I woke up on a recent Saturday about 3 hours late. I had a note in my calendar to drop off the forgotten clutches of a dear designer friend from Boston,
, back at her place around the corner, before cocooning myself back into my comforters and dealing with what was was amounting to be a three-day hangover.
I was awakened to her texting me: “Are you coming? I have to go to an art opening in 30 min.”
I jump into my non-pants while I balance my morning yerba matté on the sink, as I hurriedly brush my teeth, I start feeling akin to Wallace from that British clay animation comedy I used to watch when I was 14, and stoned.
I call her. “What’s this show thing about? Never mind. I’ll pick you up in 20min, I’m coming.” It turned out to be the same church//gallery I’d gone to with friends, to see some sort of interpretive performance about occult symbolism or cult symbols–in the rectory of the church.
This time the show was about sound; appropriately titled “Sequence of Waves,” and it was quite loud. Here are a couple of shots I captured on my phone.
Down the Rabbit Hole
After climbing through a tiny tree house installation straddling one T intersection of the third floor of this rented out church building, I found one small, spiraling staircase leading down into what felt like a space between the floorboards.
It was very difficult to orient myself, I had to stoop to fit down the stairs, through a tiny glass door, which led to a paper-måchéd crawlspace, which in turn led to what looked like the newsprint-covered inside of an igloo.
Ten feet in diameter, the igloo’s center was tall enough to stand up straight, but there were others there too, so there was little room to stretch.
Sitting down, I noticed the sheets of paper covering the walls, the black charcoal spread over the upper two thirds, and the giant prismatic cross hanging, illuminated in front of us.
The Best Use of Daylight
Once I made it through the tiny treehouse, on the third floor of the building at the end of a hallway, I saw one of my favorite installations. I think it was the only room to use natural light, which left me curious about its nighttime appearance.
Initially striking, details such as using various double-shot glasses with logos turned toward the back of the room made me pause and take a look around trying to locate traces of the artists. I found a disheveled girl standing in the corner, occasionally greeting acquaintances with quiet exclamations in the form of fragments, on the subject of meditation. I thought it was an accurate paradigm of the show.
I had some chai and salad back at Maya’s place in between breaths of encouragement about creating an installation at St. Cecilia’s Church for her next collection. I petted her roommate’s giant grey cat as I gathered strength to face the evening. I was going to the performance space and art gallery English Kills I’d been hearing about lately.
I hadn’t looked at the program so I was quite surprised to walk into a minimal [compared to the afternoon affair] solo show by Steven Thompson. It brought me back to my friend’s senior sculpture project at Mass Art, which comprised only a wooden bench with pliers, large spiky fruit, and half taxidermied bits of animal husks. I looked around the room for evidence of fine art, and spotted a light beige garment hanging from the ceiling in the front room. “That’s awesome,” I mumbled as I walked past it on my way to inquire about the absence of wine. Long after leaving, the feeling of the bright overhead light penetrates my thoughts as I grasp for a greater meaning of the artwork, and I am still convinced that the answer lies exclusively in the poncho, or an interview; whichever I get my hands on first.
Check out the panoramic walk-through I shot on my phone, while at English Kills.
Also, check out my blog; sometimes I write stuff.
Curious Wednesday is a weekly column written and driven by personality of Ms. Marquise discussing the insides of her head in relation to things around her. New topics can be found on the Bushwick Daily every Wednesday, while you can find her productions listed on False Aristocracy.
