The Uncarved Block: Art

Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts

Some weeks ago, I was at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMoMA) with friends. Among other things we stumbled into a video installation by Icelandic artist Ragnar Kjartansson entitled "The Visitors". I was blown away. It is a large space with nine screens, showing views into eight different rooms in a house, plus the front porch. There is a musician in each room. They are playing a song together, but also apart, in their separate rooms. Each display has its own speaker. Walking around the space you hear the music changing as though you were moving through the house. From the center you hear all of the performers in balance.

Viewing it in its entirety is problematic. It is 64 minutes long, so unless you have planned this into your day, it is a challenge. When we first went in, we only caught the last few minutes. Later we came back and saw another portion (the video runs continuously in a loop.) I felt that I had to return another time to see it all the way through.

Last week I got my chance. I was in San Francisco for an appointment, so afterwards I went to SFMoMA. I asked at the ticket counter what the schedule was for The Visitors. It turned out that there was about 45 minutes before the loop was scheduled to restart. I wandered through exhibits until the next start-time, then returned to the installation.

I experienced The Visitors from the beginning, with all the screens blank, through to the end when they each return to darkness. It was spectacular. I am sure it is not for everyone, but for me it was magic. I felt an indescribable sense of peace after I left the room. I was just happy in a remarkably simple, inexplicable, unadorned way.

The song that they are playing has a short lyric that is repeated in various ways throughout the "performance", mostly repeating the line, "Once again I fall into my feminine ways." Over time, the music is played on different instruments, usually rather softly but sometimes with a loud intensity. The lyrics are somewhat somber, but it isn't saddening - it is mesmerizing and compelling. I would say that none of the musicians are great singers, but their song and music feel heartfelt and genuine, made all the more so by our being invited into a seemingly intimate performance. There are also touching moments when one musician leaves their room, walking to another space to join another performer, expressing a connection physically that hints at the musical interaction, then returns to their own room and their own instruments.

Unfortunately, try as I might, it is one of those things that really can’t be described in words. Even if one were to view it online - there are versions on YouTube - you still wouldn’t be able to really get it. I took a brief video to try to capture at least a vague sense of being in the space:

It is probably not everyone's cup of tea. But, if you want to see it, it is at SFMoMA through 11/13/24. They start the loop 15 minutes after the museum opens, repeating every 64 minutes throughout the day. The installation can be found on the sixth floor. Paid admission to the museum is required, but there is no additional ticket needed for The Visitors.

It is also possible that you might see it elsewhere; apparently it has been shown in various museums on and off for over a decade. However, I have not been able to find any kind of calendar indicating where the installation might be going in the future.

If you've seen it, or you go to see it, I'd love to hear what you thought.

[FYI, the man playing acoustic guitar in the bathtub is Ragnar Kjartansson.]
[FYI2, caution: the song that is performed can become quite an earworm.]
[FYI3, after The Visitors, I went down to the front lobby of the museum on the first floor, lay in a huge memory-foam bean-bag chair, and watched the giant display showing slowly moving graphics of oceanic things floating around. A lovely re-entry into the world before leaving the building.]

In the nearby city of Albany, California, there is an old landfill which is now generally known as the “Albany Bulb”, or just "The Bulb." Over the years it has been a landfill, a dump, an encampment for homeless residents, and a park, as well as being a canvas for some extraordinary art (more at AlbanyBulb.org)

In October 2019 I was walking one of my favorite loops at the Bulb. On the return leg, I saw writing spray painted along the edge of the paved path. I read it as I walked. I was stunned. I was touched. In fact, I was so gobsmacked that I had gone on at least another hundred feet before I realized that I had to go back to the beginning to record this message before it disappeared, as is the fate of so much of the ephemeral art created at there.

I have transcribed the text here, primarily so that search engines will index it, should anyone be looking for it. I have attempted to retain case, punctuation, and spelling, even when it is technically incorrect. This is, after all, a cry in the wilderness, not an essay for a picky college English teacher, and I feel that hand of the author reveals something of what they are trying to express to the world.

OK, so, one time you, yes you and I got high here. You told me that every thing was going to be OK. For the most PART it has been. But you died 3 weeks AGO AND I MISS YOU. Hope youre doing well. Call me if you need anything, though you left, im still here… Anyways. i have to go now. Don’t forget about me Please… good night, sweet dreams

I have no idea who the author was. I don’t know if this was created by a writer, or a poet, or an artist who regularly paints messages in public places, or, as I suspect, if they are the words of someone who truly had recently lost an important person in their life.

In any case, for me it evokes sadness, but also either bewilderment, or naivete, or extraordinary faith. The author is speaking to their lost companion as though they were right there, as though their friend can hear them and can even respond. Either this person is naïve (in a very touching way) as to what death really is, or has such deep faith in an afterlife that they truly believe their friend is right there, listening, and might even need something from them, or, as I believe is most likely, they are so lost that they cannot accept the fact that their friend is gone. I wonder about their fear that their friend might forget them – perhaps it is a reflection of their own fear that they may forget the one that is gone.

This video still makes me sad when I watch it, even years later. I hope that for this anonymous writer, everything has been OK.

There is an old, retired landfill jutting into the bay at the City of Albany, California. Referred to as the "Albany Bulb", it is an odd place who's future is always uncertain. It is administered by multiple governmental organizations. Various outside groups are constantly trying to turn it into something that they believe will be better than what is there now.

Personally, I love the Albany Bulb as it is. It is a place where nothing is permitted, but everything is allowed. Among its many features, remarkable artworks appear at The Bulb. Some simple graffiti, others significant paintings, still others large and complex sculptures (some kinetic.)

I was there on Friday with Kero (no dogs allowed). There was a fantastic new six-sided artwork that really blew me away. Photos below (plus three more paintings on concrete slabs.)

Enjoy (until it's gone.)