Exhibition review: Isidro Blasco 'Sydney Interiors'

Yellow Office, 2013, C-print on museum board, wood and hardware, 35x35x10cm 

Walking into the Isidro Blasco exhibition can look at first like a high-end, post-modern Hobbyco store. There is a lot of plywood joinery and delicately assembled collage that would of required dexterity of a practiced model maker in order to get to their finished state. Categorically they fall between wall mounted sculpture or 3D photo montage, depending on what angle you’re looking from.

This is Blasco’s third solo show at the formidably tasteful Dominik Mersch Gallery. Born in Madrid and now New York based his works are a combination of collage, photography, architecture and deft skill with a glue gun. The format varies from exhibition to exhibition but the themes remain constant. Blasco’s works are all meditations on place, space, memory and perception.  

Sydney Interiors is a continuation from his 2011 Australian residency and shows (Tilt at DMG and The Laneway Project with the City of Sydney). These previous exhibitions were surveys of exteriors in the city: laneways, skylines, aerial views and streetscapes that Blasco configured in his distinct style of collage-construction. His 2013 exhibition is again the result of a two-month residency in Sydney where Blasco turned his attention to the interior to produce a body of work that examines the values we place on our inside environment.

The subjects in this exhibition are domestic, commercial, private and public Sydney interiors. Apparently his initial plan was to record the interiors of celebrity Sydney-siders but he abandoned that pursuit in the early stages of the project. Perhaps he read too much of Andrew Hornery’s column or maybe he just felt easier around the arts set. Either way it’s for the best as viewers now get to see inside some of the beautiful, humble and historic interiors of this city.

Audiences can take instant delight in these works, as they are immediately accessible on both conceptual and experiential level. There is a simple thrill in getting up close and looking in, around, over and behind the montages. The tiny scale of the works forces the you to come right up to the display and requires you to physically move around in order to see more sections of the collage. It is also like the gallery equivalent of an open-house inspection as you get to perve on their bookshelves and see what’s in the pantry. It’s as if you are physically in the space, you have to look around corners and up walls in order to see what’s there.

The montage process requires Blasco to take numerous panoramic photos of the area from the same angle. He then cuts them up and reconstructs them in 2D and 3D forms in accordance to a sense-view rather than a realistic view of the space. What this does is create a much more intuitive way of looking that is much more akin to how we really absorb our visual field.

Interestingly, the approximate bandwidth of the human retina is about 8960 kilobits per second, which is equivalent to the amount of content on two sheets of typed paper. The point being is that we take in so much more visual content than we are aware of and most of it just becomes lost data. What Blasco’s work does is record all of the details- indiscriminately and compulsively recording the full spectrum of what we look at and what we actually see.

Of a similar vein is the after-image phenomenon that Blasco refers to in a number of his essays. This is the wonderful sensation of the optic nerve fooling the brain into seeing something that’s not there. Being in this exhibition is a little bit like looking at stills of after-images, all overlapping and merging into each other outwitting the eye and mind.

The wooden support structures that hold the works are both a practical and aesthetic consideration. Instead of a concealed and neat system we see this erratic plywood nest, jutting out at awkward angles. These exposed skeletons give the works architectural as well as sculptural qualities. They can also read like a wood-frame construction or scaffolding gone mad. This is perhaps a coincidental comment on the modus operandi of most arts enterprises: well-organised chaos.  

The more conceptual aspects of Blasco’s practice are his ideas on the significance of place and space and the influences of perception and memory. Sydney Interiors is like a visual essay on these themes. You can’t help but feel the sincerity and kindness that Blasco brings to these reconstructions of private places and shared spaces. He treats all the subjects with affection and sensitivity, giving as much attention to the modest and humble as he does the illustrious and ornate.

Some of the standouts include The Godess II, a panoramic interior of a grand old Valiant car resplendent in its original turquoise upholstery. Yellow Office is a fabulous fly-on-the-wall view of the power station that is Wayne Tunnicliffe’s desk. In comparison to the other works this one really bursts against the confines of its surface area. Groaning bookshelves bulge out at the viewer and hide Tunnicliffe under the abundance catalogues. 

Hibernian House is more accurate description of how most ‘creatives’ live, which usually is cramped, communal and fairly subsistent. This work is unwieldy in its assembly and juts out in all directions, aptly describing the nature of this creative residence that grants so many artists the ability to work and live in this frightfully expensive city.

Ultimately what Blasco’s work prompts us to think about is how and through what significance does a space turn into a place? Are places made through the tangible things they contain? Or are places made by the intangible memories and presence that we attach to them? And is a psychological and emotional sense of place what we need, rather than space itself?

This exhibition also illuminates the fact that how we see our world is entirely different from how others see it. We use perception and memory as primary tools to build the framework that becomes our reality. The idiom that it is perception not truth that matters is perhaps the most fitting summary of Blasco’s works in Sydney Interiors.

And in art as in life, perception is everything.

#thefutureofthecritic

The presence of the critic is becoming increasingly fainter in the cultural landscape. Once an authority to the masses, the masses have now become the authority. We know that the future is social and that we increasingly define ourselves by our networks and accumulated “like” capital. We’re sharing, posting, publishing and pining with fervor, allowing our chosen platforms to project all the 140 character long, photogenic square-shaped things we like. Amazeballs.

But what’s being forgotten with all this awesome totes cool positivity is the importance and rightful place of the critical voice. “Like”-ism has replaced criticism as the qualitative signifier. Traditionally the place of the critic in the arts has always been supported; while the modes and methods have evolved, there has always a mutual agreement between the creator and critic that their existence is codependent.

But as we know history is quickly becoming what we refer to as yesterday’s news feed. In this age of instantaneous content production and consumption, quality criticism is quickly being replaced with impulsive comment and motley sharing. What have now is the ‘critical courier’ who embedded and invisible the broadcast.

Smart devices have become our phantom limbs, allowing us to fulfill the Zuccerbergian goal of Frictionless Sharing and instant endorsement (BTW when did ‘Zuccerbergian’ become an adjective?) What we have now is criticism by omission. If you are not part of the shared narrative, then your relevance is questioned. Reputation banks are what dictate quality in this like-economy, where identity is currency and image is wealth. 

Meta-armies of cultural couriers that dictate taste and fashion are increasingly replacing considered critique with a bricolage of short thoughts. Audiences and cultural consumers only receive what is in the feed, or at best a tarted-up press release adorned with a few hybrid words ending in "…ence". In the quest to be liked and followed we seem to have developed a phobia to expressing and discussing critical views.  Criticism isn’t the same as schadenfreude; it’s very different from the sad cat diary. At its core is the ability to think for oneself, which is on the verge of wipeout from networked intelligence.

If the late art critic Robert Hughes is right and the ‘new job of art is to sit on the wall and get more expensive’, then perhaps the new role of criticism is to sit on the pleasant fence and get more vapid. An observant, art critic friend of mine pointed out that the best criticism around today is Fashion Police. This E! Entertainment is show devoted to learned, considered and wonderfully candid sartorial criticism that makes Joan Rivers to fashion what Hughes was to visual arts. Okay perhaps that’s pushing it, but can you imagine those two on the couch together? It would be brilliant!

But until NBC does a posthumous pilot for the Hughes and Rivers Show, critical thought and response can’t just be swallowed and softly regurgitated by the networked vernacular. Things don’t evolve to greatness through shares and likes, they evolve through vigorous thought and frank discussion. Fashion Police, you have a new pupil.

S*x, Death and Taxes

 

A rough guide to MONA

It is fair to say that David Walsh obsesses about the first two, and disdains the latter. As a result, the Museum of Old and New Art and the collection it houses centers around the former two and has come to fruition due to the latter, or rather the lack of it. Walsh is the creator of MONA, a local Tasmanian equipped with a profoundly macabre sense of humor, a fierce art collecting habit and a gift for writing algebra to beat betting systems. Left to flourish for several decades, Walsh’s habits have resulted in what we now know as MONA.

Walsh has created a subversive Disneyland for art and artifact, quickly becoming one of the biggest tourist attractions in Tasmania with close to a quarter of all travellers to the Apple Isle reporting to have visited MONA. Not only has it also established a new Sydney/Melbourne/Hobart arts triangle, in it’s short existence MONA has achieved what no Australian institution has been able to by giving Australia a voice on the international arts stage, keeping company with progressive galleries such as the Guggenheim, Getty and Saatchi. A visit to MONA ensures a truly world-class art experience just across the Strait, so here are a few tips on exploring the temple of Walsh:

Take the ferry. The MONA ROMA ferry is the best way to start your MONA journey allowing you to take in the beautiful River Derwent and see the building emerge from the harbor, like a tip of a rusty, angular iceberg, it deceptively hides the mass that lies beneath. It is a good idea to book the ferry online ahead of your trip so you can be sure to secure a seat on the early and late trips to allow for maximum time in the gallery or a sunset drink.

Allow yourself time. An entire day at least, two days is optimal to fully absorb the entirety of the collection and the scale and presence of the building. MONA is best done slowly with plenty of time allocated to getting meaningfully lost in the myriad of passages, rooms and enclaves that will carry you through the space. For your unplanned route, you will be equipped with an ‘O‘ that will inform, guide and amuse you the entire way through. The O is MONA’s version of the wall plaque, audio tour, artist’s statement and amusing ramble all in an easy to use iPod device, tracking your stops, likes and hates and then sending your tour to you at the end of the day.

Spend your time unwisely. MONA does away with notions of viewing hierarchy and sequence. You can walk for hours through the exhibitions, take rest on a giggling sofa, lounge in the library or in my case; it may just take you a day to find the Anselm Keifer room. MONA is a museum that you discover gradually, revealing itself incrementally through both understated detail and grand display. The best way to explore MONA is through guesswork and experimentation, activating a sense of play and adventure that is a pivotal part of the viewing experience. 

Be hungry and thirsty. Starting from the ferry kiosk to the basement bar, MONA has many ways to tempt you away from the subject of art and onto the much more serious subject of eating and drinking, which appears to be David Walsh’s second obsession in life. Take a casual lunch in the café, dine in the restaurant or sprawl with some BBQ and beanbags on the lawn. All venues feature local produce and beverages from MONA’s own Moorilla Winery and Moo Brew brewery. Discuss your day is over a wine or beer tasting, available at The Source restaurant where you will be expertly guided through a liquid tour of Tasmania, plus MONA seems to make much more sense after a few wines.

Stay, one night at least. MONA has a selection of pavilions inspired and named after Walsh’s favorite architects and artist such as the Sidney, Walter and Brett options. These elegant quarters continue the conversation from the gallery and allow you to fully experience MONA and its surrounds. Each pavilion features works from the MONA collection inspired by or by the very hand of its namesake. MONA has a selection accommodation and activity packages that will ensure a memorable holiday. If timing is your thing, MONA has regular events, concerts, screenings and annual festival, MONA FOMA that will give you even more reason to leave the mainland.