THE INSTITUTE OF CONTEMPORARY ART, BOSTON.

THE INSTITUTE OF CONTEMPORARY ART, BOSTON. 

15th of August, 2014. Boston, MA.

Many stickers from many visits accumulated outside the ICA.

It was a cool August day when I headed to the Boston harbour to meet my friend Elise at the Institute of Contemporary Art, the sweet siren call of free art luring me in again. A trip to the ICA was long overdue for me— I’d somehow managed to overlook it for years in favour of all the other wonderful museums Boston has to offer. Really, it’s a true travesty it took me so long to get there, because it’s such a fantastic museum. Not only does it have a lovely view of the Boston waterfront, but you can tell that the museum has put real effort into making contemporary art accessible to everyone, and I’m always on board for that.

While I do like to think that I probably know more about contemporary art than a lot of people, having just completed an art history degree, I think it’s so important to keep in mind how intimidating the field can be: the rooms are always full of unfamiliar names, strange mediums, and unlikely topics. In fact, heading into the gallery space, the feeling of slight unease was my immediate impression. In spite of my study, there wasn’t a single artist that I was familiar with in the building. It was a jarring and helpful reminder that my study had been fairly region restricted and that the field is, by its very definition, changing constantly.

Thankfully, it seemed to me that the Institute was very aware of how people can feel walking into such a setting and were actively trying to fight against it. The main gallery space, the Kim and Jim Pallotta Gallery, was dedicated to the ongoing exhibition 'Expanding the Field of Painting'— art that engaged with the traditional definitions of the medium without conforming to them. As well as contributing to the constant theoretical art discussion, particularly the idea of ‘the death of painting’, the exhibition title also offers a nice window into the art on display, giving a ready conversation starter and an easy way to understand the context of the seemingly disparate work. 

The moleskin 'art' notebook is probably
 one of my favourite possessions.   

An easy way to tell how much I enjoyed an exhibition is to just look at my notebook after. This time, I clearly had more thoughts than room. While much of the work on display was interesting to me and I could write at great length about a lot of it— for example, the way the work of Dianna Molzan, Jack Whiten, and Donald Moffett seemed to reflect that of the French 1970’s Support/Surface group— I thought I’d focus on one here for the sake of brevity. Paul Chan, an artist from Hong Kong, has two works on display in the exhibition: 1st Light (2005) and an untitled piece from 2011. In both of them, Chan is clearly reflecting on our current culture in a way that is familiar while thought provoking. 

Part of a planned seven part series, 1st Light is an animation, projected on to the floor, which depicts a skewed idea of the Christian Rapture.  It starts as merely amusing, as you recognise mobile phones, iPods, and cars floating slowly into the air. However, as the 15 minute video progresses, and human bodies start falling from the sky, the scene turns from fun to a little unnerving. It raises the question of what we value in our society while also questioning how we value it— the scene, for all that is creates a horizon line and the sense of a 3D environment, is actually entirely flat. The depicted items and figures are moving side to side rather than up or down, really making no progress at all. In this world of Chang’s what is really salvation? Is the vision he depicts, where humans are moving in a separate direction from technology, a version of salvation or of Hell? 

The other piece, while smaller and easier to overlook, I found even more engaging. Untitled  (Buckaroo) (2011) is part of a series of works in which Chang removes the pages from books and uses their covers as a surface for art. As a book lover who is still rather conflicted between the convenience of e-books and the material feel of paper books, this really struck a chord with me. It obviously questions the role of publishing and of the purpose of physical books, but it also offers possibilities for the future. In a digital world, what is the role of books and how can they continue to inspire creativity and imagination? 

Installation view of Hodge's Untitled (bells) (2002)
and Another Turn (2002)

The two exhibitions were lovely and stimulating as well. ‘Jim Hodges: Give More Than You Take’,  on view until the 1st September, gives an extensive look into the varied work of Hodges, who engages with fabric, craft, and the everyday in a way that’s a bit unusual for a male artist. With works like with the wind (1997) and Untitled (one day it all comes true) (2013), he really conveyed the importance of the fleeting moment and the value of noticing the beauty in everyday materials and practices. 

However, the highlight for me was undoubtedly the Icelandic performance artist Ragnar Kjartansson’s film exhibition, The Visitors (2012). Displayed on nine channels over 64 minutes, I would have been happy to spend my entire visit in that room, watching it all unfold. Film work can be so problematic to  display in a gallery setting— asking people to sit in front of one screen for so long while so many different works are available is hard to do and so often it falls flat.  The Visitors, by contrast, managed to keep me engaged throughout. Filmed in the deteriorating Rokeby farm in upstate New York with a group of musicians performing individually in different rooms throughout the mansion, the film creates a beautiful and haunting song that progresses through moments of stillness to moments of chaos and back again. 

Installation view of Kjartansson, The Visitors (2012)

I can’t think of anything else quite like it. It’s performative yet intimate, hopeful yet melancholic, static yet eventful. It’s romantic and forlorn; as much about the visual as it is about the sound. It feels like a perfect single moment stretched over an hour.  In some ways, as the sun sets over the scene and the musicians exit the house, having come together in the final moments, it’s about things coming to an end. However, it’s more than that. It’s about how people are always alone, trapped in themselves, but are constantly working together to make something greater than that. It’s about the importance of doing things together in spite of everything, of continuously struggling towards an empathy and a unity that can't ever truly be reached.  To use to the words of Kjartansson,  it’s about how 'sad and beautiful it is to be a human being.'

Elise had seen it before, as it had been recently exhibited in her university town, and it was such a pleasure to see it with her. She was excited before we even got into the building, and having now experienced it for myself, I can see why. Surrounded by art I didn’t know with a friend as into the field as I am, I was reminded by how refreshing it is to learn about something completely new. It was so fun to share ideas, to think deeply, and to explore without preconceived notions. It was a reminder of how overly intellectual things like 'the institution' are really secondary to what art actually is. 

Exterior of the ICA.

More than anything, it was a reminder that there’s always a way in if you’re willing to suspend your disbelief, to engage in speculative thought, and to really look. 

 Exhibitions Visited:

Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston. Expanding the Field of Painting. Ongoing.  Kim and Jim Polletta Gallery.

Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston. Ragnar Kjartansson: The Visitors. 23rd July to 2nd November, 2014. Fotene Demoulas Gallery + Paul and Catherine Buttenwieser Gallery.

Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston. Jim Hodges: Give More Than You Take. 4th June to 1st September, 2014. West Gallery.