Month: May 2020

My central point of fascination was about ownership and authorship and the taking over of another artist’s artworks or practice. Listening to the critical responses, I can see that many people felt more engaged by the cracked earth discs on my studio bench than by the finished Kintsugi piece. 

The constraints of Covid lockdown meant that all artworks were necessarily displayed via digital photography (or video) online. I presented my kintsugi piece [Alchemy I; unsolicited collaboration, 2020] as being a physical object mounted upon a distressed grey wall (that therefore highlights the natural forces of entropy inherent in all things and removes the piece from the stark white gallery context).

Although, when viewed online, it would have remained identical, on reflection I feel that the piece operates more successfully as a photographic work than as a displayed physical object, in both aesthetic and conceptual terms; as it is the idea of the piece rather than the piece itself which is the more important consideration. To further the ideas of ownership and authorship, it would be interesting to commission a professional photographer to take the image that is ultimately displayed as the finished piece. By involving a third artist in a third medium, with each of us in collaboration overlaying each other’s art practices, I think the resultant artwork is made stronger.

I think Alchemy I; unsolicited collaboration was very lineal and literal in its translation from idea to tangible object, and as such suffers from leaving little room to breathe; the art piece and the ideas within it are closed down too quickly. I value and enjoy the interlaced layers of meaning I find behind and within the piece but perhaps viewers need some room to formulate their own associations and prefer a tad more ambiguity. At present I find it difficult to conceive of a way to make artworks addressing the theme of taking over another artist’s practice in a more abstracted way. But I would like to come back to this theme in a few years when my understanding of my own art practice has grown and matured.

Feedback from the faculty, cohort and guests:

People responded well to the idea of the earth being borrowed and it potentially being returned to the roots of where it was borrowed from, in its own form of ‘unsolicited collaboration’. There was also a response to the image of the cracks in the earth and the golden roots as having a healing association; perhaps even relating to the self and the therapeutic mending of perceived imperfections.

Questions were asked about the types of object that traditionally might get mended; which is an interesting consideration. The material context of gold was remarked on and it being both a mineral and a commodity. It being the literal standard to which currencies are measured against. It therefore signifies a particular kind of security.

Arte Povera (and its utilisation of limited resources) was mentioned as too Ai Weiwei’s artwork: 

His radical act being part performance, part political commentary on cultural worth, symbolic power and historical value systems.

The idea of fissures resembling thread-like root systems (as seen in my studio in their early stages) seems to be fertile territory for further exploration.

We discussed containment: mud banks, wood (as seen in the background of one of my photos) often used as a structural containment device). Also we talked about relation to site. That an artwork need not necessarily take place within a gallery context. It might exist in the community or within the same place as the material was originally sourced from.

An idea was suggested that I might consider ‘guerilla kintsugi pothole filling’ (mending broken urban pathways in the community with gold). This has however been done: 

The circle was thought to be representative of Mother Earth and of the Earth being under enormous stress and the action of mending with gold, a healing process.

Some viewers found the aspect of having both the breaking and mending within the same piece to be a bit confusing; a complication; an anomaly.

Another artwork was mentioned in relation to the mark of one author overwriting another: Rauschenberg’s erased de Kooning drawing (1953). I watched a (sadly uncredited) interesting interview with Rauschenberg about this piece. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpCWh3IFtDQ). Apparently it was really difficult to erase and took two months to do so. He described it as poetry, not vandalism.

I found it very interesting to note that as he was stealing up the courage to ask de Kooning for an artwork of his to erase, he was prepared for his own idea to ‘fail’ and maybe the failure itself would be the artwork. Maybe the artwork would be about asking de Kooning if he could erase a picture, and that would be okay. Maybe the process itself is the artwork instead of a finished displayed object.

Talking things over with my supervisors it is agreed that I should experiment with not knowing; experimenting with no up-front rationale for the series of choices made. To put concepts to one side and explore. 

_{Abbie Read, Work in progress: mud disc I, April 2020.}

Oft unnoticed or dismissed, I am endlessly entranced by the slight or negligible; objects seldom considered of value or beauty; items seldom considered as objects at all. 

I work with mostly natural materials: wood, earth, clay, mould and bacteria, utilising their materiality and innate associations to explore notions of contextual value and of life, still life and the absence thereof.

At present, I am contemplating generative and degenerative systems, both natural and enforced, and their inter-relational entwinings. My predilection lies towards Negentropy; a fascination for the natural processes of decay, interwoven with a desire to analyse and preserve. In so doing I inevitably order the chaotic, and perversely halt the living, mutable entity which first enticed me, in order to capture and immortalise its essence.

I am an observer, a collector and assembler; Artist as witness, compiler and instigator. I am interested in the practice and politics of display and the necessarily judgemental protocols which expressly determine what gets preserved or exhibited and how.

I enjoy the physicality of ideas made manifest; an embodied entanglement of symbiotic concepts and considerations. I am also drawn to what is not embodied; the interstitial space, the silence, the absences.

The aesthetics of my practice align with much of what is understood as the philosophy of Wabi-Sabi; a subtly intangible Japanese ideology which finds value in the simplicity of natural imperfections. It speaks to the delicate traces of impermanence and expounds that “the closer things get to nonexistence, the more exquisite and evocative they become.” (Koren, Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers, 50.) 

This viewpoint is shared by the Victorian art critic John Ruskin who also observes a certain sublimity in the monotonous or mundane and exclaims that “to banish imperfection is to destroy expression, to check exertion, to paralyse vitality. All things are literally better, lovelier, and more beloved for the imperfections which have been divinely appointed.” (Ruskin, On Art and Life, 27.)

I have been looking at the works of land artists such as Andy Goldsworthy, in particular his works with earth and clay. These pieces often acknowledge time and change as being connected to place. He asserts that “the challenge has been not simply to wait for things to decay, but to make change an integral part of a work’s purpose so that, if anything, it becomes stronger and more complete as it falls apart and disappears.” (Goldsworthy, Time, 7.)

The artworks of Pauline Rhodes and Charlotte Prodger also recurrently relate to the passage of time, within a specific environmental context alongside temporal traces of particular events and encounters.

Currently I am being more experimental in how I approach my art making, letting the materials speak and breathe in lieu of being prematurely and prescriptively tied to particular imposed meanings and interpretations. I am learning to bathe in the liminal, not race to encase the finite. Though this I find, is a delicate balance as it is always the coalescing of the myriad flickering ideas that sparks my joy in the creative process. 

References:

Leonard Koren. Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers. Berkeley: Stone Bridge Press, 1994.

John Ruskin, On Art and Life. London: Penguin Books, 2004.

Andy Goldsworthy, Time. London: Thames and Hudson, 2000. 

Christina Barton, Ground/Work: The Art of Pauline Rhodes. Wellington: Adam Art Gallery & Victoria University Press, 2002.

Tateshots, Charlotte Prodger: Turner Prize Winner 2018: Tate Shots,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsVWk5DlbCE

Dane and I conversed about the value of proper archiving and possible digital online systems that might achieve this. 

There was a valuable discussion about the languaging surrounding the concept of ‘beauty’ and it being a complex and loaded subject area probably best evaded at present. In particular, while assessing the merits of a kintsugi-ed mud disc, we decided it was more pertinent to describe the piece as ‘not operating effectively’ rather than in terms of its beauty or absence thereof. 

On recommendation, I am ordering a copy of Dave Hickey ‘The Invisible Dragon: Essays on Beauty, Revised and Expanded”

Dane explained his affinity to G-clamps as both reference to the actions of construction (joining, pressing, containing) and as architectural objects in their own right. We looked at the work of Karsten Födinger with regards to containment systems and devices; his work showing the traces of action or event embedded within the art object itself, and a truth and simplicity of materials, often employing industrial forms of support or containment.

We also talked of my search for tree stumps to use as a raw material for yakisugi – a Japanese technique of charring wood in order to add value (aesthetic, utilitarian and monetary) by increasing water-resistant and fire-retardant properties thus enhancing its longevity and preservation. 

Studio works were mostly in the following categories: 

• More dried mud discs, with particular focus on the cracks and fissures. 

We discussed the practicalities of casting these discs in different materials. Plaster might well dissolve the dried mud and intermingle with it producing a less than optimal result. A casting latex might work well – more research required. We also discussed the possible use of concrete as both a casting medium and end product; it having more pertinence to my field of interest than plaster.
I appreciate the utility and solidity of concrete, and its use as a building material and containment device. I like the fact it is both ancient and modern and an amalgam of both the natural and manmade worlds. It is also subject to stress cracks of its own which could prove fruitful research-wise.

Dane posed the question of whether I might be keen to use specifically synthetic materials. I will ponder more on this but my initial response would be that it isn’t my main fascination point. Therefore if I used synthetic materials it would be to lend a definite quality or meaning to the artwork, probably as a counterpoint to some of the other materials used. (CCG industries might be worth checking out for casting materials and Jaycar for mould release agent) 

• Cylindrical cast dried mud towers. 

These were imbedded with root systems of varying fragility. Although retaining their cylindrical outer boundaries, these works curve as the varying drying rates of the mud, stones and roots pull and cause tension in different areas. 

• Short video pieces.

An experimental series of video works I filmed in the dawn hours over Anzac weekend. Each focuses on a tree stump (with other living trees or plants featured somewhere in frame for contrast). Titled “For the Fallen” (after the poem by Laurence Binyon recited at each Anzac commemoration as an ode of remembrance). I spent one minute in silence filming each tree stump. The meditative breath of the witness off camera can be seen in the gentle rise and fall of the framed shot; an honouring of the lost and destroyed. Grey Lynn Park, the site of these videos, has a colonial history all of its own; a continual re-evaluation of its physical worth through a series of expansionist policies: Native bush felled to become a literal wasteland – a Victorian refuse dump. Then, European saplings planted and a gradual gentrification as nearby land prices swelled in value, and a circumvolution as the non-native interlopers are steadily culled and replaced by endemic species. These works were created during Lockdown level 4 and as such there is a natural yet unnatural hush in this urban park, a turning back of time. If exhibited, I envision these pieces in a series, each screen featuring a single tree stump on a 1 minute loop with the volume turned up high so that en masse there is a cacophony of silence; an aural physicality to what is present and what is not. (Dane suggested a trial of viewing the footage sideways or upside-down as it can sometimes throw up a completely different reading.) 

• Photographs and ethereal scans of composed interlacing root systems. 

I am drawn to the elongated shadows of the intertwined venal entanglements; they too interlace but are flattened by their mono-tonal reflection: all shadows have one tone, one depth. 

Recommended artists to research: 

Robert Smithson – tree works
Matthew Barney – tree works cast in bronze 

Peter Zumthor – and his use of trees in the Bruder Klaus Field Chapel (Germany 2007): A series of vertical cavities within the cast concrete walls of the interior space are the traces left behind by 112 burnt out tree trunks.