Contingent Connections

Chuck Mahley’s latest sculpture of a mixed media skeletal tri-ped endures as an amalgamation of material, craftsmanship and allusion. Two crutches attached to wooden insect-like appendages raise a suggested skeletal torso assembled from an aluminum bicycle frame. Planted firmly in tension, a third wooden leg, equine in nature, bears the weight of an intricate spinal curvature which arcs up from the back of the aluminum torso and extends to greet the viewer as a trunk like appendage that ends with a short shaft muzzled by a black rubber grip; creating what appears to be an anthropomorphic sci-fi creature. The combination of the extended muzzled trunk and the black rubber grip serves as an invite to touch, a connection point between the viewer and the sculpture. This appealing invitation to move in from a distance and experience the sculpture in relation to the body is the point in which the work begins to break down.

While Mahley’s creation gestures towards an implied engagement or manipulation, these actions are soon betrayed. What appeared to be well crafted, movable spinal connections and leg joints are instead tacked into place by hastily shot brad nails. What was once preconceived as kinetic is discovered to be frozen. Instantly a work that once stood on its own is transformed into a prop, a stand-in for a predisposed notion.

The breakdown of an inferred craftsmanship begins to unhinge the locomotive materiality of the sculpture as the crutches, a device of support for the lame or infirm, become undermined by the brad nails whose purpose attempts to serve the same objective. It is through this collapse of function that the sculpture, at first playful and inviting, fails to sustain its imaginative possibilities.

History in Fast-Forward

A man with dark hair, black trousers, and a tucked-in white dress shirt, a bag held in each hand, standing in front of a military tank – those who are familiar with China’s historical 1989 Tiananmen Square protests know who this individual is. American artist Jeff Siegel’s interest in politically and culturally influential figures of the past continues with his most recent animation, entitled Tank Man.

Loaded with digital renderings of choppy images and a mishmash of colors and textures, the roughly minute-long looped animation abruptly tells the story of the heroic figure, Tank Man, who stood in front of military tanks during the Tiananmen Square protests. A sense of humor and melancholy coexist in Siegel’s work. The cinematic format which sets a stage for Tank Man is constantly interrupted by superimposed images that pop up and run across the frame. While the Tank Man's bodily movement is clumsy and rigid, the surrounding environment goes through various transformations, as if they dominate, isolate and absorb the man. Siegel’s version of the story critically addresses the ambiguous relationship between the viewer and the historical incident. Siegel’s visual language is extremely unique and sensory, but Tank Man instantly overdoses the viewer with uncertainty.

Whereas pictures, videos and stories of Iran’s protests that occurred in response to the presidential election result in 2009 widely and rapidly circulated around the world via the internet, and are still vivid in our memory, few images of Tank Man exists today, and are only vaguely recalled in our minds. Anonymity and ambiguity surrounding this specific event seem to be what Siegel intends to communicate, and yet his images remain rather inaccessible, leaving very small room for the viewer to grasp what's happening.

First & Last: New Work by New Media Artist Li Ge

I am compelled to recount my first impressions and thoughts upon viewing the recent work of Li Ge. Upon entering the viewing space I was confronted with a construction of eight flag-like hanging banners (seven white and one red - each about 3’x5’) strung in a symmetrical, carousel-like manner, that were quietly and serenely rotating. There were four projectors projecting images onto the flags, all consistently displaying the same image. The images consisted of a wide range of random subject matter such as traffic signs, a child’s dress, flowers, architecture, etc. The images were changed in approximately three-second increments, all of which were black and white except for certain chosen elements that were an intense punchy red.

Before having a chance to fully absorb the work, I was initially captivated by the illumination emanating from the structure; this left me feeling curious to experience the work. I began trying to decode what I was seeing. It seemed obvious that the color red was being used symbolically, triggering a cultural, political, or sociological reference point. I felt strongly at this point that Ge was taking on a truly monumental position in the piece. Possible conceptual and symbolic uses for the color red penetrated my mind -power, blood, love, death, sacrifice, evil, pain, heat and so on. As I focused on the imagery I tried to make sense of the images I was seeing, and how the color red fit into this scenario. The images changed at random and eventually began to repeat, seemingly arbitrary.

This format evoked such a promising first impression, raising certain expectations, but seemed to lack intent and overall conceptual development. Ultimately, I was left with questions regarding the commentary/statement in which Ge was bringing to the table. What was truly the artist’s intent here? I wanted desperately to connect emotionally with the work, but ultimately I could not, rather, I was left to ponder and doubt the artists true motives regarding this piece.

Vague monuments

Artist Benjamin Fehl’s most recent display of his construction project was on view to a group of viewers last week in the Visual Arts building on Penn State’s main campus. Reassessing Fehl’s construction project, I am left with the same questions and concerns as my previous engagement with the work.
I entered the meeting room and sat at the large table followed by enough people to fill all the empty chairs. On the table, sat a crude model of a fractured structure made out of wood, plaster and cement which roughly stood two and a half feet tall, the model was surrounded by copies of a photographic image that were arranged in cascading piles, of a house under construction. Not knowing exactly how to process the visual information before us, the group began to ask questions, which led us all further into a quickly stiffening swarm of vague ideas and malnourished phrases. Without clarity on the conceptual and logistical logic of the project, the model and photographs fell short in relating the ideas that Ben attempts to describe when discussing the work.
My confusion comes from several disjunctions. First, the model did not project the final structure; the only connecting point between the two was the fact that the materials used to create the model would also be used to erect the final structure. Secondly, the photographic images on the table gave a view of a standing structure that (after hearing a bit more of it’s history) still did not enlighten me on the project anymore than the model did. Finally, after hearing his ideas and responses to our questions, I found that Ben’s lack of conceptual clarity smudged the lens we were transposing the final piece through. A more considered presentation could approach his ideas more clearly and relate a better understanding of the process Ben is undertaking.

Solitary Actor on Stage

by Stephanie Harvey

On the third floor of Penn State’s Visual Arts Building, there is a glow of warm light emanating from the depths of a small dark studio space. Lurking in the shadows, the walls are covered with dark, moody charcoal renderings of domestic spaces that exist in another place and time. However, one wall and one work are illuminated - a thin cloth hangs against a clean white wall. The sources of the warm light hang vertically on either side of the fabric masked by large white panels, positioned to attempt backlighting the pale sheath.

From across the room, the hanging fabric is distinctly a curtain, with its subtle grey textile patterns and details and billowing fabric. Upon closer inspection, it is no ordinary living room curtain- it’s a graphite drawing of another existing curtain, translated onto a plain white fabric that’s size mimics that of a store bought curtain.

Reimagining and interpreting personal spaces with charcoal or graphite drawings is not a new venture for artist Joelle Francht. However, when viewing a sequential portfolio of her work, a progression is evident. This piece is the next step in the sequence- lifting the image from a flat surface, honing in on a certain aspect of the space, and rendering it on a surface that could operate in a two or three-dimensional realm.

Although the drawing of the curtain itself is technically precise, meticulous, and attractive, the presentation raises some issues. The curtain is hung using shiny metal clips, a method used in a past work that had been questioned. Although the work is merely a representation of a curtain, should it be treated as just a drawing or could it push further into tromp l’oeil?

Lighting has always been an important aspect within Francht’s drawings. For this piece, shadows are drawn on the fabric, but light is considered mostly as an external factor. However, it is unclear as to what the lighting is trying to reveal physically or conceptually. Ultimately, it seems this piece is lingering, waiting for a clearer definition of focus- mark making or context?

Myopic Beauty-Recent Work by Jamie L. Disarno

Art Review by Laura Marjorie MacLean

In a recent piece Jamie L. Disarno projects ten slowly panning, highly unfocused video images within the darkened gallery space over the course of about eighteen minutes. Each segment transitions with a pronounced blink of total darkness. Disarno gives us clues as to what we are experiencing, we can understand qualities of light such as sunlight versus florescent light, and at times the colors give reference to the greens of plant life and the blues of the sky, or the dark tones of manufactured hard objects. It is the saturated colors of the images that serve to catch the viewer’s initial attention.

Disarno asks a lot from the viewer with this piece. She requires the audience to slow down and sit patiently for nearly twenty minutes, silently watching the slow progression of each image as it unfolds while realizing that they cannot quite gather a full comprehension of what is being presented. The piece does not offer any answers and the viewer is asked to accept this. This experience imparts conflicting reactions. One is a sense of tranquility and a childlike enjoyment of being one with the surrounding world, much like times spent laying in a field watching the clouds slowly roll past. At the same moment the adult brain struggles to place the image it is viewing and feels frustrated by the focal disability that has been imposed upon it. Over time the viewer slowly realizes that they are unable to clearly understand what is being shown and that it is best to relax into this state of unknowing. The experience of Disarno’s piece serves as a stark contrast to our blazingly fast paced information obsessed modern world.

This recent work is much improved from Disarno’s last piece done in a similar vein. Her previous incarnation was devoid of color and marooned in the middle of a shared gallery space. This most recent installation is located within its own small, darkened viewing room, which is an essential element of this work. The viewer needs the solitude of space to fully focus on and experience the moving images. One distraction to the current configuration is that the projector is directly in front of the viewer, breaking one’s focus and sight line. Perhaps if seating were provided the audience’s sight lines would be raised along with their overall comfort.

Disarno’s recent work offers a brief refuge to its audience from the toil of daily life. Rewarding those who persist with a moment to pause and to let go briefly of the need to constantly attempt discernment of every experience.

Locating that Apparent Disconnect

The current body of work by Stephanie Harvey, a Penn State MFA printmaker, presents a series of cyanotypes that primarily incorporate imagery from old family photographs and superimposed textile-design patterns, in a combined attempt to visually create layers of meaning that not only reflects her family’s extensive history in textiles, but that also enables her to exteriorize deeply embedded emotions and psychological experiences that stem from observations of her grandmother’s illness.

With regard to the viewer’s first general impressions of the work, the dominating monotone color-scheme persistent throughout each of the work, mainly consisting of deep blues and sepias, immediately seem to recreate arbitrary and unfamiliar moments of nostalgia, and a certain dislocation of meaning and memory, all of which ­– on the outside, clearly seem highly subjective and personalized within the psyche of the artist – prove remotely inaccessible for the viewer.  Apart from color, it is rather the very static, impartial and almost generic quality of the representational imagery itself that reinforces the predominant disconnect with the audience. Patterning, in this case – which is the case where the viewer is trying to establish a meaningful connection with the image, and trying to assemble both the patterned-design elements and figurative elements together into some kind of context, a narrative – may not function effectively as a tool. More specifically, the particular layering approach employed by the artist, in this case subtle and sparse, may not integrate well formally in the image to help capture the layers of meaning embedded within.

It is important to note that while the pictorial and formal elements of Stephanie’s work remain static and anchored, there is, however, an overall intentional shift in interpretation and meaning: that of moving away from previously denoted themes of decay, loss of memory and confusion to that of an open expression of acceptance, an ode to the lived experience of someone close, a poetic reminiscence to coup with the circumstance of a personal loss. On a certain level, it is precisely this conceptual shift, this transition that is reflected in the work, which accounts for the apparent disconnect, indirectly manifesting itself from such a transition.  This disconnect, then, is what the artist experiences personally, and it is the same disconnect, albeit on a different level, that the viewer also identifies.

What seems to be consistently unsettling for the viewer in Stephanie’s art, is the permeating sense of withdrawal and an overall absence of a coherent focal point that would help the audience establish a meaningful connection with the work.  Moving to a smaller scale configuration, perhaps, and a more purposeful sense of display, would certainly be steps that would invite the viewer for a closer inspection of the work. The artist must also find ways to create an attuned sense of direction in her work, and maybe, through engaging different approaches, involve the viewer in a more impactful, immediate and meaningful experience.

A Construction of Human Experiences

Day by day we can get caught up with the hype of everything and forget about the core of what already exists. For Joe Netta’s recent work, he works with the idea of relationships, whether it would be of objects to one another, the space between the objects and what that would mean, and preconceived expectations that people have when they encounter certain situations and how they relate to these objects and space. His work is constructed raw and exposed, using towels, a small table and an exposed radio. With that he shows how, by cutting out the excess it can lead people to see the real thing. It’s shown in a very broad way intentionally, to put the viewer to work into interpreting the piece in his or her own way.

Especially in the age in digital, we expect to have things done faster and instantly, but the use of the sound from the radio in Netta’s work is intended for the viewer to be interested, but also to wait for a different sound outside of the white noise. The sound is set on a one channel that is prevented from us being able to change it. Will we hear a different sound that would break away from the white noise? Maybe, maybe not, it’s about the expectation of it. The simplicity of the towels directs the viewer to seeing them figuratively, what do they represent? Absorption, and they are used close to the body, so what could that imply? Could that personify that particular object? Is that how we relate and understand what we encounter, by personifying it? For Netta, the forms are meant to function as stand-ins for people.

These two towels that are set on the floor touching at the corners show a contact between the two. At that point, it is raised up towards the radio, or is it going up towards the space that occupies the radio waves? The radio itself is a communication device that we depend on to hear reception that is transmitted through radio waves. Radio signals typically come from the closest place that is transmitting the sound. If there is no signal, then how far do we have to physically travel in order to hear a recognizable sound? Or do we wait?

What is very interesting about this piece is how it’s about expectations and figurative relationships. Netta explores an idea about human experience and interaction that he himself also questions about.