Autopsy of a Book
“Why don’t you go cut up some old books?” is not something you often hear your parents or teachers say, is it? But maybe they should if this is the result. And they say there is nothing new under the sun. How incredible are these sculptures literally cut from old books by artist Brian Dettmer? The intricacy of every delicate incision and the patience required for every slice defies my imagination. How does Dettmer do it? I would go mad!
In his own words:
In this work I begin with an existing book and seal its edges, creating an enclosed vessel full of unearthed potential. I cut into the surface of the book and dissect through it from the front. I work with knives, tweezers and surgical tools to carve one page at a time, exposing each layer while cutting around ideas and images of interest. Nothing inside the books is relocated or implanted, only removed. Images and ideas are revealed to expose alternate histories and memories. My work is a collaboration with the existing material and its past creators and the completed pieces expose new relationships of the book’s internal elements exactly where they have been since their original conception.
Read Dettmer’s full statement here.
Picasso’s Pictures from Paris
I’ve never been a massive Picasso fan, I must say. I don’t love Cubism (although in the context of its time, I admire its principles), and drip paintings don’t do it for me (gasp!). I really like his line drawings though, and I was bummed I ran out of time to visit the Picasso museum in Barcelona last year. So since I was going to be in Sydney last week anyway, I thought I ought to view the Picasso exhibition at the Art Gallery of NSW (now closing in a few days). The work is from the Musée National Picasso, Paris, so I would not have seen these pieces in Spain anyway.
I really enjoyed some of his earlier works: those that looked unfinished, rendered in pencil and charcoal on canvas, such as the delicate lines that trace the form of Nude with crossed legs (1905), and manage convey so much with so little; and the pictures of his wife Olga and his son Paul, dressed as a harlequin. There is a beautiful contrast between the highly finished face and sketched feet and table of the latter – the same technique applied to the portrait of Olga.
Possibly my favourite piece was The Village Dance (1922). Gorgeous overhead light creates luminous highlights, dramatic shadows and voluptuous forms. There is a lovely texture inherent to the medium and surface of fixed pastel and oil on canvas.
Another painting that transfixed me with its power was Massacre in Korea (1951). Reminiscent of Goya’s The Third of May 1808, the contrast between naked women and children and machine-like executionist soldiery is shocking and terrifying in its brutality and emotion.
From his drawings, a lovely pen, wash, India ink on paper titled Man in a mask, woman with a child in her arms particularly caught my eye. Although I couldn’t find it online, War and Peace (right) is another example of Picasso’s spare and elegant linework.
Scroll down for some more of my favorites.
Etched
Recently I’ve been working on an illustration for the Lawler Studio theatre with a dragon theme (nothing to do with it being the Year of the Dragon however). The original concept was inspired by monotone etchings, although the final piece is rendered in two colours.
I have never done etching, although it’s something I would really like to do. I love the contrasting textures of etchings, the soft, smudgy expanses, the sharp linework, so for this illustration I tried to emulate the look using pen and ink, and conté. A final layer of colour was applied with watercolour paint. It’s an interesting experience creating a piece of fine art to someone else’s brief: although I’m happy with the final piece, it wasn’t my favoured resolution. (I’ll be able to show you the evolution in March, after publication.)
Here though are some of the lovely etchings that inspired me. My particular favourites were Angela Smith and Tommaso Gorla – both of whom whose work is sinister and surreal, transporting one into a dark fairytale world. Their etchings really tell a thousand words.
Fashioning Art
Some time ago, I walked past a gallery in Melbourne and was greatly taken by some ceramic sculptures of origami cranes, printed with traditional Chinese blue and white designs. Perhaps the gallery was closed, and I could not go in, but neither did I note the name of the artist. To my sorrow, I cannot now find him after running a search online.
I did, however, discover this amazing porcelain dress created by artist Li Xiaofeng. It brings together three loves of mine: fashion, ceramic sculpture and the blue and white porcelain from China. The dress is constructed from porcelain fragments from the Ming, Qing and Song dynasties, and one can only imagine how heavy it must hang.
It gathered a lot of notice at the Hong Kong Art Fair, and finally sold for $85,000 at the Asian Contemporary Art Fair in New York. Isn’t it an incredible piece of art?
Dream Worlds Within Worlds
On Friday lunchtime some work friends and I wandered down to the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art to take in Pipilotti Rist’s exhibition I Packed the Postcard in My Suitcase. I’ve always been a bit sceptical about video installations since most I’ve seen make me yawn and move on fairly quickly (maybe I’m just impatient), but I went along with an open mind – after all, it takes us only five minutes to walk there. And unexpectedly I was blown away!
There are four rooms to wander through. The first begins innocuously enough, with a painting on one wall and an oval table in the centre of the room, set with an odd assortment of wine glasses and a peach and some cherries on a plate. Around the table are five unmatched chairs. There are two projections running simultaneously, one cast on the painting, and the other in the centre of the table. They are mesmerising, fluid, taking you from our world into the galaxies beyond, opening out like the petals of a flower worshipping the sun, or like a kaleidoscope. It was a long time before I could stop staring and go into the next room.
This large room has two projections on amorphous shapes suspended from the ceiling. Beneath them, in mirroring shapes, are padded mountains, contoured like a map showing the heights. I lie down and look up.
It’s our world, seen from below, literally because one is lying on the floor looking up at the projection, and because the artist has filmed the world from a camera that is always looking up, through endlessly moving water, through waving trees, past the limbs of swimmers. ACCA’s website puts it perfectly:
Lush and Edenic, sexy but sinless, the hedonistic pleasure worlds created by Pipilotti will delight, refresh and chillax you. Pipilotti’s vivid video environments take you into a dream state of elements. Earth, wind, fire and water are alchemically activated in her mesmerizing loops of trippy experience.
The third room takes you through a forest of semi-opaque projections, and the fourth into the mind of the artist herself.
The experience was fascinating, refreshing – we managed to spend almost our entire lunch hour there (it was hard to tear ourselves away), and I’m definitely going back.
If you’re in Melbourne, don’t miss it. It’s on until 4 March.