The summer edition of the Stranger’s Art & Performance Quarterly is out! Recommended SAM shows in the visual arts listings include Hear & Now, 2018 Betty Bowen Award Winner: Natalie Ball, Victorian Radicals, Zanele Muholi, Material Differences: German Perspectives, You Are on Indigenous Land: Places/Displaces, and Claire Partington: Taking Tea. They also recommend upcoming events Summer at SAM and Remix.
The newspaper collection, says Dixon, preserves “an important, critical part of American history. To see that [this] time existed and that it’s captured in the pages of these newspapers so that people can actually see and read what we said—not what someone else is interpreting from afar—but what we said, how we articulated revolution in this country, that’s the importance of them.”
Inter/National News
From the Los Angeles
Times: The Natural History Museum of LA County announced a
major rethink of the La Brea Tar Pits site; the Olympic Sculpture
Park’s designer Weiss/Manfredi is one of three firms making proposals for the
project.
“Museums
desperately need talent in all sorts of positions—curators represent a fraction
of the staff of museums,” Anderson said. “We’d be thrilled if an accountant
emerges from [the Souls Grown Deep initiative] and finds their way into the
museum profession, but they’re an accountant who has knowledge and experience
in a particular cultural remit that otherwise they may not have.”
Situated beside the sublime glass and steel edifice of the Seattle Public Library Central branch stands Fountain of Wisdom (1958–60), designed by George Tsutakawa. This piece was the artists’ first public fountain commission after a prolific career as a painter, sculptor, and teacher in the Pacific Northwest. Within the Seattle Art Museum’s collection is Fountain (1971), a bronze metal sculpture that helps tell the story of Tsutakawa’s unique Japanese-American experience.
Tsutakawa was born in Seattle in 1910 and spent his early years in Capitol Hill, not far from Volunteer Park. At the age of seven, like many American-born kibei, he was sent to Japan for an education in Japanese art and culture. When he returned to Seattle a decade later, he studied sculpture at the University of Washington and spent his summers working in the Alaska canaries. Drafted into the US Army during World War II, Tsutakawa returned to UW as a graduate student on the GI Bill. Soon after, he began his teaching career in the School of Art.
During the mid-1950s, artist Johsel
Namkung introduced Tsutakawa to a book called Beyond the High Himalayas.
Included were descriptions of ritually stacked stone structures accumulated by
travelers at mountain passes as private and public spiritual offerings.[1]
The influence of these obos proved to be profoundly impactful on
Tsutakawa, forming the basis of much of the rest of his life’s work. After
creating a series of abstract wooden sculptures, Tsutakawa
translated obos into metal sculptures and public fountains.
Fountain stands over five
feet tall and is composed of a single vertical axis that holds a stack of
abstract forms: a footed base, a pronged shallow bowl, intersecting
parabolic-shapes, and a hallowed ovoid. It is easy to imagine this sculpture as
a fountain, water flowing over and through the bronze forms; the symmetry
adding to its geometry.
From 1960 until his death in 1997, Tsutakawa designed and fabricated over 70 fountains. His work can be found all along the West Coast, as well as in Washington, DC, Florida, Canada, and across Japan. Fortunately for Seattleites, a crowd-sourced map has been created to help us locate this important artists’ public works.
– Steffi Morrison, SAM Blakemore Intern for Japanese and Korean Art
[1] Kingsbury, Martha. George Tsutakawa. Seattle: Bellevue Art Museum and University of Washington Press, 1990.
SAM’s intricate and stunning sculpture of The Lamentation over the Dead Christ by Massimiliano Soldani Benzi is currently on view in Body Language, but wouldn’t be if it weren’t for a years-long project that restored the piece to its former sheen. To make this possible, our conservators worked with a team at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence, the original home of the sculpture. See images from the process and find out more about the conservation process from our conservators before you see this sculpture in person.
Lamentation over the Dead Christ before conservation.
Massimiliano Soldani Benzi’s bronze sculpture The Lamentation over the Dead Christ (SAM 61.178) was cast in 1714 and acquired by SAM in 1961 as part of the Samuel Kress Collection. SAM’s Head of Conservation, Nicholas Dorman, led a multi-year fundraising campaign to study and treat the sculpture. Completed in December 2018, the project encompassed three broad goals: analysis of the surface and cleaning, replacing the lost crown, and constructing a new period-appropriate base.
The sculpture was loaned to the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence in 2017, where it was featured in Making Beauty: The Ginori Porcelain Manufactory and Its Progeny of Statues. The exhibition discussed the relationship between Soldani and the Ginori Porcelain studio: after his death, Soldani’s heirs sold some of his wax models and molds to Mr. Carlo Ginori, who reproduced them in porcelain at his Florentine workshop. The bronze Lamentation over the Dead Christ was displayed next to its porcelain cousin for the first time, both having been cast from the same approximately 56 molds.
Lamentation over the Dead Christ during conservation
The Bargello exhibition was an opportunity to study and document the various layers of degraded, non-original surface coatings—a mixture of black-brown pigmented wax and oils—with Florentine conservator and metals specialist, Ludovica Nicolai. Nicolai has worked on a great number of Soldani’s works in the Bargello collection. In collaboration with Nicolai and SAM’s conservation department, scientific analysis of the coatings was executed by a team of scientists from Adarte, Pisa University and Florence University, in order to inform the cleaning approach. Over four months, solvent gels were used to soften the hardened coatings, followed by cleaning with dental tools and the flexible tips of porcupine quills to gently remove the non-original layers from the surface.
Meanwhile, the missing crown of thorns was re-cast by the Florentine foundry Ciglia e Carrai. Two sources informed the crown’s recreation: a 1970–1990s image of the sculpture located in the Fondazione Zeri archives (housed in Bologna), and the original wax model of the sculpture located in the Palazzo Pitti collection.
Lamentation over the Dead Christ after conservation
At the conclusion of the treatment, a stylistically appropriate wooden base was constructed—whose form echoes the porcelain version in the Bargello exhibition. This replaces the modern stone mount on which it has been previously displayed.
Lamentation over the Dead Christ conserved on pedestal
This project was a truly international collaboration. As well as the experts mentioned above, we are particularly grateful to Dr. Paola D’Agostino and Dr. Dimitrios Zikos and their colleagues at the Bargello for their abiding support and for being so generous with their knowledge. To conserve a sculpture like this in its original place of creation is a significant funding challenge, and we wish to thank the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, The Museo Nazionale del Bargello, SAM’s Plestcheeff Fund for Decorative Arts, an anonymous foundation and an anonymous individual donor. Thanks to their support, we can present and share the story of this magnificent Florentine baroque sculpture.
– Geneva Griswold, SAM Associate Conservator& Nicholas Dorman, Chief Conservator
Images: Installation view Body Language, Seattle Art Museum, 2018, photo: Natali Wiseman. Before conservation photo: Ludovica Nicolai. Installation view Museo Nazionale del Bargello, 2017, photo: Arrigo Coppitz. During installation and details photo: Ludovica Nicolai. Fondazione Federico Zeri Archive | no. 149804Silver gelatin print, ca. 1970–1989 During treatment in the Bargello Museum galleries, photo: Geneva Griswold. After conservation photo: Ludovica Nicolai. Installed on pedestal photo: Arrigo Coppitz. The Lamentation Over the Dead Christ, ca. 1714, Massimiliano Soldani, Bronze, 34 x 32 3/4 x 22 1/2 in. Samuel H. Kress Collection, 61.178.
Currently,
the Dorothy
Stimson Bullitt Library is featuring a display of three new
acquisitions from its Book
Arts Collection. These artists’ books share a common interest in
documents and other historical records—each, in its own way, addresses the
notion of archives.
The book
by Tammy Nguyen (American, born 1984)—A Surreal Archive: The Young-Mallin
Collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (2018)—announces its connection
to an archive in its title. This work was commissioned in an edition of 250 by
the Philadelphia Museum of Art Library to commemorate the collector Judith
Young-Mallin (American, born 1937) and her gift of the Young-Mallin Surrealist
Archive to the museum. The archive contains a wealth of materials and books
related to the original surrealist artists and those influenced by their work,
including Young-Mallin’s personal library, research files, interviews,
correspondence, photographs, and ephemera. Nguyen has constructed a book that
includes pop-up elements, along with hidden panels and envelopes. As Timothy
Rub says in the accompanying book’s foreword, Nguyen’s work “playfully mirrors
Young-Mallin’s spirit as a collector.”
Multiple
items from the archive are incorporated into the book:
Dorothea
Tanning’s Lanova: Design for Ballachine Ballet “The Night Shadow”
(1945); Paul Éluard and Max Ernst’s book Misfortunes of the Immortals
(1943); Young-Mallin’s book The Night the Lobster Telephone Rang (2011);
Richard Avedon’s photograph Carol Janeway with Bronze Sculpture by Ossip
Zadkine (no date); Carol Janeway’s pen and ink drawing For My Valentine
(ca. 1940s); a matchbook advertisement for the exhibition Marcel
Duchamp—Addenda (1974); a photograph by an unknown photographer titled
William Copley and Noma Copley on Honeymoon in Egypt (ca. 1954); and images
of The Stein-Toklas Doll House of Judith Young-Mallin (ca. 1970s), a
work that was created in Young-Mallin’s home by various artists, including
Leonora Carrington, Man Ray, Elsa Schiaparelli, and others.
This Is the End (Peter Norton Family Projects, 2017) is an archive of an unusual project undertaken in the name of art. For many in the art world, the most important gift at the holidays was the “Peter Norton Christmas Project.” Each year between 1988 and 2017, software entrepreneur, art collector, and MoMA trustee Peter Norton (American, born 1943) commissioned an art edition to celebrate the holidays. Created by artists in Norton’s collection and sent as gifts to a few thousand personal friends and members of the art community, these art objects were intended to foster engagement with the world of contemporary art. When the project concluded in 2017, Norton created an archive of the series in another edition: This Is the End (with the subtitle Our Closing Project in Three Parts). It includes a 72-page book titled The End, which details each of the thirty releases. The edition also includes a scorpion sculpture excised from the book, a postcard, an electronic video book, and earbuds. The format of this project and its scorpion theme were inspired by the art of Robert The (American, born 1961). The edition is enclosed in a book box that states “The End” on its cover.
Photographer
Dayanita Singh (Indian, born 1961) continues her series of “book-objects” with Pothi
Box (Spontaneous Books, 2018). Using images from various Indian archives,
this artist’s book holds thirty black-and-white images of paper archives, a
film archive, and a printing press, held together in a wooden structure. This
“unbound book” is meant to be hung on a wall or placed on a table. Similar to
that in
other Singh projects, the structure allows for the collector to play
a curatorial role by changing the cover image as they please. Unlike other
projects that have been contained in constructed boxes, this work is nestled in
a woven textile with needlepoint letters “Pothi Box,” recalling the archival sacks
featured in her photographs. Pothi Box is a smaller version of a larger
structure called Pothi Khana (2018), which was recently displayed at the
57th Carnegie International at the Carnegie Museum of Art.
These
works will be on view outside of the Dorothy Stimson Bullitt Library on SAM’s
fifth floor until June 12, 2019. Any questions about our Book Arts Collection
can be directed to libraries@seattleartmuseum.org.
– Traci Timmons, Senior Librarian
Images: This Is the End, 2017, Santa Monica: Peter Norton,Peter Norton, compiler, American, born 1943, BKARTS N 7433.4 N785 T54 2017.ASurreal Archive: The Young-Mallin Collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2018, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, Tammy Nguyen, American, born 1984, BKARTS N 7433.4 N58 S87 2018. Pothi Box, 2018, New Delhi, India: Spontaneous Books, Dayanita Singh ,Indian, born 1961, BKARTS N 7433.4 S557 P78 2018. Photos: Natali Wiseman.
We believe art is for everyone and right now everyone can experience a new kinetic sound sculpture installed at SAM’s 1st and Union entrance. Playing music, projecting poetry, and covered in the text, drawings, and collage by artists with lived experiences of homeless, Hear & Now is a collaboration between internationally celebrated artist, composer, and musician Trimpin and Path with Art students presented for you to view for free!
Built from an antique hand-pulled wagon originally built by Trimpin’s father in Germany, the work is activated by pressing the play button situated next to the object. Each tap triggers a different musical composition or poem created in collaboration with teaching artists. Hear & Now is free and accessible to all and will be on view through July 15. Visit the entire museum for free on Thursday, June 6, and catch the Hear & Now Performances and Artist Talkback taking place 6–8:30 pm featuring pop-up performances by the student artists, a movement piece directed by Rachel Brumer and Monique Holt accompanied by the musical compositions played by the sculpture, and a chance to hear from Trimpin.
Get primed for Thursday evening with this
interview with Trimpin and a Path with Art student artist.
SAM:
How did you start working with Path with Art?
Trimpin:
Five years ago, I was Composer in Residence with the Seattle Symphony
Orchestra. The last year of the three-year residency involves a public-outreach
workshop. I decided to work with a group of Path with Art student artists. I
was first introduced to Path with Art at a performance at the Hugo House; I was
impressed with the artistic caliber of all the performing artists.
Tyler Marcil: Jennifer Lobsenz, the Program Director at the time, asked me to participate in this project in the summer of 2017. We worked with Christina Orbe for six weeks and Yonnas Getahun for two weeks over the course of eight workshops at Trimpin’s studio.
During these workshops, we created found poetry – I had never
done anything quite like that before. I took a story that I had already written
called, “The Woman on the Sidewalk,” and pulled words from that story to create
new poems for the sculpture. A year later, I was invited to record work for
Path with Art at Jack Straw Cultural Center.
What is the significance of the wagon wheel as a foundation
for the sculpture? How does it relate to experiences of homelessness?
Trimpin:
When I was beginning to conceptualize the interdisciplinary workshop, mobility
and transition was a major consideration. Aware that most homeless people are
in continual transition, the wagon-wheel was a starting platform to build up
the story, not just metaphorically, but literally as a sound object which is
mobile. It is similar to the way the wagon was used in my family to haul a
variety of items around, and I still remember watching my father when he was
building the wagon from scratch.
How did the artists collaborate on the creation of the final
sculpture?
Tyler: The first group to meet was our group—the poets. The visual artists then took the found poems we created, turning these magnificent words into different pieces of art. Then the musicians came and made compositions inspired by the language and the artwork.
Hear & Now allowed many people to contribute their skills to this larger
project. The people who were involved all have different ways of expressing
themselves. Through this project, their voices are heard, and they are able to
speak from their soul through their medium. Without this
opportunity, they might feel silenced—without a voice, or without their voices
being heard.
Can you share a moment of discovery or breakthrough in the
process that left an impression on you? Why did that moment stand out to you?
Trimpin:
Artists in general are not collaborating with other artists very often. A part
of the workshop was to teach each student that we don’t have to compete with
each other; and we actually can work together and contribute each individual’s
expertise to make the project successful. This process was very important to me
and the project would not exist without the great commitment and interaction of
each individual student.
Tyler: I don’t like hearing my own voice. When we were recording our stories at Jack Straw I could feel my heart racing because it’s a voice that my mother created by teaching us to speak a certain way. I could hear the –eds and the –ings. Those were important in my household growing up.
When I was forced that day to listen to my voice I cried inside
because I realized—my voice is beautiful. And had I known that it was
beautiful, I would have listened all along. And now when I ask people, what
is it about my stories or poetry that you like? They tell me, it’s your voice.
What do you hope the sculpture can inspire in a viewer?
Trimpin:
My hope is that the viewer can hear and see that a group of Path with Art
student artists—adults—who have lived the experience of homelessness, addiction
or other trauma, have earned the ability, knowledge, and imagination to
collaborate, design, write, and compose and to achieve a project at this high
artistic level.
Tyler: I hope that Hear & Now will bring awareness of people who have lived experience of homelessness. That the person living that experience could be you. We shouldn’t allow ourselves to be prejudiced, or disown others as though they don’t exist.
And I think by having a sculpture that shares these wonderful
voices, not only are you hearing their voices, but your hearing that they’re a
person. The voice you hear is coming from them, from their humanity.
How does the upcoming performance connect to the sculpture?
Trimpin:
For the upcoming performance, the students are performing live, interacting
with the instrumentation of the wagon with their own voice or instrument.
Tyler: It ties together these themes of voicelessness and visibility for those experiencing homelessness. It connects to the sculpture because it’s using American Sign Language to present stories for those who cannot hear or speak, and ties in this concept communicating in different ways—with our voices, but also with our hands. This whole project is about lifting up those who have so often been silenced, and widening our circles of empathy and understanding, and the performance brings together both people with lived experience, and those without while exploring these themes.
– Chelsea Werner-Jatzke, SAM Content Strategist & Social Media Manager
Images: Installation view Hear & Now at Seattle Art Museum, 2019, photos: Natali Wiseman.
Path with Art would like to extend a special thank you to Seattle Department of Neighborhoods for making this project possible.
Stefan Milne of Seattle Met on poet Jane Wong, whose James W. Ray
Distinguished Artist-exhibition at the Frye—exploring
food, silence, and ghosts–opens tomorrow.
Lisa Edge of Real Change visits the
Central District’s new Black arts space, Wa Na Wari, created by Jill
Freidberg, Elisheba Johnson, Rachel Kessler, and Inye Wokoma. Also: the
collective is curating the Summer at SAM kickoff.
“They always say ‘this is so great’ or ‘this is so wonderful,’” Johnson
shared. “The first couple times it happened I said ‘you haven’t seen anything
yet.’ They say ‘no, this is here.’ It’s just something about being able to walk
into a space and know that it’s a cultural center for Black people that feels
embodied as soon as you go through the entryway.”
“For many reasons,
protest is a logical direction for art right now. There is still no federal law
prohibiting discrimination against L.G.B.T.Q.+ people on the basis of sexual
orientation or gender identity (although some states and cities have enacted
laws prohibiting it). Trans women continue to be victims of violence. The rate
of new H.I.V./AIDS transmission among gay black men remains high. And
the impulse within the gay mainstream to accommodate and assimilate is by now
deeply ingrained. The time has come to hear Sylvia Rivera calling us out
again.”
And Finally
As a person who has taken IKEA desks and Christmas trees on Seattle buses, I am here for this.
The work, Twins,
created by photographer and video artist, Sue De Beer (American, born 1973), depicts
two entwined twin teenage girls. De Beer’s work examines the internal conflicts
of high school-aged girls—a period of both happiness and great terror. De Beer
describes Twins as a “depiction of an impossible situation, a companion
who is not an other; a state of pure completion, the strength and horror of
desire without fear.”[1] What makes this work even more interesting is
that De Beer portrays her subjects through her own likeness. Rather than a pair
of identical twins, this image is a digitally-manipulated photograph of the
artist herself. Using her own body to explore the identity of others is a
technique the artist utilizes, to great effect, in other work, like Two
Girls and her seminal video work, Making
Out With Myself.
In her correspondence with Seattle gallerist Linda Farris (American, 1945-2005), De Beer explains:
“Much of my work takes place at high school age, a time of heightened experience, and often a time of ‘first’ experience: sexual experience, drug experience, intellectual experience. High school is the first time since birth that your height has stabilized, when your mind had learned enough to begin to analyze information, rather than just accumulate it. You have all of the physical equipment you will carry with you for the rest of your life, but it is all so new and unfamiliar, your agony and pleasure is heightened by the newness of being ‘complete,’ fully formed, and yet blank, without experience.”[2]
Twins, along with two other De Beer works, more visceral and violent—Two Girls and Untitled, from Heidi 2—came to SAM as part of the ContemporaryArtProject gift. CAP was the brainchild of Farris, who assembled a group of private collectors that were willing to share their private spaces with challenging images and objects. Farris selected daring new works that touched her very personally and passionately. In 2002, this group graciously gifted this work to SAM. The thirty-three artworks in the CAP collection include painting, photography, and video unified by a strong feminist perspective with an overarching theme: identity as a complex convergence of the cultural, social, and sexual selves.[3]
Despite Seattle’s typically June-uary weather, SAM is ready for summer and you know what that means—empanadas! Landscapes Café in our PACCAR Pavilion at the Olympic Sculpture Park has extended their hours and their menu to make sure that visitors to SAM’s waterfront sculpture park have all the snacks and beverages they could possibly need.
Now open Friday through Monday from 10 am to 2 pm, Landscapes offers a rotating selection of roasters and their seasonal drink, The Vermonter (latte with maple syrup, brown sugar, and cinnamon). For all you non-coffee drinkers, Smith artisan teas, Spindrift sodas, kombucha, and juice boxes are available so everyone can stay well hydrated.
Sweet & savory pastries from Comadre Panaderia & Macrina Bakery and grab-and-go sandwiches and salads from Molly’s make it so that all you have to bring for the picture perfect picnic is the blanket.
Landscapes Café originated as a teardrop trailer mobile coffee shop owned by barista Rickie Hecht and is part of SAM’s continuing partnership with Seattle nonprofit Ventures, which helps bring emerging entrepreneurs to the sculpture park’s PACCAR Pavilion. Stop by next time you take a walk in the park!
If you’ve strolled through the Olympic Sculpture Park since May you’re probably wondering about the tire tracks covering the PACCAR Pavilion. As if monster trucks went rogue or a motorcycle gang veered off Western Avenue to burn some surreal rubber, the building is wrapped in a pattern of skid marks. Look closely and you’ll spot five toy motorcycles on the interior mural wall, the origin of this mind-bending temporary intervention—by one of Latin America’s most influential contemporary artists—that alters our perceptions of our physical environment.
Commissioned by SAM, Regina Silveira: Octopus Wrap is the latest architectural installation the artist has realized around the world. Hailing from Brazil and examining the ways superimposed images change the meaning of an existing space, Silveira took inspiration from the Olympic Sculpture Park’s location at the intersection of several busy thoroughfares. Next time you visit the park, tune in to the sounds of traffic, trains under the greenway, and the churning sea, as you take in Octopus Wrap, on view through March 8, 2020
Silveira’s interventions on the exteriors and interiors of buildings, on city streets and in public parks, have included dense clusters of footprints, swarms of insects, nocturnal light projections of animal tracks that wander across building façades, and exaggerated shadows. Some of her installations have the appearance of occupations, infestations, or supernatural visitations; others seem to be fantastical apparitions that suspend the laws of nature and perception.
For Regina Silveira, a political element of these ruptures resides in their assault on our perception or, in her words, “in the level of transformation that can be brought about by grafting something into a given space in a way that magically changes its relationship to the real.” Her aim is estrangement from the familiar, and her preferred tactic is surprise. Beyond a heightened sensory experience within a newly defined space, Silveira’s mode of intervention can also be understood in social and political terms.
With Octopus Wrap, the pavilion’s calm, white walls are noisily invaded by five motorcyclists who use the windows, walls, and floor as their racetrack. When seen from a distance, the undulating tracks create another, larger image, one that ensnares the architecture as if within the arms of an octopus. The installation will be temporary, but the new images and sensations it creates will enter our memory and form a lasting imprint of a different kind.
We extend a special thank you to our generous SAM Fund donors who helped make this installation possible.
“It is going to require human centered solutions that will require putting the person that is having that experience at the center of the solution . . . And art is just a tremendous vehicle for that.”
“But there is nothing supernatural or sacred here. We have the deepest
feelings for light because it powers the processes that result in the wine we
drink, the books we read, the park-bench kisses we enjoy all through the
summer.”
“Chicago is a city
full of hope about shifting histories and moving toward equity, and the fact
that the new mayor wanted a work of art about that says a lot,” Gass added. “We
believe in the power of art to help shift perspectives, and hopefully the map
in the office will help do that.”
In 2016, the Seattle Asian Art Museum invited acclaimed Japanese artist Tabaimo to study the museum’s collection and curate an exhibition. The resulting presentation, Tabaimo:Utsutsushi Utsushi, was based on the concept of utsushi, which literally means “copying or paying homage to a master’s work.” Tabaimo selected several historical objects from SAM’s Asian art collection to present alongside her own work, some of which she produced specifically for the show. The last gallery of the exhibition featured the museum’s beloved pair of 17th-century Crows screens and Tabaimo’s response, a video installation that imagines new possibilities for the screens’ depicted action.
The subject of the Crows screens is a murder[1] of black-feathered birds set against squares of gold leaf. Descending en masse from the top left-hand corner of each screen, the crows wind their way down to a rocky crag along the bottom edge. In photographs of the screens, the birds appear as silhouettes, though an in-person viewing reveals the unique texture of each creature’s feathers, eyes, beak, and claws. The dynamism of the scene is created through the movements of the individual crows. In some places, they fly towards each other, suggesting an impending clash; in the upper right-hand corner, two birds take part in a midair tussle; and even those grounded crows spread their wings, look about, and caw.
In Tabaimo’s video utsushi of Crows, the birds are flattened into black silhouettes floating against a background of gold squares. Here, the squares take part in the action too. One by one, they sink into the pictorial space revealing rectangular hollows into which the feathered-beasts fly. An exhibition text explains:
In Japanese culture, it is a custom to tidy things up at the end of an event. Crows are often associated with untidiness because they look for food among garbage and create litter. Tabaimo does not intend for us to leave the gallery with a clear understanding of the exhibition, but rather, she would like to invite lively discussions by ending it in an ambiguous way, just as the crow brings untidy debris.[2]
– Murphy Crain, Asian Art and Gardner Center Coordinator
[1] Not a killing! A group of crows is called a murder. [2] Tabaimo: Utsutsushi Utsushi exhibition brochure
National and international visitors came to Seattle and paid attention to this gathering of art which led to a connection with the American Federation for the Arts through their board member, Kimerley Rorchach. The AFA took on the responsibility for finding other museums and organizing the logistics for traveling the exhibition. During three years, it was seen at the Frist Center for the Arts in Nashville, the Chazen Art Museum in Madison, the Blanton Museum of Art in Austin, and the Audain Museum in Whistler.
Amazingly enough, the entrance to the exhibition often focused on a painting that has the startling quality of a stop sign, by painter Ngilpirr Spider Snell, who is warning you not to get too close to a sacred body of water that is being guarded by a snake.
That warning leads into looking at dots, mazes and linear patterns that may not always be what they seem. In Australian Aboriginal art, dots can trace the journey of a creative ancestor.
Or dots can punish a boy who has stolen an emu’s heart by turning him into a colorful whirlwind
A maze can be a map of an artist’s homeland filled with sandhills.
And linear dashes of paint may conjure up leaves full of medicinal strength blown across a windswept desert.
This art constantly offers many new visual experiences—peering underground to see yams grow; trekking over vast salt lakes; following the trail of a blue-tongued lizard or encountering a lightning-spitting serpent in swirling water. It is endowed with the vision of the world’s oldest living cultures whose artists have ushered in an indigenous renaissance since the 1970s. They focus our attention on the remarkable continent these communities have managed for centuries.
At each venue, the exhibition was accompanied by texts written by SAM, and designers put the art in interpretive themes also established by SAM. Throughout the tour, the couple whose collection was being featured made their way to the openings to speak with the press, educators, staffs, and members of each museum. Thanks to Robert Kaplan and Margaret Levi for making this extraordinary tour possible, and to all the artists whose creativity continues to challenge our eyes to adjust to what they consider significant.
– Pam McClusky, Curator of African and Oceanic Art
Are you a fan of the Seattle Asian Art Museum who loves discussing your favorite artworks? Consider volunteering as a docent at the Asian Art Museum when it reopens later this year! SAM is recruiting new docents to start training to lead tours of the newly installed galleries and you have until May 31 to apply.
Docents bring their unique interests and backgrounds to each tour they lead and that’s what makes them fun and engaging for SAM’s diverse audiences. A docent like Nina didn’t go to museum growing up but later found them to be an important part of her life and started leading tours with SAM to help others become invested in museum visits early in life. Find about more about Nina in the interview below!
SAM: Tell us about yourself. Why did you decide to become a docent?
Nina: I am an artist and studied at an art school in San Francisco. Since I was young, I loved making art and knew I wanted to become an artist. It wasn’t until I was older that I also learned to love looking at art. A huge part of my college education took place at museums and included wonderful opportunities to meet the people who help these spaces function. Growing up I never really visited museums and by the time I became an adult, I somehow fell into the impression that the museum was a space reserved for people unlike me and the stories being told there did not represent mine.
After seeing many different museums, I was blown away by how much these spaces offer our communities. By the time I finished college and decided to move back to Seattle I knew that as much as I wanted to continue making art, I also wanted to find opportunities which would allow me to tap into the joy I have for museums. Becoming a docent with the Seattle Art Museum was really the perfect outlet for that joy. I was especially compelled to become a docent given my previous background of apprehension toward museums. There are many people who avoid museums out of feeling excluded. Having once been one of those people, I have a lot of patience and understanding when it comes to sharing what I think we can all learn from art.
What’s the best part of being a docent?
The best part of being a docent for me is definitely getting to see all the incredible connections people make to their own lives all just from looking at art. I’ve worked primarily with younger students and whether we are looking at a piece from the Pacific Northwest or from somewhere far away, whether it was made last year or hundreds of years ago, I’m always so thrilled to see how quickly the students will begin to relate the work to their own lived experiences.
Another thing I must mention as being a huge highlight is the wealth of resources we have access to! Through the online database, which docents can access, and the library at SAM, there is so much to learn about the art in SAM’s collections. Docents are always contributing to this wealth as well. For any art lover, it’ s really a dream and very fun to get lost in exploring the archives.
What’s your favorite work of art to tour?
My favorite installation to tour is Lessons from the Institute of Empathy. This installation includes the work of Saya Woofalk along with pieces from many other artists, so there is a lot to work within the gallery for the many different tours we do. But what I love most is seeing how students light up when they step into that space. The whole installation really breaks a lot of preconceived ideas about what art and museums are supposed to look like. And the concept of empathy is always one that generates really deep and often touching conversations.
What’s your most memorable touring experience?
I gave an Elements of Art tour to a particularly enthusiastic class once. They walked in without much prior experience of talking about art, but by the end of our tour they couldn’t contain their excitement at discovering the different elements we had just discussed in every artwork we passed. It was as if I had revealed a magician’s trick to them and their glee was really contagious!
What advice do you have for people applying for the docent program?
Visit museums! Not just art museums too. Seattle has so many great museums. I think it’s important to get a feel for the culture and approach to education unique to each museum. It helped me understand what qualities I felt were important and how I could bring that to my role as a docent.
Heads-up, parents and caregivers: summer in Seattle is upon us! Here’s Elisa Murray for the Seattle Times with great ideas to keep the learning going and keep the fun going while school’s out. She includes Summer at SAM, our annual series of free programming at the Olympic Sculpture Park, held this year July 11 through August 22.
And Artdaily
and Patch.com
both shared the news about Regina
Silveira: Octopus Wrap, the mind-bendingly cool site-specific
installation at the Olympic Sculpture Park’s PACCAR Pavilion.
“It might seem too-little-too-late to argue for sublime beauty in the
face of urgent statistics about habitat loss, mass extinctions, droughts,
wildfires and coastal erosion. But the introspective state that art is so adept
at conjuring might be the only angle from which our modern brains can process
and address the monumental facts.”
Inter/National News
Farewell
to I.M. Pei, the
Pritzker Prize-winning architect who passed away at the age of 102. He designed
the glass pyramid entrance of the Louvre in Paris and the East Building of the
National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC.
A photograph of Mary Corse’s White Light Painting (Inner Band Series) provides an idea at best of the composition of the painting—a large but shallow rectangular support, the canvas neatly stretched over the bars. Three vertical bands, varying slightly in tone with an almost silvery color seen in photographs, stretch from the top to the bottom of the canvas, framed by narrower matte white bands on the right and left margins. The delineations between the center three stripes in the image are blurry, but discernible.
White Light Painting (Inner Band Series) as it exists in a photograph is an entirely different painting
from the actual painting in life. In the presence of the painting, its light,
shadow, and color is elusive, and the thresholds of the three central bands—made
of smooth layers of inherently colorless silica glass microspheres—recede and
advance. As the viewer moves around the painting, the three central bands
change value subtly in opposite directions. The outer bands of microbeads
appear dimmer near the bottom of the painting and become more incandescent near
the top, while the center band becomes more incandescent closer to the bottom
of the painting, to a shimmering, undulating effect, up and down, as each band
flashes in and out of visibility. The outermost stripes of matte acrylic white
paint on the margins assume different hues according to the refraction of the
light—briefly glowing pinkish green, then back to white, then nearly a dim gray
in contrast to the flare emanating from the center as the silica glass
microspheres bend light to create a prismatic field.
This is Corse’s goal: to instill dimension in her paintings
not with illusion or figurative ground, but by using light as it comes into
existence in the perception of the viewer, in real time, as the painting
refracts it. It would be careless to assume that her paintings are simply about
their shimmering finish.
Corse resists the easy association with California Light and Space artists. Though she lives in Topanga Canyon and shares some interests with those artists in her particular attention to light and space, the phenomenological experience of artworks and, perhaps distantly, her use of an industrial material for its surface qualities, Corse’s use of light is informed by its metaphysics, not by her particular locale.
It does happen that Corse began using silica glass
microspheres in her paintings following an encounter with the material just
outside Los Angeles. On a sunset drive in Malibu in 1968, she noticed the
luminosity of the street signs and street markings. Corse had been searching
for ways to incorporate light in her paintings, and turned to the microbeads, which
are used in retroreflective paint for pavement marking. In her Inner Band series, the iridescent effect
can be compared to the meticulous, seamless finishes of West Coast Minimalist
paint applications, and yet it isn’t so mechanically applied that the surface
appears manufactured.
Most notable to me are the ways this painting refers to and
departs from the self-reflexive qualities of modern painting in the 1960s, in
their attention to flatness and abstract use of form and color. The arrangement
of the bands of microspheres in White Light Painting (Inner Band Series) at
once describes and affirms the flatness of the surface in the evenness of the
layers, and also breaks the plane apart into fugitive planes of light.
Additionally, the contour of the bands, while elusive, are straight and
rectangular, stretching vertically from the top to the bottom of the canvas.
Even as the bands appear to flare and fade, they repeat the length and the form
of the painting itself.
Corse’s color is not inherent to any pigment in the painting,
but exists in flux in the eye of the viewer. Whereas other paintings use tints
or shades for color, Corse’s microspheres use pure light, and the random,
polychromatic color that comes from its refraction.
Experiencing White
Light Painting (Inner Band Series) is deeper than the experience of looking
or simply beholding it—you are apprehended by the painting as you spend time
with it, paying attention to it and witnessing its permutations. It exists in
glances of light, in full silvery columns, in the soft apparent glow at its
margins, and the fluttery animation of its surface as you walk past. It is
spectacular for its sparkle, but even more so for its ability to resist
expectations of a definitive state of being.
– Hannah Hirano, SAM Coordinator
for Museum Services and Conservation
References
Clark, Robin, ed. Phenomenal:
California Light, Space, Surface. Berkeley, CA: University of California
Press, The Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, 2011.
Do you love art and can’t wait to spend loads of time in the Seattle Asian Art Museum when it reopens? We’ve got the volunteer position for you! SAM is recruiting new docents to start training to lead tours of the newly installed galleries and you have until May 31 to apply.
Our docents have a wide range of interests and background. Take David, for instance—he started volunteering to lead tours to get more involved in the arts community and his favorite artwork in the museum changes with every tour! Want to learn more about being a docent? Join SAM staff and current docents at our Docent Open House on May 16, 2019 from 6–7 pm
SAM: Tell us about yourself. Why did you decide to become a docent?
David: It was a way for me to get to be connected with the community when I came to Seattle.
What’s the best part about being leading school tours?
The exposure to the art and interacting with kids. One visit to a museum is never enough to get to understand or enjoy something. My joy in being in the museum comes from close contact with art over a period of time. It’s more meaningful when I can try to engage a group of kids or even adults in responding to an artwork. It’s a challenge, but it’s really a pleasure.
What’s your favorite work of art at SAM?
That changes every tour. I tell every group I take into the galleries, “I’m going to take you to see my favorite piece.” I want to express to kids, and everyone else on my tours, that I have regard for the work. Yesterday, my favorite piece was Market Scene by Paul Bril.
What’s your most memorable touring experience?
The emotional response to Marie Watt’s Blanket Stories: Three Sisters, Four Pelts, Sky Woman, Cousin Rose, and All My Relations in the Northwest Coast galleries. My take on it has always been that every blanket has a story and Blanket Stories encapsulates the stories of the people who created the materials in the piece. I ask viewers if they have a blanket story and it’s always very moving. It’s a very meaningful moment when they see it’s not just about a blanket, but that this is a collection of human beings’ lives.
What advice do you have for people interested in the docent program?
Be yourself. That’s it! A mistake that’s easy to make is to think that there’s a canned presentation that you’re going to give. Those are not the most interesting tours by any means. When docents have internalized a piece, it makes a big difference in the way the audience that you’re speaking to reacts.
“I needed to let go
of whether I was an artist or not, and I needed to pursue the things that I
want to see existing in the world that don’t exist. What are the things that
would leverage this world that didn’t meet my expectations?”
Celebrated Brazilian artist Regina Silveira has debuted a new
site-specific installation at the Olympic Sculpture Park’s PACCAR Pavilion
called Octopus Wrap. A glimpse of the
installation process was captured by the Seattle Times’ Alan Berner. Seattle Met and Crosscut also previewed the
installation, which features a series of tire tracks wrapping around the walls,
windows, and floor of the building, looking like the arms of an octopus.
“The startling
change to the familiar park building embodies elements of play, but also
reminds us of the luxury of presuming our surroundings will always stay the
same.”
“By the top of the stairs, the macaron begins to bobble; on the
penultimate step, it leaps to its death, in its final act somehow managing to
shatter on the soft carpeting. A man seated at one of Canlis’ well-spaced,
snowy-white-linened tables regards me with a mixture of pity and horror.”
Inter/National News
But is it CAMP? The
Met’s latest exhibition—and attendant over-the-top Gala—has everyone reaching
for their undergrad copy of Sontag. Herearesomethoughts.
“She said her
legacy is in the work of her students,” notes Ikemoto. “Even when they didn’t
have money to buy their own art supplies, she let them use hers. She often
said, ‘I know much I was put down and denied, so if I can teach these kids
anything, I’m going to teach it to them.’”
Imogen
Cunningham was a seminal female American photographer, active in the Pacific Northwest
(where she was born and raised) and the San Francisco Bay Area. This image of
the artist and her grandchildren, taken in the reflection of a fun house mirror,
is representative of Cunningham’s larger practice that spanned decades:
experimental, technical, and the stuff of everyday life.
Cunningham is perhaps best known for her abstracted
botanical photography, though she also produced images of the human nude,
industrial landscapes, and street scenes. Here, her subject matter is much more
personal and takes on an emotional valence.
It is often perpetuated that Cunningham
was forced to choose between her career and motherhood, ultimately choosing the
latter when she closed her portrait studio. However, this narrative is not
quite accurate—Cunningham managed her responsibilities as both a mother and an
artist, developing a photographic practice that blended art and life
seamlessly. Neither roles were without sacrifice, of course, but Cunningham did
her best to juggle her identities as a mother and artist—identities that, to
this day, are either presented as mutually exclusive or not discussed nearly as
much as they should be.
Moyra Davey’s Mother Reader is a major achievement in this regard.
Published over fifteen years ago, the volume brings together testimonials,
diaries, and essays by women artists, writers, and creative thinkers whose
lives were forever altered—both positively and negatively—by pregnancy,
childbirth, and motherhood. It is an amazing resource that focuses on the
intersection of motherhood and creative life, honestly exploring the varied experiences
of being a mother. In Margaret Mead’s essay “On Being a Grandmother,” Mead, a
cultural anthropologist and contemporary of Cunningham, writes:
However, I felt none of the much trumpeted freedom from responsibility that grandparents are supposed to feel. Actually, it seems to me that the obligation to be a resource but not an interference is just as preoccupying as the attention one gives to one’s own children. I think we do not allow sufficiently for the obligation we lay on grandparents to keep themselves out of the picture—not to interfere, not to spoil, not to insist, not to intrude—and, if they are old and frail, to go and live apart in an old people’s home (by whatever name it may be called) and to say that they are happy when, once in a great while, their children bring their grandchildren to visit them.
When taken into consideration with this photograph,
one can’t help but wonder what Cunningham’s experience was like as a grandmother.
Was she able to spend real time with her daughter’s children? Did she feel a
similar tension between acting as a resource and an interference? How did being
an artist and grandmother differ from being an artist and mother? This early
selfie suggests that she and her grandchildren had some adventures and joyful
times, but it is just one glimpse into their relationship after all. Even still,
we’re fortunate Cunningham chose to share it with us—there’s certainly a little
beauty in it.
– Elisabeth Smith, SAM Collection & Provenance Associate
“The bags themselves are about struggles and power.”
– Jeffrey Gibson
Did you know that almost all of Jeffrey Gibson’s materials are sourced from a vendor that serves the powwow circuit? Hear from the artist as he talks hip hop, art school, identity politics, and Indigenous economies. All that and more is packed into If I Ruled the World, one in a series of punching bag sculptures by Gibson. We’ve got galleries more where this punching bag came from. See paintings, sculptures, videos, and a new multimedia installation in Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer at SAM through May 12. See it this weekend!
SAM is now
recruiting new docents to start training for the reopening of the Seattle Asian
Art Museum. You don’t need to be an art historian or a teacher to apply! In
fact, SAM docents have a variety of interests and experiences. Having a diverse
group of docents is how we’re able to offer tours that are engaging to all
visitors. Read below and find out more about docents like Erin Bruce who
volunteer their time at the museum.
If you still want to learn more about being a docent? Join SAM staff and current docents at our Docent Open House on May 16 from 6–7 pm! Or, apply now to the docent program. Applications are accepted through May 31.
SAM: Tell us about yourself. Why did you decide to
become a docent?
Erin Bruce: I have always been inspired by all things visual,
whether it is nature, a building, a room and especially art. I studied art in
college and made art whenever possible. Now I am a technical stock trader and
rely on charts for my work—more visual interpretation! It was a three-year wait
for a new docent class to start for me after a friend told me about SAM. The
chance to participate with our museum is an honor.
What’s the best part about being a docent?
The best part
is all of it: meeting energetic, generous, knowledgeable people; constant
learning; leading a tour of young people and engaging them in the art and
history of objects. It’s all gratifying. SAM’s collections are a wondrous gift
to our city and special exhibitions join and expand experiences as well.
What is your favorite work of art to tour at the
Asian Art Museum?
The Deer Scroll. Calligrapher Koetsu and
painter Sotatsu collaborated to create this iconic masterpiece. Our 30 feet of
the original 72 feet contains 12 poems from the Shin Kokinshu, which took four years to write. The beauty and
harmony transports you to another time and place.
What’s your most memorable touring experience?
Tours were
scheduled the week before Mother’s Day so I made a gallery activity “A Gift for
Mom.” Given one exhibition room students got to pick an object that they would
give to their Mom if they could. It revealed so many wonderful things such as
what objects in our Asian art collection young people were most drawn to, what
they found beautiful and why. Crafting future tours improved since I had
learned some of their favorite objects. The chance to interact with young
people is yet another joy and benefit of leading a school tour.
What advice do you have for people applying for the
docent program?
Your interests
and life experiences offer wonderful and unique perspectives. You will discover
and explore the vast and layered connections of art to our lives. It is so much
fun.
Follow Carla Rossi, an immortal trickster and your unofficial tour guide through Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer. Gibson’s contemporary art combines powwow, pop culture, and punching bags to explore what modernity means within Indigenous cultures. Carla Rossi combines drag, clowning, and entitlement to address complacency, and the confusion of “mixed” identities. See through Carla’s eyes when you visit Like a Hammer.
This video is one of a series presenting Northwest Native American artists responding to Gibson’s work. The character of Carla was created by Anthony Hudson, a multidisciplinary artist, writer, performer, and filmmaker. Hudson, a member of the Grand Ronde tribe, started performing as Carla as an art project in 2010 and has since turned Carla into a full-fledged persona, body of work, and occupation. Hudson prefers the term “drag clown” over “drag queen” because he’s not trying to emulate women. Carla is a tool for critique. When he performs as Carla, Hudson wear whiteface in direct allusion to whiteness, clowning, and as a critical inversion of blackface.
Jeffrey Gibson believes, “everyone is at the intersection of multiple cultures times, histories. . . . that there’s a lot more to be gained at the space in between mapped points then there is at the mapped points. . . . I’m always looking for these in-between spaces of things.” Similarly, Anthony Hudson (Grand Ronde), is interested in “in the edge – that line between satire and sincerity, between critique and reification—as a site where transgression and transformation occur.”
Jeffrey Gibson is of Cherokee heritage and a citizen of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians. He grew up in urban settings in Germany, South Korea, the United States, and England, and his work draws on his experiences in different cultural environments. In his artwork, materials used in Indigenous powwow regalia, such as glass beads, drums, trade blankets, and metal jingles, are twined together with aspects of queer club culture as well as the legacies of abstract painting. Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer is a major museum exhibition presenting a significant selection of this contemporary artist’s exuberant artwork created since 2011. The presentation in Seattle closes on May 12.
“Reverberating beyond the badge-required halls of Amazonia is a bigger
conversation about the company’s contributions—or lack thereof—to Seattle’s
creative community as a whole, considering how much it’s altered the city’s
physical and cultural footprint.”
“Navigating the
limited existing roles for [black artists] is exhausting, and never-ending,”
Jemison says. “And black artists are very aware that being selected is super
arbitrary and predicated on partial understanding of the work.”
Ancient Andean cultures used complex recording devices known as quipu, fashioned from tally cords, which
allowed for the communication and recording of information essential to daily
life. The quipu were essential tools
for many Andean communities: they were a medium that enabled reading, writing,
and, importantly, remembering. Such Indigenous practices nearly disappeared due
to colonial suppression. Not unlike the quipu,
the Cuna mola—or blouse—produced in
the San Blas Islands represents the resilience of a community in the face of
colonization.
The Cuna Indians are an Indigenous people who live along the Atlantic
coast of Panama and Colombia. In the 16th century they were driven by the
Spanish from their original home in Colombia, and moved west toward the coast. Mola, as we know them today, evolved from
elaborate body painting. In the mid-18th century, when European settlers
introduced cloth to the region, women began to wear simple blouses, painting
them with natural dyes in the same manner they had previously decorated their
bodies.
To make these elaborate blouses, an artist—importantly a woman—begins
with multiple pieces of different colored cloth, and bastes one on top of the
other. After cutting multiple designs, the maker then hems the edges with fine
stitches. From there additional elements are added, such as embroidery,
positive appliqué, or incisions that reveal the layers of cloth below. This
reverse appliqué technique is an intricate and time-intensive process that has
been mastered and handed down from generation to generation.
The history of the mola is
inextricable from the history of colonialism in Latin America. It evolved in
spite of European contact and continues to be shaped by contact with non-Native
people today. For example, traditional Cuna designs—on both the body,
originally, and the blouses—include abstracted linear patterns, stylized flora
and fauna, and figures from Cuna mythology. When interactions with outsiders
increased due to the construction of the Panama Canal, motifs such as
trademarks, slogans, and American products appeared. Further, in the first
decades of the 20th century, the Panamanian government tried to ban many Cuna
customs, including their language and traditional dress. A resistance was
mounted, and in 1925 the Dule Revolution resulted in the autonomy of the Cuna
people, granting them the right to govern their own territory and culture
autonomously. The mola can thus be
seen as a vibrant textile tradition that represents the strength and resilience
of the Cuna people.
– Elisabeth Smith, Collection & Provenance Associate
How many Everlast punching bags has Jeffrey Gibson turned into hanging sculptures? What number did Nina Simone’s “I Put a Spell on You” reach on the Billboard chart? What do these two things have to do with each other? Visit Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer and find out before it closes May 12!
Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer is a major museum exhibition presenting a significant selection of this contemporary artist’s exuberant artwork created since 2011. Gibson’s complex work reflects varied influences, including fashion and design, abstract painting, queer identity, popular music, and the materials and aesthetics of Native American cultures. The more than 65 works on view include beaded punching bags, figures and wall hangings, abstract geometric paintings on rawhide and canvas, performance video, and a new multimedia installation.
Writer and artist Lauren Ko went from pie-making hobbyist to bonafide (bona-pied?) Instagram phenomenon nearly overnight with her @Lokokitchen page, which shares elaborate, how’d-you-make-that pie designs to her now over-250,000 followers. She visited the Seattle Art Museum to see Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer and made a pie inspired by the artist’s work—which like hers, embraces the complex, the blended, and the colorful.
SAM: Lokokitchen just took off—or should we say rose
quickly?—since launching in August 2017. What’s that been like for you?
Lauren Ko: It has
been completely mind-blowing. As someone who started her career in social work
and then transitioned to nonprofit administration, and who has no professional
culinary, pastry, or design training, going viral changed my life! I am now a
full-time pie designer sharing my work on social media (wild!). I never
imagined that this casual hobby—I made my first pie two years ago—could become
a career of sorts, and I am grateful every day for the opportunities that have
come along with it. I’ve met and baked with Martha Stewart. I have a YouTube
video with over 5 million views. My pies have been featured on the cover of a
magazine. I teach workshops that draw participants from all over the world.
People recognize me on the street! It’s baffling and thrilling and totally
overwhelming.
What was your experience visiting Jeffrey Gibson:
Like a Hammer? What most resonated with you?
Texture, pattern, and color are flames to my moth eyes, so Like
a Hammer was a sensory dream. I was riveted. What a feast! Of course, we
share some common aesthetic elements, like colorful geometry and patterning, so
paintings like All Things Big and Small
and Shield No. 15 caught my eye right
away. But truly, it’s the way Gibson combines captivating visuals with powerful
messaging that spoke to me. He discusses the exhibition’s title in this manner:
“To me, a person who is ‘like a hammer’ is capable of building up and
tearing down–envisioning something different and making it happen. […]
Sometimes there are no words, and an expression has to be a movement or another
form. There can be a message within the medium, whether it is painted, beaded, woven,
or hammered.” He does an incredible job of speaking clearly through
his art, and that continues to stick with me.
Was this your first time creating a pie specifically
inspired by art, or a specific artist’s work? What was your process for
creating this pie?
I made a “Starry, Starry Nut (I know…)” mosaic atop a bourbon pecan pie inspired by van Gogh’s ubiquitous Starry, Starry Night painting once. Generally, I’m influenced more by my environment and surroundings—things like architecture, textiles, furniture—than specific artists. I have pies and tarts in my feed that are inspired by bathroom tile, bamboo purses, patio chairs, and storm drains.
I was actually compelled to make my first pie after seeing
some beautiful creations on Pinterest. But those pies were ornately floral and
covered with foliage dough cutouts. They were beautiful. But the rustic,
feminine aesthetic wasn’t quite my style, and I instinctively shy away from
“things that have been done.” I hadn’t seen any modern, geometric
takes on pie, and thought to give it a go. Now it’s officially a food trend!
My process is largely informed by basic factors like, what
do I have in my pantry? What produce is in season and on sale? Often, my
creations are a result of simply needing to use fruit on the verge of decay.
After that, I consider flavor pairings, color contrasts, and ease of design.
Some fruits lends themselves to being manipulated a certain way better than
others, so I also take those factors into account as well.
For this particular tart, I knew I wanted to incorporate
multiple colors in the filling, inspired by the vibrancy of Gibson’s work. I
also knew that a geometric element would be especially appropriate for the
design. I had a lingering dragon fruit on hand; it’s a fruit that slices
cleanly and lends an additional textural component. Dragon fruit has a pretty
neutral flavor, so I paired it with two bold, punchy curds and a crisp buttery
shortbread base.
Tell us about more the PIE!
Normally, my tarts feature one filling. To maximize the use
of color and to mirror the intertwined manner in which Gibson melds visuals
with messaging, I experimented with creating a swirl of two flavors—raspberry
lemon and spirulina lime—two colors within the one tart. It’s clear they are
connected and cannot exist separately. I then covered the surface with a full
slate of dragon fruit tiles, which provide one final layer of texture and color
contrast.
Please tell us you ate it.
Ironically, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, and at this
point, I’ve definitely reached pie over-saturation. I share everything I make
with friends, family, and neighbors though, and this tart was handed off to a
lovely home and received happy reviews (always a relief)!
What’s next for Lokokitchen?
I plan to continue creating and sharing original works on my Instagram account @Lokokitchen, and hope to resume my pie workshops in 2020. I’m drawn to this wild life of pie-making primarily for the art and design aspects, so I’m constantly exploring opportunities both within as well as beyond the food space. I’m excited to see where the journey continues to lead!
“It’s impossible to read the whole story just standing there (though do
try, if you wish). But stepping back, you get a sense of the artist’s ambition
and vision, his diligence in exploring the dark recesses of his visual
imagination.”
“It allows you to
be enveloped in a conversation about interacting and bringing others along.
This approach to a monument is that it’s an invitation to participate.”
Victoria Haven’s Northwest Field Recordings explore how abstracted language can evoke a personal experience. In Northwest Field Recording – WA (12”/B side), the names of important Pacific Northwest trailheads and natural formations are called out: Desolation Peak, Cutthroat Pass, Mount Forgotten, Confusion Falls, Forbidden Peak, Obstruction Point—to name a few. And while these locales could certainly be anywhere (and join a long list of despairing-sounding sites around the world), they are importantly here.
Rendering these locations in a form that recalls the 12 inch
format of an LP, Haven creates an equivalence between the names and the
circular grooves on a record. Given the work’s relationship to the natural
landscape of the Northwest, it is also meant to reference the cross-section of
a tree, revealing its life-span and time on earth. Taking into account the
Pacific Northwest’s storied landscapes, both cultural and natural, the work
deftly addresses two aspects of our region that loom large as defining
qualities and points of pride.
With each peak, pass, gap, and lookout folding in on itself, the drawing lures the eye inward, forcing a cyclical reading that—like a spinning record—is hard to break. The more one reads these poetic names, the more evocative and abstracted they become. As described by arts writer Stephanie Snyder, “the proliferation of language [in Haven’s work] oscillates into a gorgeous and captivating tangle of ideas and emotional associations.” Though this work is not on view in the upcoming exhibition Sound Affect, another work by Haven is, Portable Monument – There’s no place…, and similarly explores the history of Seattle’s music scene and the region’s shifting social and cultural landscape.
– Elisabeth Smith, Collection & Provenance Associate
Listen as poet Sasha LaPointe shares a piece of her writing in response to Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer. An Indigenous writer incorporating themes of survival and mixed heritage, LaPointe is the artist in residence at ARTS at King Street Station and recipient of a 2018 Artist Trust GAP Grant.
Jeffrey Gibson, the artist behind Like a Hammer is of Cherokee heritage and a citizen of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians and grew up in urban settings in Germany, South Korea, the United States, and England. His sculptures, abstract paintings, and multimedia installation draw on his experiences in different cultural environments. Similarly, Sasha LaPointe’s work is influenced by a wide range of things: from the work her great grandmother did for the Coast Salish language revitalization, to loud basement punk shows and what it means to grow up mixed heritage.
See the exhibition that LaPointe’s piece, below, connects to before it’s too late—Gibson’s complex and colorful contemporary art is on view in Like a Hammer now through May 12!
Blue
I emerge from our small, yellow linoleum bathroom, blue. The bathroom is at one end of our single wide trailer, and I have the length of narrow hallway to consider before reaching the living room, blue.
“Blue!?” And I know my mother is furious.
“You look ridiculous.” It’s all she says. And I do look ridiculous.
I had torn out the pages from a magazine. Lined my bedroom floor with them, and studied. Those punk rock, spiked hair, white teeth, high fashion, popped collar, leather studded glossy photo squares were strewn across my small space like a spread of tarot cards telling me a future I would never get to. Not out here. Not in the white trailer rusting amber, thick of trees, stretch of reservation, of highway that stood between me and whatever else was out there. Record stores. The mall. Parking lots where kids were skateboarding and smoking pot, probably. Kids with boomboxes and bottles of beer. Out there, were beaches with bands playing on them. And these faces, these shining faces, with pink, green, purple and BLUE hair. Blue. I could get that, at least. I could mix seventeen packets of blue raspberry Koolaid with a small amount of water, and get that. It was alchemy, it was potion making. But no one told me about the bleach, about my dark hair needing to lift, to lighten, in order to get that blue. No one told me that the mess of Koolaid would only run down my scalp, my face, my neck and would stain me blue.
Blue, is what you taste like, he says still holding me on the twin bed, in the early glow of dawn and my teenaged curiosity has pushed me to ask what does my body taste like, to you? His fingers travel from neck to navel, breath on my thigh and here in our sacred space he answers simply. Blue. You taste blue. And I wonder if what he means is sad. You taste sad.
Taqseblu. The name is given to me when I am three. To understand it my child brain has to break it apart. Taqsweblu. TALK. As in talking. As in to tell. As in story. SHA. As in the second syllable of my English name. As in half of me. BLUE. As in the taste of me. Blue as in Sad. Blue. My grandmother was Taqsweblu before me. And now I am Taqseblu too.
“I think that Gibson’s work holds a lot of humor, and this piece specifically does, which I find to be such an accessible entry point to much more nuanced conversations around Indigenous issues.” – Christine Babic
Watch as visual and performance artist Christine Babic unpacks Jeffrey Gibson’s use of Indigenous materials in his abstract painting on rawhide, Someone Great Is Gone on view in Jeffrey Gibson: Like a Hammer, on view at SAM through May 12. Gibson is of Cherokee heritage and a citizen of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians. He grew up in urban settings in Germany, South Korea, the United States, and England, and his work draws on his experiences in different cultural environments. In his artwork, materials used in Indigenous powwow regalia, such as glass beads, drums, trade blankets, and metal jingles, are twined together with aspects of queer club culture as well as the legacies of abstract painting.
Christine Babic’s artwork explores geographical heritage, colonial discourse & her Chugach Alutiiq identity. She was SAM’s annual artist in residence at the Olympic Sculpture Park in winter of 2019. You can learn more about her and her artwork in an interview she did with SAM.
“I found that in making plays, I get to make community and it can be
different kinds of community. But that’s the thing ultimately, to get people to
talk about important and difficult issues, by entertaining them and then
provoking them.”
The Guggenheim’s groundbreaking Hilma af Klint exhibition closes next Tuesday. Artnet’s Ben Davis reports that the show’s over 600,000 visitors has made it the museum’s most-attended exhibition of all time.
“It’s universal,
Western, religious, literary and cultural, and that’s what makes it different
from any other object. It’s the whole spectrum from the trivial to the
transcendent, the sacred to the profane.”
