Olafur Eliasson: Take Your Time. Indeed.

So, for the next few postings, Lingual Tremors will take on a decidedly art-focused view.  I have been meaning to post on the Whitney Biennial and last year's Brooklyn Museum's Global Feminism exhibits and now I have two more exhibits to talk about so, let's just call this "art week", eh?

So, the fabulously cool and hip P.S. 1 art museum (MOMA's smaller, cooler younger sibling in Queens) plays host from now until mid-June to several large installations by Olafur Eliasson, he who will bring the Waterfalls project to New York's Harbor later this summer.   Not being in the art world, I'd not heard of Eliasson, who is evidently a major up-and-coming international artist.  I went to P.S. 1 for the last day of the "Wack!  Art and the Feminist Revolution" exhibit and literally stumbled into one of the rooms where Eliasson's work was displayed.  I had seen ads for "Take Your Time" on the subway--a jumble of movie studio lights,mirrors, and movable walls that didn't excite me.  In fact, I thought the title of the exhibit was a little corny:  "Take Your Time!"  (i.e. Look at My Art!  Relax, Crazy New Yorkers!  Take Five Minutes Away From Your Crackberries to Enjoy Art!  Hello!  Real Art!).  In short--not high on my list of "to do" exhibits currently in the city.

If you've not been there, P.S. 1 is in an old school--replete with "Boys" and "Girls" separate side entrances.  Stumbling around the old staircases, into classrooms transformed into gorgeous gallery spaces with large windows and fabulous natural lighting, I always feel like I'm a kid again.  The gallery space is a perfect combination of nostalgic emotions about school coupled with the excitement and desire for new knowledge and intellectual stimulation (okay, okay, I'm a geek.  I *get* that not everyone feels that way about school!). 

So, I stumbled into a totally darkened room--this is something I've become accustomed to since moving to New York.  Previously, the idea of willingly walking into a pitch black room without knowing what was in there would have been unimaginable.  And yet, all too often, I throw myself into these now-traditional New York art spaces, excited for the "what's to come" anticipatory giddiness.  The room was set up with a wall--like walking into a movie theater--that didn't allow you to see the room.  You had to walk in and around the wall to get into the room itself.  What waited beyond the all was one of the most tranquil, relaxing, and truly beautiful art exhibits I've seen.  Entitled "Beauty," the installation piece is a large curtain of misty water that flows from the ceiling as it is spotlighted by soft lights that create an undulating rainbow.  Against the black backdrop, it looks simultaneously like a curtain, like silk flowing in the wind, like that perfect moment when you are pulling taffy when the sugar takes on a shimmering effect, like a well groomed cat's silken coat.   This was art as beauty, art as meditation, art as a physical space for relaxation and thinking.  Simultaneously cerebral and experiential, this was art as experience.

(Picture via SFMOMA)

This room is opposite "the vault," a brick-lined exhibition space where "Reversed Waterfall" trickles away.  From "Beauty," you can hear the waterfall's pitter patter.  P.S. 1 is a popular "alternative" gallery, but unlike MOMA or the Met, it's possible to hit there at times when the crowds are thin.  This was one of the those days.  I was utterly alone, able to sit and meditate on the curtain of water and the ways in which the subtle changes in the flow created new and interesting arcs in the color of the rainbow's sheen.  I had time to think in extended metaphor--piling association on top of association--and to really enjoy the piece itself.  No lines, no snarky "artier than thou" critics and students loudly evaluating the piece, no self-absorbed cell-phone gallery talkers (on a par, in their evilness, with the cell-phone-bookstore-talkers, both a special category of wretched humanity). 

I walked away feeling refreshed, focused, and relaxed.  And that, in and of itself, was a totally different art experience for me.  I am often interested in immersive art environments because I like how they force you to see the world differently.  I like the expansiveness of imagination, the interactive expectation, and the transformation of the ordinary (see my previous post on "Ashes and Snow" here).  As someone who is very sensual, I like exhibits that engage as many of my senses as possible;  for that reason, multi-media installations capture more of my imagination than just a painting or a sculpture or a photograph.  And if I can touch it?  Even better!

All of this brought back to me again, my own maturing sense of what art is for:  although I am deeply invested in the role of the political in art, increasingly, I find that I turn to art and music for shelter and rejuvenation, something that makes for a different relationship and expectation in art.  I remember that when I was a child, my mother would often seat me on the floor with crayons and paper and invite me to "draw what I heard" as she played different classical songs for me.  I would be occupied for hours at that task;  the collocation of color and music, the whimsy and emotion of music turned into illustrations. 

Sometimes, I lose sense of that idea of play and imagination as I push forward in my career, become wrapped up in personal dramas, and try to address the needs of the people and world around me.  The world is such a tough place, that when I come across something like "Beauty," I am reminded that one purpose for art is to soothe the aching soul, to place before it a succor for what ails it. 

Eliasson's other pieces were interesting;  I highly recommend the entire exhibit, but "Beauty" was just what I needed.  What a lovely and unexpected serendipity:  the right art at the right time in the right place.  "Take Your Time," indeed.  "Beauty," without question. 

Read On!
Interview with Eliasson
"Beauty" (At San Francisco MOMA, with links to other exhibits as well)