Material Witness
By Tom Wachunas
“A shape, a
volume, a color, a surface is something itself. It shouldn’t be concealed as
part of a fairly different whole.” -
Donald Judd –
“We ascribe beauty
to that which is simple; which has no superfluous parts; which exactly answers
its end.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson –
“Simplicity is the
ultimate sophistication.” - Leonardo da
Vinci –
EXHIBITION: A
site-specific installation by Natalie Dunham called TRANSITION_study on view at Translations Art Gallery, THROUGH JULY
28, 331 Cleveland Ave. NW, downtown Canton. Gallery hours are Noon to 5 p.m.
Wednesdays – Saturdays.
Oh to have lived
in New York City during the 1960s , to rub elbows with the movers and shakers
of the day, when the art world seethed with the schismatic energy of clashing
aesthetic ideologies. It was the era that gave rise to Minimalism, that radical
proposition to excise ‘self’ from artistic expression. In rejecting the wildly
humanistic indulgences of Abstract Expressionism, pesky Minimalists such as
Donald Judd, Carl Andre, Robert Morris and Richard Serra, to name only some, dis-invited viewers to seek anything
approaching emotionality or otherwise subjective associations with their work. Judd, though, along with others, fiercely
derided the term ‘minimalist.’ Instead
he suggested “primary structures” as a more accurate way to describe the
pared-down formalism of the objects he and his cohorts were putting forth.
Over the past 20
years or so, this postmodern era of ours has generated a resurgent cacophony of
expressionistic styles and practices among many younger artists emerging from art
academies and universities. So I think it fascinating that an artist as young
as Natalie Dunham (2010 MFA in Sculpture from the Maryland Institute College of
Art) would so clearly identify – even
sympathize - with the detached, industrial slickness often
associated with the Minimalist movement of old. That said, I certainly don’t
regard her work as anachronistic or a retro eccentricity. It is in fact downright exciting and
refreshing to see a local gallery offer up installation art of this engaging
caliber.
While Dunham has used the word “deconstruct”
in reference to her arduous manipulating of found and industrial materials
(here, wood shims, lattice, coarse twine, plastic strapping, and lots of
connecting hardware), I think the term is a bit too generic and imprecise in
assessing her work. Besides, it smacks
too much of entropy.
Yes, there is a reductivist sensibility at
work, a winnowing down of forms in space to their more ephemeral purities.
There’s also a deeply abiding passion for large-scale tactile patterns,
impeccable craft and precision, and ordered linearity. But combine that with
Dunham’s apparent surrender to the nature and dimensions of the materials
themselves - how they “behave” in air
and gravity, for example - and another quality emerges. In their elegant simplicity,
her pieces allow for a kind of serendipitous, phantom poetry that speaks of things
not so much falling apart or deconstructed, but coming together, reconstructed.
It’s what separates Dunham’s works from the
clinical severity that characterized so much of 60s Minimalism. And to the
extent that Dunham’s aesthetic transcends such austerities, you might say it
leans toward the kind of lyricism, or whimsicality, or frisky sensuality that “
post-minimalists” like Eva Hesse explored in the late 1960s and what
critic/philosopher Arthur Danto called her “nonmechanical repetition.” I would
even go so far as to say that for all of its ostensible kinship to certain
aspects of Minimalism, Dunham’s visual language and working process are
evidence of a latent Romanticism.
Don’t just look at these pieces as isolated,
static art objects in a gallery. You’re permitted, indeed encouraged to
literally get in touch with their moving parts, to feel their textures, to walk through
them. You’ll soon get a sense of how they are integral to, and physical
extensions of, the whole gallery environment. Look at the shadows cast on walls
and floor. Notice how the 83 lattice
strips in the piece mounted high on the wall in the back corner of the gallery
intersect with, and seemingly grow into, the exposed linear structures of the
ceiling. Stand in the middle of “No. 14.447.2_STR” (the titles are numeric
codes that translate into info about the work – the deciphering”key” is printed out at gallery entrance) and you
might well exSTRAPolate the sensation of being in a corn field, or lost in
swells of yellow waves.
It’s all an intriguing twist on viewer
pARTicipation.
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