the sacred, and the mundane: a critique of toilet paper sculptures: Part One

For a change, I am going to attempt to write a review, sort of, (in the spirit of, but not style of, Maxwell's experiencings of) of Jessica Drenk's new show at the Conrad Wilde Gallery on 4th Avenue.

Last Saturday night K and I were walking downtown to meet some friends at the Red Room, and passed the gallery where her new show is up. Jessica was one of the local artists that displayed her work at Casa Libre this summer, and generously donated one of her book sculptures to our silent auction. She is extremely talented, and her work is always unique and has an organically magnetic energy to it. The piece she donated this summer was from an earlier series in which the principle medium was books, and has been widely embraced.

In this new show, all the work is made of toilet paper. An artist friend joked the next day; "they should have called the show shit happens," though, he has neither seen the work nor can my verbal description of it be counted on for an accurate picture of it. He isn't to blame for his impulse to MAKE a joke of it though; in fact, that very impulse is why I ultimately think, however and because of how disconcerting the medium, the work is very, if somewhat ironically so, successful.

In this new show, all the work is made of toilet paper. Before I say too much, here are a couple photos from the exhibition:

"Nucleus Universe"

"Yellow Cells"

I'll give you a hint. Ultimately, I really dig this new work--although my appreciation is much more ideologically driven than it is (necessarily) a visual appreciation. This appreciation comes in contrast to my appreciation of the book or porcelain sculptures— which I think are both ideologically and visually beautiful. Whatever the case, I have been thinking of it ever since, and was compelled, for the first time ever I think, to sit down and hash out my inspired thoughts on a living (visual) artist's art. This is a good thing! In the annoying tradition of disclaimers though, I should clarify that I am going to be using the process of writing to explore my own internal polemic about the work, and in no way claim to be an expert art critic. However meaningful that is; it all starts like this:

As we began walking to the Red Room we passed the illuminated gallery (closed) and were happy (and somewhat stunned) to see the new exhibit hanging. We stopped and nosed up to the gallery window to check out Jessica's stuff. While we stood there for a long while looking at it and processing our visceral responses to it, random other folks would stop to look and voice their responses as well. We stood aside and let others step up to the window in our places. In silent observation, we eaves-dropped, not choosing to get into a debate with strangers by the window of the gallery. In general (apart from my own personal response to it) these passers-by seemed to be confused or put off by what they saw in the window. Instead of the complete gushing awe her other sculptures have inspired, these new toilet paper constructions seemed to inspire (at least in the immediate way) a more defensive reaction from onlookers.

I am, of course, talking about random people strolling down the Avenue on a Saturday night, most likely headed for the nearest bar and the cheapest mixed drink--and NOT, as might be more useful here, seasoned art aficionados. But they were at least the kind of people who do stop at the gallery window to look, think, and respond to what is there. So I think it's ok to take my notes from that moment and insert them in my "experiencing" of Jessica's new stuff, because even K, who seemed to want to agree with these folks' opinions, seemed to be, at least initially (and this is important) a little off put by the pieces.

But most people, art lovers or not, who I've spoken to before (because I do think her book sculptures and earlier work attracted a great deal of interest and brought legitimacy to her work) who were familiar with or came in contact with her Tabula Rasa and Reading Our Remains (book sculptures) series were full of nothing but praise and excitement. I think I may have read a review, perhaps one, that whined about the treatment or abuse of the book (as sacred object). But most everyone, art lover or not, was satisfied and believed the objects were beautiful, and was genuinely inspired by their surprisingly familiar presence. (Maybe it wasn't a review I read, but some fussy whiny writer or other...whatever the case; I disagreed.)

I mention people's reactions to her earlier work, the books - which all resembled stone or logs or driftwood or wasp's nests or some other floral or geological substance occurring in nature; the porcelain sculptures of everyday objects that happily and whimsically resembled sea choral or jellyfish tissue or an underwater dream of a placenta—because, in conjunction or in relation to those earlier series, this is her first project that I feel has the most built in or inherent tension by virtue of the medium: toilet paper. I mean to say; her choice material may very well conflict (more than the artist is aware? I’m not sure.) with her intention—evidenced in the earlier series—to mimic nature with everyday human objects. The earlier work speaks of Jessica's love of nature, and has a feminine (as in graceful, romantic, fluid and reverent, naked and simple, and, dare I say, even nurturing) quality to it; we might assume that this new work wants the same outcome as the earlier work. So, here is my conundrum.

The titles of the pieces above are “Nucleus Universe” and “Yellow Cells”. According to the artist’s own website, they come from a series entitled “Cellular Composites.” How does that make me feel? From a distance, from the street and peering hard through a glaring window, I did not see cells under a microscope as the titles now lead me to believe I am meant to see. What if they were called something else? What if the pieces were called Singed Toilet Paper and Yellowing Toilet Paper? Or? This Place is a Shit Hole, or, What White Absorbs In This Box, or, Completely Hammered? Can I see passed the toilet paper? Of course I can, and I strive to. But at the same time I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget the medium because I am familiar with the artist’s work, and it seems to me that the voices in her work have so far been delivered as much by the medium as by what she’s done with it. So, in this case, it leads me to wonder if the artist truly intends the substantive irony the medium brings to the affect of the work. I also don't seem pressed by the artist to ignore, or see passed the medium (the toilet paper) because it is so...well...toiletpaper like still. It isn't carved or waxed or disguised as much as it could have been...if the artist wanted to...

I consider these two pieces, below, which are also made of toilet paper (and wax) [earlier pieces from 2003 / 2004 series called "Pre-Historization"]:

Frankly, I only realize these objects are made of toilet paper and wax because the little card tells me that's what they are made of. I don't even think of toilet paper--not once. I don't think of toilet paper much, even after I know they are made of toilet paper. I think more of wax paper, and wax and paper, and geologically unique stones or cross sections of stone. I think of nature. The nature of objects manipulated, and chemistry, and how paper is a very very ordinary material that can be made to perform extraordinary feats. That is, in the hands of the extraordinary artist.

A certain poet who is staying here, who I'll not name to protect her privacy, and I just walked down to the gallery to look at the work again. As we were approaching the gallery I said, "Do you see it now?"

"No," she said. We approached closer, "Now?" We were now in front of the windows which provide a wide clear view of the entire wall where Jessica's sculptures hang, "How about now?" I asked the poet.

"No," said she, "I don't see any toilet paper." Then I pointed to the pieces which she had been looking at a moment before. She said, "What? I thought that was wood!"

We walked inside and chatted with the, the...what do you call em? Gallery person. Perhaps not the owner, but she presented like a manager or an assistant curator or something. We proceeded to have our own mini art critique session. The three of us very different women, but still, all familiar with art. The Gallery girl said three of the pieces of Jessica's show were already sold. The first thing she said to us, as she observed us from her receded position in the deep end of the gallery, "it's toilet paper."

Tomorrow, I'll go a little deeper into my thoughts on this, as soon as I find my copy of Tom Wolfe's book, The Painted Word, which unfortunately I only just now realize I think I lent to someone I haven't spoken to in months...sigh. An artist, no less. Well. Until next...