BRIAN GRIFFITHS @ VILMA GOLD

Visitors to Brian Griffith's show at Vilma Gold might be perplexed to find what appears to be a series of large scale cuboid sculptures still draped in their protective dustsheets. Four bulky, loose-fitting tarpaulin coverings dominate the small gallery space, leaving only narrow corridors which, when navigated, reveal no new aesthetic features of the work but two further near-identical works in the second room.

There is curious tension between the dominant presence of the work in the space and the anti-aesthetic banality of its materials: patchy, off-white fabric hanging soberly over concealed industrial frames.The piece demands attention with its large scale, but its modest materials makes it strangely anti-climactic: what in The Invisible Show are we meant to be looking at? The immediate reaction is to find out what is hidden beneath the tarpaulin. Curiosity and slight trepidation leads us to discover a rare gap in the fabric which reveals: empty space. Each structure bounds a void; Griffiths really has produced an invisible show.

Griffiths plays with the occasional incongruence of the actual physical form of an object and our expectation of it through association. Since the 1990s he has found new ways to interrogate our familiarity with common objects by altering their scale, colour or materials. Often these transformations have a somewhat sobering effect on a once-cheerful object. In his studio, soft toys are blown to massive proportions as daunting bulbous sculptures in brick; bear heads transformed into eerily sagging tents, badly rigged to the ceiling; recycled materials are cobbled together to form an eccentric but somewhat funereal gypsy caravan.

The Invisible Show opens to myriad associations. Perhaps the structures are wartime medical tents or forensic crime scenes, cleared of all trace of activity. Or perhaps, with their inexpensive supports and thin rope looped through metal eyelets, they are circus tents or travelling fairground attractions; here deserted, and drained of colour. Through this imaginative link with the boldly coloured, shiny fairground tarpaulin of childhood memory, the dismal, stained material, flung unceremoniously over its frame, seems all the more vacant and cheerless.

These gloomy connotations fit nicely with Griffiths’s homage in the exhibition title to H.G. Wells’s The Invisible Man. And yet, there is a lighter side to the work: Griffiths’s mischievous enjoyment in perpetuating our curiosity with his girded voids. The very ‘invisibility’ of the show opens it out to inventive possibility; Griffiths has created an arena that regenerates a childlike capacity to mentally transform the most banal of scenes into new, imagined environments.

NATHAN ANTHONY: LYRICAL TRANSFORMATIONS

When asked which thread of his many projects he considered most successful in expressing his ideas, Nathan Anthony struggled to find a single answer: ‘I always think it’s the latest thing I’ve done’.  His instinctive response elucidates well his endless ‘learning by doing’ as he darts from one idea to the next with an ever-expanding list of resources and approaches. Windows in a local chapel, sand from Edinburgh beaches, tinned meat, mushrooms, tape cassettes and crumpets are among the disparate subjects amalgamated in his studio space. Each is scrutinised, dissected and reassembled in the creation of new and peculiar forms, revealing or emphasising certain qualities of the original object. Although Anthony looks upon this process as a form of empirical investigation, his work seems to be motivated rather by an insatiable curiosity and delight.  

Anthony often unites the organic and the artificial to draw direct comparisons. In one series, wide bands of cheap faux-wood vinyl are used to vacuum-wrap natural logs in a suffocating embrace of plastic; discs of vinyl are stuck to their ends, smothering the natural rings. The horrible artificiality of the wood-print synthetic sheeting seems ludicrously far from the raw, porous wood that it is intended to imitate, and the juxtaposition of the two materials has us contemplate their material properties in a novel and original way.

In another untitled piece, Anthony unravels a roll of sticky tape against a sandy beach, to collect grains of sand; he then re-winds the tape onto its plastic wheel: the peculiar sampling method of a meticulous arenophile. The tape, once it is neatly coiled, expands to almost three times its original size choked by layers of minute grains. In themselves, the wafer-thin tape and minuscule grains are inconsiderable, but combined, the two elements have a stronger presence than before. On discovering what exactly we are looking at, our perceptions of both elements shift just slightly, in an amused ‘Oh, yeah!’ of revelation.

Anthony’s fixations on the properties of SPAM meat (Shoulder-Pork Ham) and of OSB (Ordinary Strand Board, used to cover broken windows), were interesting as in both, natural materials have been pulverised and industrially re-synthesised to form a new solid that is an expanded or altered version of its original form - a process that draws parallels with Anthony’s own artistic processes. OSB interests Anthony for its being ‘almost a contradiction in terms’ as a kind of man-made wood. In another untitled piece, he investigates the multi-faceted identity of materials by playing with our preconceptions of a physical object. He cuts a panel of OSB to the basic shape of a slim Gothic window, and, leaving the majority of the surface bare and exposed, Anthony paints and varnishes certain individual strands or fibres of the board in an aesthetic rainbow of colours which sing out from the base material. Once again, his novel and poetic treatment of form has us re-evaluate the otherwise ordinary, cheap, industrial material. The blocks of varnished acrylic convert in our minds to the sophisticated, rich and revered colours of stained glass windows, and the solid, durable wood, usually a tool in the protection of buildings, suggests the fragile glass of a chapel window: the rarefied object of conservation. Although Anthony insists on the ambiguity of the piece, the immediate and inescapable religious connotations of the work set it apart from the rest of his practice. His decision to hang the piece relatively high on the wall in a recent exhibition at Edinburgh College of Art recalls how Malevich blasphemously exhibited his Black Square in a top corner of the gallery, linking with domestic Russian Orthodox icons.

Originally I thought Anthony’s approach with the OSB window was incongruent with his works in which he focussed on material objecthood, but in fact it can be seen as an extension of his exploration into our perception of objects. He has said repeatedly that he wants interpretation to be ambiguous. In their renewal of our understanding of objects, Anthony’s unexpected transformation of objects has strong parallels with the work of Tom Friedman, although Anthony’s choice of natural materials establishes an organic and lyrical aesthetic that is quite different to that of Friedman’s often glossy finished pieces. For Friedman, ‘Subject and object dissolve into the “suchness” of the thing itself’; Anthony’s selected objects similarly take on an identity of their own within the studio, undergoing transformations that speak of no explicit artistic significance or societal function, but which open our minds to a poetic reconsideration of the objects we see every day.  

SCOTTISH PEONIES IN A CHINESE VASE

A postcard of this painting has been tacked up by my bed since somebody left it at the box office I was working at a few years ago at the Edinburgh fringe. It really made my day then and I still love it now. 

As the postcard has yellowed with age, the colours of the image have become richer – like the darkening of a varnished oil painting. Strangely, I prefer my postcard to the painting itself, which is tiny and swamped by a bulky frame.

It’s sometimes oddly reassuring to be really drawn to an artwork whilst knowing absolutely nothing about it. I was happy to discover that George Leslie Hunter is Scottish – Happy Burns Night!

George Leslie Hunter  (1877-1931) Peonies in a Chinese Vase, c.1928 Oil on board, 61 x 50.8cm, The Fleming-Wyfold Art Foundation

10 TIPS FOR ART CRITICISM FROM OLIVER BASCIANO

This weekend I had the great opportunity to meet Oliver Basciano, assistant editor at ArtReview magazine, at Vilma Gold gallery in Bethnal Green. Very nice guy, very relaxed. He gave some general pointers on art criticism which I have compiled as ten points to share with you here!

1. The thoughts and analyses of the artist will be outlined in the press release; a review doesn’t need to service these. If an artist hasn’t put across his intended ideas, it doesn’t mean that they have failed. You are offering an explanation of the work, not the explanation.

2. Criticism needs to have teeth, but not for the sake of it. Even if you’ve hated an artist’s work in the past, try as much as possible to have an open mind – you may be surprised.

3. It is unadvisable to read press releases before visiting an exhibition, though it is advisable to look at them afterwards in case you have made a glaring error.

4.Take a note book. Write down everything that comes to mind in as much detail as possible. Some ideas can be dismissed later.

5. Address the details of the work. See what the artist did and didn’t do. Don’t be put off if a show is quite minimal - this means that you are freer to make your own associations.

6. Sometimes it is helpful to look at other people’s reviews to see the ideas and themes that they explore. 

7. Situating the work within the entire body of the artist’s work can be useful/informative.

The title can also be a starting point: some artists use the title to describe the work’s ‘meaning’. This said, some don’t – use them with discretion.

8. Occasionally it is useful to focus in on one piece of work that will bounce off the rest of the exhibition.

9. Think about audience in terms of the accessibility of the language you use. Try not to think about the galleryist or artist who might read the review – it isn’t for them. Make it interesting.

10. Be prepared to argue your case if questioned on your ideas; written pieces are somewhat collaborative with editors and may be discussed with up to three people within the magazine.

Now I've got to write a short review for him on Brian Griffith's show at Vilma Gold, for which Oliver's advice about minimal exhibitions is going to have to be at the forefront of my mind...

!WOMEN ART REVOLUTION @ WHITECHAPEL GALLERY, LONDON

 ‘Without certain texts, we have a history that is incomplete, inadequate, distorting and deforming’

-Griselda Pollock talking at the Whitechapel Gallery, London [Dec 2011]

A week or so ago I went along to the Whitechapel Gallery in London for their screening of a new film by Lynn Hershmann Leeson documenting the feminist movement in 1970s United States. Spanning forty years of material, the film includes interviews with Marcia Tucker, Judy Chicago, Joyce Kosloff and Francesca Woodman amongst countless other women (and one lone man). The eye-catching, rather tacky graphics and rousing all-American music might have cheapened this confident manifesto for the visibility of women artists, but for its invaluable content. The film offers a uniquely complex and personal portrait of the women involved in the 1970s revolution and their interrelationships. It well portrays the passion and intellectual rigour behind the body politic and some of the more subversive artworks of the period, which are at risk of losing their power by becoming meaningless icons of the movement, artefacts of a past movement. 

In a discussion after the film with Hershman Leeson, Griselda Pollock spoke of the need for the ‘real’ history of the past seventy years to be well documented and collected into a framework from which students can choose to select sources.  It wasn’t so much about finding more women in museums, she argued, but rather about having available resources which students today can draw from. Hershmann Leeson agreed: ‘it is easier for historians to put works away in drawers rather than get to grips with the essence of them. The film’s aim is to push the drawer open’.

Hershmann Leeson's project RAWWAR, in extension of the ideas and aspirations of the film, is a fantastic resource in pushing the drawer wide open. It not only brings together video clips, slides, and interviews from the past, but, in collaboration with youtube, it enables visitors to upload their own material to the site, ensuring its continuation and constant reinvigoration for the present and guaranteeing its documentation for the future.

Definitely worth a look!

ROGER HIORNS, ARTANGEL, SOCIAL HOUSING

Yesterday the London Evening Standard announced the first winners of their Ideas for London competition, in collaboration with ArtAngel, a commissioning body for contemporary artists to create a plethora of brilliant projects and probably my dream workplace. I hadn’t heard of the competition before – I’ll now follow its progress. But the proposal of one winner to tackle the tens of thousands of empty houses in London reminded me of another ArtAngel-funded project I went to see three years ago : Roger Hiorns’s astoundingly original Seizure, which should have earned him the 2009 Turner Prize (he was the clear winner in my eyes that year but somehow lost out to Richard Wright, which I will have to discuss in a later post).

I went to see Seizure on the last weekend it was open to the public. It was easy to find in spite of the unconventional location - a constantly self-replenishing queue of over a hundred people snaked through a run-down courtyard, disappearing into what appeared from the outside to be a small council estate with boarded up windows.

The exterior revealed nothing of what was inside. Hiorns had sealed off every edge of the domestic space and filled it with liquid that slowly drained to leave a thick, even carpet of blue copper sulphate crystals bristled from every wall of the tiny council flat. A dado rail coursing around the walls and a bath in an adjoining room were the only hints to the domesticity of the original building. Visitors, picking their way gingerly across the uneven floor, took care not to knock the seemingly delicate crystals but they were unexpectedly hard. With this knowledge of the piece’s tactility and durability, the space suddenly became less of a romantic or fairytale grotto as some critics called it but a natural environment in itself; the crags and peaks of the crystals were like mountains in miniature, all in an incredible, dark acidic blue.

ArtAngel’s support this year of a social project to bring empty properties back to use draws interesting parallels with their commissioning of Hiorns’s aestheticising of an abandoned property, and rendering it absolutely uninhabitable. I’d like to know what has happened to the crystals of Seizure – maybe I’ll try to revisit it. 

BILL BOLLINGER @ FRUITMARKET GALLERY, EDINBURGH

A thick dark line cuts through the small frame of landscape, a strong, palpable presence bisecting the screen. It silently falls to the ground – oh! it was only a log, balanced precariously on end. We watch as the artist, with some effort, heaves the log to its original verticality, and calmly steps back. Suddenly the strength and presence of the line has diminished; we now know the brevity of its equilibrium, and its powerlessness against the elements, here captured in Bill Bollinger’s 8mm film Movie.

Weight seems to be an interest of Bollinger’s, who was trained in aeronautical engineering, and his understanding of physics informs his work in unexpected ways. The weight of some pieces is almost tangible: a rusty, industrial barrel holds a well of stagnant water; elsewhere, three slim bands of aluminium seem to lightly skim the walls with their seamless joins and flawless surfaces. Truncated rubber pipes half full with water sit unceremoniously on the floor, oddly steady in their cast iron brackets but always with the potential to tip, and to spill.

Downstairs, the gallery space holds together like a sparse workshop of experiments in process. A rope ties together two points on the floor, another measures floor to ceiling. The architecture is pulled together and is given relationships that are superfluous to its structure, and although connected to the surfaces of the room, the ropes seem to reference nothing but themselves; the arbitrary, meaningless pulling taut of elements that exist only for the pleasure of their materiality. Two measures of industrial piping sit isolated in a corner of the room. The unadorned practicality and clean linear finish of these materials might have us seek their functionality as ‘finished’ products but it is a fruitless search. Their curiously insignificant form works against their suggested gravity and purpose. There is no pretention, no unnecessary imposed elevation of the direct, unassuming pieces. Without plinths or barriers, the space is open to exploration of these raw artefacts.

Cyclone Fence  sits differently against the rest of the exhibition. Like a great Hokusai wave, this swathe of wire fencing stretches languidly across the floor of the gallery’s upper level, twisted into a gracefully swooping arc. I immediately sought associations beyond its plain physicality: its empty squares become the scales of a fascinating fish or snake, which seems to move as you encircle it as the mesh widens and tightens. It is almost too beautiful for the rest of the exhibition; it is supple and alive against the surrounding lifeless forms. And yet, its fluidity serves as a revitalizing counterpoint to the starkly elemental works around it. The tension of the undisturbed surfaces of water in his pipes and barrel and the soundless plummet of the weighty log in Movie echo this opposition: though seemingly constant in their pure physicality, Bollinger’s works are subject to change and make no claim to of immortality. The appealing honesty of his raw materials makes the exhibition a countercultural calm away from the spectacles of modern life.