Troilo, Unknown

Paolo Troilo, Unknown
Acrylic on canvas

A modern artist. Not often I get exposed to them funnily enough. Apart from the local art gallery, I don't find myself seeing a lot of new works, but browsing the internet does become useful sometimes. I stumbled across Paolo Troilo, an artist based in Milan, in a forum one day. After checking out his website, well frankly, I'm in love with his works.

He works almost exclusively with black and ivory paint, which creates a dramatic effect. Also remarkably, he uses just his hands to create the twisted forms on his canvas. There's something just a bit intimate about this, like he's betraying more about himself than the artist who uses tools on the canvas. When he's done creating his writhing bodies, he'll splatter and smudge paint to create the most beautiful wispy effect.

I use the painting above as an example, but it was really hard to pick out just one I wanted to talk about among the many others that I mulled over. I also couldn't find a title, date or size for the piece, so I'll have to stick with unknown until I find the time to research more.

But I mean, just look at him. The anatomy in which you can almost reach out and feel the contours, the smooth cool skin like sculpted marble. The man who once sat in the dark being illuminated by a heavenly light, a spiritual glow.

But this is where I absolutely love the way Troilo has stayed away from this idea of calmness and peacefulness. The man is being torn from his skin. There's not this gentle ascension out from the shadows, it's torture. It's strange, because we can't see the face so clearly, it's very obscured. However I can feel the grimace of pain, the clenching of the jaw, the furrowing of the brow, the valiant attempt to simply endure the pain. Every cell is starting to protest, to scream in pain and resist the transition... it's killing him.

It's like Troilo has taken every calm and peaceful religious ascension that we see in classical paintings and twisted it into something tangible. He's turned the saint-like apparition to someone more human, more empathetic. I also don't get the immediate feeling that this is a religious painting, but there is definitely something metaphysical or otherworldly about it.
The ominous blackness around him just adds to this contrast of light and dark, this duality. Maybe it's a reflection of the man himself, his own inner split.

I'll be keeping tabs on Troilo in the future, I can't wait to see if he continues to produce such beautiful works.

McCall, You and I, Horizontal (2005)

Can I claim a year and a half hiatus? Really no excuse, just haven't been writing about the pieces I've been seeing. Hoping to fix that in the upcoming weeks!

So yesterday I managed to go see The Light Show that was being held at the Auckland Art Gallery, and it was absolutely worth the trip. As the name suggests, it was a collection of artworks based around light, however what was great about it was how the works spanned over so many years but seemed to flow together so seamlessly with this common thread. It was also great being in an exhibition that was so simple yet interactive, many pieces really invited (or even forced) the viewer into them.

I must say, I wasn't too sure about it at first, I wasn't too taken by the first few artworks. The first piece that struck me was Chromosaturation (1965) by Carlos Cruz-Diez. Simply put, it was three white-walled chambers with different dominating lights: blue, green and red. There was something really unsettling about it, we're never really exposed to just a pure hue before, I felt a bit unsteady walking through it. But it was also quite relaxing, it's not often that you have such a minimalist space with all outside distractions taken out, almost meditative, and any artwork that has this quality usually wins me over quite quickly.

However the piece I'd really like to talk about is McCall's You and I, Horizontal (2005), which I went back to a few times in between other pieces because of how much I fell in love with it. In essence it's pretty simple, but that's just another reason why I love it so much. It's an installation with a projector that has a simple pattern of shapes projected on a wall that are very slowly moving, with a haze machine that causes these beams to be illuminated within the space. I recommend going to YouTube and having a quick look at it in action, my explanation may not really convey it that well and probably doesn't do the piece much justice.

Anthony McCall, You and I, Horizontal, 2005
Installation; computer, computer script, video projector, and haze machine, 50 min. 
cycle in six parts, dimensions variable.
Collection SFMOMA

It's such a simple idea that isn't completely foreign or 'out there', beams of light that are unveiled using a haze machine. A common theme in many night clubs with strobes and lasers. But there's just something so mesmerising about them, especially in such a calm and simple setting. At first I stood out of the light as others were playing around in them, which in itself was great to watch, both in how they disrupted the light in their movements and left silhouettes. But as they left, leaving me and my mum in the dark room by ourselves, it was fascinating just to see the untouched light. So sharp, cutting through space in sweeping arcs and intersections, slowly moving and changing at an almost discernible pace.

However the moment that I was truly in love with the installation was the moment when I entered the pure beams. The rest of the room is partially obscured by just the strong and overpowering light hitting you. But you stop paying attention to that, and just focus on these almost ethereal beams around you. The fog isn't a uniform haze, it's almost like an artificial water that faintly flows over the light. This adds to the illusion that these beams aren't just a ghostly apparition, but solid arcs and planes. What makes this so eerie is your presence in them, interrupting and altering them while also changing the sinuous fog that allows them to present themselves.

It's a strange feeling trying to reach out and grab or interact with these solid surfaces, only to have your hand fall through them. I was alternating between moving my body to interrupt and watch the fog change its flow, and trying to reach out and touch the beams. It causes this almost inferior or humble feeling, being unable to slightly change but not touch what's in front of you. But then there's this contrast when you notice how your very presence, your whole body, is disrupting and changing these beams too. It all depends on which direction you're looking at, towards the light you feel inferior and transient, looking away from it you feel large and powerful. It's a really contrasting and oscillating feeling. Humorous but also meditative, a new experience for me.

I wish I had more time with this installation, but we moved on as people started to pour into the room. It's really an experience you should have in small numbers or by yourself. Maybe another trip before it finishes in early February is in order?

Munch, Love and Pain (1893-4)

So I just fell in love with Edvard Munch. Well, I say that like I had just discovered him, and I guess in a way I have. I've always known about The Scream, who hasn't? But it was always a piece I thought was personally overrated. Not saying it isn't a good piece, but just didn't really speak to me. That was that for me, just another overrated artwork from an artist I hadn't even explored.

 

You think I'd know better by now than to just disregard an artist.

I just spent the last couple of hours looking through his works. I am blown away. I love these moments, almost revelations, where your whole perspective on something will shift in such a short time frame. I'd based my entire idea about Munch on a single artwork, his most famous piece. I didn't even consider his other works, even though some of my favourite pieces from artists are their lesser known ones. How naive of me.

I know I'll write on Munch in the future, because even now I'm still trying to decide about which artwork to talk about, so many of them are beautiful.



Edvard Munch, Love and Pain (1893-4)
Oil on canvas
91cm x 109cm

Vampire, originally called Love and Pain. It's beautiful. Just take a moment to look at it... don't worry, I'll do the same.

The red. The orange. The clashing colours. That's what first stands out to me, the intense contrast of the woman's trailing hair to the dark colours of the work, it's so stark. That's when the scene starts to sink in and for me it's an intimate oscillation between tender and sinister.

It was sinister on first impression, but I think the title of Vampire really sold that more than the actual painting itself. But there is this ominous undertone, the man with an almost deathly pale complexion next to the fiery woman. She's emerging from the darkness while he clamours into her arms, desperately resting onto her bosom. The incorrect Vampire title really gives that idea of bloodsucking, life-stealing, harlot. So I think there is that seed that is planted.

However there's also this tenderness. He's desperately clinging to her, her arms slowly enveloping him, hair trailing. There's a sort of anguish to the man, like she's the last solid thing on earth, his anchor to the world. There's this sort of protective bubble around the two of them, but I can't for the life of me figure out if it's a bubble to keep harm away, or to make sure no help can reach the man.

I think that's why there's this switching between that tenderness to sinister, when he gives himself to fully and willingly, can we trust her? Is this complete faith in her by the man given in right mind, or is there something else at work? Some sinister allure that traps him while she slowly sucks the life out of him? In a way, the truth is in the title, Love and Pain. There is love and tenderness, this trust that the viewer probably finds hard to understand. But under that, a whisper of danger, a flicker of pain.

I think it's very telling of reality, not knowing the dynamics about two people. Maybe even the man and woman don't know how they fit, but it's interesting trying to dissect what's happening. It's a very tender scene, but dangerous or comforting? Is he a willing participant no matter what the situation? For me it's this resonance between the two, one moment I want to fall into her arms too, the next I want to distangle and run away screaming.

I'll be looking at Munch for sure more in the future, this work is living proof of how naive I can be in making quick judgements. There's something so intimate in his works, so raw, it's going to be hard to ignore.

 

Serrano, Piss Christ (1987)

Andres Serrano, Piss Christ (1987)
Photograph
1.52 m x 1.02 m

Another piece I studied back in high school when we were investigating controversial art. Modern religious works are always open to a lot of controversy I find, just because often the modern ways of portrayal can be found degrading in various ways to various people. But I find that often it's just another way of conveying some religious themes or thoughts, or sometimes even reverence.

The picture is aesthetically quite beautiful, it has warm, soft red, orange and yellow hues. The crucifix is central and looks quite balanced, and the scratchy texture of the picture conveys a feeling of age and weathering, of history. All in all, it's not an unpleasant to look at or uncommon subject matter. So why did Serrano receive hate mail, death threats, and have his work defaced (multiple times)?

Well, the controversy is not in the aesthetics of the image itself, but in the process of creating the subject. Andres put a small plastic crucifix in a jar, urinated in it, and then took the photo. Even after over 20 years, the piece attracts controversy as recent as 2012 (and not just on a single occasion). But Serrano still identifies himself as a Christian, does not identify himself as a provocative artist and claims that shock value is "absolutely not" something he aimed to achieve in his work.

If you look at some of Serrano's other works, there are many that carry the theme of bodily fluids (even having a series called Body Fluids), with the inclusion of urine, blood and sometimes semen. There is also a series called Shit (self-explanatory, pictures of feces) and The Church (which focuses on religious imagery). So the combination of some of these elements is not surprising as Serrano continues his artistic experimentation.

So obviously there's the side of the debate that calls this work degrading and blasphemous, and I don't blame them. Urinating on something has, and I assume always will be, held intentional malice or spite. So I can understand this side of the debate, but there are also those who disagree with this, even some that are religious.

One interpretation is that modern society is doing this to Jesus Christ every day with our sinful lifestyles, essentially 'pissing' on him. In this way, the photo is a reflection of our own lives and perhaps inquires for a certain kind of repentance. Following this line of thought, it can be theorized that this is a reverse baptism, instead of a spiritual cleansing, a sinful corruption is occurring. Again, this is a comment on modern society and the life Jesus wanted us to have.

I feel like a creative interpretation or an open mind should be held when presented something that immediately provokes you. It's not that you're immediate retaliation is wrong, but if you immediately reject a piece of art based on a purely primary reaction, you might miss important aspects to the work, even if this just solidifies your rejection of the work.

I really think that Andres Serrano himself sums up the interpretation of his works quite well:

 

"People have strong reactions to my work. They can either love it or hate it. I think the work has the power to both please or displease, but sometimes the reactions it gets says more about the people who are reacting than about the work itself."

 

Duchamp, Fountain (1917)

Marcel Duchamp, Fountain (1917)
Porcelain
 360 mm  x 480 mm x 610 mm
 

Dada. One of the most controversial art movements out there to date, yet probably a personal favourite of mine. It produced all sorts of art, but this is probably one of the most well known, even to those who aren't art history buffs. But what is it?

 

To the observant, it looks like a men's porcelain urinal, and you'd be exactly right. It's been signed by Duchamp as R. Mutt 1917, and besides from being placed on it's back, that's the only modification to the piece. I know, not much to talk about in terms of composition or colour. I can sense your agitation already, a men's urinal? Really? How is this art? It's the same argument that's raged for years since Duchamp first created it. But let me pose a question back, how is it not art? Does art need a motive, a reason, to be aesthetically beautiful to be called art? Does it need emotion behind it? And this is why I love Dada, it inspires such debate and thought which I feel anyone can contribute to, you don't need to be a scholar or educated in the subject to have an opinion. I've been sitting here for the past couple minutes deciding where to start, and struggling to find a point in which to dive into the fray.

 

Dada was born out of war and conflict, with roots being in World War I. I feel like the movement is culturally outrageous but disillusioned, a sort of jaded perspective on art. The artists were questioning everything around them, especially materialist and political ideas that could have contributed to the suffering of the war. Art is just one way in which this was vented, another cry of frustration.

 

"Dada hurts. Dada does not jest, for the reason that it was experienced by revolutionary men and not by philistines who demand that art be a decoration for the mendacity of their own emotions."

                                - Richard Huelsenbeck



 

I love that quote, because it really sums up the heart of why Dada became popular. It was a cynical look at the art world of the time, of the pompous artists and entangled emotions, and instead looking at the physical aspect and saying, why not?

It's also interesting that Dada isn't a movement of paintings, or sculptures. It's a movement of anything and everything. Because they were asking what art really was, they were putting everything forward as a certain art form. Everyday objects to paper collages were presented, and I cannot think of a reason as to why they aren't art.

 

What is art? It's such a difficult question, and I've spent countless hours arguing with people about it, and I have to say I have Dada to thank. I also thank Dada for making me think so hard about it, and finally convincing me to be quite firmly in the camp that everything is art. I've heard a huge range of arguments. Art should be appealing aesthetically (do I have to be drawn to it by the way it looks?), should have to have meaning (can I not just like it because it looks nice with no deeper meaning?), is a personal decision (but therefore if I say it's art, you must accept it is too?), has to be man-made (so a mountain cannot be art, but a picture of a mountain can be?). I'm not saying you have to be one way or the other, I've had to stop and think when an argument was put forward. It's a vague grey area, not one of black and white, and you have to be prepared to change your position.
Just a side note, when asking what art is, we're not arguing about what you like. There are plenty of pieces or artists that I just cannot stand, but I'm not saying that they're art because I like them. You have to stand back, say 'I don't like this piece. But I accept that it has standing as art.' Otherwise I'll just be sitting here trying to force you to agree with my favourite artists, and it's about the definition of art, or lack thereof, that's being questioned.

Of course I attach emotions to this movement simply because it gets such a strong reaction from me. Is this against what those from the Dada movement wanted? I really don't know. All I know is that this simple photo of a porcelain urinal invokes so much more than was perhaps intended.

What is art? Or because art is everything, does it lack a definition?

 

Bernini, Rape of Proserpina (1621-2)

Gian Lorenzo Bernini, a sculptor that's received so much acclaim, and rightly so. Honestly, I didn't and still don't know much about him, there was much reading to be had after I decided that this would be my next piece. I didn't even really know the name of this piece, but it's been burned in my mind ever since I first saw it.

Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Rape of Proserpina (1621-2)
Marble
295cm in height

Let's start with the story behind the sculpture. This is the tale of the Roman goddess Proserpina (daughter of Ceres, who is the goddess of grain and harvest) and her abduction by Pluto, the god of the underworld. The Greek equivalent is Persephone (daughter of Demeter) and Hades, although the tale is pretty much the same. In short, Pluto fell in love with Proserpina, and consequently abducted her to rule the underworld with him. The world became desolate, as Ceres (her mother) refused to let anything grow and starvation set in for the people. Finally a deal was made where she would stay with Pluto for three or six months (it differs from the sources I'm looking at) which corresponds with the seasons of the year.
We can see Pluto wearing a crown, symbolizing his reign in the underworld. Behind the couple is what appears to be a dog, but a clearer view shows that it's Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of the underworld. While Proserpina looks surprised and horrified, notice that the expression on Pluto's face has a slight smile to it, almost like it's a game. This plays into the power games of myths from this era, with things such as rape not being an uncommon theme.
Proserpina is the focus of this painting, she's thrusting forward while blocking Pluto, in addition to being raised. We follow the lines of her arms and body to Pluto's arms, making Pluto the second thing you see.
I love the fact that it's so abrupt, sudden, a moment that's been swiftly caught. Proserpina's twisting body and flailing arms, her flowing hair, Pluto's tension and balance as he struggles to hold onto his prey. I often feel this way with sculptures, the fact that sculptors can make such movement from such a still form.
But what makes this such a memorable sculpture? I'd like to say it's a combination of things, and I'm not playing down any of the other attributes of the sculpture, but there is definitely one sure thing that captures me. The marble turned flesh. It's the grip that Pluto has on Proserpina that just blows me away every time I look at it. The way Bernini has caused this cold, smooth marble to turn into warm and tangible flesh. The perfection in the imprints that Pluto's hands leave on Proserpina's body show a skill I can't even comprehend. It's so beautifully realistic, not anatomical technicality realistic, but emotionally grappling. It's a twisting and fleeing body, yet the realism in the figures blow me away.

It's a feature I see focused again and again in different reviews and blogs, it's a certain favourite of this piece. I love Bernini's work, and this is definitely held in my head as one of his top masterpieces.

Giotto, Kiss of Judas (1304-06)



It's been a while, my apologies. Been distracted with work and partying up now that exams have been over. Christmas and New Years has been a very busy period!

 Also, I was very tempted to write a blog post weeks ago (very early morning), but I had to fight the urge off. I had just come back from the Coldplay concert in Auckland and I didn't trust myself to fully write about art without letting these amazing feelings take over. And in order to talk fully about the concert and the emotions that were tumbling through me, it'd have to take a hell of a lot more delving into personal issues than I'm willing to deal with at the moment. I mean, just being there, having the music moving through me... Wow. It's like being on a high, and man did they play a show. How they do it, I have no idea, absolutely amazing and worth it. Smiling just thinking about it, music begins where words end. It's like a sense of unity and togetherness with everyone and a sense of individuality, personal emotions and moments. And no matter what anyone says, Coldplay has got to be one of the best bands I've ever come across, both in music, and in attitude and energy. I hope I get to see them play again some day. Amazing. 


Anyways, enough with that (even though I just want to keep going on about it, goddamn...) and onto Giotto. An Italian artist, often referred to as the Grandfather of the Renaissance, a part of the proto-Renaissance. Everyone gets wrapped up in Da Vinci and Botticelli and Raphael, and with good reason, but it's also important to look at what led up to them, and to me Giotto is a master in his own right.



Giotto, Kiss of Judas, 1304-06
Fresco
200 cm x 185 cm

This piece is part of the Scrovegni Chapel, as artists were often commissioned to paint entire cycles for personal family chapels. The cycles that Giotti painted in this chapel is the life of Christ and the life of the Virgin Mary. I remember when studying this chapel that we talked about a couple of the scenes, but I have to say that this one stood out particularly for me.


We have the scene where Judas is deceiving Jesus, pointing out for the guard which of them is Jesus in a seemingly subtle way, through a kiss.

 

"Judas, are you betraying the son of man with a kiss?" 

                                                          (Luke 22:47–48)

 

We see that Judas has lost the iconic halo, no longer to be considered divine. He's also interestingly wearing yellow robes, a colour most associated with cowardice. In the left of the painting is Peter in blue and red robes, attacking Malthus (a servant of the high priest) in a splash of violence. We have the defense on the left, with an imposing offense in the right. The central part, of course, is the kiss between Judas and Jesus which are emphasized by the lines created by the torches above their heads, and the lines of the drapery leading up to their faces.

Very much in class we were focused on the composition and arrangement Giotto undertook, as it created a more three dimensional space. The use of people halfway in the frame, or the man being pulled on the left shows that there is a world outside of the border. Layers of people that are being blocked by the ones in front (as opposed to tilting the space, as we were easily told to compare to Duccio di Buoninsegna who was considered more Byzantine), meaning there is space not only in the lateral plane, but giving depth into the painting.

The other thing that was always pointed out to us was the bulkiness of his figures. There's more of a sense of weight and life to the figures, easier to believe that they live in a world like our own instead of a ethereal one. The drapery folds around the curves of a body, not wisping around a delicate frame.

However incredible and innovative these things are, this is not what I love most about this painting. What first captured me, and still does to this day, is the contrast between calm and anarchy. We can hear the chaos and abruptness of the guards arrival in the scene. There's distinct splashes of fire, violence and confusion in the scene, not sure who's friendly or foe at first glance. It's a scene destined to be ruled by conflict. But then we have Jesus and Judas in the center. Amid all this chaos, this commotion, is this moment of stillness, quiet, intimacy. Not intimacy in sense of a romantic moment, but in the emotional betrayal between two men bound by something deeper than friendship. The way that Judas' cloak drapes around Jesus creates this barrier between them and the confusion around them, creates a special space for them. It's just this perfect bubble in the middle of chaos, and it's one of the most beautifully subtle spatial boundaries I've seen. This emotional pain and betrayal amid all the physical chaos, it's so perfectly done.

This is one of the pieces that sold me on Giotto, not only did he get the technical innovations right, there's this emotional connection to it too. It's like we can relate to the fact of a moment where a bombshell is dropped on you, and the entire world just fades away until it's just you in a quiet space of realization.

I feel a sort of awe looking at it, it's a 700 year old piece by a proto-renaissance painter with a completely religious subject, yet it's still in some way relatable. You just need to stop and actually look, instead of glossing over the subject, to really see what the painting means to you.