Tuesday, 12 September 2017

Process and its documentation


Dóra Maurer: Seven Foldings 1975 Drypoint 

My last post about paper reminded me of how important process and its documentation are as ways of developing practice. 
When writing the previous post about Sipho Mabona's origami folding, I was reminded of Dóra Maurer's 'Seven Foldings', a print that became, as she stated, "the object of actions in continuous change". 
Maurer began this series of works by dropping acid onto an etching plate and documenting the process with a series of photographs. She called these performances ‘vehement actions' and began to use systematic photographic documentation of what happened. 'Seven foldings' was an attempt to record the process of change that a plate could go through in a more ‘geometric way'. She cut into the plate, folded it and took ‘phase-prints' of each of the stages. The work becomes a record or documentation of the process and as such its meaning becomes less about issues such as composition or media specificity and more about how as a document it can reveal the processes that lay behind its making. 
Maurer then began to use 16mm film to document her work, for instance the film ‘Timing', shows a canvas being folded. 
Folding was something that fascinated several artists during the late 60s and early 70s, because it was an activity that both revealed the physical structure of what was being folded, and was an activity that could be easily recorded and presented. For instance in relation to her project, 'Drawing Which Makes Itself', Dorothea Rockburne stated, “I came to realise that a piece of paper is a metaphysical object. You write on it, you draw on it, you fold it.” She was interested in paper not just as the ground for a drawing but as an active material, its inherent qualities determining the form of the artwork. The folds when exhibited in series reveal the process of exploration, this type of presentation being very important when process becomes dominant. Work that presents process as an essential aspect of its reason d'etre, has to often be presented very systematically, so that an audience can follow the moves that were made. 

Dorothea Rockburne, Untitled from Locus, 1972

Without the example of artists such as Maurer and Rockburne, Sipho Mabona's practice, (see last post) that relies heavily on its documentation, would not have been possible. 
However, I suspect this older generation of artists associated with process would have criticised Mabona's practice as being not rigorous enough. The fact that he decided to make an elephant, they would have argued, took the audience's attention away from the process of folding itself. 
I think this debate is important because it highlights the post-modern divide. Modernism tended to valorise media specificity and abstraction was a way of getting audiences to focus on the process of making art, such as the quality of the paint marks or surface. The introduction of imagery was often thought of as bringing in a narrative that came from outside art. Artist were advised to stay away from illustrating stories. But theories have moved on and in a post-post-modern world of practice, we are now in a situation where all earlier approaches to and theories about art making are available as on-line resources. However with so much choice, it becomes much harder to make decisions, my advice is therefore to focus on researching whatever it is that is interesting to you and as the research develops hopefully it will reveal an approach and imagery that is unique to your personal vision; not by you trying to make work that is 'different or stylish' but by the force of the inner logic of your process, by the depth of your research and the sharpness of your perception. Whatever you do, you will eventually have to present it to an audience. 
Presentation is very important when systematic processes becomes dominant. Work that presents a timed process has to be presented very systematically, so that an audience can follow the moves that were made. 

Eleanor Antin, 'CARVING: A Traditional Sculpture' 1972

A typical example is Eleanor Antin's 'Carving', every day she reduced her food intake and then each morning, she was photographed naked in the same four stances. She was effectively 'carving' her own body into shape.
The grid of looking, which historically is located within the domain of drawing or geometry can also work as a grid of classification, its structure allowing the observer to clearly examine visual difference. This is a structure borrowed from science; for instance the image below allows various gradients to be compared. 




Slopegraphs for comparing gradients

Eadweard Muybridge


The gridded systematic approach used by scientists and analytic researchers such as Muybridge allows us to easily see the results of an investigation and this was to have a powerful influence on art. It is of course important to remind ourselves that drawing as a means to explain things is an essential tool for all disciplines. During the Renaissance when the disciplines of art and science were not so rigidly separated it was easier to see the grid as part of the process of looking and systematically checking relationships.


Durer: gridded perspective device

As a tool for measurement a grid could be both laid over a plot of land or established as a screen through which to look at the world. 
In the late twentieth century Rosalind Krauss wrote an important theoretical text on the relationship between the grid and modern art. The grid as a formal device to use when stabilising visual relationships was during the last century embedded as a central component of design thinking. In the last fifty years, any artist with even a small amount of training in graphics or visual design would therefore have been introduced to the importance of the modular grid as an organising structure. 
In the 13th century, the architect Villard de Honnecourt produced a diagram used for producing page layouts with margins of fixed ratios.


Use of fixed ratios to stabilise layout in design

Although gridded page layout had been used since the invention of printing, the profession of graphic designer did not get established until the early 20th century, but with the rise of industrialisation, print in particular became vital to the dissemination of information and although fixed ratios were still useful, geometry and in particular the grid, were organising systems that could be used much more flexibly. There was a move away from centered text to “asymmetric” design as in a newspaper page, and designers began to use a Modular grid, which was an especially flexible model for text and image arrangement.


Compare the modular grid above with typical gridded modular presentations used by artists who use systematic processes. 

Bernd & Hilla Becher



Andy Warhol

herman de vries

Sol Lewitt

The compositional logic of the grid as a template for aesthetic investigation was central to the development of the work of several artists interested in process. The serialised exploration of formal variation, was guided and limited by the geometric configuration of the grid and was an aspect of fine art I clearly remember being promoted from my time at college in the late 60s and early 70s. Perhaps the most sensitive of the artists working in this way was Agnus Martin. She often held a delicate balance between following the logic of the grid and allowing her own aesthetic sensibility to determine the final result. 


Agnus Martin

In the mid twentieth century the design grid was incorporated into the grid of the computer screen and early users of the computer to create art relied on this to generate their work. Frederick Hammersley was one of the first artists to use computer coding to generate imagery and the way numbers are used to identify the points on a screen relies on Cartesian coordinates which are themselves essential to the development of analytic geometry. 




Frederick Hammersley

Looking at the grid in relation to 'documentation', it also becomes clear how what was initially used as a device to stabilise design, is now becoming a format to emphasise rigor and authenticity. Tehching Hsieh's 'Doing Time' which was the Taiwan pavilion's presentation at this year's Venice Biennale, relied heavily on systematic documentation.







Tehching Hsieh's 'Doing Time'

The geometric grid that was used for the serialised exploration of formal variation is in this case being used to establish the authenticity of the action. Once more I'm reminded of how important 'disegno' is as a principle and or method that underlies fine art practice. Disegno constitutes the intellectual component of the visual arts, which in the Renaissance justified their elevation from craft to fine art. The use of a grid in this case is not simply about the clear visualisation of the process, it also asks questions about the human capacity to systematically organise the world. From the way we are clocked in, given a number and registered from the moment we are born, to the way that the collection of statistics becomes the driving force behind government decision making. Disegno, 'drawing' in this case being the way that an underlying concept shapes the final presentation. 
Geometry itself began as a way of developing a particular understanding of the world, when it was first used there would have been no separation between what we now call art and science, it was simply a useful way of drawing. Documentation has long been an essential tool for the understanding of scientific investigation and has now become central to contemporary art practice. Perhaps we are at last beginning to respond to C. P. Snow's problem of two cultures. He argued that "the intellectual life of the whole of western society" was split into two cultures; the sciences and the humanities, and that this was a major hindrance to solving the world's problems.

Social media relies on documented imagery to function, many artists have extended their practices into filmmaking via the process of documenting their actions and processes. Technological advances now mean that we all have a mobile device in our pockets that we can use to make films that are of better quality than those made with movie cameras used to be. I began this post reflecting on the film that was done to document Sipho Mabona's origami folding. Why not consider making a series of short videos about your own practice? Which aspects would you focus on? Would these videos focus on the sound of your drawing's making? On the way marks change a surface? or on the more performative aspects of your work? Perhaps a video could be made of the processes 'off camera'. Is there a filmic story in the history of the elements that you are working with? I have posted several times about the stories that come with various papers or substances such as charcoal or graphite, is there a way of making these histories into videos? 

See also some other related posts on the grid and disegno:








Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Paper: Folding and the songs of trees

Papermaking in Echizen

David Haskell in his wonderful book ‘The Songs of Trees’ has a chapter on Japanese paper making in Echizen. He points out that in Japanese the word for deity ‘kami’ 神 is the same sound as the word for paper ‘kami’ 紙, of course the Japanese character for each is different. When Haskell arrived in Echizen, because of the similarity his taxi driver wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be dropped off at a shrine or a papermaking facility. This caused Haskell to reflect that both shrines and papermaking are centred around water and the fact that a spiritual understanding of both paper and its manufacture was essential to the continuation of papermaking as a craft.

Echizen paper's stamp of authenticity, the goddess Kawakami Gozen

The Okamoto Otaki Shrine in Echizen is home to the goddess of paper, Kawakami Gozen, which translates as “The Goddess who lives above the stream”. The village of Echizen has around 40 studios that make Washi or Japanese handmade paper. The manufacturing process is a long and intricate one that is undertaken in the cold weather of winter in order to ensure that the pure, cold running water can inhibit the production of bacteria and prevent the decomposition of fibres.  The cold also makes the fibres contract, producing a much crisper feel to the paper.
Haskell writes beautifully about his experience and rather than try and paraphrase his writing I will quote one section in full;
“In a bath of mashed inner bark of kozo or mitsumata trees, water floats the plant cells’ dissociated strands, buoying them as they drift. Each molecule of cellulose is a strand of sugars, up to fifteen thousand links in the chain. Suspended in a haze of water and hibiscus mucilage, they crosshatch and weave. Coldwater forestalls fermentation and makes a viscous suspension, yielding the finest papers. The foothills of Echizen might not be able to grow much food, but Kawakami Gozen brought a craft suited to the mountains. Even the trees here grow longer fibres than those of the warmer valleys, giving paper strength and luster. Echizen became the hub of papermaking in Japan. The town was the exclusive supplier for aristocrats, shogunates, and governments. From these vats of water and fibre, Japan crafted its written culture. Later as trade with the west commenced, the paper travelled to Europe, where papermaking methods were one thousand years behind those from Asia. Rembrandt preferred Japanese paper, likely from Echizen for his etchings.
A scoop into the bath with a fine screen captures the maze of cellulose, locking the tangle as the sheet flattens. Repeated dips laminate the paper’s surface. Water’s capillary bonds, the same bonds that hold water within living plant cells, suck and mat the plant strands. Crushed by a press, water seeps out of the paper. The sodden sheet tightens as it oozes and drips. Finally the departing water draws the cellulose close enough that plant atoms find one another and bind, atom to atom.”
Near the end of Haskell’s article he begins to remark on the importance of sound as an indicator of a paper’s quality. Again I quote from him;
“Forged banknotes have a different timbre from real money. Criminals seldom find the right mix of plant species and water. The banker and printer hear the age and provenance of money in crack or slur, their fingers massaging sound from paper. A connoisseur of cash hears paper’s origin.” (Haskell, 2017, p. 102)
Japanese paper money is printed on a paper made from pulped mitsumata bark and abaca leaf fibre, American dollars are printed on paper made from rough cotton and linen rags; the new British paper money is printed on synthetic polymer instead of paper. When you fold money and put it in your pocket you will feel it and hear it, technological change and cultural association coming together in a moment of audio and tactile meaning. This could be one of those starting points from which a body of work could grow.
Why not spend a day listening to your finger tracing its way over different papers? If you have access to a contact microphone why not record the sounds different papers make when you draw on them, or when you fold them? How would you compose these sound stories? Has anyone written the tragic opera of the folded banknote?
As with all my posts on materials, what is important is that by focusing for a while on anything, by stopping to research what lies beneath appearances, new avenues for practice should become apparent. Paper's story is biological, chemical, socio-cultural, phenomenological, historical, geographical, technological and personal. Usually thought of as a support for drawing, paper is much more than that, it has wonderful physical and metaphorical possibilities and a rich set of associated stories that cross many cultures. For instance the Glasgow based artist Karla Black uses a very particular sub-set of papers, cellophanes and tissues, touching upon a certain series of associations we have with bathroom textures, scents and colours; by owning this particular 'territory' she is able to construct a distinct body of work, this year showing in the Venice Biennale as Scotland's representative. 

Karla Black

Sipho Mabona works using origami techniques, techniques that begin to become interesting when you push them to an extreme. The fold is an important aspect of paper, you could argue that folding is in effect paper's own internal drawing method, folding reveals a paper's geometry, the lines of folds made reveal the internal dynamics of possibilities. We fold a banknote as we put it into our pocket, or carefully fold that note on a slip of paper given to us by a secret friend and slip it into a wallet, both activities of the everyday. As artists we can look at those things we do everyday and in them find the wonder and magic of life. 

Sipho Mabona at work

T. Sundara Row's Geometric exercises in paper folding is the classic text on paper folding and is itself a wonderful example of how by focusing on one idea a whole field of possibilities open out. In this case the relationship between folding and photographic documentation is also really interesting*. 


T. Sundara Row exploring the equilateral triangle 

*The issue of how documentation can shape drawing practices is going to be something that I will be looking at in much more detail in a future post. 




Sunday, 3 September 2017

Anthony Earnshaw

Anthony Earnshaw: Wokker

Before it closes do go a see the Anthony Earnshow exhibition in the college's Vernon Street Gallery. Earnshaw was a student of the college back in the day and a member of staff on the Fine Art department when that moved into the then Polytechnic. Earnshaw was that rare beast, an English Surrealist. Not just English, but a Yorkshire Surrealist, an even rarer beast but one well worth investigating. There is a peculiar strain of drawing that has perhaps something to do with the Leeds water. I did hear rumours that certain hallucinogenic substances used to naturally occur when the rocks underneath the River Aire were exposed to acid rain and long before Millennium Square was developed the slipper baths that stood directly opposite the old Art College building housed a drinking fountain that tapped directly into an underground tributary of the Aire.




It is also rumoured that Glen Baxter, another ex student of the college was known to also drink from the same fountain. When I first arrived at the college there was still an extensive network of old lead pipes that orchestrated a complexity of water outlets throughout both the art college and adjacent buildings, this network was the last surviving vestige of the ancient hallucenogenic wells of Leeds. 


Glen Baxter 

See also:


Saturday, 2 September 2017

Drawing into installation

There is a move towards a scattering of work across walls and using both high and low hanging and I think it's because artists are wanting to make their exhibition presentations more physical. Using a dispersed arrangement of smaller works of different sizes and at different heights, you can get your audience to read your images as an integral part of an activated environment. Flat images begin to work more as dispersed low relief objects; if framed these are usually a mixture of frame styles, and if unframed drawings are often pinned directly to the wall with no attempt to hide the fixings, thus ensuring that the objectness of the individual elements is heightened. All these things emphasise the physicality of the situation and take you away from the idea of drawing being a window on the world or a space for meditation. 
If you look at the presentation of drawings by the ceramic artist Klara Kristalova below you can see what I mean. She also attaches some of her flatter ceramics to the wall, which further reinforces the idea. She pins some drawings, others are framed in what look like junk shop frames and a few items of jewellery are attached beneath a couple of images.


Klara Kristalova

The colour of the wall will also make a difference, notice how the dark grey wall lends an additional presence to the work. This dispersed way of presenting work also allows other objects to be integrated into the presentation. In Kristalova's case a ceramic moth figure stands facing the wall looking into a mirror, in a space between drawings. The mirror acts as an object that links the ceramic figure with the wall and in doing this engages all the other things hung on the same wall into the dialogue. As you stand looking at the images, you extend the idea, each observer, mirroring the action of the ceramic figure. As the work's audience arrives the presentation becomes an installation. 


Klara Kristalova

Ida Applebroog has taken this idea on a step further, she arranges and stacks her images in gallery spaces. It feels as if she is much more interested in how comic book pages work, images are cut and stacked one on top of each other, but in this case literally stacked, because her images are constructed on the sides of shallow box type frames. 


Ida Applebroog

Sometimes the work is held up by a supporting bar such as in the image on the right below, again this reinforces the idea of the image as object. 


In the exhibition view below you can see that very few of Applebroog's images are wall mounted, some are simply leant against the walls and one is laid flat on the floor. 


Applebroog has also used large open frames to make supports for her drawings. Sometimes she puts a light source inside, once again this adds to the objectness of the situation. These frames are often added to by drawings attached to ladder type supports, or stand alone single frames, the work becoming more sculptural as each additional element is added. 


This sculptural approach has been used by Applebroog to build a house of drawings, the images now becoming part of the texture of the building's surface.  


Ida Applebroog

Applebroog is an artist well worth investigating as an image maker, and not just because of her presentation skills. She uses composition in a very physical way. As you can see in the drawing of the boy with the Pinocchio nose below, when wanting to extend the image she very straightforwardly simply adds an area on. 


Ida Applebroog

Applebroog uses a range of styles but always seeks to capture the dramatic potential of the image. The yellow childlike figure with the sophisticated shoes is a good example of her use of separate sheets of paper to develop the image, two sheets make the simple split between child and adult and the third reinforces the idea by allowing her to establish the woman's shoe. As an exercise in composition, look at the difference between the two images of the couple kissing. The landscape format allows them to be about to gently kiss, the portrait format squeezes them together much more urgently, but both images rely on the noses as their 'punctum'. As the noses touch they also make you much more aware of the space between the two heads, the noses effectively separating the faces in such a way that they will never be able to touch lips. A moment of tenderness, stopped by the awkward interjection of noses. (In the work of the philosopher Roland Barthes the 'punctum' is a touching detail or a small aspect of an image that allows the reader to understand the whole image in a particular way).

I think the first time I saw a show hung with images splattered across the walls was a Raymond Pettibon exhibition in Berlin, his images were both drawn directly on the walls and attached to them within frames. Pettibon also added text into the mix which in effect turned the walls of the gallery into giant comic book pages. 


Raymond Pettibon

Pettibon has also exhibited work done in co-oporation with other artists, and this informal way of presenting work works well, as it physically mixes up their styles, the presentation echoing the concept. 

Marcel Dzama and Raymond Pettibon

This desire to get away from the nicely framed image and escape the formal need for a regulation height for framed work* is perhaps a response to Sol Lewitt's work. Lewitt by working directly on the wall, in effect took us back to drawing's earliest manifestation on the wall of a cave. 

Constructing a Sol Lewitt wall drawing

Cave painting from Kimberley Australia thought to be even older than Lascaux. 

By integrating images into the fabric of a structure, whether this is a cave or a room, artists effectively embed their ideas into the very foundations of the environment.  The wall can be thought of as a sensitive membrane, and when it is drawn on it is as if it has been tattooed. Think of the difference between having a body tattoo and wearing an image on a 'T' shirt, the tattoo is just so much more authentic. 

'Tribal' 'T' Shirt

'Tribal' Tattoo

*The regulation height for framed work is often set at 57 inches. This distance is measured from the middle of the image, so that all the images in an exhibition share a midline. Some galleries state a 60 inch midline and the highest I have seen is a 62 inch midline. What they all have in common is the idea of a midline. However I have always thought that sticking to an average means that no one is then at the right height, people are either too tall or too short, so having a variety of heights means that at least some work will be for some people hung at the right height. Most gallery directors would argue that the one thing about a consistent height is that it gives coherence to their exhibitions, so if you do want to approach hanging your work in a much more informal way, make sure you have a good argument for it.