Art Gallery Visit 4-20-19

This week I visited the Albright-Knox Art Gallery and viewed the We the People: New Art from the Collection exhibit, which is an exhibition focused on “how we define identity, form communities, and confront the various forces that shape our lives…Taken as an ensemble, the works in We the People encourage us to think about our place in a constantly evolving world. Who are we? What are our values and how are they formed? How do we imagine our future? These questions arise from a complex and often contradictory set of experiences and circumstances, ranging from our engagement with popular culture to our political debates, physical environment, and historical narratives,” (Albright-Knox 2019).

The exhibit was located on the second floor of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, and as I walked up the stairs toward it, I was presented with a huge portrait made up of recycled cans. The portrait was lit from above by tungsten track lights that cast a soft spotlight on the artwork, which was how all of the works in the exhibit were lit. The only lighting exception was This is not a fountain (Gupta 2011-2013), which was lit by a combination of tungsten track lights and natural daylight from the glass ceiling above it.

As I entered the exhibit, I quickly noticed the We the People: New Art from the Collection logo and the visual contrast it created against the warm white gallery walls. All of the walls in the exhibit were either a warm or cool white, which allowed the artworks to visually stand out against them. As far as the interior architecture was concerned, the walls were a typical painted drywall with white baseboard molding, and the entryways between rooms featured molding made of marble. The entryways themselves were huge (probably 12 feet high), and the ceiling was also very tall (probably 20 feet high), with the highest ceiling being in the room where This is not a fountain (Gupta 2011-2013) was displayed; that same room included several rows of Corinthian columns made of marble, which were located on either long side of the room, while the room’s center was open and thus, able to accommodate an artwork as large as This is not a fountain (Gupta 2011-2013). The overall feeling of the interior architecture was one of grandness and importance, due to the high ceilings, use of marble molding, and Corinthian marble columns.

As I moved through the exhibit, I noticed that there were five total rooms: the entry room, which was one of the biggest; the room with the marble columns and skylight roof, which was the biggest room; and three smaller rooms, two of which were in between the large rooms. I found the varying sizes of the rooms to be interesting because I felt as though each room had something unique to offer, even before I noticed the artworks themselves. The final room, which featured This is not a fountain (Gupta 2011-2013), was the most awe-inspiring because of how open it was, along with the Corinthian columns and the natural light shining down through the glass ceiling.

The artworks themselves were either mounted to the gallery walls, or free-standing on the gallery floor, which created an interesting visual variety as I walked through the exhibition. All of the artworks were similar because of their theme—which focused on identity, community, and how our lives are affected by various forces—even though most artworks were vastly different in their form and appearance: Agus Suwage’s Tembok Toleransi #2 (Tolerance Wall #2), (2013)—which was the floor-to-ceiling self-portrait made from recycled cans that featured an auditory element—was completely different than Yuji Agematsu’s untitled, (ca. 1993), which was a pair of leather shoes on a cobblestone that sat on the gallery floor next to the baseboard molding. The extreme differences in form and presentation of the exhibition’s artworks made it much more interesting for me as I walked through the exhibit.

The artworks in We the People: New Art from the Collection were not framed in a literal frame; instead, every artwork was framed by the soft spotlight that the track lights above them created. Visually—because of the lighting—each artwork was framed and highlighted. Also, because the walls were a warm white, each artwork stood out from its background, which further emphasized the artwork. Somewhere close to each artwork was a small, white rectangular sticker that was adhered to the gallery wall, which featured the artwork’s information in small, black type. The only exception to this was Htein Lin’s A Show of Hands (2013-ongoing) description, which was written in English and Burmese on a canvas that resembled an ancient scroll.

I noticed that each artwork in the exhibit had a comfortable amount of room between them so that at a glance, the room appeared to be filled with artworks—which made it intriguing because I saw many objects to explore—but as I approached each one individually, there was ample whitespace surrounding it so that I could focus on the artwork without distraction. The best example of this was This is not a fountain (Gupta 2011-2013), since it was in the largest room, which it shared with only one other artwork, Pascale Marthine Tayou’s Chalk Fresco A, (2015). There was so much space given to each artwork that neither one distracted from the other.

The first artwork that I gravitated to and spent time with was Htein Lin’s A Show of Hands (2013-ongoing). I could not find an official description of the of the work in the description on the canvas scroll, exhibit brochure, or online. Lin used a multimedia presentation to show interviews and his process, but the art objects themselves were plaster sculptures which varied in size, (approximately 9”x 6”x 3”). The pictures I have uploaded are photos that I took.

What I first noticed when I saw A Show of Hands (2013-ongoing) was how many hands there were, and how they were all in the same open-handed position, the way my hand would be if I were waving at someone. The entire installation was white, including the plaster cast sculptures, which made it almost blend into the gallery walls. The plaster hands did not blend completely into the gallery walls, however, due to the shadows caused by the shelves above the hands, along with the track lights shining down on them. The plaster hands were positioned close to each other and they were held up by four white shelves which spanned three walls of the room. Value was used by the light color of the plaster contrasting with the dark shadows around them, form was used because the hands were three-dimensional, and space was used because of how large the installation of the room was, combined with how close the hands were to each other in the rows. Contrast was used by the contrast of the white plaster and the dark shadows, movement was created as the viewer looked down each row of hands separated by the white shelves—which created a visual rhythm—and proportion was used because the hands were the size of regular human hands (or slightly larger, due to the plaster cast).

The symbolism of raising a hand is reminiscent of the classroom, where a student is called on by the teacher to speak their thoughts. It also alludes to any situation where people are asked to raise their hand and be counted, as in politics where people in democratic governments use their right to vote. After observing this artwork, I read the artwork’s description, which said that this piece “allows each person to ‘raise a hand’ and be counted among the vast community of people who have suffered human rights violations.” I definitely did not get the full concept of what Lin was visually representing until after reading the description, but I did understand that his work was about people speaking out in some way, wanting to be counted.

The second artwork that I really focused my attention on was Kevin Beasley’s Untitled (hollow), (2016), which is 80 x 73 x 36 inches (203.2 x 185.4 x 91.4 cm). Beasley’s sculpture was created with resin, housedresses, and kaftans. The pictures I have uploaded are photos that I took.

Untitled (hollow), (2016), immediately captured my attention because it seemed as though wet housedresses were emerging from the gallery floor. The housedresses were brightly colored and most had a floral pattern, and because of the resin that was used to give them form, they also had a glossy appearance. Each housedress was bent outward, away from the center, each striving in its own direction. The housedresses were also empty, though they looked like they were currently being worn by someone—but the person wearing it had become invisible.

Kevin Beasley’s artwork used form because the housedresses looked as though there was still someone wearing them, even though they were hollow; color was used by the vibrant, floral colors and patterns of the housedresses; and texture was used because the fabric looked smooth, glossy, and was still flowing and folding, as it would when its original owner would wear it. Movement was apparent in Beasley’s artwork as each headdress seemed to come alive, straining toward its own destination; emphasis was created by hollowing out the head area of the housedress, because my eye was immediately drawn to where the face should have been, but I was startled to see that there was no face—or any other form—there at all; and pattern was created by the floral patterns of the housedresses, as they danced across the entire sculpture, giving the piece an additional sense of movement.

I immediately thought of how the dresses were fanned out like how a flower’s petals are, because of the floral patterns on the dresses and how they are all bent away from each other. I noticed a sense of urgency and exodus, as if all of the headdresses were trying to get away from something. It was only upon reading the description in the exhibit’s brochure that I learned that this piece is about the African Diaspora, (Beasley himself being African American), and the hollowness felt by the cultures affected by it: “Kevin Beasley is fascinated with clothing and the ways in which it becomes a marker of cultural identities as well as stereotypes. Untitled (hollow), (2016), was created using polyester housedresses often worn by members of the African Diaspora, including women in the artist’s own family.” I never would have put the African Diaspora together with this artwork, but I did perceive there was a feeling of emptiness and a dispersion of the housedresses.

The third artwork that intrigued me was This is not a fountain, (2011-2013), by Subodh Gupta. Gupta’s installation is made of old aluminum utensils, water, painted brass taps, PVC pipes, and a motor, and it is 65 x 190 x 309 inches (165.1 x 482.6 x 784.86 cm). The pictures I have uploaded are photos that I took.

Of all of the artworks in the exhibit, This is not a fountain, (2011-2013), was the one that made me audibly say “Wow.” When I first caught a glimpse of the piece through the entryway, I could tell that it was a huge installation. As I approached it, I saw a small mountain of old metal cooking pots with faucets sticking out of it in random places, as the sound of flowing water became more apparent—but it was both soothing and shocking: soothing because the sound of the water flowing in and through the seemingly endless pots made me think of being by a peaceful river; and shocking because my next thought was “But where is all this water going?” I thought more about the water and realized how wasteful it was, as the mountain of metal pots made me think of a landfill. The sunlight shining down from the glass ceiling caught the edges of the pots and sparkled off the splashing water. I walked around the installation many times trying to see how it actually functioned, but to no avail.

This is not a fountain, (2011-2013), used form because of the three-dimensional shapes of the pots and the faucets; space was used by how overwhelmingly large the pile of pots was, in addition to how spacious the room was; and texture was also used by the hundreds of bent and pitted metal pot surfaces that the viewer’s eye could search for and discover. The movement of the water cascading down the mountain of pots drew my eye to follow the water’s path from the faucet to the floor; the emphasis of the water—both audibly and visually—directed my attention first to the faucet, then down the mountain of pots; and pattern was used by the repetition of seemingly endless circles and ellipses in the mound of old pots.

The very first thing I thought of when trying to interpret the meaning of this installation was how wasteful it was: wasting water by letting it flow endlessly and wasting pots by throwing them away instead of recycling them. I then thought about how we bury our trash in America or burn it, along with how much water and fossil fuels we consume—both in our using them and when we waste them. The artwork’s description told me that This is not a fountain, (2011-2013), is about Gupta’s commentary on resource consumption by how “the recycled metals and circulating water of this work raise the specter of competition over increasingly scarce natural resources.” I thought that Gupta’s installation was the most impactful because of the auditory and visual presentation, and the conceptual statement that he made about wastefulness and how we must be mindful of our consumption of natural resources.

I do not go to many art galleries (though, being in the Art Education program, I am in the process of changing that!), so I do not have a wealth of reference to compare the Albright-Knox Art Gallery to. However, despite my lack of reference, I am willing to bet that We the People: New Art from the Collection is one of the most interesting exhibits available to us right now. It was even more interesting to me because I was challenged by this project to view it as an Art Curator, which is something that I have never done before. Paying acute attention to details like lighting, architecture, and what themes connect the artworks, gave me a new appreciation for the art gallery setting. Now when I go to art museums in the future, I will pay attention to every detail of the presentation of the artwork, which will help me to understand them even better.

Until next time!

References

Albright-Knox Art Gallery website. Retrieved from: https://www.albrightknox.org/art/exhibitions/we-people-new-art-collection

Htein Lin

Burmese, born 1966

A Show of Hands, 2013-ongoing

Multimedia, plaster

Collection Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York

Kevin Beasley

American, born 1985

Untitled (hollow), 2016

resin, housedresses, and kaftans

overall: 80 x 73 x 36 inches (203.2 x 185.42 x 91.44 cm)

Collection Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York

Subodh Gupta

Indian, born 1964

This is not a fountain, 2011-2013

old aluminum utensils, water, painted brass taps, PVC pipes, and motor

overall: 65 x 190 x 309 inches (165.1 x 482.6 x 784.86 cm)

Collection Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York