18
Apr
2006
On a white pedestal sits a ring of smaller eggs encircling a much larger egg. Their surfaces are covered with painting that is precise and utilizes geometric patterns, dots, and leaf/sprout motifs with a color sensibility reminiscent of old wrapping paper. All of the painted eggs juxtapose the "perfection" found in a natural form with the flaws inherent in human mark-making. These groupings of eggs, by Annie Stone, are just one of many conceptually based pieces to be found in Song for ... , the latest show curated by local artist Pete Schulte.
Song for ... , which runs through April 28 in St. Ambrose University's Catich Gallery (in the Galvin Fine Arts Center), is a thoughtful collection of simple and eloquent pieces by six regional artists. It is important to note the distinction between something simple (as in distilled, refined, concise, and not complex) versus easy (which connotes quick, cheap, and lack of skill) to understand how these pieces begin to establish a low-key conversation among themselves and with the viewer. Their uniform simplicity allows each work the same level of visual importance.
The basis for the show is art objects rooted in the conceptual. Schulte discusses in his curator's statement that the Conceptual Art movement of the 1960s questioned the validity of the "art object" (be it a painting, a sculpture, or whatever) and established that the concept or idea was of utmost importance.
While Schulte defends the position that the idea itself can constitute the work, he also adds: "I rejoice in the fact the artists merely utilized the notion of conceptual art as a cornerstone on which to build engrossing works."
While that might seem somewhat contradictory for someone who champions the conceptual, it is really the wisdom of experience speaking. Artwork that is exclusively visual or exclusively conceptual is akin to a quick buzz from empty sugar calories. The artwork that is truly celebrated is both visual and conceptual, because the two have been made inseparable. Song for ... is a showcase of works that have done just that.
On the wall near the eggs are several of Stone's gouache-on-paper variations on her stratified bands of patterns, shapes, and colors. While these are also fascinating to look at, they lose some of their conceptual clarity when not paired with the egg. Of course, the payoff comes when you realize that neither eggs nor drawings are perfect. Perfection exists only in the realm of the mind, not in any physical reality.
Jeremy Boyle's three-panel fiberglass piece Pink Noise, White Noise, Blue Noise demonstrates again that Boyle has a profound gift for describing the visual beauty of sound. In some of the literature that accompanies the show, Boyle tells us that white noise is an equal amount of every frequency, which is similar to visual white, composed of all color wavelengths being reflected back. Blue noise and pink noise are modifications of white noise but have no actual correlation to visual pink or visual blue.
Boyle presents us with three small cross-section blocks that illustrate the wave of each of these "noises." Each block looks like a section of the ripple of a raindrop hitting the placid surface of a pond. The blocks are simple and concise and hauntingly eloquent in how they physically describe each wavelength. Both Schulte and Boyle make reference to potential gender-based connections due to the culturally assigned gender values to blue (boys) and pink (girls). But these gender concepts seem assigned rather than inherent. The three "noises," and the shadows they cast on the wall, are plenty to savor on their own.
There is an interesting paradox to be found in Scott Short's work. The basis for his images is finding the black-and-white equivalent for a color. For his piece Untitled (Yellow), Short had a photocopier "translate" a sheet of yellow construction paper into black and white.
What he is capitalizing on is how "poorly" a black-and-white copier turns a patch of color into a bunch of specks and splotches. Short then enlarges the resulting image and painstakingly transcribes it onto canvas with paint. The result is an amazing transformation from what used to be an 8½-by-11 nuisance into a larger and outright stunning painting.
The paradox lies in Short's process, where his "vision" is to utilize the photocopier's reproducing qualities to make his image, which ultimately causes him to be subservient to the "vision" of the photocopier by reproducing its image.
While Schulte organized a show that successfully places emphasis on the questions that the artwork can generate within the viewer, they are not necessarily specific questions or specific answers. For Schulte, the act of questioning is important.
Kathryn Anderson's work, on display through May 17 in Galvin's Morrissey Gallery, also poses and generates questions, but is organized to try to provide some answers. Doppelgangers one through six present an examination of "containers" and the concept of "containing" spread throughout the course of lifetime. Each individual display case in the gallery presents us with a container (usually on a pedestal on the left side of the case) and its doppelganger or double. This format becomes a helpful standardized entry point for trying to read/decipher the relationship between the two.
In Doppelganger Zwei (At the Center of the Milky Way), the doppelganger pairing is a Ukrainian milk can and three bins of "potted" plant-like constructions. The plants are a blend of brown and brittle milkweed stalks and pods with various prints on paper erupting from them. Further scrutiny of the prints reveals that they have images of breasts, a "generic" cow, and several different types of light bulbs. The connection is things that contain and deliver milk.
Where Anderson's wit really starts to shine is in her playful use of words and images. The light bulbs are breast-shaped, but do not have the function of breasts. Yet there is a noteworthy connection beyond the physical similarities when you consider the life-giving aspects of both light and breasts. The milk can and the milkweed pods both contain the word "milk" as well as containing their own type of milk.
The pairing in Doppelganger Funf is several brown jugs each containing different store-bought ingredients, which all happen to be white (rock salt, marshmallows, flour, etc.) matched with a gridded panel containing fragments of past prints from the artist, old watches, baking pans (several with large safety-orange dots in them), and specimen-like moths and a butterfly. The overriding connection is the passage of time and a life starting to wind down, but the contents of the jugs and the orange dots - which serve as more of a visual continuity device - confuse the issue and don't reinforce the marking of time.
Doppelganger Zwei is one of the most successful panels, because it narrows its focus to essentially one motif but still expands its parameters through humor and physical comparisons. The increasing complexity in later panels makes the work too broad and oftentimes too oblique to fully decipher.
The risk with conceptual work is that once you understand the concept, there might not be anything else to bring you back. Robert Hughes, a noted art critic, would refer to this as conceptually having "impact" but not "resonance." Both Schulte and Anderson seem mindfully aware of the shortcomings of something that is solely concept, as both have created shows that are rich in visuals as well as ideas.
Song for ... , which runs through April 28 in St. Ambrose University's Catich Gallery (in the Galvin Fine Arts Center), is a thoughtful collection of simple and eloquent pieces by six regional artists. It is important to note the distinction between something simple (as in distilled, refined, concise, and not complex) versus easy (which connotes quick, cheap, and lack of skill) to understand how these pieces begin to establish a low-key conversation among themselves and with the viewer. Their uniform simplicity allows each work the same level of visual importance.
The basis for the show is art objects rooted in the conceptual. Schulte discusses in his curator's statement that the Conceptual Art movement of the 1960s questioned the validity of the "art object" (be it a painting, a sculpture, or whatever) and established that the concept or idea was of utmost importance.
While Schulte defends the position that the idea itself can constitute the work, he also adds: "I rejoice in the fact the artists merely utilized the notion of conceptual art as a cornerstone on which to build engrossing works."
While that might seem somewhat contradictory for someone who champions the conceptual, it is really the wisdom of experience speaking. Artwork that is exclusively visual or exclusively conceptual is akin to a quick buzz from empty sugar calories. The artwork that is truly celebrated is both visual and conceptual, because the two have been made inseparable. Song for ... is a showcase of works that have done just that.
On the wall near the eggs are several of Stone's gouache-on-paper variations on her stratified bands of patterns, shapes, and colors. While these are also fascinating to look at, they lose some of their conceptual clarity when not paired with the egg. Of course, the payoff comes when you realize that neither eggs nor drawings are perfect. Perfection exists only in the realm of the mind, not in any physical reality.
Jeremy Boyle's three-panel fiberglass piece Pink Noise, White Noise, Blue Noise demonstrates again that Boyle has a profound gift for describing the visual beauty of sound. In some of the literature that accompanies the show, Boyle tells us that white noise is an equal amount of every frequency, which is similar to visual white, composed of all color wavelengths being reflected back. Blue noise and pink noise are modifications of white noise but have no actual correlation to visual pink or visual blue.
Boyle presents us with three small cross-section blocks that illustrate the wave of each of these "noises." Each block looks like a section of the ripple of a raindrop hitting the placid surface of a pond. The blocks are simple and concise and hauntingly eloquent in how they physically describe each wavelength. Both Schulte and Boyle make reference to potential gender-based connections due to the culturally assigned gender values to blue (boys) and pink (girls). But these gender concepts seem assigned rather than inherent. The three "noises," and the shadows they cast on the wall, are plenty to savor on their own.
There is an interesting paradox to be found in Scott Short's work. The basis for his images is finding the black-and-white equivalent for a color. For his piece Untitled (Yellow), Short had a photocopier "translate" a sheet of yellow construction paper into black and white.
What he is capitalizing on is how "poorly" a black-and-white copier turns a patch of color into a bunch of specks and splotches. Short then enlarges the resulting image and painstakingly transcribes it onto canvas with paint. The result is an amazing transformation from what used to be an 8½-by-11 nuisance into a larger and outright stunning painting.
The paradox lies in Short's process, where his "vision" is to utilize the photocopier's reproducing qualities to make his image, which ultimately causes him to be subservient to the "vision" of the photocopier by reproducing its image.
While Schulte organized a show that successfully places emphasis on the questions that the artwork can generate within the viewer, they are not necessarily specific questions or specific answers. For Schulte, the act of questioning is important.
Kathryn Anderson's work, on display through May 17 in Galvin's Morrissey Gallery, also poses and generates questions, but is organized to try to provide some answers. Doppelgangers one through six present an examination of "containers" and the concept of "containing" spread throughout the course of lifetime. Each individual display case in the gallery presents us with a container (usually on a pedestal on the left side of the case) and its doppelganger or double. This format becomes a helpful standardized entry point for trying to read/decipher the relationship between the two.
In Doppelganger Zwei (At the Center of the Milky Way), the doppelganger pairing is a Ukrainian milk can and three bins of "potted" plant-like constructions. The plants are a blend of brown and brittle milkweed stalks and pods with various prints on paper erupting from them. Further scrutiny of the prints reveals that they have images of breasts, a "generic" cow, and several different types of light bulbs. The connection is things that contain and deliver milk.
Where Anderson's wit really starts to shine is in her playful use of words and images. The light bulbs are breast-shaped, but do not have the function of breasts. Yet there is a noteworthy connection beyond the physical similarities when you consider the life-giving aspects of both light and breasts. The milk can and the milkweed pods both contain the word "milk" as well as containing their own type of milk.
The pairing in Doppelganger Funf is several brown jugs each containing different store-bought ingredients, which all happen to be white (rock salt, marshmallows, flour, etc.) matched with a gridded panel containing fragments of past prints from the artist, old watches, baking pans (several with large safety-orange dots in them), and specimen-like moths and a butterfly. The overriding connection is the passage of time and a life starting to wind down, but the contents of the jugs and the orange dots - which serve as more of a visual continuity device - confuse the issue and don't reinforce the marking of time.
Doppelganger Zwei is one of the most successful panels, because it narrows its focus to essentially one motif but still expands its parameters through humor and physical comparisons. The increasing complexity in later panels makes the work too broad and oftentimes too oblique to fully decipher.
The risk with conceptual work is that once you understand the concept, there might not be anything else to bring you back. Robert Hughes, a noted art critic, would refer to this as conceptually having "impact" but not "resonance." Both Schulte and Anderson seem mindfully aware of the shortcomings of something that is solely concept, as both have created shows that are rich in visuals as well as ideas.
