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"Swamp Eating the Moon" (2018) Casein and colored pencil |
If curiosity killed the cat, I'm well and truly safe. At least, that is, when it comes to contemporary art. If I'm immediately attracted to a work, I'm in. But if that little spark doesn't ignite, I'll just pass it by.
Having made that confession, you'll understand my slight bit of concern when a friend suggested I read the catalogue for the Janaina Tschape exhibit before heading over to Sarasota Art Museum. Suffice it to say that the essay began with a long quote by Nietzsche. I felt I was in way over my head.
So I thought to myself, "Self, how about looking at what the Museum itself says about the exhibit?" Here goes: "Recurring themes persist -- Kafkaesque metamorphosis and transformation, a feminist resistance to the perpetual policing of the female body, a collapsing of scale undifferentiating the grand cosmos from the infinitesimal cellular, an excavation of the nature of landscape -- but always, most importantly, an exploration of painting as a way of understanding the world." Yikes.
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"The Girl and the Swan" (2017) Casein and watercolor pencil |
And so I went with a more tried and true approach -- going to the exhibit with friends and talking about what we saw. It was the perfect way to see the show.
When we entered the exhibit, we encountered "Swamp Eating the Moon." I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Deb said the work made her think of Gaudi's architecture. I could see that. The darker areas reminded me of caves and made me think of Cappadocia's caverns. Now, looking at the title as I sit at my desk, I can see the concept of the swamp overtaking its environment. (The Museum doesn't use wall cards, allowing visitors instead to approach the art without any preconceived notions. I'm not a fan of this approach. While there are gallery guides with images and titles of the works, many people don't pick them up. Isn't the title information the artist wants viewers to have? But I digress.)
Tschape's "The Girl and the Swan" immediately drew me in. Her use of casein, a water-based paint, gives the painting a light and airy feeling, and her girl seems to flow right off the canvas and into the gallery. While I see the swan referenced in the title of the work, I also see the head of a man looking over the girl's shoulder. What are his intentions?
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From "Four Seasons" (2014) Casein and watercolor pencil |
Tschape's "Four Seasons (Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn)" generated a lot of conversation. This was one instance when not knowing the title in advance was helpful, as we talked about which season each work called to mind. We had different opinions about the painting shown here. For me, the icy blues called to mind winter; for Libbie the tones evoked water and summer. I could also see spring in the image with the orange and pink pops of color being flowers emerging from the ground. From there, we segued into a hilarious conversation about having our colors done back in the '80s. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry.) For the record, the work shown here is "Winter."
Tschape's creativity is not limited to the canvas. She's also a photographer, videographer and sculptor. The exhibit -- characterized as a mid-career retrospective -- contained examples of her work in each of these mediums. While I generally don't "get" video art, Tschape's "Blood, Sea" was my favorite part of the show.
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Still image from "Blood, Sea" |
When we entered the room, we found ourselves in a watery world in which a submerged woman was doing a dance all her own. We were immersed as each of the four screens captured her in a different sequence. The costumes, which Tschape designed, were fabulous and flowed in gorgeous ways through the water. It was mesmerizing, and I truly did not want to leave this world. A repeat visit is definitely on the calendar.
We learned from talking to the strolling "field guides" that the video was filmed at nearby
Weeki Wachee Springs, home of the famous mermaids. While I feel pretty confident the show at the Springs bears little resemblance to the beauty of Tschape's video, a visit to the mermaids is on my "to do" list. To view more still images from the video, click
here. And to see a short clip from the video, click
here.
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Libbie in the midst of "Melantropics" (2018/2020) Fabric and vinyl balls |
I'll leave you with a wild installation piece we encountered on the third floor of the Museum. It's just the kind of crazy art I love to discover. (Sadly, while we could wander through it, no touching was allowed.) The installation -- called "Melantropics" -- is 3720' long and consists of 12 sections. It was created by the artist for the Museum's space while she was in Sarasota preparing for the exhibit.
It might be more precise to say "Melantropics" was recreated for this exhibit because two previous iterations of this work were done in Brazil. The installation at Praia Do Arpoador appears to have been on the beach, and people were allowed to lounge on it and play with it, even taking portions into the water. I'm jealous. (Click
here to see the "performance" of that work.)
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Detail from "Melantropics" |
To circle back to the question of curiosity when approaching contemporary art, "Melantropics" was a work that made me wonder. What is the artist trying to say with this installation? Thanks to the internet, I could find out with a quick Google search. If you're curious as well, click
here. I will share, though, that the name "Janaina" means the goddess of the sea in the Candomble religion practiced by some Brazilians. (Tschape's mother was Brazilian, and Tschape's early life was divided between Germany and Brazil.) This little bit of info provides an interesting context for her work.
To see more of the exhibit, click here. FYI, the second image contains the "Four Seasons" in its entirety so you can make your own assessment as to which work best depicts which season. Better yet, if you're in the Sarasota area, grab a friend and go check out the exhibit in person. Janaina Tschape: Between the Sky and the Water runs through May 2 at the Sarasota Art Museum.