Faint Echoes
“Picasso!” “Hepworth!” “Man Ray!” “Tanguey!” “Arp!”
Almost always upon looking at a piece of contemporary work, my brain begins flashing frames of reference. I can’t control it.
“The curves are like a Hepworth statue, and the composition is giving me Arp,” my brain tells me. Or it searches: “I have seen this before - somewhere. Was it the Kandinsky retrospective at the Guggenheim or something at Nicodim? Definitely seen this.”
But that’s only the first step, the one I can’t control. When that brain stops firing, that when I’m able to breathe, look, and enjoy. See and discover.
Whether conscious or not, I’m always searching for something in art. I'm happy to hunt for it - more than happy. That's the fun. But oftentimes, the search is fruitless. After peeling back those references, what’s left is an emotionless encounter.
“…” “——” “ “
And nothing is left screaming at me.
A recent Saturday found me meeting DR at Sarah Brook’s latest opening. There was nothing wrong with the show - “Echoes” it was called, with works by Sarah Gilfillan (b. 1989). But this isn’t about the show at all - this particular experience of art is common for me. I want to confront my feelings about these emotionless encounters with art. The feeling could result from any other show, and often has.
Gillfillan is pulling from canonical references - I can see them all so clearly - they’re laid out for you now, too. And referential works, even outright stealing, is not new to art. My issue is that this is a kind of work that’s taking, taking, taking, and giving nothing back. It’s a dull assemblage.
It’s Yves Tanguay without the skill, Picasso without the original and the cheeky, Hepworth without the struggle to prove herself. It’s Man Ray without the dreams, faint ‘Echoes’ of Kandinsky’s musical compositions.
Of course, there’s always beauty. Looking at Sarah Gillfillan’s work, it’s undeniable that the muddy, earthy color palettes were beautiful. And I’m never one to deny the technical skill painting takes, plus the gusto and confidence required to put your work out there for public viewing, especially with cynical wannabe critics like me out there. But it exists one level above a generic abstract Etsy print. The mass void where most art lands, “pretty!” - this would look good next to my boucle chair, sellable - definitely!, but still not enough to induce any real emotion.
I am a demanding viewer. But in this ‘content obese’ world, I am allowed to be. I need something. And I think we all now need to be more discerning than ever. I would rather vehemently hate something than feel nothing. That’s why these moments are emotionless for me. Have you had an experience like this with art? Tell me about it.