On a recent Sunday afternoon, I visited Laumeier Sculpture Park to view Jessica Stockholder's show "Grab grassy this moment your I's," a whimsical exhibition featuring about ten of her composite painting/sculptures made from banal consumer products.
As I stood in the gallery, I watched people enter the space, make a quick sweep of the rooms, then promptly walk out. The few who stayed longer than five minutes scratched their heads in puzzlement and exclaimed, "I just don't get it." One man jokingly concluded that Stockholder's enigmatic artworks must have been made while she was tripping on LSD.
At first glance, her intuitive assemblages and installation pieces, made with mundane materials such as extension cords, plastic storage bins, Styrofoam and light fixtures, could easily be mistaken for detritus, the kind found in the dark corners of garages, on top of yard sale tables or piled next to garbage dumps on trash day.
I must admit, I too was repulsed by my initial encounter with Stockholder's unappealing creations and had to fight an overwhelming urge to hastily retreat from the building; but I found the courage to stand before them and compelled myself to look.
I took a moment to compose myself. I closed my eyes, mentally shut down my emotions and switched to analytical mode -- I employ this technique whenever I find myself in this situation. Then I focused my attention on trying to answer two basic questions: how are the pieces composed? What is the artist trying to communicate?
As I analyzed Stockholder's use of line, shape, form, color, value and texture, works that initially seemed displeasing now appeared winsome. Her capricious visual arrangements, replete with vibrant hues of plastic, recalled childhood memories of Dr. Seuss, pink Barbie dollhouses with lime green furniture and endless afternoons of imaginary play. This sense of playfulness without purpose is at the center of Stockholder's imaginative universe. According to the artist, "play does not have a predetermined end," so her compositions are open-ended to illuminate the infinite, creative possibilities (1).
Although they are not consciously imbued with narrative content -- many of the pieces lack titles -- given their association with consumer culture, it is easy to find meaning in her inventive amalgamations. For example, the mixed media piece Line Walking (2010) composed of a Styrofoam cooler, bamboo wine rack entwined with a green extension cord, plastic orange juicer and yellow fluorescent light plugged into a purple extension cord evokes images of wine distilleries and vineyards laden with ripe, pregnant grapes.
As I meandered through the rooms, I soon became aware that to truly appreciate the exhibition, I needed to disremember those pedestrian relationships and look upon the commonplace objects with fresh eyes. Thus, an extension cord became an undulating line, plastic containers became geometric forms and light sources became a means to create compositional value. By emphasizing the formal qualities of the artworks, Stockholder allowed the materials to transcend their original function.
I finally reached this conclusion after about two hours of meticulous study. I do not expect people to spend an entire afternoon examining artworks, but by asking the right questions, visitors can at least learn to appreciate a composition and attempt to understand the artist's intent even if they are initially repelled by the art.
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Great post, Susan - I guess the trick is to always keep an open mind.
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