This week I read Yves the Provocateur: Yves Klein and Twentieth-Century Art
Showing posts with label Jean Tinguely. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jean Tinguely. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 10, 2020
Robert Boyd's Book Report: Yves the Provocateur
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Chain Chain Chain
Robert Boyd
(Originally published on Glasstire.)
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Katie Wynne's A chain of non-events at Lawndale is an installation of various bits of crap semi-connected to one another. I don't say crap in a pejorative way. I use it in the way that Karen Archey did--in identifying a genre of art she called "combining crap with crap." The term both opens up a lineage stretching back to Duchamp's assisted readymades to Robert Rauschenberg's Combines and Gluts to Jessica Stockholder's painted bits of crap and consumer products. It is Stockholder's work that A chain of non-events reminds me of most, but in general it can be seen as part of a tradition that is now 100 years old (Duchamp's first assisted readymade Bicycle Wheel was originally made in 1913).
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
When you walk into the Project Space at Lawndale, the work is stretched out more-or-less in an arc around you. The elements are not all physically connected, but there does seem to be an intent for viewers to follow from one to another. So starting from the left, we have a floor-element that consists of a rectangular wooden central part with two large rectangular end pieces. The end pieces are designed to hold a pair of oscillating fans so that the face up. The fans are on and blowing, but their wind is blocked by a nimbus of brightly colored scarves on each fan. I suspect that the fans were meant to blow the scarves more than I observed here, but perhaps there were too many scarves on each fan. In any case, they did puff up a bit due to the blowing air.
I liked the wooden structure which was simultaneously absurd and purposeful. But the scarves were too discordant a visual element. The colors in any given scarf were acceptable (if a bit loud), but all of them combined created a chromatic cacophony that detracted from the solid homemade virtues of the wooden fan-holder.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Continuing to our right, there is another wooden structure, this one bolted to the wall. It has painted pieces of fabric and cardboard hanging from it on strings. The paint is a light blue-green and orange--a very pastel, slightly Southern Californian color scheme. The painting reminded me of Jessica Stockholder and the cardboard reminded me of Robert Rauschenberg. It is significant that the cardboard is ripped, not cut. It gives the piece more of a junkpile feeling, less deliberate than a Stockholder assemblage.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
This section in the corner is the busiest. In the left of the picture above, Wynne has mounted a shoeshining machine to the wall, where it spins hypnotically. Cheap motorized household machines appear to be important parts of the Wynne work I've seen (she contributed an extremely simple, elegant piece to The Big Show last year that consisted of a motorized tie-rack and a rectangle of blue satin cloth. Her use of these devices recalls Jean Tinguely's art. Tinguely was another master of crap on crap, gleefully scouring junkyards for old motors and debris with which he built his kinetic sculptures.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Wynne reprises the use of shiny satin-ish cloth in the drawer assembly. The gold cloth hangs over the edge of the open drawer. Underneath is another oscillating fan, covered with a single scarf. A paintbrush sticks up from the back of the fan into a slot in the drawer, where it swings back and forth.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
The drawer is lined with the gold cloth which is covered with a thin layer of dirt. The curved slot for the brush is lined with gold cloth, so it almost looks like a smile peeking through the dirt. It's cleverly wrought and in a way reflects her earlier untitled piece in the Big Show, but it feels like too much is happening here. I don't see how the elements belong together, why there is dirt and satin here. The stuff on top of the table--string, yarn, tape, torn bits of painted cardboard--feel more unified than the seemingly more carefully planned and constructed drawer element.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
There is another wall-mounted wood structure which leads the viewer to a more-or-less freestanding structure made of stool parts (?), painted cardboard and other crap.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
While the rest of A chain of non-events sprawls wildly, this one keeps it all close in. It looks like it wants to explode and fling its crap wide, but it's not ready. This made me think of The Rape of the Sabine Women (1574-82) by Giambologna. This sculpture is identified as being an immediate precursor to the baroque and to Bellini's extravagant creations. The overt emotionalism and dynamism seem baroque, but the way Giambolgna keeps it all tightly contained in a narrow cylinder of space marks it as still a Renaissance sculpture.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Wynne could have taken the bits of crap she used in this object and spread them across the floor or up the wall. But like Giambolgna, she constrains it.
The problem with A chain of non-events is that while there are interesting passages here and there, it fails to cohere. The elements are too independent, but many of them don't stand up on their own as individual works. But the virtues are an interesting use of materials, color, and space. And it helps to see this as work in line with a long tradition. Overall, it reminded me a bit of Rauschenberg's The 1/4 Mile or 2 Furlong Piece. This is another large piece (very large) that consists of many individual elements. The elements don't really come together, though. Perhaps that is in the nature of "crap on crap." Because of the disparate origins and natures of the materials, extra effort must be paid to giving them a sense of unity. The element that works the best for me in Wynne's installation is the stool piece--it feels the most like a single autonomous piece of work. With its human-sized volume and excellent colors, it's my favorite "non-event" of A chain of non-events.
(Originally published on Glasstire.)
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Katie Wynne's A chain of non-events at Lawndale is an installation of various bits of crap semi-connected to one another. I don't say crap in a pejorative way. I use it in the way that Karen Archey did--in identifying a genre of art she called "combining crap with crap." The term both opens up a lineage stretching back to Duchamp's assisted readymades to Robert Rauschenberg's Combines and Gluts to Jessica Stockholder's painted bits of crap and consumer products. It is Stockholder's work that A chain of non-events reminds me of most, but in general it can be seen as part of a tradition that is now 100 years old (Duchamp's first assisted readymade Bicycle Wheel was originally made in 1913).
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
When you walk into the Project Space at Lawndale, the work is stretched out more-or-less in an arc around you. The elements are not all physically connected, but there does seem to be an intent for viewers to follow from one to another. So starting from the left, we have a floor-element that consists of a rectangular wooden central part with two large rectangular end pieces. The end pieces are designed to hold a pair of oscillating fans so that the face up. The fans are on and blowing, but their wind is blocked by a nimbus of brightly colored scarves on each fan. I suspect that the fans were meant to blow the scarves more than I observed here, but perhaps there were too many scarves on each fan. In any case, they did puff up a bit due to the blowing air.
I liked the wooden structure which was simultaneously absurd and purposeful. But the scarves were too discordant a visual element. The colors in any given scarf were acceptable (if a bit loud), but all of them combined created a chromatic cacophony that detracted from the solid homemade virtues of the wooden fan-holder.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Continuing to our right, there is another wooden structure, this one bolted to the wall. It has painted pieces of fabric and cardboard hanging from it on strings. The paint is a light blue-green and orange--a very pastel, slightly Southern Californian color scheme. The painting reminded me of Jessica Stockholder and the cardboard reminded me of Robert Rauschenberg. It is significant that the cardboard is ripped, not cut. It gives the piece more of a junkpile feeling, less deliberate than a Stockholder assemblage.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
This section in the corner is the busiest. In the left of the picture above, Wynne has mounted a shoeshining machine to the wall, where it spins hypnotically. Cheap motorized household machines appear to be important parts of the Wynne work I've seen (she contributed an extremely simple, elegant piece to The Big Show last year that consisted of a motorized tie-rack and a rectangle of blue satin cloth. Her use of these devices recalls Jean Tinguely's art. Tinguely was another master of crap on crap, gleefully scouring junkyards for old motors and debris with which he built his kinetic sculptures.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Wynne reprises the use of shiny satin-ish cloth in the drawer assembly. The gold cloth hangs over the edge of the open drawer. Underneath is another oscillating fan, covered with a single scarf. A paintbrush sticks up from the back of the fan into a slot in the drawer, where it swings back and forth.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
The drawer is lined with the gold cloth which is covered with a thin layer of dirt. The curved slot for the brush is lined with gold cloth, so it almost looks like a smile peeking through the dirt. It's cleverly wrought and in a way reflects her earlier untitled piece in the Big Show, but it feels like too much is happening here. I don't see how the elements belong together, why there is dirt and satin here. The stuff on top of the table--string, yarn, tape, torn bits of painted cardboard--feel more unified than the seemingly more carefully planned and constructed drawer element.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
There is another wall-mounted wood structure which leads the viewer to a more-or-less freestanding structure made of stool parts (?), painted cardboard and other crap.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
While the rest of A chain of non-events sprawls wildly, this one keeps it all close in. It looks like it wants to explode and fling its crap wide, but it's not ready. This made me think of The Rape of the Sabine Women (1574-82) by Giambologna. This sculpture is identified as being an immediate precursor to the baroque and to Bellini's extravagant creations. The overt emotionalism and dynamism seem baroque, but the way Giambolgna keeps it all tightly contained in a narrow cylinder of space marks it as still a Renaissance sculpture.
Katie Wynne, A chain of non-events, 2013, mixed-media installation
Wynne could have taken the bits of crap she used in this object and spread them across the floor or up the wall. But like Giambolgna, she constrains it.
The problem with A chain of non-events is that while there are interesting passages here and there, it fails to cohere. The elements are too independent, but many of them don't stand up on their own as individual works. But the virtues are an interesting use of materials, color, and space. And it helps to see this as work in line with a long tradition. Overall, it reminded me a bit of Rauschenberg's The 1/4 Mile or 2 Furlong Piece. This is another large piece (very large) that consists of many individual elements. The elements don't really come together, though. Perhaps that is in the nature of "crap on crap." Because of the disparate origins and natures of the materials, extra effort must be paid to giving them a sense of unity. The element that works the best for me in Wynne's installation is the stool piece--it feels the most like a single autonomous piece of work. With its human-sized volume and excellent colors, it's my favorite "non-event" of A chain of non-events.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Trimpin at the Cinema Arts Festival
by Robert Boyd
Trimpin speaking at the Cinema Arts Festival
I saw, the Trimpin documentary, Trimpin: The Sound of Invention, last night. I wish the Cinema Arts Festival was running some movies twice, because I'd like to recommend this film in such a way that you could go and see it at the festival. But it is available on DVD. Trimpin spoke afterwards--as you can see, he is a very animated speaker!
It frames Trimpin's story around the conceptualization of, rehearsals for, and performance of a collaboration with the Kronos Quartet. But it looks at his history as an artist and various projects he has undertaking over the years. Trimpin is a highly eccentric artist--he doesn't really come out of any particular movement. The closest to his art would be Jean Tinguely. Trimpin speaks of moving to the U.S because they had great junk here--literal junk. His art is made from scrap that he gets from junk yards and surplus dealers. I was reminded of the great Calvin Tompkins article in The New Yorker about Jean Tinguely--he was in New York to build his Homage to New York in 1962, and Tompkins accompanied him to a huge junk yard in New Jersey. Tinguely was amazed and in love--he stated he wished he could live in the junk yard. I got that vibe from Trimpin, too.
Trimpin lives in Seattle and was there in the early 90s, when I lived there. He was pretty well-known in artistic circles there. I remember a show of sound art at COCA, where one of his pieces was the centerpiece of the show. It was the Kloppen, a computer-controlled room-sized percussion device. The percussion, a wooden clacking, was made by tiny mallets inside wooden shoes. The shoes hung from the ceiling, slightly below eye-level (I'm 6'1"), so I could see the mechanism--a little electric motor connected to a small mallet inside the shoe. A signal from the wire that the shoe hung from would cause the mallet to strike in inside top of the shoe--clack! This signal was controlled by a computer. This is typical of his work--the level of technology employed ranges from medieval to post-industrial, often in the same piece. It's the ultimate tinkerer's art. (I wish I could tell you exactly when I saw this, but the lame COCA website only has archives back to 2007. It was in the early 90s, though) It was an awesome immersive sound experience.
Trimpin, Mini-Kloppen, mixed media
At Edwards theater, they set up a small version of Kloppen--the Mini-Kloppen. Too bad they couldn't have found a gallery in town to host the full-sized Kloppen for a month. It's a highly entertaining piece of work to experience live, which is pretty much the only was you can ever experience a Trimpin--he doesn't make sound recordings of his sound pieces.
Afterwards, there was a Q&A with Trimpin and filmmaker Peter Esmonde. Esmonde said something that stuck with me about why one does a documentary like this. When a film crew steps into Trimpin's studio, it's usually a local news crew doing a three minute bit on a "local kook." Consequently, Trimpin doesn't permit people to film his studio, and Esmonde had to work hard to convince Trimpin of his good intentions. The phrase "local kook" rang true. There is a gulf between the public and an artist like Trimpin--or, these days, almost any artist. So in a locality--Seattle, Houston, wherever--people who should be lionized as local heroes get little recognition locally. At best, they are identified as "local kooks."
Trimpin speaking at the Cinema Arts Festival
I saw, the Trimpin documentary, Trimpin: The Sound of Invention, last night. I wish the Cinema Arts Festival was running some movies twice, because I'd like to recommend this film in such a way that you could go and see it at the festival. But it is available on DVD. Trimpin spoke afterwards--as you can see, he is a very animated speaker!
It frames Trimpin's story around the conceptualization of, rehearsals for, and performance of a collaboration with the Kronos Quartet. But it looks at his history as an artist and various projects he has undertaking over the years. Trimpin is a highly eccentric artist--he doesn't really come out of any particular movement. The closest to his art would be Jean Tinguely. Trimpin speaks of moving to the U.S because they had great junk here--literal junk. His art is made from scrap that he gets from junk yards and surplus dealers. I was reminded of the great Calvin Tompkins article in The New Yorker about Jean Tinguely--he was in New York to build his Homage to New York in 1962, and Tompkins accompanied him to a huge junk yard in New Jersey. Tinguely was amazed and in love--he stated he wished he could live in the junk yard. I got that vibe from Trimpin, too.
Trimpin lives in Seattle and was there in the early 90s, when I lived there. He was pretty well-known in artistic circles there. I remember a show of sound art at COCA, where one of his pieces was the centerpiece of the show. It was the Kloppen, a computer-controlled room-sized percussion device. The percussion, a wooden clacking, was made by tiny mallets inside wooden shoes. The shoes hung from the ceiling, slightly below eye-level (I'm 6'1"), so I could see the mechanism--a little electric motor connected to a small mallet inside the shoe. A signal from the wire that the shoe hung from would cause the mallet to strike in inside top of the shoe--clack! This signal was controlled by a computer. This is typical of his work--the level of technology employed ranges from medieval to post-industrial, often in the same piece. It's the ultimate tinkerer's art. (I wish I could tell you exactly when I saw this, but the lame COCA website only has archives back to 2007. It was in the early 90s, though) It was an awesome immersive sound experience.
Trimpin, Mini-Kloppen, mixed media
At Edwards theater, they set up a small version of Kloppen--the Mini-Kloppen. Too bad they couldn't have found a gallery in town to host the full-sized Kloppen for a month. It's a highly entertaining piece of work to experience live, which is pretty much the only was you can ever experience a Trimpin--he doesn't make sound recordings of his sound pieces.
Afterwards, there was a Q&A with Trimpin and filmmaker Peter Esmonde. Esmonde said something that stuck with me about why one does a documentary like this. When a film crew steps into Trimpin's studio, it's usually a local news crew doing a three minute bit on a "local kook." Consequently, Trimpin doesn't permit people to film his studio, and Esmonde had to work hard to convince Trimpin of his good intentions. The phrase "local kook" rang true. There is a gulf between the public and an artist like Trimpin--or, these days, almost any artist. So in a locality--Seattle, Houston, wherever--people who should be lionized as local heroes get little recognition locally. At best, they are identified as "local kooks."
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