Standards

Describing a work by what it isn't is rarely germane, but it would seem to be the best way to approach Nauman Humayun's newest painting, a subtly subversive, Op Art-derived network of banded color, torqued around a set of axes just off to the side of Cartesian coordinate space. There are feints toward the metaphysics of multiple worlds, but Humayun seems less interested in the quantum science of n-dimensional space as such than in its politics.

The signposts of Op Art are the most apparent feature of the work-- color as a marker of illusionistic space, line as a map around one's field of vision--but there would be little worth discussing if that were it. The coloration is almost flatly complementary, but not quite; they're tweaked enough to flatten out the vibrations between them, so that individual bands of color lie flatly atop, or crash into, one another. Instead of an overall patterned field, the work can be read from left to right, from a more open, conventional, symmetrical geometry on the left, coming to a knot in the middle, and spit back in widening rays off to the right. Lines cut through and intersect at oblique angles, calling conceptually to a path or map, but rendered impossible to follow; instead, one ping-pongs from area to area around the painting. There are breaks and gaps along the way, and errant splotches and pronounced brush strokes to break up the expected flat, graphic surface. It's bordered at the front by a set of dangling electrical cords, powering lights ringing the top border, so a direct approach is impossible, and one must flank the painting, or sneak up on it.

It's always seemed to your correspondent that Op Art is a pretension to universality, that by treating the eye to a pleasing, non-representative illusion, one can get past toxic, divisive ideology and connect, in some way, with a collective spirit; that it's somehow supposed to be a direct bridge to the Geist, and that this is an escape from the world we understand that's worth making. But here, it seems, is a rejoinder to that idea, that somehow this great metaphysical leap should never be so simple, or that a painting would never be enough. If there's an issue to be taken with the work, the most glaring one is that the ideology at play here is thoroughly anti-, or at the very least that whatever positive stance it might take is buried so far underneath the din on the surface that it's impenetrable; without this positive stance, what it is versus what it isn't, the ideas at play lose some of their power. In this case, though, that's a relatively minor point. The ability to twist this neat, non-argumentative utopianism back into something like a critical space is a novel, and too-rare, talent.

Nauman Humayun's work is currenty on display on the 3rd floor graduate studios, Visual Arts Building, at the Pennsylvania State University.

Sugar and Salt, the Sublime, the Gestalt.

Joe Bolstad is the kind of artist who plays on the familiar. He's hoping you chuckle or wince when you are in the presence of his work. His titles are simple, so much so that you find yourself coming up with better wittier alternatives and then you realize, he's got you.

Recipe for Disaster:

What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails. And puppy-dogs' tails? And little girls? Sugar, spice, and everything nice? That may have been the case 190 years ago, but Robert Southey's famous poetic lyricism can hardly begin to describe the twisted and fantastic reality that surrounds 20th and 21st century childhood. Today's children live on a decadent spread of animated amuse bouche made of dinosaur tails, video game appetizers spiked with violence, Sardonic salads topped with a filet of dreams followed by an entree of self doubt quenched by omnivorous consumption. On that wonderful 6th birthday, no round cake will do. No! It must be Ariel, the little mermaid, or tantrums may bloom.

Enter the Villain Artist:

But wait, what's this? Is that Ariel's head is pouring out of an aluminum roasting pan? Who dares to tarnish the serenity of underwater indulgence with this grocery store garbage? Sculptor, Joe Bolstad embraces these sick progressions of culture, so rooted in our daily lives, we barely notice them anymore. Presenting us with the seemingly banal evidence of culture be it high or low, Bolstad inserts (sometimes subtle, and sometimes abrupt) alterations to what might otherwise be commonplace objects of domestic life. A foil formed "swan"* is suspect at second glance as it reveals detailed feathers. A sausage "link"* balances over an infinite abyss of mirrors. A $2.99 roasting pan (I know because I just bought 3 for Thanksgiving) springs a leak in the shape of The Little Mermaid's "Ariel"*. And then there is the completely fabricated "Sweet Tooth"* a cake pan made from a variety of confectionary mould forms and slyly injected with a vicious set of teeth from the minds of Marvel Comics' Venom. "Sweet Tooth" is attractive both in color and in design, drawing the viewer in from across the room only to discover an insidious set of teeth grinning at them as they close in on the piece. Finally, the windows of the carriage betray us forming into a wicked sneer supported by a Snidely Whiplash like mustache borrowed from the archenemy of Dudley Do-Right (from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show).

Pop Will Eat Itself:

There is something particular about the character description of Venom that I find resonating with this collection of work. Venom is a symbiote, which in the Marvel universe is sort of like a parasite. Parasites feed on their host until there is nothing left and then they move on to the next victim or in some cases they bond to their host and carefully manage a symbiotic relationship (Vampires come to mind). The relationship between Bolstad's conjoined forms are not very different from the above description except that they are imposed by the artist. Bolstad seems to work with two distinct methods while maintaining the same interest. These highly plasticized works are either obvious mashups of two disperate forms like "Link" or "Ariel" or they are covertly constructed chameleon-like forms that attempt to infiltrate and by doing so cause you to consider the social resonance of the simulacra presented. Bolstad is one to watch. For my own taste, I prefer the less obvious chameleon-like works because they get under my skin, conjuring up images of my childhood Saturday mornings. What will his work awake in you?

" "*denotes the title of the work.

To the Limit

In Laura MacLean's latest untitled installation, the tarpaper-covered walls and concrete floor of the intimate space bear the dizzying signs of repeated bodily action, all recorded in off-white, unfired clay. Recalling Richard Long's splashed mud wall pieces, MacLean's more unruly circles and spirals, lusciously swirling in the depths of the matte black tarpaper, are the result of the artist positioning herself near the wall and moving her clay-coated hands in broad circles (think something like an upright snow angel). Additional hand prints along the top perimeter of the tarpaper seem to delineate the highest point the artist could reach, while a few trace marks indicate the use of some kind of unidentifiable tool. Sitting rather abjectly in the center of the space is a vessel-like object roughly built out of clay slabs, still bearing pockmarks where the artist had pinched off clay. The flurry of footprints circulating around the object further suggest an obsessive repetition of actions.

The use of a materials as a way of "recording" a repeated bodily action has its precedents in the 60's work of Paul McCarthy and Richard Serra, among others. Where MacLean's work begins to find its own voice is in the way it pits this sensibility against the connotations of her material, unfired clay. In past works, MacLean has revealed her consummate skill in working with porcelain, creating small, architectural abstractions filled with concise angles. In sharp contrast to her previous objects, this installation thrives on looseness and a calculated lack of control. The "preciousness" of the material is called into question, reminding us that after all, even the most refined porcelain objects essentially began as mud. Perhaps this is why MacLean chose to leave the lumpen, almost sad vessel on the floor: to link the wild ferocity of the marks on the wall back to the tradition of ceramics.

Just as she is outstretching her arms and testing the limits of her body, MacLean is testing the limits of her medium. How far can she go? MacLean is on the brink of something exciting, and one hopes that as her explorations continue, the work will further slip out from the shadow of its 60's predecessors and plunge into truly uncharted territory.

Crowd Control

On the night of November 16^th artist Bethany Seib invited viewers to contemplate the transitory and temporal nature of life with her stylized re-mapping of humanity in her latest piece, You Are Here. The giclee print is on view in the New Media lab in the Visual Arts Building at The Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA.

Initially one is struck by the sheer sprawling nature of this biomorphic, cosmic map as well as the intensity of color that literally bursts into what can be described as confetti-esque bits of blues and greens. Layered over this image, one can start to decipher random masses of people corralled by seemingly arbitrary heavy black lines or borders. These lines divide the image into a form that in some areas are geometric in nature and in others whimsical and curvilinear. Each cropped territory shows the uniform physical orientation of the respective crowds without revealing where or why this collective attention is drawn.

From a distance, the underlying, pixilated, explosion of color could be an attempt to recreate the continual and expanding nature of the universe as well as the humanity that thrives within it. However, confusion begins to mount as the viewer considers the variety of formal and conceptual devices used by Seib. The artist has carefully edited out any information that might concretize the meaning behind her aesthetic decisions.

Seib’s editing proves to be a conceptual roadblock as the viewer contemplates the (possibly) fortuitous grouping of these crowds-crowds in the throes of protest, mourning, and celebration. Is the artist trying to communicate how and why humanity groups and defines itself as a whole? If so, Seib’s audience is lost in the lack of formal and conceptual considerations, which might be utilized to communicate her message. That being said, this recent work has proven to be more ambitious than her previous giclee prints and begins to create levels of complexity for the viewer to consider.

Bethany Seib is a graduate student in the School of Visual Arts at The Pennsylvania State University.

If You Close Your Eyes… by Li GE

Amy Reinecke , Blind, Nov. 9^th, 2009, at Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA

On the first floor of Visual Arts Building in Pennsylvania State University, an entirely, white room filled with stagnant air was presented to the viewers. In the center of the room, a ruffled, white sheet made of salt was placed on the floor with a foot-long, honey brown-colored resin cube sitting on top of it. There was a piece of pork sealed inside the resin cube from half a year ago, but now, left only a hollowed cube and a hole in each side, which were secretly-created by the “big bang” and life cycle of nature. On one side of the cube, a light bulb hang on the edge of one of its holes with its electrical wire extending outwards from it to a wall outlet, irradiating light and evaporating the residue from the rotten meat and filled the space with a rotten odor. This is the most recent installation work by Amy Reinecke , named Blind.

Viewers entered the space with questions in their head, sniffing around, bending over, and crouching to approach the work, or maybe, chose to escape right away. If there was a boundary to the work, it must not be the walls of the room. The light, the scale, and the smell all created a surface with tension, which will either attract or expel the viewers, and put them right in an inevitable active position. Consciously or unconsciously, willingly or unwillingly, viewers were already engaged in the work.

It has been days since I “escaped” from the room, the glare of the whiteness, the smell in the air and numerous questions still hover in my mind. An artwork can never be completed without viewers’ narratives. So is the Blind. The organic and inorganic materials, the visible and invisible elements, the familiar and unfamiliar sensations, all are compiled together with viewers’ memories. If you close your eyes, they will bring you back to the Blind space.

如果你闭上双眼……

宾夕法尼亚州立大学视觉艺术系一层， 一间充斥着奇怪气味的白色房间呈现在人们眼前。在房间的正中央，在纯白色的地板上，铺着一张褶皱的白色盐毯，盐毯上面，放置着一个一英尺见方的棕色松脂块。难以置信的是，六个月以前，一块鲜猪肉曾被密封在这个松脂块里。然而现在，只剩下这个不知不觉间，由自然界的“宇宙大爆炸”和生物生命圈所创造的中空的松脂块。松脂块的四个侧面各有一个在爆炸时形成的洞，一个白色灯泡悬置在其中一个洞口，灯泡的白色电线延伸着接通着墙壁上的电源。灯泡发出耀眼的光芒照亮，也使整个屋子充斥这着蜡块中残留的腐肉气味。这就是Amy Reinecke 近期的装置艺术作品，名为“盲”。

当人们进入这个空间，启动嗅觉神经，弯下腰，趴在地上向蜡块里窥探，或者，转身逃离房间。如果说这个作品有它的界限的话，那一定不是四面竖立起的白色墙壁。空间中的光线，尺寸和气味，都用一种紧迫感形成了一道道无形的壁垒，其中的人们有意无意间，就会被卷入其中。

虽然“逃离”这个房间已经有几天了，但房间中那耀眼的光芒，刺鼻的气味带着一连串的问号使用萦绕在我脑海里。没有观众们的叙事艺术，一件艺术作品永远不能成为完整的艺术作品。Amy Reinecke 的“盲”也是如此。所有有机的和无机的媒介，有形的和无形的元素，熟悉和不熟悉的感知，都随同观众的记忆离散或汇合。如果你闭上眼睛，它们就会带你进入“盲”的空间。

*The Bizarre, the Inexplicable, and the Horrifying: New Installation by Quintin Owens Provokes Imaginations

With its significant investments in agricultural technology, pervasive military presence, and rumors of a nuclear reactor on campus, I often find myself wondering just what kinds of covert research are really going on behind closed doors at the Pennsylvania State University at University Park.

Ignorance can be bliss, but my concerns were immediately resurrected upon encountering a new installation by artist Quintin Owens on the University’s main campus. Originally put-off by its seemingly “trendy” rawness that is currently popular in contemporary installation-based work, within moments the piece began to grow on me, inviting endless narrative ruminations and tantalizing my imagination.

Tucked away in a small, closet-like room in Penn State’s Visual Arts Building, Owens’s installation evokes speculation about the covert research experiments that may be going on right under our very noses.  Scattered in clusters on a seed-strewn floor rest countless curious seed-covered balls, the largest approximately the size of a grapefruit. Sheltered by a protective ceiling-like barrier of blue string and a warm glow of overhead light, these balls ominously lay-in-wait like monstrous eggs in an incubator. Throughout the space runs a matrix of white pipes, appearing to operate between useless random points on the floor, walls and ceiling, suggesting a strange and quirky irrigation system that is directly linked to the internal plumbing of the building itself.  Yet upon closer inspection, we see that there are no holes in these pipes to serve as a sprinkler system: so how is it that some of the seed balls have begun to sprout? The distinction between reality and illusion becomes nearly indecipherable, challenging the viewer to try to solve the mystery.

 Perhaps even more unsettling than the “how” is the “why.” I felt an unshakable sense of foreboding, waiting for these weird seed balls to sprout.  In my own experience of this work, I felt the suggestion of sinister R&D conspiracy theories hanging uncomfortably in the warm, humid room; but the open-ended eeriness of the installation encourages infinite imaginative possibilities. It feels elusive in a way that invites the viewer to invent their own narrative as they ponder its concealed mechanics. Even after deciphering some of the secrets behind this work- the “man behind the curtain,” so to speak- my experience of Owens’s illusionistic installation haunts me, continuing to conjure fantasies of the bizarre, the inexplicable, and the horrifying.

 *Owens’s untitled installation will be on view throughout the second week of November 2009 in the Sculpture Department on the first floor of the Visual Arts Building, on the Pennsylvania State University/University Park campus. Admission is free and open to the public.

The Physical Impossibility of Suicide in the Material of a Magical Garden Gnome

At the edge of the gallery space a bi-colored pirouetting garden gnome perches precariously on the corner of an eight foot wall. On the floor below very near the same corner and close and to the edge of the painted exhibiting space, sitting maybe around six inches high is a small patch of moss crowned by a large mushroom which is entirely composed of the same two colored materials as its gallery-diving companion above. This new work by 27-year old international exhibiting artist Mayuko Kono is briefly on display at the Visual Arts Building of The Pennsylvania State University. Kono's sleepy suicidal creation, currently labeled Untitled, is propelling itself into all kinds of fantastical narratives. Arousing dialogs about materiality, gallery context, objectivity and the magical powers of gnomes this new sculpture is relentless in offering many imaginative inquiries.

Approaching for analysis, after the initial "OMG!" reaction, it would appear that the objects are made of two different colored plastics, a horrid dark forest green and a banal off-white material have been combined and sculpted together to represent the complete forms of a high-diving gnome and a oversized mushroom. The gestures of the two objects begin to magically activate the stark gallery environment. The activation comes out of several juxtapositions present in Kono's piece; between the painted and unpainted floor, the gallery floor and walls, the walls and the corner, between the colors of the object as well as the gnome and his 'shroom. The resulting orientation is anything but a passive sleepy lawn decoration posited in a gallery!

This Duchampian recontextualization is fantastically magical despite its suicidal tendencies. Yet, is Kono's object trying to call our attention to something that is often overlooked in our white gallery spaces and green front yards? We may never know the answer and think of snuffing it ourselves, but that isn't the point. It might be the fact that there is a lot of magic in our material world. Perhaps Kono is interested in forcing together these different materials of our world so we can find the active magic at the edge conjoined spaces.

Play with History by Bethany Seib

First year Sara Nesbitt presented a narrative photograph titled “The Possibility of being taken out of context” during Monday night’s seminar this week. Neatly placed in a pile of leaves sat a well kept typewriter spilling out the redacted script of Walter Benjamin’s 1940 book On the concept of History. Benjamin… We meet again. Walter Benjamin is a 19^th century writer whose left a highly influential work, a romanticized “suicide” and a missing manuscript—which drew critical skepticism and contributed to the creation of several theories.

My first impression was that this piece was a still from a reenactment of one the theories of Benjamin’s missing manuscript. The placement of the typewriter shows no evidence of fleet and the paper shows no signs of authenticity, leading me to forget about Walter and turn my attention to the artist’s stage. The interest in the evolution and alteration of history is clearly expressed. I lose interest in the possibility of a narrative and focused on the saturated color and iridescent shine. The warm leaves melting into the murky depth is relaxing. This piece is beautifully printed. Her process is flawless. It’s clean. Almost too clean. When I think of history it’s messy, sometimes candid, and sometimes staged. However, the timid staging here leaves no room to play. Nesbitt, being a first year, has plenty of time to explore her content and hone her skills. I would like to see her come out of her shell and play! Put the books down and throw’em around!

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.

Folded Diametric Oppositions - Erica Harney

Exploring the tensions and revealing the relationships between two opposing forces is the underlying motivation in the development of Erica Harney’s latest work. Delving in the unknown, the locus of obscured conflicts, provides Harney a method for exploring the tension inherent in the dualism of our psyches and structures. For her, this concept of the unknown reflects the disconnect between many elements in modern society, which maintain a quality of un-joinable puzzle pieces – Harney tries to bring these disparate ideas and issues together with her constructed connections.

Drawing on the Rorschach ink-blot technique, Harney builds upon this concept with oils and canvas. By folding the canvas, pushing the paints together and then pulling them apart, she reveals forms that illustrate the relationships of diametrical opposition. This multiple-fold technique and obscuring creates, instead of the flat mirror figures of a Rosharch fold, a complex language of changes and fissures on the canvas.

Two of the pieces are joined by trompe-l’oeil band-aids, bringing our focus to the space between the canvases. It is in this area of transition where her work could go deeper to delve into the psychological edges and tensions she discusses so fluently when elaborating on her motivation. This idea of edges and thresholds is echoed in the lower canvas, where a receding geometric figure suggests both an entryway and a void.

The elements of a fissure can be seen more subtly in the third piece with its central element of a spinning, falling turkey. While this piece does not communicate her explorations as clearly as the two connected canvases, the dynamic quality of motion has the bird being pulled downward into the unknown. The structural fissure brings out the line between the stable and fluid, the tension between the visible and what is just beyond in the void.

The intriguing elements and techniques Harney is developing entice the viewer’s interest in what this artist’s future will hold –providing a glimpse at what she can do with a further unfolding of the layers of opposition at the surface of this work. The nascent exploration of this concept of the unknown, growing from the development of her multi-folding technique, provides room for both technical and artistic intensification of this current theme. The ability to look with courage into the difficult places in our collective psyche, along with her passion and painterly skill give Harney a unique lens with which to interpret the world.

13,000 years of Ceramics’...and then there was Doug

Doug Peltzman is a ceramicist currently working toward his Masters of Fine Arts at Penn State University. His work deals mainly with functional objects that can be used in daily life. However, by simply looking at the work, it is apparent that Mr. Peltzman’s ceramic pieces go beyond the functional and enter into the realm of Fine Arts.

The first aspect that becomes apparent through investigating the work is that there is an overwhelming tactile quality to each piece. This draws the viewer in and beckons the individual to engage the object through touch. The hand drawn lines and ornamentation become sensitized as one holds the object. Mr. Peltzman is also able to incorporate an audible sensation with his works, specifically with the lids of the urn like structures he has created; the sound of removing the lid is quite pleasing to the ear as well as the touch. The glaze work of each piece acts like water pooling on a surface as it is effected by gravity. In addition, the line work brings a heightened awareness to the fluidity of the form as well as the function of the particular object.

Looking at the objects I am initially reminded of the home, but the objects are a supporting cast for events that may occur within the domicile. When I consider Mr. Peltzman’s work, I think of ceramics from a historical aspect of entertainment and conversation during household gatherings; similar to how the ancient Greeks utilized their ceramics. Whether it is during a dining experience or simple leisure time, these objects provoke discussion as well as a tactile interface to experience the pieces more personally.

As for their function, I feel that these pieces would be for actual use rather than kept sacred and revered. To use them simply for display would deny them of their inherent function and destroy the efforts Mr. Peltzman has put forth. Instead, these ceramics pieces provoke a need and desire within to create an occasion to which they can be utilized to their fullest extent and fulfill their destiny.

All of Mr. Peltzman’s works have an individual quality and a certain uniqueness that separates each piece from one another. Although two pieces have the same function, they are not identical in their visual form; there is no duplication that occurs. But somehow, Mr. Peltzman is able to establish a body of work by having a signature style that resonates throughout all of the works, creating a personification of himself in each and every piece.

Going Beyond the Photo

The three portraits currently on display in the Zoller Gallery by Sal Salvatore demonstrate an exploration of gesture as it relates to his sense of theatricality.

The staging of the image is apparent in the way that Sal chooses to position his subjects. This is most clearly seen in his portrait of Doug and Pam. The books do not allow the figures to get any closer while the tight clenching of the embrace does not allow them to back away. The lack of movement betrays an awareness in the image of both itself and of the viewer.

The gestures of the embrace allow the viewer to immediately identify with the figures depicted, but do not extend beyond the image. Sal begins to capture not only the gesturing of the figures, but also the gesturing of the artist in his self-portrait. The abrasive method of sanding records how and where the artist’s hand has moved; it becomes both a caress and a destructive act and contributes to the understanding of the image.

Sal’s interest in the image of the book has moved away from a direct reference and towards an interest in the object itself. Still, the book is a symbol with understood meaning that prompts the viewer to ask expected questions. Is there a transference of knowledge happening between the figures and the object? Is knowledge becoming a barrier? Are the figures part of an unknown race that sense through this object? Sal is best able to break free of this literalness in his portrait of Brian Franklin. The background and the foreground merge creating an undulating sensation. There is also a merger of technology as the green screen that is associated with the digital age morphs into and becomes the book. Or, perhaps it’s the other way around. Through the uncertainty of what is depicted, Sal creates a curiosity that allows the viewer to consider the image in a more rhizomatic way.

As Sal’s images begin to be realized on the canvas instead of the photo, I am finding myself more interested in what they are and what they allude to.

Satirical Product or Art as Commodity?

The product Garrison Gunter is offering the masses, iSurvive “Interpersonal Radiation Transmission Device,” a plastic mirror etched with Morse code, is readable from the backside in order to use the reflective side to communicate in outmoded, IN-Network style. It’s shape directly referential of the iPhone, the piece comments on the futility of keeping up to date with the most recent technology and networked communication, as well as the problem of art as commodity, Gunter tells us.

The packaging, albeit well designed for an item one might find at Spencer’s, is not reflective of a collectible, as the limited first edition number and artist’s initials insists that it is. The price Gunter offers us, just $99 to have our own satirical communication device dictates attainability in conflict with its materiality, and, conceivably, audience and interaction. Clear plastic sleeves and recycled cardstock folded and stapled to seal the package, displayed on slat board and Virgin Records style hanging system typical of a South Park figurine rather than a collectible worthy of it’s $99 price. One might argue that such collectibles as comic books have similar unsubstantial packaging, however these items already contain a history outside of the object itself, and it is the history that the object is representative of, that influences its worth in price. Gunter’s objects do not have this history.

This piece tightrope walks the line of art and design ever so closely; it does well as a clever item, with clever design and tag lines, effectively utilizing the language of retail, one so pervasive in our culture, thus easily understood by a larger audience. Then the question becomes, what moves this object from satirical product to commentary on art as commodity? The placement of the iSurvive product line within a gallery space is the only answer we are given, and this answer is not enough to sustain this argument posed by Gunter. If iSurvive, is, in fact commentary on art as commodity, then more is needed to complicating its one-sidedness, a shift towards middle ground rather than almost entirely toward product.

This blog is for Penn State School of Visual Arts students enrolled in
Fall 2009's Art 505- Graduate Seminar.

Grad Seminar meets on Monday evenings from 6:30- 9:00 PM in room 009 in the Business Building, unless otherwise announced. Reviews of the works seen in critiques during Grad Seminar are to be posted on this blog by each week's designated critics (TBA on the first day of class) on the same Friday of the critique, between the hours of 12:00 AM - 10:00 Am. (for example- if a work is critiqued on Monday, October 5, then a critic's review of the artists work is to be posted on this blog on Friday, October 9, by 10:00 AM). If you need to post it on a Thursday night, this is fine, as long as it is posted by Friday AM.

The specific time frame for posting each review is being asked in order to coordinate with each Friday's Art in Review in The New York Times.

Each Friday's reviews will be discussed in the following Monday's Seminar class before new work is viewed for critique.