Richard Long: walking as art (by Olga Norris)

Greetings! I’ve been a lurker and sometime commenter for a while, and decided to try the other side of the table. I work mostly with stitched textiles, which have been occupying me now for some 15 years, before which I worked in book publishing. I have always been interested in art. Some of you possibly know my blog: Threading thoughts

I thought that I would try to come up with a contribution to the Cafe at about this time every month.  Anyway, with apologies if I make a mess of the upload, here I go:

Line made by walking 1967

Line made by walking 1967

Today I visited the Richard Long Heaven and Earth exhibition at Tate Britain in London.   His work falls into the broad category of Land Art in that essentially he walks through landscape, making marks by using elements of that landscape such as rocks or earth, or by walking down the grass as in the image above, and then photographs his interventions.

He also performs prescribed walks such as 100 miles in 100 hours, or all the roads within a circle described around a specific point. For these walks he marks or draws outlines on maps, adds printed text, and frames them. Other works consist of words printed on paper, or reproduced on a wall, describing elements of the walk such as the sounds heard, sights passed, music listened to, etc.

Other gallery pieces consist of two-dimensional geometrically exact outlines on the floor filled with rocks from a specified place. The one below was installed on the accessible balcony roof of the gallery, and when I saw it I enjoyed the relationship it had with both building and surrounding landscape.

Slate Atlantic, Tate St Ives 2002

Slate Atlantic, Tate St Ives 2002

The other kind of work Richard Long makes is temporary mud-splashing on walls. He usually employs mud from the immediately local river for this – or mud from his own local river which is the Avon in South West England. I have seen this kind of work a few times, including in Nimes, France as shown here on Richard Long’s newsletter

My favourite piece of his is a permanent feature of a sculpture garden near my home, and which I visit fairly regularly. The piece is named the buzzard line, and follows on the ground the flight of a buzzard to one particular tree. It works particularly well because of the situation of the tree in the surrounding landscape. It sits at the top of the hillside overlooking a glorious bowl of a lush valley facing south. The buzzard has a fine view of prey from there. The line is made of heaped flint which is plentiful in this area and of course is known as the raw material for some of man’s earliest tools.

Tame buzzard line

Tame buzzard line

I find Richard Long’s work seductive, but I have wondered what there really is to it. I have found it difficult to engage fully with the body of work when only seeing elements here and there, and especially if with the work of other artists. I was pleased that this exhibition provided me with the opportunity to look hard and think about what he is doing.

Artist is such a broad description. Long is a performer with no audience present. Even his photographs record his having walked, or his having marked the walk. We have the evidence, but we have no witness. He is rather like those prehistoric folks who left their wall marks, their henges, their standing stones as enigmas for us.

He wants to declare himself as an artist and hence the gallery work.  In paraphrasing what was stated on one of the descriptive text panels in the exhibition: the evidence of the walks feeds our spirit, and the physical rocks and mud feed our imaginations – and I do find that the words are poetry.

Is this art literature made concrete? A room outside the exhibition contains many of Long’s artist’s books, and indeed walking through the galleries of work was rather like wandering through the pages of such. I am coincidentally reading Johanna Drucker’s excellent The Century of Artists’ Books and also thinking about the book form, so this examination of Long’s work is not too much of a diversion.

Is his work a personal journal which can be taken as a kind of manual for our own approach to the landscape around us?  Or is the fact that he shows us in his photographs landscapes that are untouched by human hand other than his own a kind of romantic arrogance and non-engagement with the reality of our exploitation of the earth?

I certainly want to think more about Long’s work, and also to explore the work of other Land Artists. I have come away with not only the exhibition catalogue, but also the Phaidon book on Land and Environmental Art.  I’m keen to broaden my thoughts to include Andy Goldsworthy, Christo and Jeanne-Claude, Chris Drury, James Turrell about whose art I know a little.

Musing on Museums (by Clairan Ferrono)

Before I get started on my museum musing, let me note that mine was the last post on this blog.  And that was over a month ago.  Is anyone out there interested in posting regularly or occasionally? This blog has been an important ingredient in my personal art education, so I should hate to see it fade away.

(Now I must also tell you that most of the images you will see in this post are not those I saw at the museum, but ones I scooped off the internet!)

Rothko

Rothko

Last week  another art quilter (Glenys Mann of Tamworth, Australia) and I went to the recently opened Modern Wing of the Art Institute of Chicago.  As you might imagine, this has gotten rather a lot of press here in Chicago.  Not only is a major portion of the modern collection  available for viewing and gathered together for the first time, the building itself is attracting a lot of attention.  We entered from Millenium Park, itself a worthy attraction!  I have no way of knowing the architectural significance of the building, but I can say it’s a pleasure to be in and look at art in:  light, airy and spacious.

Pollock

Pollock

On the ground floor is a special exhibitions hall.   I was happy to see the Cy Twombly exhibit (see a previous Ragged Cloth post on Twombly); all the work was new to me, but I felt like he was an old friend.  I could go through quite quickly, knowing where in his oeuvre things occurred and how they connected, and just concentrate on paintings I was particularly drawn to. And this viewing, then, provided a context I hadn’t expected for the rest of my visit.

Newman

Newman

The sections we visited were divided into American Art 1945 – 1960, American Art 1960-present, and European Art 1945-present.  As regular readers of RC know by now, I love Abstract Expressionism, so the 1945-1960 section was attractive to me.  The Rothko, Newman and Pollock were very nice, but not my favorites, so I moved on.  I was reminded that I don’t like de Kooning, Rothtenburg, or Kline, but maybe I’d like to learn more about Kline.  As you know, I believe that it’s hard to like or even to look at with appreciation artists that one has no “way into.”  And that’s how I feel about Kline.  So perhaps further study will lead me to appreciate him more.

I was particularly drawn to Joan Mitchell’s City Landscape (below).  It seems to represent the ganglion of a city’s nerves in the center of the painting which is vibrant and energetic and full of motion.  Note to self:  look at more Mitchell.

Mitchell City Landscape

Mitchell City Landscape

We then moved on to the more contemporary Americans.  I was immediately struck by a fairly recent Jasper Johns encaustic piece whose name I did not remember to write down, although I sketched some parts of it and wrote extensive notes about it.  It was a large painting, almost entirely gray, hinged on the side with parts of doors and  a cord hanging down from it.

Johns

Johns

I was particularly impressed by the painting, which  had shapes reflecting the shape of the cord, an actual shadow produced by the cord, and painted shadows.  Reflections of reflections of reflections.  I had never before been particularly interested in Johns, although I do remember wanting to see the Grey exhibit and not being able to.  So now I shall have to investigate Jasper Johns more thoroughly.

Then I looked at some paintings by people I had never even heard of (which is not surprising as I know very little of the contemporary art scene) :

Ellen Gallagher Untitled 1999 , Mary Heilmann Heaven 2004, and Margherita Manzelli Dopo la fine 2008. (I remind you that these are not the images of the paintings I’m writing about.)

Gallagher

Gallagher

I was very intrigued by these three and spent quite some time taking notes on each of these artists’ works, vowing to look them up and see more work by them.

Heilmann

Heilmann

By the time I had found the David Hockney and the Gerhardt Richter, I was too tired to look more than cursorily.  After all, I am a member of the museum and can come back and look whenever I want–how lucky am I?!  And then my friend came back and insisted I look at the Joseph Cornell with her!  And I adore Cornell, so off I went, glancing at Lucien Freund and Francis Bacon as I went (two I don’t like, important as I know they are. . . .).

Manzelli

Manzelli

After we had sat down and had something to eat, my friend and I were able to discuss what we had seen.  And I started to think seriously of what the curator does and how it affects our vision of art in a museum.  Why are certain paintings grouped together? We so rarely get to read why a curator makes the decisions he/she makes.  If I am in a room with 4 or 6 or 10 artists, loosely associated in time, and my knowledge of art history is weak, then what do I learn by the association?  I have to be very, very attentive to make out the connections (assuming the curator is a good one and there are connections other than simple chronology), unless I have prior knowledge  of a group or a period.  I have realized that I really prefer to see a large body of one artist’s work at a time so that I can educate myself, make observations and connections, and get a feel for what the artists is doing over a  period of time.  But a large collection, like that of the Art Institute, is great for introducing me to the myriad of artists I have not seen before, or showing me a side of someone I had previously rejected, or revealing to me themes or ideas  or commonalities I had been previously unaware of  among a group I know something about (our old friends the Abstract Expressionists, of course!).

I wonder if your recent viewing experiences at museums have been at all similar to mine?

Art in America (by Clairan Ferrono)

Last year I subscribed to Art in America for the first time, and I’ve really been enjoying it.  I must admit that I mostly look at the pictures, because I often don’t understand or am uninterested in the articles — although now and again one really captures my attention.  But the pictures are worth the expense!  I bookmark the ones I want to study, and then I look up the artist on the internet.  Sometimes I see work I don’t know by old friends like Frankenthaler,  Rothko, Mitchell, Richter or  Close.

Frankenthaler Crossing 1983

Frankenthaler Crossing 1983

But more often it is younger artists whose work I am unfamiliar with such as MaryBeth Thielhelm, http://www.searspeyton.com/html/artistresults.asp?artist=304&testing=true

Thielhelm Forest Sage Sea 2007

Thielhelm Forest Sage Sea 2007

Stuart Shils,  http://www.hackettfreedman.com/templates/exhibition.jsp?id=51,

Stuart Shils

Stuart Shils

Stuart Shils

Stuart Shils

or Lousie Fishman

http://www.cheimread.com/artists/louise-fishman/?view=selected

Fishman AllNight and All Day 2008

Fishman AllNight and All Day 2008

I was delighted to come across Robert Kushner  again after reading about him in Pattern and Decoration (ed Anne Swartz). http://www.sharksink.com/artists.asp?artists=8

Kushner Cherries

Kushner Cherries

And when I checked out

Albert Oehlen at the Luhring Augustine site

http://www.luhringaugustine.com/index.php?mode=current

I discovered a gallery that fascinates me – it’s like architecture.  Plus I like  or am interested in or intrigued by a lot of the work in the archives.

As an added bonus some photographs of Greenland set me on an internet hunt which led me to Ultima Thule (literally the ends of the earth) and this site  http://www.arcticthule.com/     ( I must admit to being somewhat obsessed by Greenland.)

Greenland

Greenland

As a group we fiber artists can be very close knit :) which is generally great, but can lead to insularity and inadvertant similarities in work.  I find it helps me tremendously to simply look outside my comfort zone and see what’s happening in the art world today.

Maya Lin: Systematic Landscapes (by Eileen Doughty)

Maya Lin, with sculpture from Bodies of Water series

Architect and artist Maya Lin has developed a large body of work relating to landscapes — large both in number and scale. I visited the Corcoran Gallery of Art, in Washington, DC, to see her indoor pieces.  (The show runs through  July 12.) Many readers will recognize Lin as the architect of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial on the National Mall.  However, that was decades ago, and she does not want to known solely by that one iconic monument.  In an interview in the Washington Post, she described her delight when a visitor asked about her newer pieces without mentioning the iconic monument.

Columbia River (pushpins)

Columbia River (pushpins)

Walking up the marble steps to the galleries, the first installation on view was “Pin River – Potomac.”  It is composed of hundreds of mundane metal-headed pins pushed into the wall, maybe 10 x 10 feet in extent.  It looks very accurate to my cartographer’s eye, with the two branches of the river starting as thin lines in the west, merging in West Virginia and widening as it nears the Chesapeake.  It is (or should be) recognizable to anyone familiar with the geography of this region (I live in Virginia), but to others it may be more abstract.  For example, the catalog/book of Lin’s landscape body of work includes a similar push pin map of the Columbia River (shown here), long and thin and not at all recognizable to me.  Outside of any other cartographic context, it becomes simply a sort of meandering, sketched line.  The shadows of all those pins adds interest.

2 x 4 Landscape

2 x 4 Landscape

The floor of the first room was almost entirely filled with over 54,000 sections of wooden 2×4 blocks at various heights, forming a hill or ocean swell (or both), named “2×4 Landscape”.  I felt as though I were looking from a great height over a vast ancient city of small earthen buildings packed together, seeing only the roofs.  The block heights vary from a few inches to perhaps 10 feet, too high to see the top surface.  They are laid in a grid, as if on top of graph paper, but small variations suggest the hand(s) of people who laid down all those blocks; the human element is implied by imperfection.  Neighboring blocks are at slightly different heights, and variations in color of the wood also are a delight to the eye.  Lin wished that the Corcoran would allow visitors to walk up the hill — wouldn’t that be fun!  However, apparently the Corcoran thought otherwise.

Atlas Landscape

Atlas Landscape

The only color in the otherwise monochromatic  exhibition was a set of atlases, displayed open, where Lin had meticulously cut out contoured sections through a dozen or so successive pages, resulting in cratered voids.  The visible parts of the pages were like sedimentary layers of rocks.  One atlas had index pages cut away, teasing the eye with black-and-white patterns from the bits of visible place name indices.

“Fractured Landscapes” were a series of very large rubbings, sepia-toned pastel on paper. A pane of  plate glass was cracked (I can imagine it being dropped and left flat on a floor), and Lin then laid paper over certain sections to make the rubbings.  The patterns are highly suggestive of river systems.  What a clever way to find complex natural lines in a simple manufactured material.

Fractured Landscape

Fractured Landscape

Similarly, “Plaster Relief Landscapes” used the medium of plaster on one white wall of a hallway.  Lin sculpted four types of landscape patterns in the plaster, smoothing the edges of each rectangular area nearly seamlessly into the wall.  There were no boundaries.  To me, they were suggestive of sand dunes, irregular hills, a canyon, and islands in a braided river.

When in a boat, do you ever wonder about what is below the water surface?  The “Bodies of Water” series uses beautiful Baltic birch plywood to show us the hidden volumes of the Caspian, Black and Red seas (see image at top).  Think of the land holding the water being used as a mold, and these sculptures are what are formed in a sort of lost-wax process.  The top layer of plywood corresponds to the surface of the sea, and each layer beneath conforms to the detailed curves of the bathysphere.  They look a bit like aircraft carriers, precariously balanced on pedestals.  The surface is a light tan, showing the grain of the wood, similar to ripples or contours; the layers below show the gorgeous dark amber variations of the plywood edges.  I wished that they had been displayed bottoms-up, accenting the unknown parts of the seas, making it easier to see the depths but  abstracting them more.

Water Line

Water Line

One of the most satisfying sculptures was “Water Line”,  completely filling a room with a wide grid of black wire, with various points touching the floor or the ceiling.  The viewer must walk underneath it.  It maps the area around Bouvet Island, a very isolated spot in the South Atlantic.  The wires are much like drawn lines, with small bumps and irregularities showing the hand of the artist.    Lin seems to be playing with  how we normally read maps, making you look up towards a surface and read a map larger than yourself — or be inside the map.

Outside of that room were smaller woven wire sculptures, “wire landscapes”, a few feet across, showing one hilly feature each.  After the majesty of “Water Line” these seemed more like sketches.

Blue Lake Pass

Blue Lake Pass

“Blue Lake Pass” fills the final room.  Lin invites the viewer to literally walk in her scaled-down Rocky Mountain landscape. The installation is split into 20 sections (laid out 4 x 5) with enough space for a person to walk between (but not wheelchairs, I noticed).  The heights ranged from 6 inches to perhaps 5 1/2 feet — a very human scale, though the viewer cannot see the entire surface from any one point.  Instead of horizontal layers of wood like “Bodies of Water”, “Blue Lake Pass” is composed of vertical layers of plywood, each layer individually contoured.  A multitude of lines become three-dimensional.  It brought to my mind a lush surface of brushed corduroy, so tempting to touch.  I wanted to be able to vary the lighting, shine a flashlight across the hills,  play with the shadows; walking amongst the sections changes the shadows somewhat as various surfaces of the plywood are revealed or hidden. Like a feminine personification of an Earth goddess, it is all naked, lush curves.

I am envious of being able to work so big.

For many of these installations, Lin collaborated closely with scientists; truly they are art and science combined.  She has found beauty in geography, and shows us the complexity of the landscape in simple monochromatic lines, depicts our fragile world in strong materials.

Doubtless, many assistants were needed to install the largest pieces, if not use the tools to make them.  However, this exhibition shows one artist’s consistent vision.  The Corcoran’s website has a short video, showing two of the pieces being installed and indicating the vast room-filling scale.

Visit Maya Lin’s website to see more of her indoor and even larger outdoor installations.

Nature as Art – Sandra Wagner

Recently I was in Los Angeles and spent a day at the La Brea Tar Pits.  I don’t know if you are familiar with the Tarpits History Museum aka Page Museum but it is in the heart of LA and was discovered in the 1920’s when the owner of the Rancho La Brea found bones in the asphalt that had seeped up from under the ground.  They contacted the Los Angeles County Museum and a dig was started.  The first time I saw it it was a bubbling tar pit that was fenced in and made burpy sounds (this was in the 50’s) and smelled awful.  In 1971 the Page Museum was built and the wonderfully preserved animals were taken out of storage and found a new home. 

The beginning of natures art work is figured at 38,000 years ago.  The unusually high quality of fossil preservation of  the animals, birds and 1 human was because the bones were buried rapidly by the  asphalt.  The guide stated that the asphalt did not act like quicksand but you became stuck and could not get out – this is shown where some of the animals were attacked and killed while they were stuck – both animals dying as the tar bubbled over them.

They found Juniper Trees, Golden Eagles, Sabertooth Cat, Shasta and Attacking Ground Slouth, Coyotes, Dire Wolfs, American Lions, many Birds, 1 Person and  Ancient Bison plus others.

I have included some pictures I took – if you want more information go to www.tarpits.org also if you are in the area it is worth the time to see.

 

animal1This is the way the animals were found – the tusks are man made – in most cases the tusks did not survive the removal from the pit.

             “America Mastodon”

             “Yesterday’s Camel”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

animal2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                 This is a Columbian Mammoth – the tusks again were man made.  I have a picture of the leg from the knee down – The size is truly mammoth. 

animal4              birdThe bird is a California Condor and was about 2.5 ft. tall.  They have the working lab – the  fish bowl – in the museum so you can see the people working on the pieces.  Below are 2 parts of NED a recent discovery.

ned   nedt2

 

There is storage around the entire building between the outer and inner walls and this houses all the parts of the fossils.  Below is Pit 91 which they have just hit the bottom of.  They work only in the summer months in the pits and will be opening up another pit in the near future.

pit3

It is a dirty job but someone has to do it.  You can volunteer just bring hip boots, BIG gloves, back brace and a mask.  If I was a lot younger I think spending a summer doing this would be a great adventure.

Hope this isn’t to far removed from the art world but when I saw what nature had done I thought you might enjoy it also.

 

Sandy

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