If
an art exhibition is any indication of the state of things, then much can be
learned from the UMFA Faculty Show. TS Elliot once predicted that decline would
be signalled ‘not with a bang but a whimper.’ Certainly there are works in this
show that speak to that sentiment.
Overly moralizing, programmatic or simply unresolved, some employ such a
comprehensive symbology they are impossible to decipher.
Yet
most of the works on view display a higher caliber of work, and do so not with
a whimper but a bang! Kristina Lenzi’s performance
Expel did just that. Donning a
blindfold, the artist laboriously scraped a line of museum tape from the floor,
rolling it up into a wad of black rubber, which became a black balloon. Lenzi
has a knack for using simple, playful props in zen-like ways, and this was no
exception. The more she blew, the more distracted I became by the crowd,
schmoozing loudly and noshing on their crudités. Lenzi’s action however drew them in, as they became ensnared by
the battle between her lungs and the balloon’s elasticity.
I
have often wondered how to overcome the grandiose space of the UMFA’s Great
Hall. Hang one of Claes Oldenburg’s Shuttlecocks
over the balcony? Fill the room with Alexander Calder mobiles? Lenzi met this
challenge head on, and not spatially but audibly. Swollen beyond capacity, the
balloon blast released and shot through the Great Hall like no other. The
Faculty Show had opened : not with a whimper, but a !Bang!
Today
works in sculpture, photography and paint continue to inspire conversation and
reflection. Tom Hoffman’s Autobiography features twelve life-sized
portraits hung horizontally and framed tightly to the face. Of varying ages and
races, the faces smile faintly or remain neutral. Some are recognizable as
members of the faculty, others are unknown. Nestled among them is the back of
the artist’s head. This posture suggests his refusal to participate or to play
by the rules. It also gives a nod to Gerhard Richter’s iconic 1988 painting
‘Betty.’ We are left to define the painter not by his face, but by the people
in his circle. Most remarkable is his verisimilitude, I suspect even van Eyck
would approve.
Hoffman’s
realism is contrasted with a number of artists employing more apocalyptic
vocabularies. Paintings by Lenka
Konopasek explore the moment of impact when industrial equipment is
obliterated by disaster, as was the case in the Gulf oil spill. Details of the
event are enveloped by dusty debris, mushrooming smoke and violent firestorms,
resulting in a confluence of obfuscations. In this way, the work is not unlike
works by William Turner, where the horizon is swallowed up by the effects of
light. Indeed, glimmers of any natural light are rendered in a sulfuric
palette, which in turn is refracted into shards of luminosity.
The
panels of Maureen O’Hare Ure contain
a similar ochre sky. Below, surface sludge is depicted with drippy watermarks
and washes, fine graphite traces, sanded planes and perhaps even encaustic. The
subject matter is an antediluvial world, infused with medieval references. Deluge features ancient sea creatures
similar to Jan Brueghel’s Jonah Leaving
the Whale. Beast references the medieval manticore. The largest of the
works Smoke shows an uninhabited
landscape dotted with tiny volcanoes. Fires flare up, rocks sizzle and mud
gurgles forming geological layers. So hostile is this environment, we could
very well be looking at Tolkien’s Mordor. Yet an abundance of curlicues and
arabesques wind their way through the chthon, creating further layers of
reality.
The
work could easily be paired with Van
Chu’s photographic landscapes, which are more abstract in their
ornamentality. Suggesting drops of ink dissolving into water, or curls of smoke
rising into the air, Chu’s works achieve light and shadow effects of an
unprecedented nature. In the upper register, atmospheric effects are
tempestuous while below, winding clusters of pigment form blots reminiscent of
Rorshach tests. The results are lyrical and otherworldly. Certainly landscapes
of an infinitesimal scale are evoked, like those of the Bonsai tradition and
other miniature worlds. Yet the
ink’s flow is not entirely fluid. Occasionally, tiny dots of an inkjet printer
betray the work’s medium, introducing a surprisingly technological (and 2D)
element, where irreconcilable worlds collide.
Five
small works by Sylvia Ramachandran Skeen
explore a biological frailty associated with the marine world. Dripping with a
watery, transluscent blue glaze, the porcelain material mirrors the substance
of a shell. Here, we encounter whale mandibles and upturned crab shells
encrusted with reptilian skins and bony ridges. Adorned with graduating teeth,
detached fins and scales these creations become serving dishes, cages or indeed
miniature water vessels for sea-faring folk. Some evoke the work of HR Geiger, the Swiss artist of Alien fame. Yet with the delicacy of
lace, are far more fragile - and whimsical.
In
contrast to these ethereal works, Beth
Krensky’s scultpure is heavy and earthbound. Its poignancy leads the viewer
to lament the loss of many things : childhood, alchemy, nature, home. A collection of ‘Keys for Houses that are no More’ displays three rows of keys, all with symbolic emblems in
goldleaf. Separated from their domiciles, they lead us to wonder what worlds
have been lost, and are now beyond our reach. A dead meadowlark lays atop a ‘Portable Altar.’ Doubling as a gurney,
the bird rests inside a gilded tray. While the gurney’s legs have been replaced
with branches, they retain their wheels, a poor subsitute for the loss of
flight.
This
is the subject of Requiem for Flight,
a vitrine containing nine bronze birds. Each is rendered lovingly, adopting
unique positions that literally freeze the animal in flight. As such, the birds
twist and turn in uncanny contortions, they are caught in a mercurial
plasticity, yet weighed down by their burdensome (bronze) substance. Birds are
often symbols of our (soaring) souls - think of representations of the Holy
Ghost, yet here are wounded and grounded. Nearby, four more lay in ‘Metaphysical Handcart’ and are
accompanied by a collection of little bells, which allert us to an irrevocable
loss. Begging to be held, nurtured and redeemed, these birds have also been
denied the delicacy of their feathers, and are roughly hewn as if molded in
playdough. They lie like relics,
helpless in their vitrines, yet I can’t help wondering if they might better
reside outside the brick-and-glass museum, on a concrete sidewalk, or a
window’s ledge?
Jolting
us back to the present, Holly K Johnson’s multi-media installation Single Serve Nation : Drive Thru confronts us with the automated world
which we all occupy. Two videos are juxtaposed, one projected on the wall, the
other on a laptop surrounded by cast disposable containers. The routine
repetition of the processing of the masses – in subways and streets – is
juxtaposed with the automated handling of chickens, from poultry farm to
conveyor belt. Both scenes are busy, and synchronized such that their tempo,
however exaggerated, has an almost hypnotic effect. A soundtrack provides a monotone ticking which both soothes
and irritates.
With
few exceptions, the works on view at the UMFA reassure us of an active and
vibrant Department of Art at University of Utah. The Faculty Show is on view
until May 6th.
