by Jeriah Hildwine and Stephanie Burke
It was a thin weekend in the arts, but the three shows we did attend were examples of strong, young, contemporary, mostly Chicago art. Hooray!
Monday Morning Quarterback, July 5th, 2010
Gregg Evans: The Things I Once Owned
Gregg Evans: The Things I Once Owned at Ebersmoore
S: Nostalgia was the word of the day with Evans' works. I'll have to be honest and say these were the pieces I was most looking forward to viewing this weekend, because they occupy a genre which I both greatly love and work within. The pieces, as anyone can see from looking at the artist's website, consist of documentation of "Things I Once Owned." Documented in situ in what appears to be a circa 60's-80's ear bedroom, they hearken to this (an most eras, in one way or another) obsession with the past, and the content of that past. The objects themselves spoke directly to me: I remember the shitty polyester graduation gown, acquiring political and punk pins at the Anarchist Book fair, fetishizing youthful pictures of my mother, and flipping through fine art school catalogs, dreaming of the day I'd be there. The fact that I could relate so directly to each image from the archive of my own experience, growing up through the 80s and 90s both attracted, and at moments repelled me. I got it, wholly and absolutely, but would anyone else young in 20 years? Does that even matter? I wish I had $700 or so bucks to spare for one of these pieces. One other atpect I must not was the frames. I don't know where they came fro, or what they looked like originally, but they had been painted white with some sort of thick medium that left every brush stroke visible. They reminded me so much of the white paint over rough wood I would have expected to see in the bedroom depicted in the images, that I must say this was one of the most successful frame-to-image dialogs I've had the pleasure to view lately.
J: These photos make me think of the saying, "The personal is the universal." Anyone could document their possessions, perhaps, as the title implies, while getting rid of them. But it is Gregg Evans who has done so, this time at least. Some of the items he's documented seem at first a universal part of the human experience, until one realizes that, for example, less than a third of Americans will ever wear a college graduation gown. Evans' photograph Wrinkled Graduation Gown presumably speaks to this, however unintentionally. (One could argue that it might be a high school gown, but in my experience at least, these usually remain with the school.) On the other hand, everybody has a mother, and the rephotographed photo of Evans' mother is as universal as anyone's.
Most specific to my own experience is the photo of the stack of art school catalogs. The process of applying to graduate school, for art specifically, is one of those experiences that you've either had, or you haven't. It's easy to write this piece off as another art school grad nostalgic for the simpler time when he was looking forward to, rather than back on, his time there. Certainly I'm as guilty as anyone of these occasional, wistful moments, and if shared publicly, they can be embarrassingly maudlin. But they're real, too. Looking at this simple image brings back memories of the idealistic passion and ferocity I felt when I was applying to graduate school, that mad hunger, and that foolish faith that if you could just get into grad school, it would all be smooth sailing from there. It was silly, of course, but it was real. It makes me think of a line from The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver: "Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not."
Jeroen Nelemans: Pilfer Your Land at Ebersmoore
S: I had no idea what to expect when I entered Jeroen Nelemans' show in the second room of Ebersmoore. First off, I must say, Jeroen himself is a fantastic person. He has and intellect to mach the theoretic mature of his work, but also a sense of humor that makes it and himself accessible in a way I really appreciate. What I found most intriguing talking to him was his relationship between his Dutch heritage, and the Dutch culture as a pilfering culture. He rattled off a list of quintessential Dutch archetypes (tulips, apparently a pilfer from Turkey) pilfered from other cultured, and how he saw himself following both the Dutch landscape tradition and the Dutch pilfering tradition in his works. He pilfered the American landscape in his 5:06min, a gradual offset of the Midwestern pastoral landscape seen (as most of us see it) by car. And, with In Process he pilfered the grand (and short) history of nature documentaries, transforming a dramatic alligator attack into an elegant contemplation if the zebra pattern, reinforced (comically so) with the overlay of the Photoshop zebra pattern. The frontispiece to both shows, which I unfortunately failed to photograph, is one of his most recent works, and a most hilarious "haha, gocha!" to the viewing public.
J: What I liked about the big video was how, initially, it looks like a really mundane piece of footage shot out a car window, and then, a few seconds in, you notice this glitch, like the video was poorly edited or something. But as the video progresses, that "glitch" actually becomes a central part of the video, with the image divided into three columns. Each column functions as a separate screen, with the image area shown on each screen slightly overlapping. The effect becomes more pronounced as the video progresses, and one becomes aware of a sort of rhythm of telephone poles and power lines as they passed, emphasized by the breaks created by the fracturing of the image. Eventually, a freeway onramp rises, like an aircraft lifting off, and as it passes off the top of the screen, the video ends.
This Is Still Life: Wilford Barrington, Amir H. Fallah, Ian Hawk, Bruce Ingram, Sandy Kim, Jason Lazarus, Maximilian Schubert, Dylan Walker, and Harley David Young at Monument 2
S: I've grown to like Monument 2. The first few times I visited, it was too damn crowded, hot, and frustrating. But I've continued visiting, and I'm happy I have. Not only did they host a BBQ this time around, and kindly allowed me and a few other drunks-cum-art critics to occupy their back porch late into the evening, but they have continued to show ever stronger and stronger work. Unfortunately, in all my pre-4th glory, I failed to acquire an image list, so I'll have to title the works descriptively. The three I ended up spending a lot of time with were: the "chair and string" piece, the "upside down old man rainbow face" and Jason's piece (to my recollection, the only photograph in the show).
The "chair and string" piece seemed to relate a great deal to the last show I saw at Monument 2, where one of the artists dropped every light bulb from its ceiling socket to about a foot from the floor, creating both a maze of wire and a confusion as to what I was missing between that light bulb and the floor. I enjoy work like this because it plays with optical illusion, perception, all that "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" Treachery of Images stuff, and it's just fun to encounter.
The "upside down old man rainbow face," which I really wish I remembered the title of, I know it was good, was formally pleasing, consisting of a rainbow colored face. At the same time, the face, an inverted one at that, looked dead. So, still life, stilled life, dead people, bright lively colors; it worked for me. It also had a cinematic quality ala Swamp Thing meets Freaks meets The Hills Have eyes.
J: The standout for me was Jason Lazarus' photograph of Cynthia Plaster Caster's cast of Jimi Hendrix's cock. I'm kind of predictable like that; if you're in a group show, and your piece is the one with a penis in it, odds are decent that's going to be the one I'll gravitate towards. I liked the photo, though. Especially in relation to the concept of still life. The question of originality, of photographing an existing work of art, is hardly a new one, but it's still a valid concern.
I use my test here: if looking at the photo, I feel disappointed that I'm not looking at the subject instead, then it's a poor photograph by a photographer who was merely lucky to find him- or herself in front of an interesting subject, and who wasted that opportunity. Lazarus passes this test; in looking at his photograph, I enjoy looking at it as a photograph. I don't wish I was looking at the cast itself. For one thing, it is the photographer's arrangement of the scene which transforms it into a still life. But for another, the photograph of the cast adds a layer of remove, making Plaster Caster herself into a celebrity like her subjects, and myself, as a viewer, into her groupie. It also makes the piece somehow dirtier, to take it out of the context of a bunch of plaster cocks, and into the context of a show of still lives. I'd still love to see an exhibition of Plaster Caster's work, but I'm also glad to see it infiltrating other settings in this way.
S: I don't remember when I first heard of Cynthia Plaster Caster, but I know it was while I was still living out in California. I don't think, however, that I'd ever see one (or an image of one) before this show. The image, by Jason Lazarus, depicts Cynthia's cast of Jimi Hendrix's, printed life size. It, much like the "upside down old man rainbow face," gets at humor and sadness at the same time, a joke and a memento mori at once. It looks so lonely as well, one part of Hendrix divided, separated from the majority of his cultural reference, an insect trapped in amber of a life that has already past. Were it not for the title, however, it could be anyone's penis; it's a celebrity cock, but this cock doesn't necessarily look like a celebrity.
Gil Rocha: Contemplations and ...Sorry I Didn't Have Time to Google You: David Jourdan, Lisa Holzer, Kitty Kraus, Chiara Minchio, and Stefan Schuster at Julius Caesar
S: On the actual day of independence, I finally made it down to a space I've been interested in for a while, but continually failed to visit. In what I believe was the primary gallery space was Contemplations, a series of duct tape pieces by Gil Rocha. It took me a second to get what was going on, but each piece, though sharing the medium with every other, was a self contained joke or reflection. "No cable, no cry," "Sexy flat ass in pink shorts," and "The island of the colored blinds" were particular favorites of mine, one liners that they were. At the same time, "Love letter" (which Jeriah brought up as potentially a Catch 22 reference), "Untitled #3," and "The contemplation of Gaylen Gerber's advice" projected humor, while digging a little deeper into the abstracting and obscuring nature of the medium. Others like "The last night" and "The first night" felt like purely visual plays on minimal color the lined constraint of the tape itself. I never thought you could get so many things out of duct tape.
J: I loved these. I'm surprised; if you'd told me that I was going to see a show of "paintings" made entirely of duct tape, I would have groaned. If these exact works had been described to me, I would have groaned louder. I'm not even sure seeing an image of them would have warmed me up to them. But seeing them in person was an awesome experience. I liked the way Rocha layered the tape to create a rich texture out of the rippled, presumably torn edges of the tape. When you rip duct tape, especially lengthwise, the fibers pull against the adhesive and the coating, creating a wrinkling or rippling effect, like the side of a piece of lasagna noodle. So the surface was nice. Some of the pieces had bright, hot pink on their reverse side, throwing a hot pink reflection on the wall behind the piece. This whole show hung together really well. I've seen a lot of bad work made of duct tape but this was good stuff.
In the adjoining group show, Sorry I Didn't Have Time to Google You, the standout for me was Stefan Schuster. His wall pieces were digital inkjet prints of text (it looks hand lettered) from his book, "unfinished journeys" (in quotes, not underlined, all lowercase, is how he writes the title). He had copies of two other books on the table at the show, and I read both of them, cover to cover. They're collections of phrases so it wasn't as time-consuming as that sounds. I enjoyed them. I laughed a lot. They were good.
Gregg Evans
J: These photos make me think of the saying, "The personal is the universal." Anyone could document their possessions, perhaps, as the title implies, while getting rid of them. But it is Gregg Evans who has done so, this time at least. Some of the items he's documented seem at first a universal part of the human experience, until one realizes that, for example, less than a third of Americans will ever wear a college graduation gown. Evans' photograph Wrinkled Graduation Gown presumably speaks to this, however unintentionally. (One could argue that it might be a high school gown, but in my experience at least, these usually remain with the school.) On the other hand, everybody has a mother, and the rephotographed photo of Evans' mother is as universal as anyone's.
Most specific to my own experience is the photo of the stack of art school catalogs. The process of applying to graduate school, for art specifically, is one of those experiences that you've either had, or you haven't. It's easy to write this piece off as another art school grad nostalgic for the simpler time when he was looking forward to, rather than back on, his time there. Certainly I'm as guilty as anyone of these occasional, wistful moments, and if shared publicly, they can be embarrassingly maudlin. But they're real, too. Looking at this simple image brings back memories of the idealistic passion and ferocity I felt when I was applying to graduate school, that mad hunger, and that foolish faith that if you could just get into grad school, it would all be smooth sailing from there. It was silly, of course, but it was real. It makes me think of a line from The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver: "Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not."
Jeroen Nelemans: Pilfer Your Land at Ebersmoore
Jeroen Nelemans
J: What I liked about the big video was how, initially, it looks like a really mundane piece of footage shot out a car window, and then, a few seconds in, you notice this glitch, like the video was poorly edited or something. But as the video progresses, that "glitch" actually becomes a central part of the video, with the image divided into three columns. Each column functions as a separate screen, with the image area shown on each screen slightly overlapping. The effect becomes more pronounced as the video progresses, and one becomes aware of a sort of rhythm of telephone poles and power lines as they passed, emphasized by the breaks created by the fracturing of the image. Eventually, a freeway onramp rises, like an aircraft lifting off, and as it passes off the top of the screen, the video ends.
This Is Still Life: Wilford Barrington, Amir H. Fallah, Ian Hawk, Bruce Ingram, Sandy Kim, Jason Lazarus, Maximilian Schubert, Dylan Walker, and Harley David Young at Monument 2
Jason Lazarus
The "chair and string" piece seemed to relate a great deal to the last show I saw at Monument 2, where one of the artists dropped every light bulb from its ceiling socket to about a foot from the floor, creating both a maze of wire and a confusion as to what I was missing between that light bulb and the floor. I enjoy work like this because it plays with optical illusion, perception, all that "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" Treachery of Images stuff, and it's just fun to encounter.
The "upside down old man rainbow face," which I really wish I remembered the title of, I know it was good, was formally pleasing, consisting of a rainbow colored face. At the same time, the face, an inverted one at that, looked dead. So, still life, stilled life, dead people, bright lively colors; it worked for me. It also had a cinematic quality ala Swamp Thing meets Freaks meets The Hills Have eyes.
J: The standout for me was Jason Lazarus' photograph of Cynthia Plaster Caster's cast of Jimi Hendrix's cock. I'm kind of predictable like that; if you're in a group show, and your piece is the one with a penis in it, odds are decent that's going to be the one I'll gravitate towards. I liked the photo, though. Especially in relation to the concept of still life. The question of originality, of photographing an existing work of art, is hardly a new one, but it's still a valid concern.
I use my test here: if looking at the photo, I feel disappointed that I'm not looking at the subject instead, then it's a poor photograph by a photographer who was merely lucky to find him- or herself in front of an interesting subject, and who wasted that opportunity. Lazarus passes this test; in looking at his photograph, I enjoy looking at it as a photograph. I don't wish I was looking at the cast itself. For one thing, it is the photographer's arrangement of the scene which transforms it into a still life. But for another, the photograph of the cast adds a layer of remove, making Plaster Caster herself into a celebrity like her subjects, and myself, as a viewer, into her groupie. It also makes the piece somehow dirtier, to take it out of the context of a bunch of plaster cocks, and into the context of a show of still lives. I'd still love to see an exhibition of Plaster Caster's work, but I'm also glad to see it infiltrating other settings in this way.
S: I don't remember when I first heard of Cynthia Plaster Caster, but I know it was while I was still living out in California. I don't think, however, that I'd ever see one (or an image of one) before this show. The image, by Jason Lazarus, depicts Cynthia's cast of Jimi Hendrix's, printed life size. It, much like the "upside down old man rainbow face," gets at humor and sadness at the same time, a joke and a memento mori at once. It looks so lonely as well, one part of Hendrix divided, separated from the majority of his cultural reference, an insect trapped in amber of a life that has already past. Were it not for the title, however, it could be anyone's penis; it's a celebrity cock, but this cock doesn't necessarily look like a celebrity.
Gil Rocha: Contemplations and ...Sorry I Didn't Have Time to Google You: David Jourdan, Lisa Holzer, Kitty Kraus, Chiara Minchio, and Stefan Schuster at Julius Caesar
Gil Rocha
J: I loved these. I'm surprised; if you'd told me that I was going to see a show of "paintings" made entirely of duct tape, I would have groaned. If these exact works had been described to me, I would have groaned louder. I'm not even sure seeing an image of them would have warmed me up to them. But seeing them in person was an awesome experience. I liked the way Rocha layered the tape to create a rich texture out of the rippled, presumably torn edges of the tape. When you rip duct tape, especially lengthwise, the fibers pull against the adhesive and the coating, creating a wrinkling or rippling effect, like the side of a piece of lasagna noodle. So the surface was nice. Some of the pieces had bright, hot pink on their reverse side, throwing a hot pink reflection on the wall behind the piece. This whole show hung together really well. I've seen a lot of bad work made of duct tape but this was good stuff.
In the adjoining group show, Sorry I Didn't Have Time to Google You, the standout for me was Stefan Schuster. His wall pieces were digital inkjet prints of text (it looks hand lettered) from his book, "unfinished journeys" (in quotes, not underlined, all lowercase, is how he writes the title). He had copies of two other books on the table at the show, and I read both of them, cover to cover. They're collections of phrases so it wasn't as time-consuming as that sounds. I enjoyed them. I laughed a lot. They were good.
Recommended
Recent Posts
More from around the web
Local advertising by PaperG
No Comments
Leave a Comment?
What your comment will look like:
said: