 |
| The wandering nature of this exhibit complicates presentation of photos. Every decision to show one piece in isolation may unintentionally create or destroy a relationship in a way the artists did not intend. |
Two artists, Harold Mendez and Ronny Quevedo, collaborated
on Specter Field, unelevated assemblies amid the high white walls of
the gallery.
The collaboration's centerpiece is a
work of dusts so squat and so dark the ridges of powder are barely
discernible. The powders are accompanied by a low stack of bricks, a
bright blue ball and a linoleum section that lies flat on the floor.
A streak of bright blue powder calls attention to the existence of
the larger work, a fortunate feature as the centerpiece was often
unseen by visitors. At the opening, two gallery attendants were
designated catchers of visitors who desired to walk across the
gallery to view art, unaware it was currently under their feet. A more focused lighting design to help patrons see
the art, not walk on it, would be a worthwhile addition.
In the room's perimeter, assemblies of
disparate objects resemble detritus found after a storm. Three sacks
of hardened concrete are wrapped in a cord and sprinkled with a rusty
dust. A few yards away, shiny shards anchor an array of twiggy wire
uprights; a snakeskin drapes over one twig. Across the room, tree
roots thickly painted in industrial grey are accented with a clump of
gold leaf and a drift of dried white paper. In a fourth assembly,
stiff and darkened newsprint is the bed for straggly but upright
plant forms.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that the
nation and our city are recognizing the 10-year anniversary of
Katrina. Perhaps the work reflects our unconscious awareness
of this mark on our collective calendar. We will never know
for sure. In their talk, the artists may have referenced Katrina and
more, but noisy conversations in the adjoining gallery overpowered
their comments.In a printed brochure the artists use high-bullshit quotient terms familiar to readers of artists' statements, including "perceptional concepts", "generative forms", "reclaimed objects", and "new approaches for contextualizing". The combination of these frequently bogus terms and the visual art itself prompts many questions.
Buddhistsand mandalas and Navajo sand paintings provide precedence for making
art with particles and powders. Both, however, have extreme visual
organization. This exhibit does not. If an artist creates a piece that viewers cannot
see, should we question the presence of art? (Yes, I'm referencing
that old story about an emperor who may or may not be naked.)
Quevedo's Wiphala on Broadway
of bright colored light bulbs and milk crates mounted high up in a
corner feels completely unrelated to the exhibit as a whole. Was it
included at the last moment or planned? Given its high contrast from
the other pieces, if it was included at the last moment, what role is
it designed to play? If its vast contrast to the other pieces was a
planned inclusion, why do so?
My sense of this
exhibit is that it held more promise in words, in artspeak
discussion, than in execution. I think the artists should try again.
