Writer's Block

So it has come to this... Is the beginning of the year really that un-interesting?

'A parcel!'

'I wonder what it could be?'

Thinks: Maybe it's a belated Christmas present? A free DVD? A book? Or no, better yet, an early birthday present!?

Opens.... 

'Uh, yay, it's a block of wood.'

Ok, so maybe I was a little disappointed but only because at the age of 27, I still have child-like, wildly over-the-top and romantic notions of what the post should be (it rarely lives up to this expectation). And whilst at first, it isn't exactly the most inspiring of things to receive in the mail it is indefinitely better than getting bills or bank statements. 

Anyway, it isn't just a block of wood, in actuality...

It's a cheese board for serving stilton, brie, assorted cheddars and biscuits,

It's a potable chopping block for your mobile carrot dicing needs,

It's the infamous karate block of wood that ten-thousand, yes ten-thousand of the best martial artists couldn't chop in half,

It's a step for when you need to be 1cm taller,

It's a pantone test board for 11_0601,

It's a shelf,

An uninspiring book-end,

A unique garden feature,

A prospective home to a wood worm,

A toad's and other small creatures floating transportation device,

It's an imagination enhancer-inator -the essential, must-have toy for next Christmas,

It's a percussion instrument,

It's an ornate piece of firewood,

It's the last thing an ant will ever see,

It's a 'colour-of-milk' testing board,

It's a poem,

It's a weapon in the wrong hands,

It's a poor subsidiary visibility-board so motorists notice you in dark conditions,

It's a tiny seat,

A ready-meal for a beaver,

An ill-formed Frisbee, 

It's something to talk to that's a really good listener,

A Zen-garden for a doll's house,

It's a physical manifestation of silence,

It's a modesty concealer for nudists,

A slate for your minimalist wood cabin,

A sledge for small cats or squirrels,

It's an unsolved Mensa puzzle,

A washboard without ridges,

A squibble-board for the popular sport of Huffle-whack,

A portable roof,

It's a sophisticated counting aid for the representation of one,

It's a life-form from Mars,

It's delicious...(putt) or maybe it isn't,

It's a ramp for ducklings to escape busy roads,

It's an ancient artefact used for mapping snowy tundra,

It's a shadow-spotting reflective plain,

It's a writer's block un-blocker,

...

It's a canvas for creating a unique piece of artwork on that can be sold, with others, at auction raising money for Musgrove Park Hospital, 'Art for Life'.

Oh!  

    That's right! This superbly cut, sanded and  primed A5 block of MDF is a canvas ready for the painting, drawing, collaging or any other media. Once complete, the block is sent back to the 'Art for Life' team where it is photographed and posted online with other artist's blocks (there looks to be about 100-200 artists taking part!). The public can then start biding online in advance prior to the auction which, this year, is going to be held at the hospital on Tuesday 20th May. All proceeds raised go towards supporting, 'Art for Life' which facilitates and provides an access to art in the hospital making a more welcoming, stimulating and supportive environment for visitors, patients and staff. 

Pretty exciting after all. Whilst I still admit to having an initial lack of enthralment at getting what is essentially a block of wood through the door, in reality, the potential of a blank canvas is most interesting and to reiterate, it's the opportunity to create something, small, unique and special that will be both an original piece of artwork for someone to own as well as raising money for an excellent local charitable cause. 

It was my intention to have fun with creating alternative uses for the canvas and I hope I have succeeded in demonstrating some of the delights, absurdity and possibilities that can come from nothing. The challenge now is to turn said block of wood into 'art' (Ho Ho, is that all and you thought the other ideas were wacky). I'm fortunate to have been invited to take part in this for the second time and on a more serious note, the standard is always high and it is a challenge I look forward to embarking on and contributing towards. I have a few ideas already, stay posted as I'll be putting more details of both my block, other artists' blocks and how you can bid on them here on the blog in the near future.

I've until February 21st to complete it so I'd better get going. 

And, well, you know if all else fails the cheese board option would make a pretty good backup! 

http://www.artforlife.nhs.uk/

Intermission

We interrupt your usual 'Spanner in the Workz' posts for the following intermission...

(Some people say we take things too seriously!)

 

 

Normal rantings, observations, criticisms and digressions will resume shortly.



A Drawing a Day

At the start of 2013 I embarked on the challenge of creating a drawing everyday for a year in a small A7 Moleskin diary.

 

The challenge was met with some trepidation at first but soon gathered its own momentum with some surprising, amusing and perhaps, at times, a little disturbing results.

You can read more of my progress and thoughts on the project by clicking the link below:

http://spannerintheworkz.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/new-years-resolution-is-this-end.html

 

 It was never my intention to ‘show’ the drawings when creating them, as a result the work is possibly a lot more intimate, sincere and 'unpolished' than what it would have been had I ‘made it for public consumption’. In other words, I think my self-consciousness would have gotten the better of me had I known I was going to exhibit the work and may have altered 'what' I drew as well as 'how' I drew it. As it turns-out, not having the burden of expectation other than to myself, may have proved quite fortunate as I hope it means that there is something refreshing in seeing good drawings mixed with sublime ones, bad ones, ok ones and diabolical ones (I'll let you be the judge!) Hence what you are seeing is a series of unique, little drawings that meant a great deal at the time of their creating but are none-the-less merely drawings. Collectively they have gained their own impetus from becoming a set created over the duration of a year, through its periods of doubt, joy, elation, searching, frustration, exhaustion, monumental highs, crippling lows and all the mundane in-betweens. Above all I hope it may offer a revealing and honest insight from someone that just loves to sit and draw.

 

 Scanning and cropping all 365 drawings into the computer nearly made my eyes bleed! So please have a look at the album of images either on the slideshow* or on my Flickr page by clicking on the link below.

Created with flickr slideshow.

    https://www.flickr.com/photos/113459200@N03/sets/72157639406395385/   *Note slideshow may not work on mobile/tablet devices, so please view via the link above.  

New Year’s Resolution – Is this the end?

Happy New Year!

 

My 2013 New Year’s resolution was as follows, ‘One diary, one drawing, every day for one year.’

 

 See blog posts:

http://spannerintheworkz.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/new-years-resolution.html

http://spannerintheworkz.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/new-years-resolution-half-way-point.html

 

 I’m pleased to say that I succeeded in creating 365 drawings inside a small A7 Moleskin diary.

Hooray! The following is a list of the stuff I’ve drawn:

 

snowman, beer glass, newt, chameleon, bumble bee, frog on nut, Dali clock, dragonfly, portrait of weird looking man, ear, stork scissors, zombie, netsuke, seated Buddha from Gandhara, clay skull, coal tit, telegraph pole, netsuke nut, biro pen, dormouse, ladder, predator, dark bush cricket,  row boat, bowling pin, Mona Lisa on toast, paraffin lantern, wood pigeon, cross-section of chest, typewriter, seahorse, sheep, steak, old telephone, sailing boat hotel Dubai, lobster, ball of string, tawny owl, amber spyglass, platypus, trumpet, pig, converse trainer, silver articulated fish, Inca gold lama, flying bird, walrus, grenade, cross-section of pepper, crab, egg in frying pan, light bulb, Don McCullin’s Nikon camera, tree frog, sundae, strawberry, pumpkin, gas mask, petrol can, lion, guitar, chicken, film camera, hippo, Native American mask, raven, bucket, moose, peas, key, telephone, Maya Mare God statue, raspberry, revolver, prawn, peg, flame, radiator, pinwheel, hat, lettuce, accordion, fan, Sangrada Familia, Joan Miro sculpture 1, Joan Miro sculpture 2, Cat statue, La Pedera 1, La Pedera 2, anchor, pipe, dart, electric fan, tortoise, high heel shoe, poplar leaf beetle, kestrel, ray gun, vacuum cleaner, ear of wheat, shark, wood plane, hypodermic needle, seagull, unicycle, Roy Lichtenstein Desk Calendar, copper kettle, telephone box, red lipstick, snorkelling gear, pneumatic drill, fish, hour glass, knight chess piece, penny farthing, oil can, natterjack toad, roller skate, chainsaw, ice skate, fire hydrant, zeppelin, spray paint, Van Gogh Skeleton, jelly, tin robot, arrow, cuckoo catfish, iron, budgie, pickaxe, flintlock pistol, rubber duck, JCB, spinning top, lighthouse, puffin, scarecrow, lighthouse lamp, gargoyle, wooden bird, fire extinguisher, padlock, gramophone, fox skull, mushroom, flamingo, hydraulic clamp, sarcophagus, saw, hand whisk, acorn, Georges Melies’ moon,  cassette tape, kangaroo, diamond, T-Rex, squirrel, black spotted woodpecker, wren, penguin, closed umbrella, wooden chair, folded shirt, Somerfest beast, formula one car, pheasant, electric iron, rhino, hairdryer, fox, bowler hat, pelican, blue whale, leak, ostrich, scorpion, watering can, badger, roadrunner, suitcase, blender, meerkat, Dettol, old-fashioned can opener, Friesian cow, hamburger, palm tree, window/shutters, rose, circus tent, giraffe, sunglasses, merry-go-round horse, parrot, rabbit in top hat, killer whale, catcher’s mitt, camel, bicycle, jelly baby, bat, baseball bat, vulture, ocean liner, space shuttle, hot air balloon, crocodile, stag beetle, Texan boot, polar bear, sailing boat, cat, armchair, seal, axe, sausage dog, hot dog, tennis racquet, rat, bottle of poison, wolf, baboon, duck, fountain pen, sword, false teeth, toucan, snail, scales, captain’s ship wheel, double Decker bus, oil lamp, Big Ben, sleigh, panda, quill and ink, catapult, Japanese cuttlefish hoe, mini, ladybird, push lawnmower, tap, desk lamp, electric drill, steam train, toilet, medieval helmet, squid, kingfisher, elephant, hare, swordfish, mammoth, piranha, raccoon, biplane, Easter Island head, astronaut, Henry Moore’s ‘Reclining Figure’, ant, paint pot and brushes, chimpanzee, binoculars, apple tree, beaver, peanut, wheelbarrow, kite, jade bear, apple core, shopping trolley, crane, anteater, microscope, stegosaurus, box camera, sushi, open umbrella, bison, corn, kiwi bird, prickly pear cactus, cactus, talon, poppy seed head, stingray, antelope, pomegranate, secretary bird, plug, Terry Adkins ‘Omohundro’, violin, armadillo, dice, skunk, butternut squash, staircase, hand of bananas, bears, broom, rooster, spinning wheel, wash bucket, snowy, wooden musical frog, candelabra, car tyre, bagpipes, tiger, egg and egg cup, plastic soldier, scissors, deer, tank, cockroach, strange tool, Saint Bernard, peacock, swan, Venetian mask,  pinecone, gondola, French horn, Scala Del Bovolo, sea shell, alarm clock, radio, electric guitar, poodle, praying mantis, bra, vine of tomatoes, blue jay, traffic cone, sperm whale, watermelon, picnic table, propeller, stag, chipmunk, tape measure, goggles, horseshoe crab, goat, life raft, old boot, jellyfish, singer sewing machine, dove, potato, barn owl, cheese grater, ballet shoes, dustbin, reindeer, partridge, Scottish terrier, drum, ammonite fossil, golf ball, king chess piece, wooden mouse

 

 

Apologies, at the risk of coming across a bit smug, I have to honestly say at the start of January 2013 I didn’t think I was going to realistically find the time or willpower to draw everyday for a whole year, and what started off as a ‘task for the sake of task’ became something I look forwarded to if not a bit of an obsession. Minus a few exceptions (due to illness and holidays for example, I was too scared to take it to Venice; there’s water everywhere for crying out loud!) I sometimes had to catch up with doing two or three drawings in one day to compensate, however most of the time I would dedicate around thirty minutes/an hour to draw and found it became an almost meditative discipline of stopping, sitting down, most of the time at my bed (it’s also a desk), attempting to put to one-side the thoughts/frustrations/delights of the day (ha ha, most of the time frustrations!), intensely looking at something to draw and all the challenges and difficulties it sometimes created. There were times when it wasn’t possible to concentrate, I wasn’t in the mood, I was tired (finding the time some days was a challenge in itself meaning I’d often be drawing late at night or early morning) or the thing I was attempting to draw was perhaps too difficult often sparking questions of, ‘Why am I doing this to myself?’ ‘What sort of person comes home after a stressful day at work to cook dinner, wash and draw a picnic table?!’ In a year that has been depressingly lack-lustre in the way of my own art experiences, this tiny little Moleskin was the only thing that kept me focused, hopeful and somehow retaining my ‘involvement’ in art even if I wasn’t ‘exhibiting’ or showing it anywhere. Of course I’d seen loads, heaps of art in 2013 but still yearn to create things myself. Admittedly there was some slight motivation from the thought of being able to ‘share’ some of this experience with people here on the blog (more on that at the end). I had never previously questioned how astonishingly important ‘art’ is in my life until I tried to live with its absence in the latter of 2012. I think I find it truly impossible to exist without having something creative on-the-go or at the forefront of my thoughts in the way of a blog, a drawing, a project.

I’d recommend it as a form of self-help or therapy! Ha ha, although appreciate I may not be entirely the most convincing person there! Aside from my own personal thoughts on how incredibly joyous it has been as a whole experience there’s also plenty to learn from it too, both personally and technically. Such as, how I draw, what I draw and how/or not my drawing has evolved over the course of the year.

Although... you know... all of that would only be relevant and worth reflecting on if, I don’t know... if say, that I enjoyed the last year so much and found it so useful that I was going to repeat the project for 2014 but with a bigger sketch book, different materials and more weird and wonderfulness than ever before...

 

Challenge accepted!

 

 

Woo-hoo! So what are the changes for 2014 as part of the ‘sketch a day’ challenge?

 

1) Bigger sketchbook

What did you get for Christmas? I received bigger sketchbooks (amongst other things)! I think it was hint to work bigger... I’m also going to do one sketch per page instead of double-siding my drawings as done previously.

 

2) New Drawing Materials

The very same sketchbook instigators also gave me inks, pens and brushes! No more excuses to work only in monochrome, it’s not going to be easy! Time to start experimenting using a bit more colour methinks and being a lot looser in my painting/drawing style. This will be a personal challenge but one worth doing as I kept my drawing style in 2013 incredibly tight as there wasn’t a lot of space per page for anything too expressive.

 

3) Altered mind-set on ‘what to draw’ and review on ‘how to draw it’

This will probably be the most difficult of all the new changes. Much debate and many questions were raised from the things I decided to draw in 2013, to which my rationale and answer is still the same in that, I would choose to draw things which I ‘felt’ like drawing or had never drawn before and felt somewhat, perhaps inexplicably compelled to capturing on paper because of the shape, form, texture of ‘said thing’ I was drawing. There’s a whole world of infinitely wonderful things out there to draw and at last I was liberated to draw whatever I chose without having to justify or explain myself. I think I was searching for what visually or aesthetically appeals to me personally. Sometimes one drawing would lead to an associative link to another thing to draw, i.e. pen drawing followed by sword drawing. Other times it may appear completely random and I am all-too-aware of what it all could unconsciously signify and have best avoided interpretation at the peril of my sanity. I’m pretty adamant that the things I enjoy drawing the most are things with a very distinct form, things with a very clear or solid line/edge to them such as inanimate man-made objects, buildings and occasionally, natural forms that are very structural such as pinecones. Softer, less defined more ephemeral things such as egg yolks, transparent fabric, delicate, fury or hairy things remain something of a bother to draw, in the sense I don’t particularly enjoy it and they often don’t look ‘as well drawn’ in my opinion. Intent, here is important, as one could say, what am I trying to achieve in my drawing? Am I trying for realism? Self expression? What exactly is it I am trying to do and if it isn’t realism then does it matter if the egg doesn’t ‘look’ like an egg? There are some examples within my drawings of animals such as birds and rodents (which fit into the feathered, soft and hairy category of not being enjoyable to draw) which have turned out to be quite well observed and sensitive. Does this mean they are good drawings? And, is this more important than drawing to fulfil or communicate my own personal need to draw for the sake of self expression. Ahhhhh!

I offer, what is hopefully an elegant solution. This year, I aim to draw more freely, more sketchily and loosely so that my drawings become more expressive and are therefore more representative of how I feel in response to what I am drawing than a mere illustration of it. When possible I aim to draw more from ‘life’ or from my imagination (woah, could be disturbing!) taking inspiration from events, places, things and or books. Whilst in Venice I saw the sketchbook drawings of artist, Jose Antonio Suarez Londono who drew a page-a-day based on the written diary of Franz Kafka. The resulting drawings were imaginative, elegant, in some cases surreal but above-all incredibly poignant and with a meaning and relevance that my drawings were some-what lacking. I’m hoping that by referring to text, quotes from the surplus of books I read I can use them as a source of inspiration for creating drawings/images. Occasionally I may retreat back to familiar, comforting ways of working but even in that familiarity I believe there is still room for me to improve.

  Anyway, I appreciate this may all be beginning to become incredibly self-reflective and boring for any of you reading this so I’ll end it there.  I needed to have this conversation with the internal monologue inside my head so as to reflect and prepare myself for the exciting new challenge I’ve set myself for 2014. Thanks for following its progress with me.

You will be able to pass your own critique, take delight or perhaps be thoroughly disturbed by my drawings as I will be creating a sort-of PowerPoint animation of them all to post here on the blog in the imminent future.

 

On a magic carpet ride

Rudolf Stingel at Palazzo Grassi

Picture the scene. You've been in Venice for three days, seen hundreds of art works as part of the Biennale ranging everything from flayed rats sewn together to mountains of rubble and perhaps more shockingly of all, even the occasional painting; you've walked miles through floods, over bridges, under bridges, over and under again, eaten olives (even though you know you don't like them) and cheese and bread and ham for breakfast, noon and dinner, drunk profuse amounts of prosecco willingly (it was hardly a chore) and all the while wandering with purpose in search of your next art fix.

Then you arrive at the Palazzo Grassi...  

If life were a movie (in my head it could well be) then about now there'd be some kind of musical cue, something classical or brassy, and there'd be an arial shot of the protagonist (you) as you stepped unknowingly onto the Prussian/Oriental red carpeted floor inside the central atrium of the Palazzo Grassi only to look up, cue panning shot, as your eyes follow upwards three layers of balconies, that same red carpet wrapped floor to wall all the way up and up til you reached the ceiling. Dramatic pause for sense of awe.

... 



Ahem, but surely something as mundane as a wall-to-floor carpeted interior of a seventeenth century building couldn't possibly fail to be exciting no matter how you analyse it afterwards....? It was such a strange sight to come across, that when you were actually stood there amongst it all none of it felt like it was actually real, hence my need to provide the prior background context to what was already a heightened, magical experience of just being in Venice itself. There was a sort-of breathtaking absurdity to having this entire space given to the work of one artist when relatively each floor was pretty much the same as the one that proceeded it, the same red carpet (approx. 5,000 square metres of it!) covering floor/walls with a single silver monochromatic painting by the artist in each room (more on that later). Normally Palazzo Grassi is a contemporary gallery filled with hundreds of singular artworks at one time; you now had the entire space dedicated solely to the work of one artist. That artist is, Rudolf Stingel somewhat of a local, originally from Merano, Italy (but works mostly from New York) and whose work explores how art can intervene with ‘the exhibition space’/context it is shown in by displaying his paintings in environments that respond to/unsettle that space. In turn it attempts to answer how we view or perceive paintings based on their context and how an environment, its materials, textures, colours, patterns, climate and how does that alter how a painting is created/act of creation.

The literal definition of the Persian word for carpet means, ‘to spread’ which has a wonderful irony in this installation due to the sheer amount of carpet it uses and as a result it certainly makes you more aware of the building itself, the architecture (the geometry in the carpet pattern echoing shapes within the building's design), its height, layout, scale, period features (the ceiling has been left untouched) and amplifies the gallery's sense of grandeur with its new found luxurious, red carpet coating that both protects the building from its inhabitants and vice versa. Carpeting naturally also acts as a way of slowing you down, in the way that carpeted surfaces generate more friction and both literally slow us down as well as creating a softer, more homely sense of ease.  The smell of it and texture that envelops you as you walk around the rooms and acts as both an insulator and sort-of ‘suffocator’ at the same time, I wasn’t sure whether I felt comforted or trapped by being surrounded in so much carpet! The acoustics, or lack of, were interesting too and everything became quite soundless and muffled. It all made me increasingly aware of the archetypal gallery as a context for viewing art and how we are distracted by the noise of our feet, the coldness of the rooms, the familiarity of the whiteness of the walls and how it can sometimes mean you don’t really ‘see’ the art work on the walls properly at all. On saying that, the paintings that we were now in a supposedly more slow and aware state-of-mind to view, were in fact pretty average. On the first floor were large abstracts whose surfaces were silver monochrome textured with prints and traces of the pattern present in the red carpet. I thought these were actually more successful than the paintings on the upper floors and had some subtly intriguing surfaces. On the other floors they were, on the whole, smaller (see bottom picture) depicting silver monochrome photorealistic portraits of the artist’s friend, Franz West and portraits of sculptures (yes, you read that correctly, portraits of sculptures like a cherub or saints). These paintings are often hung solely in a massive room on their own and you couldn’t help to notice their silvery glow standing out against the redness of the carpeted walls but I just couldn’t really figure out why they were there, why the things depicted in them were chosen, it seemed a little too random for my liking. One possible solution may lie in the curating of these works which does, however, suggest a journey from abstraction to the figurative but also the inner journey that the viewer undergoes as they unknowingly at first become part of the installation as well as viewing it. There is some theoretic rationale too that accompanies this idea (in a pamphlet on the work you’re handed at the start) referring to Freud’s study in Vienna with its oriental carpets on walls and floors as, I think, a rather tenuous link to ‘the feeling of containment and the sensory experience that we discover when entering this labyrinth guide us into the Ego, with its representations and illusions...’ Maybe (raises one eyebrow).

Perhaps the Freudian reference was taking affect and I was becoming increasingly paranoid and sceptical about this whole installation/work of art by simply not really and wholly trusting the intended interpretation that this was an artwork about the redefinition of the meaning of a painting and its perceptions because the crucial thing, the crucial part in that concept, ‘the paintings themselves’ was the one thing that was a bit cold, unimportant and fighting against its’ surroundings. If this was anything to go by then the artist is surely saying that 'redefining the meaning of a painting and its perceptions' lies within the context in which it is hung-in and not with the actual painting itself (am I repeating myself?). So why bother to paint at all or perhaps why bother to paint unless one paints for a particular space? Point indeed. I am beginning to be convinced that Stingel is an artist who is interested more in how we perceive the art we are looking at than the painting of the actual work itself, although often I thought the two went together?  I did admire how this whole installation quietly forced me to ponder and ‘got into my head’ with its befuddling of the senses, ‘Alice in Wonderland’ meets ‘Arabian nights’ style, where, up was no longer up and down was no longer down, smells, sounds and textures generated a contradictory magical and disturbing intimacy.  To some extent that sense of displacement and unfamiliarity is exactly the right mind-set to perceive a painting, as you are much more unaware of what to expect and more open to interpretation. Either that of course or this whole time I had actually accidently walked into a branch of Carpet World in the middle of Venice...!?

The 'bit pretentious' one

Alright, alright I’ll admit it. Takes one to know one, and when it comes to pretention I’m almost certain I’ll have sometimes been guilty of it, albeit most of the time unknowingly. In fact I can think of an artist who uses the negative quotes about his work from the public, such as ‘pretentious drivel’ as the titles for his next paintings. Ha, ha! Brilliant! And when it comes to being ‘a bit’ pretentious then nothing I saw during my time in Venice fitted as aptly as ‘Prima Materia’ at the Punta Della Dogana. This is by no means necessarily a derogatory opinion, as I aim to prove in this blog post, for whilst, yes, the work was inflated in its importance by its minimalist aesthetic and slick contemporary art gallery surroundings, it was those qualities that also made it a much more meaningful and subdued experience than that of the relentlessness of the Biennale.

Firstly, the gallery, Punta Della Dogana, itself is spectacular (hopefully some of my photos below will give you a sense of the scale/openness of the building). There are relatively few ‘new’ buildings in Venice (part of its appeal) which means architects have had to come up with creative solutions to restore and redesign the interiors of many buildings so they can continue to have new purpose/function. Punta Della Dogana was the city’s former customs house in the 15^th Century, now the two floored, triangular building is a brick walled, concrete floored and oak beamed ‘temple’ to contemporary arts, transformed by architect, Tadao Ando from the François Pinault Foundation in 2006. Stylistically, it all reminded me a bit of the Saatchi Gallery back in London, housing one extremely wealthy man's art collection of large and ambitious contemporary art works by some ‘big’ art names such as Bridget Riley, Bruce Nauman and Piero Manzoni as well as plenty of new and emerging ones.

Visiting the Biennale for two days straight before visiting the Punta Della Dogana had left me with a major art hangover. I’d binged on non-stop art in the day and the cheap local prosecco by night, now at day three my tolerance and susceptibility to the prospect of viewing yet more art were slowly beginning to wane. A deep sense of art fatigue was setting-in and who could blame me? The only plausible cure was also the one that came most naturally and that was to just keep going.

The problem with this of course was that the sudden change in ‘art viewing pace’ I was met with at the sparser Punta Della Dogana which came as a shock to the system but also as a welcoming one as I was forced to return to the discipline of having to make an effort to read/understand when viewing the works in the exhibition.

A brief digression: In the catalogue of the ‘Bloomberg New Contemporaries’ 2013 exhibition Ryan Gander writes of the work selected in this year’s exhibition, ‘there are things that mean things and things that look like they mean things’. How true a statement of most contemporary art today, I found myself thinking and I particularly like that statement because it also summaries how I feel about the work in ‘Prima Materia’. The theme, ‘Prima Materia’ is broad in its possibilities and attempts to cover,

‘...the prima materia—essence, everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere—takes many forms... separate from, or encompassing, earth, air, fire, and water; or the formless base of all matter; containing the soul and the body, the sun and the moon; love and light, imagination and consciousness; or urine, blood, or dirt. It was searched for in the darkest soil of the forest, and inside the body. It is the primal chaos that exists before time and all possibilities of the future...in science, perhaps the dark matter that makes up most of our universe. The definitions of this medium that carries all of the elements are diverse by cultural perspective or personal identity.’

I often think though that anything that tries to be ‘everything’ ultimately ends up in being about nothing. Is that a fair statement to make, so is this an exhibition about everything and yet nothing? No wonder I found it a bit pretentious. Such is the paradox of art with similar examples of art having to render itself useless in order for it to be seen as useful. It’s damned confusing if you think about it too much in the same way that over analysis of the bible ends up highlighting all the ways in which it contradicts itself. Then again maybe there is no other way to curate contemporary art as there are so many plausible meanings/interpretations to a piece of work, making the art of curating an art of editing and providing an overall framework  that influences how we view a given piece of work in the context of a particular themed exhibition or space. Thus one piece of work can be shown in many different themed exhibitions taking on different interpretation each time it is shown.

 The work in ‘Prima Materia’ has the feeling of being familiar, as though I’ve seen some of the work before but in different exhibitions. One of the opening rooms (pictured above) features several works by artists from the Japanese, Mona-ha (never heard of it until now) and Italian, Arte Povera movements. A fairly minimalist looking array of sculptures whereby often philosophically large concepts to do with phenomena, the environment and/or existentialism are re-imagined into their most simplistic/essential visual form. The important distinction that I have always struggled to achieve in my own work is that it is not necessarily the aim of art to illustrate these concepts as it is to re-present, explore or communicate them. There's a difference, that has something to do with intention and possibly integrity, that illustrating is  more of a 'presenting' and art is more of a 'figuring out'....I'm intrigued, so I speculate, answers on a postcard please! 

 Rocks are placed on pre-smashed sheets of glass (Lee Ufan’s ‘Relatum’) to symbolise the constant search for equilibrium in the physical world. Or in Susumu Koshimizu’s ‘Paper’ we see a paper cube with a stone placed inside which plays with the perception of heaviness and lightness. I’m nervous that I’m finding it difficult to write about this without sounding too sardonic, when I really don’t want to be because when I actually think about it, if someone were to ask you to represent the concept of ‘the light of human intelligence’, ‘infinite space’ or ‘equilibrium of the physical world’ with any materials/forms of your choosing how would you do it? It’s incredibly difficult but also as equally important to have these ideas presented visually as they are a much more accessible way into some of the ‘weighty’ concepts they deal with.

I counted over 28 artists exhibiting in this exhibition demonstrating, as you would expect, a wide range of mediums including painting, installation, sculpture, film and light. It was fantastic to see the work in this gallery quietly, away from the busy crowds that plagued the Biennale and whilst I don’t feel the work was as good as some of the stuff I’d seen there, I did have more time to experience it. For example, the large painting pictured above, ‘The Land so rich in beauty’ by Zeng Fanzhi doesn’t do a lot for me, but it’s gutsy, ambitious and dynamic so despite not personally having ‘a liking’ for the colour palette or way it was painted I was still impressed at seeing it in the context of the gallery because it couldn’t fail but to generate a sense of awe for its sheer scale and sense of expression/conviction. James Lee Byars’ installation, ‘Byars is Elephant’ (pictured below) is another similar example, the ball of rope in the centre is actually made from hand-woven camel hair with golden lamé (fabric with woven threads of metal in, I later learnt) draped floor to ceiling. You’re guess is as good as mine as to what this is all about, I got as far as the knotted rope being a metaphor for the insoluble questions and riddles of human existence and maybe something about ritual a la the camel hair and ‘story of the weeping camel’ (maybe not related). The accompanying blurb mentions Byars’, ‘luxurious sculptures, works on paper and performances question the boundaries between art and life, and the importance of living intensely.’ Most people'd probably tell you that I live pretty intensely enough as it is without having had to experience a gold lined room with a ball of camel hair in it and I've never seen this as a particularly important condition of living either until now so maybe there's some wisdom to be had in this semi-poetic, theatrical-looking installation after all.

At the opposite end of the interpretation scale of art reading would be Adel Abdessemed’s ‘Décor’ where four life-sized sculptures of Christ after the Crucifixion hang in a row on the gallery wall. They are made of razor wire which straight away transforms the meaning of Christ as, traditionally a symbol of faith/love into one of danger. Similarly the plurality of having four depictions of ‘one’ God is turning preconceptions of representations of Christ. It is brilliantly made, but too obvious for my liking.

When it came to the painting in this exhibition there was quite a variety, from the painterly, almost Futurist style abstraction of Mark Grotjahn, to the more controlled Op Art of Bridget Riley and satirical/political imagery of Lynn Foulkes, but for me however, the two painters that stood out were Marlene Dumas (pictured above) and Roman Opalka (pictured two images below). It’s debatable whether Opalka is a painter or more of a conceptual artist and is probably somewhere in-between, but more of that later. I had heard of Marlene Dumas and seen images of her work on many occasions but until now had never before seen any of her work in person. Pictured above, is ‘Peter O’Toole as Lawrence of Arabia’, not the best painting out of the series of five/six displayed but it’s the only one I photographed for some reason. I’d describe Dumas as a real painters’ painter, like Bacon or Saville you can see, almost feel, the brushstrokes, the layers, the wash upon wash which creates a ghostly-like transparency, window or veil over the image. This 'veil' beckons you to look closely and ponder on the vacant, often expressionless faces of the figures depicted in her paintings, the figures and their stories often disguised by this quiet sense of mystery.

 The mystery apparent in Opalka’s paintings reveals itself more simplistically and upon first glancing upon his canvases you’d easily be forgiven for thinking they were left blank or painted white. It is only on closer inspection that one sees thousands upon thousands of numbers painted systematically upon the canvas’ surface. It is quite stunning and a real testament to human endurance and patience, or at least this one artist’s endurance, which he started in 1965 in an attempt to paint 1 to infinity which he carried on everyday for the rest of his life until 2011. He also began to take photos of himself at the end of each day’s painting each image taking an increasingly lighter tone so eventually his image began to fade away into nothingness. This work feels beautiful and quite sad at the same time, as it is an act of obsession/meditation performed everyday but also quite futile as in no human lifetime could one ever actually paint every number up to infinity. Its pointlessness is admirable which sort of gives it ‘a point’ after all.

Another work that felt similarly ‘zen-like’ was Roni Horn’s ‘Well and Truly’ (pictured above) where ‘water is depicted as solid in the form of ten cast-glass blocks in different shades of blue, blue-green, grey and white’. It was the perfect morning to come across this work, the gallery was quiet and the sun was shining right on top of each of the glass blocks creating a shimmer and sheen on the glass so that it really did appear as though it was liquid. The colour of each block glowed and radiated subtly on the grey concrete floor of the gallery and I wouldn’t have thought much more of it unless I hadn’t read it was by Roni Horn and the title of the work, ‘Well and Truly’. The phrase’s primary meaning is contradicted by the connotation of well (as in a water well) being associated with water which acts as a symbol of changeability, flow and uncertainty. “Watching the water,” says the artist, “I am stricken with vertigo of meaning. Water is the final conjugation: an infinity of forms, relations and contents.” Once again it strikes me that this is another work sort-of about ‘nothing’ in what has been a morning of serene minimalism and profound, metaphysical anomalies.

Phew! And this was just the start of my day! I'd still stand by my comment of it all being a bit pretentious. The act of viewing art, I think, should be an internal conversation between the viewer and the art work, effort is required on both sides in order for work to convey meaning and in turn the viewer (who already brings their own history, experiences, 'baggage' to the conversation) responding/taking time to experience the work. In other words, it would be impossible to have to think about all the work in this exhibition in the amount of depth each individual piece of work demanded. I'm as fickle as anyone else and sometimes there are just some pieces of work you don't feel like 'talking to' or even worse that you feel intimidated by because you 'can't speak the language' but confusing metaphors aside, you are more often than not rewarded for making the effort of trying to understand a work art than not bothering at all (as I hope some of my observations in this post showed...). On the whole I'm often more surprised and learn more from the art I 'don't like' or find difficult than the stuff I enjoy. Who ever knew that conceptualism could generate so much conundrum?

If this hasn't been quite enough pretention for you and you happen to be in Venice then why not check out 'Prima Materia' at Punta Della Dogana until the 31st December! 

http://www.palazzograssi.it/en/exhibitions/prima-material

Controller of the Universe

 Flicking through the 2013 Venice Biennale catalogue I came across this, 'Controller of the Universe' by Damian Ortega. Unfortunately this work didn't actually feature in this year's Biennale, an outdoor landscaped, site-specific piece called 'Communications System' was exhibited instead. So despite not coming across any of the artist's works in Venice I'm still very excited to discover the specific piece of work pictured above and wanted to briefly give it a mention. It reminds me of Cornelia Parker's exploded shed but with tools! 'Controller of the Universe', (taking the title for the moment out of the mix and looking at the work visually) makes me think about the 'Big Bang' which gives birth to a string of associations leading from the Big Bang, creation of the world/mankind to man's origins through tool use, making, evolution, production, industry etc. etc. And without having actually experienced/seen the work I'd hazard a guess that it has a feeling of being sort-of playfully amusing but also slightly threatening in the sense that the tools are 'coming out at you' in an explosion. If I include the title, I'd probably question who is the 'controller' referred to in the title, is it us, the makers of tools? Did we create this explosion (which could act as a scene of both creation and/or destruction)? Who wields the tools in society and are they the ones in control (and what is it they are in control of?) And is the person who uses the tools often the person in control? Suddenly it all feels as though it could begin to get very political. Maybe that's what Ortega intended?   

Described as a de-assemblage artist, Ortega creates suspended sculptures using everyday /found objects from pick-axes to bricks and tortillas. Sometimes he deconstructs the objects to expose their inner components, as he did with his 2003 entry to the Biennale, taking apart and reassembling a suspended Volkswagen Beetle. The resulting work looked a bit like an Air-fix kit or mechanic's manual and offered a new way of seeing the familiar mass-produced car as well as commenting on its production that is now 'en masse' in Ortega's native Mexico (alternatively, this work has been more succinctly described as an example of 'how regional culture affects commodity consumption'). Even more exciting to learn Ortega was taught by artist, Gabriel Orozco and whose peers include Francis Alys, (all also working/living in Mexico). 'Hmmmmm,' I think, 'its all beginning to make sense'. There are connections between Orozco's work and Ortega's, in their use of commonplace materials, wit and political themes. Although I undoubtedly need to and want to look into this in a lot more detail.

Watch this space!