Portraits of Fallen String

"Kendall Nordin's 'fallen string' drawings absolutely must be seen in person to be understood. They have an illusionistic quality that makes it appear that a fine human hair is attached to the page and you're seeing its shadow. In fact it's all drawn. Through the delicacy of the line, these works achieve a subtle trompe-l'œil effect that surprises and delights."

- MuseumNerd (www.twitter.com/museumnerd)

Metamorphosis of Space

Being tired after a long day and still in the middle of a jet lag, it happened that I set foot in Kendall Nordin's studio in Tallinn. I was completely out of shape at this moment, nervously trying to get myself to do even more. The city rhythm of Vienna, the travel, and the sudden being drooped out of a plane, with a straight landing in a completely different world made me completely 'buzz'. I found my way through the big yellow studio, stumbling some "Hello I'm Simon" and received a delightful smile along with a friendly "Hi, how are you?" The woman had needles and threads in her hand and was sitting on a big round table in front of some translucent papers. Next to her was a cup of green tea. She sat there sewing in an inexplicable meditative manner and with a few nice sentences she encouraged me to have a look around.

I made a few insecure steps into the space and gazed upon a three meter by one and a half meter broad sheet of yellowish paper, hanging form the ceiling. At first look I hardly recognized this paper, svelte crinkling itself down the wall, as a work of art. It rather looked like an unguardedly mounted piece of paper hungrily waiting to be fixed straight, and to be painted in a colorful and meaningful way. Although I couldn't understand why, it was not possible to move on. There was something about this paper. It did not let me go. It took me almost another half minute to find the reason. The dainty and meticulously arranged crinkles reminded me of the meander of a decent but small river, seen form an airplane, after it's water gouged it's way through erratic grounds. On it's matted large surface, soft indiscernible white lines and spaces gleamed like the reflected surface of slightly agitated water, when the shine of the moon reflects in the lake. Imagine a real Estonian summer and remember the steam that traversed the little window of the Smoke-Sauna and the traces of steam on the glass, the little drops of water that stick to it without forming small fluxing ditches.

In another corner of the room was a 10 x 10 cm piece of transparent plastic material. Again I hardy recognized the soft forms on the surface and my perception became hyper-sensitive. I felt my complete perceptional apparatus drifting into a convenient, totally natural aberration. The slight but crystal-clear divergence between this soft mode of perception and my normal state of mind made me scrutinize the rest of the room for little abnormalities. Suddenly, the tiny corner of the wall, the little black dots on the floor, even the smallest irregularity became to be a potential work of art. The whole room turned out to be one artwork. My world turned out to be in the middle of an ongoing metamorphosis, not yet butterfly but not caterpillar either. Not yet art and not yet real. Since my experience of Kendall Nordin’s work my view of the world swaps between the dihedrals of art realities and physical realities.

The energy within this room, her dulcet voice and the person I sensed she was, as well as the inconspicuous and peculiar objects around her, were drawing me out of my city-mode, into a uncertain state of exception which I still enjoy today. Behind my desk I keep pondering, is this—the creation of an opportunity to see the world differently—the real meaning and the one challenge of art.

With thankful greeting, Simon B. Haefele for Kendall Nordin.

Louise Bourgeois makes me overuse the word “so”…

I am so glad I finally made it to see the big Louise Bourgeois show at the Hirshhorn. Her work has always been impenetrable to me so to prepare I read the late 80’s interview with Donald Kuspit. I was not prepared for how emotionally connected I would be to the work. It wasn’t one of those cases of seeing something in reproduction and then seeing it in real life where the interpretation changes drastically just from sheer physical presence. But having that interview as a glossary helped me to enter the work.

The cell (twelve oval mirrors) struck me first as so blatantly Modern. But why? Something about formal concerns? Something about clarity? Ultimately I realize what I mean by Modern is relying heavily on Symbolism. Everything is metaphor—and easily understood as such. Therefore the work is at its core representational. But then, what does that mean for work to be Contemporary? Does that mean somehow we, as artists making things today, have been able to push past representation? That seems hardly correct either.

Could it be that everything is so deeply psychological? Like all the mind games of early 20th century philosophy rendered in fabric and metal, wood and resin. The work makes me long for a community of viewers to be with while experiencing it. It is lonely and the construction demands dialogue.

I found the cells in general so emotionally compelling. Starting from the cage, with the little hidden chair and feet, and those ears which are part animal, part vulva, part cupped hand. The balance she strikes between imposing, looming darkness and vulnerable child-ness is deft. Then, based on the arrangement in the room, I am lured into thinking that the cells are somehow becoming more open, easier. The glimpses of turned mirrors in “cell…” as a way of escape. But there is never escape from this place of neglect—not with broken dirty windows cracked beyond repair. I am enticed to keep interacting by the small details—a bloated red glass arm, a beautifully painted shop sign—and I find I’m experiencing the conflicts of my own world magnified and through another person’s narrative. I would call that as successful as any art could be.

Perhaps I have had trouble approaching Bourgeois’ oeuvre before because of the charged suggestiveness of all of her imagery. To be honest, though I would like to be someone who deals well with that, I am often turned off by such intensive disembodied allusions to sex in sculpture or painting (why I really don’t enjoy Phillip Gunston). So I force myself to get over it while walking through this exhibition and I find that not only do I not have to force myself, I am suddenly championing her ability to walk the line of explicit imagery with depth. It doesn’t hurt that some early summer tourists are passing judgment and being insufficiently deferential in the presence of such important art.

There is UGLINESS in the world. And for a great deal of this show, it seems Bourgeois’ work is staving off the ugliness for her while forcing me to come to terms with it. Not something I do easily. But I’m so so glad I did.

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