First Things RSS Feed - Allison Peller

The (Sacred) Void

Thu, 29 Nov 2012 00:01:00 -0500

The art series to which this essay refers will be on display in the First Things offices beginning on November 29. For more information on this exhibition, including details about an opening night event, please click here .

From the beginning, Christians have had to decide how they want to relate to culture. Many of us make this decision subconsciously based on events, belief systems, and personal experiences that form who we are. In his well-known book Christ and Culture, H. Richard Niebuhr identified five possible ways in which Christians have chosen to view and interact with culture. While most of us will only express our ultimate decision through conversations with friends, colleagues, and family, Christians in the arts have the unique position of sharing their struggle and resolution with a greater audience. Each time they write a song, poem, novel, or paint a canvas, build a sculpture, or perform in a play, they are revealing their convictions on how Christianity and culture should relate. In the paintings currently on view at the First Things Gallery, artist Wayne Adams grapples with Christianity and the presence of God.

Over the last few years, Adams has been working on a series of paintings that feature bold chevrons running across the canvas, or diagonal lines radiating out from a triangle anchored to the bottom of the canvas. By alternating stark, solid lines with a multi-layered, colored background, Adams activates the space on the canvas creating a viewing experience filled with energy.

More recently, Adams has developed another series with an even more simplified composition consisting of a single triangle with its base resting on the bottom edge and peaking near the top of the canvas. Despite the minimal subject matter, Adams keeps the work as animated as his previous paintings by switching from stretched canvas to a stretched synthetic fur. The tactile qualities of the thick fur stand in contrast to the luminous triangle of paint that has tamed and matted down the hair.

In Rift (Lavender) the lone painted triangle is set on a canvas of stretched white synthetic fur. The shape starts out white at its peak, and gradually the paint takes on a light lavender hue as the base of the triangle slowly widens. Following the progressive change the viewer becomes drawn into the heart of painting, only to discover it is simply a void. It is this void, and similar voids found in his other works that save Adams’ paintings from being simply a well executed painting.

The void has taken on a special meaning for Adams in light of Slavoj Zizek’s The Fragile Absolute. Using Ukrainian abstract artist Kazimir Malevich’s seminal painting, Black Square, as an example, Zizek argues that the void plays a crucial role in modern art. Asserting that all innocence has been lost, Zizek claims that an object is no longer considered art “simply [on] its direct material properties, but [by] the place it occupies, the (sacred) Place of the Void of the Thing.” In other words, objects become art when they function as the place where the void can exist. Before the loss of innocence, the void had served to establish a distinction between the sublime and the mundane. But as that gap has narrowed and disappeared with the commodification of culture and our loss of a sense of the holy, art must become the void itself in order to re-establish the very idea of the sacred.

Adams takes this theory a step further by focusing not only on how his art can create and exist within the void, but also seeking how his faith relates to this new situation. By using a triangle instead of Malevich’s square, Adams evokes the Trinity and sets up the image as not only an absence of the sacred, but also of the sacred place itself where God exists.

Solidifying this view of God in the Void is the appearance the triangle gives of being a slice into flesh, bringing to mind the act of atoning for sin through animal sacrifice in the Old Testament. In this way it is fitting that the fur is artificial, as the sacrifices given by the Jews, while pleasing to the Lord, were not enough to blot out the sins of humanity, but acted as shadows of the forthcoming crucifixion of Christ. More significantly, the partial foreshadowing of Christ’s oblation in animal sacrifice set up the void in which his sacrifice could exist by revealing the distance between the earlier attempts at sacrifice and their fulfillment at Calvary.

Similar elements can be found in Adams’ abstract paintings with chevrons and radiating lines. The triangle appears here as well, once again serving as a reference to the Trinity. But these works, with the more chaotic backgrounds and the superimposed order on top, appear to focus more on the struggle to reach the (sacred) place, rather than achieving it through establishing a void.

By exploring themes of philosophy and theology in his work through the formal qualities of space, line, and color, Adams engages Christ and culture in his art. Whether his engagement reflects Niebuhr’s description of Christ and culture standing in tension and paradox, or whether Adams is seeking a more active form of evangelization”Christ as transformer of culture”is harder to say.

Allison Peller is an independent art curator living in New York City.

Become a fan of First Things on Facebook , subscribe to First Things via RSS , and follow First Things on Twitter .

Continue Reading »

Kristen Studioso’s Conjured Remembrance

Tue, 18 Sep 2012 00:01:00 -0400

The art series to which this essay refers will be on display in the First Things offices beginning on September 18, 2012. For more information on this exhibition, including details about an opening night event, please click here .

Our ability to remember past events, feelings, and experiences, then preserve them or impart them to others, is an incredible one. But this very human act can also become a temptation to indulge our individuality, since each person observes and feels differently, and shares these experiences in varying ways.

Thus the most fascinating thing about memory, or rather remembrance: How fluid it is. The work of contemporary New York artist Kristen Studioso embraces and explores remembered moments of trauma often rooted within questions of mortality. For even though memories seek to obtain a type of immortality, they also suffer from aging and experience their own type of death.

Not limiting herself to one specific medium , Studioso aims to reconceive how photography, video, and drawings are utilized in order to highlight and enrich the themes in her work. Contrary to what might be a first impression, Studioso does not aspire to make a statement, pro or con, on how technology affects our memories. Rather, she uses various mediums in atypical ways simply in order to demonstrate the endless possibility of interpretation from a limited number of definite objects, reflecting a similar variability found in the shared memories of a group of people. And just as varied accounts can provide an enriched view of one event, the numerous readings of the series enrich the drawings themselves and the series as a whole.

Studioso has been influenced by contemporary artists Javier Téllez and Oliver Herring. Téllez, a Venezuelan whose work has been exhibited at the Whitney Museum in New York, frequently uses fabricated narratives as an impetus for his documented performances, collaborating especially with patients who have mental illness. While Herring, a German video artist, creates impromptu performances in which he enlists strangers to participate, leading to unexpected results. In her own stop-action videos, Studioso strings together hundreds of photographs to create short film bites, but rather than trying to eliminate or completely subdue the static qualities of photography, she allows erratic jumps, starts, and stops which continually remind the viewer that they are watching a series of photographs, not a seamless video. These jarring movements of change in pace and visuals that lead the viewer back to the erratic nature of remembrance, especially memories rooted in stress or trauma.

This type of irregular pace is particularly evident in the stop action video, Untitled (flummery) . The opening frame reveals a bare rocky surface on which a lifeless bird suddenly appears in the background. Gradually, through jerky rolls and by using its wings the bird drags its body forward until it fills the frame before mysteriously elevating into the air out of view. Although the piece is only a minute long, the viewer is confronted with numerous questions. The inexplicable appearance and disappearance of the lifeless bird causes the viewer to wonder what is really the beginning and what is the end. In addition, the bird’s evident struggle causes the viewer to doubt whether the bird is actually dead or alive.

In the same way that Studioso introduces stationary, static qualities to her videos, she is also able to inject a feeling of action into her drawings. The drawings hint at familiar shapes and forms that seem to lie just beyond recognition, like a name or face that you can’t quite place but feel must carry some significance. In addition, as the viewer moves from drawing to drawing a feeling of continuity emerges; a feeling that not only are the drawings related, but are either uniting to tell undisclosed story, or have just revealed their tale and are now dissipating, leaving only remnants and hints behind.

The series, taken as a whole , begins to read as a deconstructed flipbook, in which all the pieces are purposefully jumbled together. Narratives or hints of narratives emerge and recede as the works through out the space affect individual drawings. New lines and forms discovered in one piece can give new meaning to a previous work, which may shift again after encountering another drawing across the room.

From elusive storylines, to faded images in her drawings, to the erratic movements tempered by moments of stillness in her videos, Studioso is able to subtly infuse questions of remembrance, the passage of time, and mortality into her work. Viewers unaware of Studioso’s work at first may not be able to pinpoint these themes exactly but after spending a moment with each work it becomes easier to walk away with a sense of having seen something that almost is , or just was. This feeling of both expectation and dissolution will have the familiarity of a forgotten memory”vague in details, but strong in presence.

Allison Peller is an independent art curator living in New York City. She is responsible for organizing First Things ’ upcoming exhibition of Kristen Studioso’s work, which opens on September 18 .

Become a fan of First Things on Facebook , subscribe to First Things via RSS , and follow First Things on Twitter .

Continue Reading »

Love of Beauty and the Birth of the Artist

Tue, 17 Jul 2012 00:30:00 -0400

Beauty in art has been the source of countless philosophies, treatises, and debates for thousands of years. It is a discussion I typically try to avoid, as the definition of Beauty (with a capital ‘B’) is based almost entirely on individual taste and each rule seems to have twenty exceptions leading down a never-ending rabbit hole from which there is no return. But recently, I was reading Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson and was unexpectedly struck by his chapter entitled “Beauty.” It wasn’t that I felt Emerson had perfectly defined the elusive ideal in such a way that it removed all my trepidation regarding the term; instead, I was intrigued by how he used the way people relate to beauty in order to define what an artist is.

Regardless of whether a definition of Beauty can ever be agreed upon, I found myself drawn to Emerson’s description of an artist as a person who has a love for beauty “in such excess, that, not content with admiring, they seek to embody it in new forms.” This interpretation suggests that the desire to create is deeply rooted within the artist and cannot be contained. It made an image in my mind of artists who are so overcome with passion that paintings, sculptures, and drawings virtually spill out of them.

The energy in this portion of Emerson’s essay is palpable, and upon reflection is the same energy I’ve felt exuding from most of the artists I know. People who I consider true artists always seem driven to be constantly creating. Even before one work is finished they are already considering what they want to work on next. Regardless of the physical, monetary, or even emotional sacrifices they need to make in order to do their work as artists, they continue on, the rewards outweighing any losses they incur.

One famed artist in particular came to mind when I considered individuals who exemplified this excess that drove them to creation. Willem de Kooning was an artist who began painting as a young man and developed a mature style by his forties. He continued to be a prolific painter, draftsman, and sculptor for the remainder of his life; even after he began exhibiting signs of Alzheimer’s he continued to work in his studio creating pieces that still sell for significant amounts today. Some argue over whether de Kooning was actually conscious of what he was painting during that time due to the stylistic change in his work, but those close to him maintain that when he was painting in the studio the artist remained cognizant of the work he was doing. To think that the love for art was so deeply embedded in de Kooning that, when he was overcome with a mentally debilitating disease, his passion for art would remain, while his other faculties deteriorated, is awe-inspiring and somewhat humbling.

Returning to Emerson’s essay, he expands beyond the artist’s passion for Beauty , adding to the definition of an artist by claiming that art is “a nature, passed through the alembic of man.” He sets the artist up as an instrument through which our surroundings and ideals are refined and re-presented to an audience, charging the artist with the responsibility of teaching the general population on how to See. I write ‘See’ with a capital ‘S’ because I believe at the heart of his essay Emerson is calling his readers to look to Nature as the lens that will allow people to truly perceive and understand the world around them. I believe the distinction also reflects the mission of all artists to demonstrate to their audience how to look actively, not passively. And while Emerson always redirects the reader back to Nature as the ultimate teacher on how to ‘See,’ I believe that too often the general population disregards artists as careful observers of our world. Over the years artists have moved beyond being a conduit or refiner of beauty, to successfully presenting to the world everything from political, cultural, social, environmental, and personal ideas.

But I think that we can take the idea of artists teaching us to See, and the audience participating in the lesson, one step further, particularly as Christians: Artists who are Christians can look to the creation story as the example of the ultimate artist. Just as Emerson described the outpouring of love for beauty as the birth of the artist, I envision God’s overwhelming love as his impetus for creation. His love and desire were so great that for six days He made everything out of nothing and saw that is was good. It wasn’t until he made man in his image that he finally rested. Looking to this example, the role of artist takes on a weightier responsibility, especially as they are called to open our eyes to the creation already around us.

As viewers, I believe that Christians are also called to look at everything in the art world and try to understand, or See, what the artist is saying. That does not mean that every work of art is to be praised or even condoned, but it does mean that we should take the time to contemplate each piece and make the effort to comprehend what ideas the work is trying to convey. Too often people (from the Christian and secular community alike) are quick to dismiss works they don’t understand or that don’t fit into their personal definition of Beauty, keeping themselves from learning more about the world around them.

In the end my thoughts on beauty are not any clearer then they were before I read Emerson’s essay, but I do feel that I have a new view on both the role and definition of what an artist is. So perhaps I’m walking away with an improved ability of Seeing which will hopefully in the end help me perceive more clearly the world around me, regardless of whether it fits into any definition of beauty.

Allison Peller is an independent art curator living in New York City.

Become a fan of First Things on Facebook , subscribe to First Things via RSS , and follow First Things on Twitter .

Continue Reading »

Flawed Contemplation: The Photography of Lia Chavez

Fri, 11 May 2012 09:30:00 -0400

The art series to which this essay refers will be on display in the First Things offices beginning on May 15, 2012. For more information on this exhibition, including details about an opening night event, please click here.

Our lives are centered and built upon innumerable complex relationships, which subconsciously we are constantly analyzing, changing, and developing. Although these moments of cross-examination frequently remain unacknowledged, they are the driving forces that shape who we are as individuals. They range from interactions with our physical and metaphysical space, to explorations of the interpersonal and the self. Lia Chavez’s series, 1000 Rainbows , takes on this vast and hazy subject matter, creating minimalist photographs that belie the depth of meaning and work that goes into each image.

At the very core of each of Chavez’s photographs is an intimate liaison between the artist and her model as they interact with and respond to each other via dance, light, music, and ideas. It is a cycle that starts with Chavez dancing and moving her body, which the model then begins to mimic. Working with various implements of light, Chavez highlights specific parts of the model’s body that are then captured by the camera. Because the developing relationship between the artist, model, and environment is the driving force Chavez uses to create her final image, she refrains from using digital manipulation techniques like Photoshop, which are so prevalent today. Instead she has developed a fusion of digital and analog photography that literally spotlights the convergence of the numerous relationships that create each image.

As part of her decision to not use digital manipulation in the creation of her photographs, Chavez has embraced the lack of ‘perfection’ or lack of complete symmetry in her work. In most of her images, there is a clear vertical or horizontal axis that the viewer wants to turn into a line of symmetry, but is thwarted each time. By maintaining these subtle moments of irregularity and asymmetry, Chavez is challenging the viewer to confront our ideals of perfection. Giving the viewer this moment of pause provides the opportunity for the realization that perfection lacks a valuable depth and complexity, which arises from the work required to reconcile ourselves to our own imperfections.

To take one striking example: In Andromeda , the highlighted arms and legs of the model arc in an irregular circle that is reminiscent of a flower or starburst. As the viewer contemplates the form created by the model’s arms and legs and takes into consideration the title of the work, new points of reference begin to emerge. Andromeda is a constellation of stars located in the northern sky, named after the princess in Greek mythology who was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the sea monster, Cetus, but ultimately rescued by the hero Perseus. The Greek myth speaks to the idea that beauty can be found in tragedy, and that, while flawless endings are not always achieved, truth about humanity is always revealed in the striving.

Chavez’s aspiration to redeem what many have rejected is also manifest in her use of the nude human figure. With a history of being both objectified and idolized, Chavez uses her photographs to question how people view and relate to their bodies and the bodies of others. The viewer never sees the model’s face, and rarely sees the model’s entire body as each image consists of a composite of body parts that have been illuminated by Chavez. At first this may appear to stray towards objectifying the body, but her sensitive use of light blurs the image, and any devaluation of the body is undermined by the relationship of trust built between the artist and model, which is apparent in the final work. The photographs escape the pitfall of idolizing the nude figure.

This in turn may lead the viewer to contemplate a different foundation: Adam and Eve in the garden before the Fall. Both are beginnings filled with promise and hope for an unblemished future, but both are pre-determined for a marred existence. Adam and Eve’s inability to withstand temptation led to the corruption of all things and their separation from God. Here we see beauty and death mingled together, creating the imperfect existence that we experience everyday. But it is here in the flaws and blemishes that we find hope for redemption and reconciliation that we would never know or understand if it had not been broken. It is only after experiencing this darkness that we can feel the light and love of God’s presence.

What starts as working relationship between Chavez and her model to create a single work of art quickly becomes an intricate web of relationships and ideas that does not end when the photograph is printed. Rather, the final image is just a new beginning that allows the introduction of the viewer, deepening the relationship even more. But more importantly, these complex and flawed interactions are uplifted by the hope for redemption and reconciliation to which these photographs serve as witnesses.

Allison Peller is an independent art curator living in New York City. She is responsible for organizing First Things ’ upcoming exhibition of Lia Chavez’s 1000 Rainbows, which opens on May 15 .

Become a fan of First Things on Facebook , subscribe to First Things via RSS , and follow First Things on Twitter .

Continue Reading »