I can't believe it's been two months since the last time I spouted my art nonsense all over the internet. There's been loads to write about! New exhibtions are popping up everywhere, and the Liverpool Biennial is on! Which is only the UK's best biennial!
It's also the Manchester Weekender, this weekend. I'm afraid I'll have to link you to a much better Arts blog than mine for news of that, as I can't be bothered paraphrasing a load of dates and times for no one's benefit.
Because you're worth it
Thursday 30 September 2010
Tuesday 27 July 2010
A shock from the mains.
I'm sorry but I have no excuse for an absence of this length. It's not that there hasn't been any art to review, as there has. I went to see it, made copious notes, and never turned it into an article. I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me, maybe we can give things another chance between us?
I hope so.
Groveling aside, there are a couple of good exhibitions on at the Whitworth at the moment. Intuition, is a fascinating, if slightly troubling exhibition of outsider art from the Musgrave Kinley Outsider Art Collection. I went to see it a few weeks ago and, well, had some personal issues with the work, and the exhibition. After this I spoke with my friends, who were very excited by the work on show. This made go back and, reappraise is the wrong word, but I went back and looked harder. I know I still have some strong opinions on outsider art, that run contrary to my peers, but I'm not sure what it is I'm basing them on. I made some notes and trying to decipher my scrawl isn't far from how I felt in the actual exhibition. Maybe I was looking "wrong", by attempting to "read" this work.
One of my thoughts on leaving the exhibition is how Outsider Art seems to be a truly modern phenomenon, in the art historical sense of that term. The work here is selected by an institution, the Musgrave Kinley Outsider Art Collection, and is placed in an art gallery, where it becomes part of the art institution of galleries, dealers and collectors. Something unintelligible to the "man in the street" becomes a feted object and symbol of intense creativity, in much the same way that abstract expressionism, and other radical art movements were. Outsider art couldn't exist without the myth of the creative genius, working alone and unanswerable to the world. The work of Henry Darger or Madge Gill exactly fits this bill.
Outsider art is presented in a similar way to the artifacts produced by foreign cultures. But instead of returning from uncharted geographic territory with trinkets and evidence of different ways of life, totems of different religions, primitive tools, etc., this work is the product of delving into unknown psychological landscapes and bringing back proof of their existence.
The work is presented without the back story of it’s creator, which has the effect of leveling the work, and allowing one to approach it without prejudice. For example, knowing that the artist had a religious intention when making something can colour ones own interpretation of it. With our own cultural markers stripped away we are forced into reacting to it. The information was provided to us in the form a little booklet, which meant you could pick and choose which artists you read about, or ignore it completely. It did have the effect of making the spectator an active participant in the exhibition, as along with the subdued lighting, having to refer to a little missal-like text to make sense of what was in front of you made the experience akin to that of a tourist in a foreign religious site. Very apt considering the work on display.
The very existence of Outsider Art and the unbridled creativity it represents and my inability to understand it, is probably reflected in my turgid and jejune writing when faced with the subject. I suppose my difficulty lies with the labeling this as Outsider Art, not with the artists or the artwork itself, though I’m not sure why. This is a fascinating glimpse into another world, which has stuck with me and made me rethink many of my preconceptions, surely the mark of an excellent and relevant exhibition.
Intuition, is at the Whitworth gallery until January 2011.
I hope so.
Groveling aside, there are a couple of good exhibitions on at the Whitworth at the moment. Intuition, is a fascinating, if slightly troubling exhibition of outsider art from the Musgrave Kinley Outsider Art Collection. I went to see it a few weeks ago and, well, had some personal issues with the work, and the exhibition. After this I spoke with my friends, who were very excited by the work on show. This made go back and, reappraise is the wrong word, but I went back and looked harder. I know I still have some strong opinions on outsider art, that run contrary to my peers, but I'm not sure what it is I'm basing them on. I made some notes and trying to decipher my scrawl isn't far from how I felt in the actual exhibition. Maybe I was looking "wrong", by attempting to "read" this work.
One of my thoughts on leaving the exhibition is how Outsider Art seems to be a truly modern phenomenon, in the art historical sense of that term. The work here is selected by an institution, the Musgrave Kinley Outsider Art Collection, and is placed in an art gallery, where it becomes part of the art institution of galleries, dealers and collectors. Something unintelligible to the "man in the street" becomes a feted object and symbol of intense creativity, in much the same way that abstract expressionism, and other radical art movements were. Outsider art couldn't exist without the myth of the creative genius, working alone and unanswerable to the world. The work of Henry Darger or Madge Gill exactly fits this bill.
Outsider art is presented in a similar way to the artifacts produced by foreign cultures. But instead of returning from uncharted geographic territory with trinkets and evidence of different ways of life, totems of different religions, primitive tools, etc., this work is the product of delving into unknown psychological landscapes and bringing back proof of their existence.
The work is presented without the back story of it’s creator, which has the effect of leveling the work, and allowing one to approach it without prejudice. For example, knowing that the artist had a religious intention when making something can colour ones own interpretation of it. With our own cultural markers stripped away we are forced into reacting to it. The information was provided to us in the form a little booklet, which meant you could pick and choose which artists you read about, or ignore it completely. It did have the effect of making the spectator an active participant in the exhibition, as along with the subdued lighting, having to refer to a little missal-like text to make sense of what was in front of you made the experience akin to that of a tourist in a foreign religious site. Very apt considering the work on display.
The very existence of Outsider Art and the unbridled creativity it represents and my inability to understand it, is probably reflected in my turgid and jejune writing when faced with the subject. I suppose my difficulty lies with the labeling this as Outsider Art, not with the artists or the artwork itself, though I’m not sure why. This is a fascinating glimpse into another world, which has stuck with me and made me rethink many of my preconceptions, surely the mark of an excellent and relevant exhibition.
Intuition, is at the Whitworth gallery until January 2011.
Tuesday 13 April 2010
Art School Redux
Hey There! I know this blog is supposed to feature my musings on art and such, but I’m going to interrupt this with a little except from my personal life. I’ve recenty begun a life drawing class at my local college, which incidentally is where I happen to work. It’s also happens to be the most artistic thing I’ve done in months, ever since the TAA debacle, in which I thoroughly embarrassed myself by making shite art. Anywho, it was immensely enjoyable, despite my limited scrawling ability and my (admittedly meagre) skills blunted by my own indifference. But yeah I enjoyed it, and reflected back on how few opportunities to do life drawing at Universtiy. The class was 2 hours and it really flew by. Our model (Devina) also suggested we partake in Tunick’s project in Salford, which I mentioned last month. Ha.
So it felt like I was back at art school for the evening which brought back memories, and when I got home I tuned into Goldsmiths: But Is It Art? On BBC4 which brought back even more memories, as we watched a likeable group of M.A. students prepare for their degree show. I actually applied to study Fine Art at Goldsmiths, back in the day, and sadly didn’t get in, so the corridors and rooms were ever so slightly familiar. Even more familiar was the general goldsmiths experience that pretty much mirrored my own. I watched in fond remembrance as the students rollered the walls white, suffered the indignity of an uninterested crit-group, translated what their tutors said into advice and generally panicked about life after art school. The show wasn’t nearly as confrontational as it’s title suggested, offering very little in the way of opinions on the artists or their artwork, allowing them to explain themselves, for better or for worse. Some of the work was good, and some was confused, and some of it was just rubbish. Which is pretty much any degree show experience. The program was backed with a nice relaxing soundtrack, consisting of soft piano and post rock melodies. It doesn’t appear to be available on the iplayer, so you’ll have to actually tune in next week for the next part.
Speaking of Art school again, one of my tutors from Manchester Met, David Osbaldeston, has an opening on Thursday night at Castlefield gallery, Out of Time (The Light of Day / The Action of the Play). I’ve not seen his work in ages, but the billboard he had in Matt’s gallery a few years back (Your answer is mine, 2006) was really quite superb, and played with the representation of information and opinion, and the way it is presented. He was also an excellent tutor so you should go and check it out!
Oh wait hang on, that Goldsmith’s thing should be repeated on Sunday at 10PM on BBC4.
Links;
http://www.castlefieldgallery.co.uk/Default.asp?eKey=333&eP=1
Saturday 13 March 2010
Hot Naked Lowry Action
The American artist Spencer Tunick is coming to town to help the Lowry celebrate it’s 10th birthday. I’m actually surprised the Lowry is this old to be honest; to me it feels paradoxically younger and older than this, having very quickly gained a foothold in the cultural make-up of the city. It has already outlived the Urbis, which is strange considering The Lowry’s remote (compared to Urbis’s central) location. This is down to the Lowry having a much more defined and clearer purpose than Urbis, showcasing theatre, comedy, live music, as well as modern and contemporary art and photography.
Tunick is renowned, literally world over, for these incredible pieces, in which large groups of naked volunteers pose in eerily still landscapes, usually in high profile, densely populated locations. The effect is to create a river of flesh, and to use the naked human body, for millennia a subject of art, as a material, with which to ‘paint’ on the landscape. The resulting photographs are calming, yet strangely troubling, and serenely raising questions about humans in relation to the landscape, as well as our individuality as human beings.
It is obvious that Spencer Tunick has been strongly influenced by film, as many of his pieces feel almost sci-fi in nature, and suggest our intrusion, interrupting some unknown narrative.
But for this latest project, he claims his inspiration is Salford’s most famous son, L.S Lowry. It will be interesting how this manifests itself in Tunick’s work. Lowry’s work is sometimes seen as a simple celebration of the disappeared industrial north. Lowry’s masses of humanity are shown as part of the landscape, participating in it and changed by it. As opposed to Tunick’s who stand arranged on it, jarring with our expectations for those surroundings. Although both artists examine the human relationship to the environment, they do so in almost diametrically opposite ways. Tunick dehumanises the volunteers in his photographs, presenting them as an anonymous smear of humanity spread across a landscape, while Lowry’s subjects retain it through engaging with their surroundings.
If I was being really cynical, and I am, I could say that Tunick’s work here is being co-opted as an advert for Salford and the quays regeneration (Mediacity is soon to be opening it’s doors), in the same way Vaseline used it to advertise their skincare products. Hopefully, this isn’t the case, The Lowry will be spurred on to doing more exciting and challenging exhibitions.
The Base, Sydney, 2010
The Lowry has done an excellent job of being an excellent platform for the arts, but has never truley stood out. I don’t know if this is because of its “out of town” location means it appeals to suburbanites with estate cars out for the day, or whether it’s focussing it’s attention elsewhere. This is to change though, as Salford joins a list of (only slightly) more glamourous locations such as Sydney, New York, Buenos Aires and, erm, Gateshead, to be made the backdrop of one of American artist Spencer Tunick’s stunning nude installations. Tunick is renowned, literally world over, for these incredible pieces, in which large groups of naked volunteers pose in eerily still landscapes, usually in high profile, densely populated locations. The effect is to create a river of flesh, and to use the naked human body, for millennia a subject of art, as a material, with which to ‘paint’ on the landscape. The resulting photographs are calming, yet strangely troubling, and serenely raising questions about humans in relation to the landscape, as well as our individuality as human beings.
It is obvious that Spencer Tunick has been strongly influenced by film, as many of his pieces feel almost sci-fi in nature, and suggest our intrusion, interrupting some unknown narrative.
But for this latest project, he claims his inspiration is Salford’s most famous son, L.S Lowry. It will be interesting how this manifests itself in Tunick’s work. Lowry’s work is sometimes seen as a simple celebration of the disappeared industrial north. Lowry’s masses of humanity are shown as part of the landscape, participating in it and changed by it. As opposed to Tunick’s who stand arranged on it, jarring with our expectations for those surroundings. Although both artists examine the human relationship to the environment, they do so in almost diametrically opposite ways. Tunick dehumanises the volunteers in his photographs, presenting them as an anonymous smear of humanity spread across a landscape, while Lowry’s subjects retain it through engaging with their surroundings.
Daisy Nook (1946)
The landscape Lowry painted has almost disappeared, so where is Tunick planning to arrange his nudes? The landscape around The Lowry itself is distinctly post-industrial; all mirrored buildings and improbable architecture, and not hugely different from many other urban locations he has used in the past. Tunicks work is at it it’s strongest when the fleshy human tones contrast strongly with their surroundings, so hopefully he’s got somewhere good in mind, and not just in front of The Lowry. If I was being really cynical, and I am, I could say that Tunick’s work here is being co-opted as an advert for Salford and the quays regeneration (Mediacity is soon to be opening it’s doors), in the same way Vaseline used it to advertise their skincare products. Hopefully, this isn’t the case, The Lowry will be spurred on to doing more exciting and challenging exhibitions.
Links for you...
http://thespencertunickexperience.org/oldindex.htm
http://www.thelowry.com/ The Lowry
Thursday 18 February 2010
Ron Mueck in the Artist's Room
Ron Mueck (b 1958) is a hyperrealist sculptor, who your mum has probably heard of. The painstakingly exquisite sculptures of naked humans in awkward poses are some of the most striking and symbolic pieces of contemporary art to emerge from Saatchi’s influential Sensation show. His piece Dead Dad (1996) made him a household name, and he went on to have his monumental piece Boy featured as part of the Millennium Dome.
Mueck’s work is striking partly due to the scale, and his work is ostentatiously all about size. You find yourself using fractions and scale to describe things in ways you never would normally. And this is exacerbated to great effect by the other striking feature of his work, the realism. The fleshy hues and individual hairs on his ½, 2x and even 10x human bodies are honest and masterly representations of physical and social forms.
Wild Man (2005), is easily the most impressive of the three pieces on display. A bearded and scraggly haired man is blown up to 3x times normal size and is perched, uneasily on a stool, his body tensed and a worried expression on his face. His eyes fixed on something, if you stand in the right place, just behind you. The tension in his body, his nakedness and the title of the piece creates an air of apprehension. His oversized and ungainly body makes the embarrassment and sense of being scrutinized he must be feeling evident in quite a comic way. The comparisons to Gulliver’s Travels are easy and lazy, so I’m going to make them. It also makes our role in assigning judgement to his situation transparent. By diminishing us physically this serves to diminish us morally too.
As Mueck’s work is about the body, about our unconscious movements and intimate moments, it is very easy for almost anyone to relate to. This a strength of the work, and allows for the scale to instantly transport the viewer to exactly where he wants them to be. There is no confusion, when you stand in front of Mask III (2005), you’re instantly thrown back into childhood, to looking up at the warm and kindly face of this black matriarch. Even if, like me, you never knew a kindly black woman as a child and never had this happen to you “for real”, Mueck can still put you back into that moment, whether it’s one from his past of one from your own. Except this moment is frozen, and you’ve got forever to ponder the enigmatic quirks of the soft expression on her giant face. The title suggests that this is one of many personas the artist as a person must take on, so while this may or may not relate to an actual event, Mueck acknowledges that at times he must be the embodiment of motherly warmth. Either way, we experience what he wants us to.
The smallest, and my favourite, is Spooning Couple (2005). In this piece, a miniature couple lie together, but apart. Their bodies “spooning” as if in bed together. You approach them in the same way you marvel at the detail in a newborn baby; their tiny toes and fingers, their hair, their eyebrows, all perfect. Yet their pose suggests something not quite right. They are comfortable enough to lie together semi-naked, but they do not face each other, their tired expressions show them lost in their own thoughts, and makes it clear that we a looking at a delicate and intimate moment. We become unwilling voyeurs, forced to evaluate our own relationships in light of this new perspective on the couple. We have to look down on them, making our emotions and feelings for one another feel childish and inconsequential. In the same way we know a baby will grow up to learn to control it’s impulses and relate to those around it, we feel that of our foetal couple. I felt a pang of guilt about the relationships in my own life, yet was hopeful for them and myself afterward.
These tiny, yet intimate moments which are easily forgotten, puts me in mind of the hit American sitcom Seinfeld. Ostentatiously a show about nothing, it drew attention to the small, everyday moments that made up our lives. This made it, conversely, a show about everything. In the very same way Mueck’s work does this, changing our relationship to a particular moment through his use of scale.
The three pieces in this show are all excellent examples of his work, and the video on show in the room next door gives an insight into the work that makes one of these sculptures (and shows you how each hair is individually sewn into the latex). Mueck is obviously a master of his craft, and a brilliant and exciting one at that.
This is an excellent, though small, exhibition, which I’d recommend going to see at least twice. Go on your own and with your friends (if you have any).
At Manchester Art gallery until Sunday 11th April 2010
Mueck’s work is striking partly due to the scale, and his work is ostentatiously all about size. You find yourself using fractions and scale to describe things in ways you never would normally. And this is exacerbated to great effect by the other striking feature of his work, the realism. The fleshy hues and individual hairs on his ½, 2x and even 10x human bodies are honest and masterly representations of physical and social forms.
Wild Man (2005), is easily the most impressive of the three pieces on display. A bearded and scraggly haired man is blown up to 3x times normal size and is perched, uneasily on a stool, his body tensed and a worried expression on his face. His eyes fixed on something, if you stand in the right place, just behind you. The tension in his body, his nakedness and the title of the piece creates an air of apprehension. His oversized and ungainly body makes the embarrassment and sense of being scrutinized he must be feeling evident in quite a comic way. The comparisons to Gulliver’s Travels are easy and lazy, so I’m going to make them. It also makes our role in assigning judgement to his situation transparent. By diminishing us physically this serves to diminish us morally too.
As Mueck’s work is about the body, about our unconscious movements and intimate moments, it is very easy for almost anyone to relate to. This a strength of the work, and allows for the scale to instantly transport the viewer to exactly where he wants them to be. There is no confusion, when you stand in front of Mask III (2005), you’re instantly thrown back into childhood, to looking up at the warm and kindly face of this black matriarch. Even if, like me, you never knew a kindly black woman as a child and never had this happen to you “for real”, Mueck can still put you back into that moment, whether it’s one from his past of one from your own. Except this moment is frozen, and you’ve got forever to ponder the enigmatic quirks of the soft expression on her giant face. The title suggests that this is one of many personas the artist as a person must take on, so while this may or may not relate to an actual event, Mueck acknowledges that at times he must be the embodiment of motherly warmth. Either way, we experience what he wants us to.
The smallest, and my favourite, is Spooning Couple (2005). In this piece, a miniature couple lie together, but apart. Their bodies “spooning” as if in bed together. You approach them in the same way you marvel at the detail in a newborn baby; their tiny toes and fingers, their hair, their eyebrows, all perfect. Yet their pose suggests something not quite right. They are comfortable enough to lie together semi-naked, but they do not face each other, their tired expressions show them lost in their own thoughts, and makes it clear that we a looking at a delicate and intimate moment. We become unwilling voyeurs, forced to evaluate our own relationships in light of this new perspective on the couple. We have to look down on them, making our emotions and feelings for one another feel childish and inconsequential. In the same way we know a baby will grow up to learn to control it’s impulses and relate to those around it, we feel that of our foetal couple. I felt a pang of guilt about the relationships in my own life, yet was hopeful for them and myself afterward.
These tiny, yet intimate moments which are easily forgotten, puts me in mind of the hit American sitcom Seinfeld. Ostentatiously a show about nothing, it drew attention to the small, everyday moments that made up our lives. This made it, conversely, a show about everything. In the very same way Mueck’s work does this, changing our relationship to a particular moment through his use of scale.
The three pieces in this show are all excellent examples of his work, and the video on show in the room next door gives an insight into the work that makes one of these sculptures (and shows you how each hair is individually sewn into the latex). Mueck is obviously a master of his craft, and a brilliant and exciting one at that.
This is an excellent, though small, exhibition, which I’d recommend going to see at least twice. Go on your own and with your friends (if you have any).
At Manchester Art gallery until Sunday 11th April 2010
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