Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Six Images In Search Of An Exhibition X

Tales of the Quotidian Sublime




Felix Gonzalez-Torres (1957-1996) - Untitled (Perfect Lovers), 1991




James Turrell (b. 1943) - A Frontal Passage, 1994




Thomas Demand (b. 1964) - Room (Zimmer), 1996




Andreas Gursky (b. 1955) - Times Square, New York, 1997




Rachel Whiteread (b. 1963) - Untitled (Paperbacks), 1997




Matthew Barney (b. 1967) - The Cabinet of Baby Fay La Foe, 2000


'The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.'

Marcel Proust

Coda I: Felix Gonzalez-Torres (1957-1996)

A Requiem In Paper, Light, Stone And Candy




Loverboy, 1990




Untitled, 1990




Untitled (The End), 1990




Untitled (Public Opinion), 1991




Untitled (Portrait of Dad), 1991




Untitled, 1991




Untitled (Revenge), 1991




Untitled (Placebo - Landscape - for Roni)
, 1993





Untitled (Lovers - Paris), 1993




Untitled, 1992-95


'L.A. 1990. Ross and I spent every Saturday afternoon visiting galleries, museums, thrift shops, and going on long, very long drives all around L.A., enjoying the "magic hour" when the light makes everything gold and magical in that city. It was the best and worst of times. Ross was dying right in front of my eyes. Leaving me. It was the first time in my life when I knew for sure where the money for rent was coming from. It was a time of desperation, yet of growth too.

1990, L.A. The Gold Field. How can I deal with the Gold Field? I don't quite know. But the Gold Field was there. Ross and I entered the Museum of Contemporary Art, and without knowing the work of Roni Horn we were blown away by the heroic, gentle and horizontal presence of this gift. There it was, in a white room, all by itself, it didn't need company, it didn't need anything. Sitting on the floor, ever so lightly. A new landscape, a possible horizon, a place of rest and absolute beauty. Waiting for the right viewer willing and needing to be moved to a place of the imagination. This piece is nothing more than a thin layer of gold. It is everything a good poem by Wallace Stevens is: precise, with no baggage, nothing extra. A poem that feels secure and dares to unravel itself, to become naked, to be enjoyed in a tactile manner, but beyond that, in an intellectual way too. Ross and I were lifted. That gesture was all we needed to rest, to think about the possibility of change. This showed the innate ability of an artist proposing to make this place a better place. How truly revolutionary.

This work was needed. This was an undiscovered ocean for us. It was impossible, yet it was real, we saw this landscape. Like no other landscape. We felt it. We traveled together to countless sunsets. But where did this object come from? Who produced this piece that risked itself by being so fragile, just laying on the floor, no base, no plexiglass box on top of it . . . A place to dream, to regain energy, to dare. Ross and I always talked about this work, how much it affected us. After that any sunset became "The Gold Field." Roni had named something that had always been there. Now we saw it through her eyes, her imagination.'

Excerpt from The Gold Field by Felix Gonzalez-Torres, 1996