as if the music were playing itself. This must be what Dan Brown means by “transcendence”.
I’m sorry I won’t be around for the reception and the screening of Jazz on a Summer’s Day, but I can’t stay awake between 6 p.m. and midnight. There’s a lot I miss that way but I can’t help it.
Friday, 12 June 2015
"We've Forgotten Where Our Hearts Have Been" by Carrie Perreault at NAC
When I went to see Carrie Perreault’s show at NAC I was struck first of all by the emptiness of the room. It became quite clear very rapidly that this artist is not interested in producing beautiful objects to decorate private or even public rooms.
As Carrie states in a couple of barely visible statements isolated in the middle of large framed sheets of white paper, absence is itself a form of presence or presence is a form of absence or maybe one might say that the best way of being present is to be absent or to be absent is to be present. I failed to make a note of which way round this was put, but all the interpretations would be equally valid.
Next to these two framed statements were a pair of fringed flat cushions in a rather dull colour embroidered with the message that the artist did not expect to make much money by her art but if she did she would purchase more feathers to compensate the people who purchased the cushions. The precise nature of this message apparently escaped the artist as she was recording it, for she embroidered the word “life”, put a slash through it and substituted the word “live”. As Alice’s White Knight would put it, meaning trickles through her and our brains like water through a sieve.
Next in line came a series of small, unassuming photographs which, while in colour, did not seem to be recording anything in particular in at all a striking kind of way. This series was interrupted by two things and continued on the opposite wall. The first interruption consisted of the legend ‘We’ve Forgotten Where Our Hearts Have Been’ painted in large black letters on the wall. This seems to present the basic meaning of the show, but where in fact our hearts have actually been may or may not be indicated by a procession of marching modelled white feet that fills up the rest of the wall, or else by the photographs.
Natasha had told me that Carrie was also a performance artist. I asked her about this and understood her to say that at the reception Carrie had performed a one person show called “Impossible Conversations”, moving about to different parts of the gallery. I was sorry I hadn’t been able to be there. As I was cogitating over all this, a light dawned: Carrie was trying to produce the same effects as Samuel Beckett by naming the things it is almost impossible to express.
I was unable to speak to her face to face but was able to leave a message on her answering machine asking if she really did have an affinity with Beckett as I thought she had. She called back very interested in Samuel Beckett for a long time.
We went on to have a pleasant chat about him. I reminisced about my first encounter with him. At the end of my last year at the University of Illinois, before coming to Brock, I had to teach “Waiting for Godot” as part of a course in French literature in English translation. When it came to the point, I was unable to think of anything to say about it so I just read out a critical essay to someone else had written. When I finished one of the students remarked that he had come across “Waiting for Godot” in another course, where the professor had not attempted to say anything about it. Instead he had instructed the students to spend the hour meditating in silence.Carrie remarked that one of the reasons why Beckett is difficult to talk about is that he is often funny but in such a grim context that to laugh would be like laughing at a funeral. I said that that reminded me of a Freudian slip I had once made. While on a trip I turned up at a Catholic funeral and the priest asked me if I would be staying long. “No”, I said, “I’m just passing on”. Carrie asked if the priest had laughed and I said “No, he just didn’t know what to make of it”.
In a Beckettion context that is the usual reaction, which is why Carrie Perreault’s show had me think of Beckett. For a while I had been reduced to silence by her show, just as we two professors had been by Beckett.
Not that Carrie would claim for one minute to have attained his stature. As she said to me as soon as the subject came up, “Those would be very big shoes to fill.” When she talks about herself she says she’s “an advocate for human witnessing” which takes the form of “meditative gestural acts”, perhaps this is a little too serious and when she makes and artist’s statement she might do well to be more like Beckett and lighten up a bit. I understand that although Beckett’s critics were initially stricken dumb, he has now been analyzed more than anyone but shakespeare, but on the subjects of his own work Beckett was always very modest and unpretentious.
As Carrie states in a couple of barely visible statements isolated in the middle of large framed sheets of white paper, absence is itself a form of presence or presence is a form of absence or maybe one might say that the best way of being present is to be absent or to be absent is to be present. I failed to make a note of which way round this was put, but all the interpretations would be equally valid.
Next to these two framed statements were a pair of fringed flat cushions in a rather dull colour embroidered with the message that the artist did not expect to make much money by her art but if she did she would purchase more feathers to compensate the people who purchased the cushions. The precise nature of this message apparently escaped the artist as she was recording it, for she embroidered the word “life”, put a slash through it and substituted the word “live”. As Alice’s White Knight would put it, meaning trickles through her and our brains like water through a sieve.
Next in line came a series of small, unassuming photographs which, while in colour, did not seem to be recording anything in particular in at all a striking kind of way. This series was interrupted by two things and continued on the opposite wall. The first interruption consisted of the legend ‘We’ve Forgotten Where Our Hearts Have Been’ painted in large black letters on the wall. This seems to present the basic meaning of the show, but where in fact our hearts have actually been may or may not be indicated by a procession of marching modelled white feet that fills up the rest of the wall, or else by the photographs.
Natasha had told me that Carrie was also a performance artist. I asked her about this and understood her to say that at the reception Carrie had performed a one person show called “Impossible Conversations”, moving about to different parts of the gallery. I was sorry I hadn’t been able to be there. As I was cogitating over all this, a light dawned: Carrie was trying to produce the same effects as Samuel Beckett by naming the things it is almost impossible to express.
I was unable to speak to her face to face but was able to leave a message on her answering machine asking if she really did have an affinity with Beckett as I thought she had. She called back very interested in Samuel Beckett for a long time.
We went on to have a pleasant chat about him. I reminisced about my first encounter with him. At the end of my last year at the University of Illinois, before coming to Brock, I had to teach “Waiting for Godot” as part of a course in French literature in English translation. When it came to the point, I was unable to think of anything to say about it so I just read out a critical essay to someone else had written. When I finished one of the students remarked that he had come across “Waiting for Godot” in another course, where the professor had not attempted to say anything about it. Instead he had instructed the students to spend the hour meditating in silence.Carrie remarked that one of the reasons why Beckett is difficult to talk about is that he is often funny but in such a grim context that to laugh would be like laughing at a funeral. I said that that reminded me of a Freudian slip I had once made. While on a trip I turned up at a Catholic funeral and the priest asked me if I would be staying long. “No”, I said, “I’m just passing on”. Carrie asked if the priest had laughed and I said “No, he just didn’t know what to make of it”.
In a Beckettion context that is the usual reaction, which is why Carrie Perreault’s show had me think of Beckett. For a while I had been reduced to silence by her show, just as we two professors had been by Beckett.
Not that Carrie would claim for one minute to have attained his stature. As she said to me as soon as the subject came up, “Those would be very big shoes to fill.” When she talks about herself she says she’s “an advocate for human witnessing” which takes the form of “meditative gestural acts”, perhaps this is a little too serious and when she makes and artist’s statement she might do well to be more like Beckett and lighten up a bit. I understand that although Beckett’s critics were initially stricken dumb, he has now been analyzed more than anyone but shakespeare, but on the subjects of his own work Beckett was always very modest and unpretentious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)