Life-Size

Although it is rarely said, art is to be taken seriously. Political cartoons in the local newspapers are disregarded as “serious” works of art, while comic books are viewed solely as entertainment. Far and few artists have been able to successfully incorporate humor into their work and have been remembered for it. Sure, a good chuckle when visiting the gallery is appreciated, but does it compare to a highly technical, awe-inspiring piece? While researching the Alfred University MFA graduates, I found four candidates who understand the importance of art and humor. Because each of these artists utilizes a recognizable form, whether it is a reference to a dated video game or airplane magazines, the viewer is able to relate to the piece with a smile.
Humorous art is regarded as rather difficult to discuss. The viewers and critics struggle with what to make of pieces poking fun at politics, society, and the habits of people. Is the work naïve? Is it to be seen as just funny or is there an underlying message waiting to be deciphered? Is humor in art just a distraction from real life situations?
These are questions writer, Wendy Wick Reaves has dealt with. She believes that “humor works as a mode of expression, a cultural product, and a serious topic for discussion, despite its levity” (Reaves 2). She expresses that humor is seen as a resource, an attention-grabber. Artists utilize humor to attract viewers to their work. Reaves believes that humor “diverts [the viewer] from subtler messages, and often from a more complex interaction with the artwork” (2). Humor is then to be used appropriately. If the artist does not comprehend the weight of the humor within the art, the underlying message can be completely overlooked, and the work is regarded as a one-note laugh. The viewer smirks and moves on.
A skilled artist however, should know how to cleverly combine satire with art to immediately grasp the viewer’s attention and hold it. Reaves explains that “comic art forms often work on a subconscious level because [the viewers] don’t necessarily engage with them intellectually.” (2). Humor is the first experience the viewer acquires from the work. Because of the initial impact, the viewer tends to “absorb” first before observing underlying messages (2). Once the work grabs the viewer’s attention with humor, the audience can then unpack the meaning of the piece. Humorous art “can reveal not only clever manipulations, but also layered meanings and aesthetic sophistication that warrant [the viewers’] attention” (Reaves 2)
Even Reaves acknowledges that “the arbiters of the fine art world - dealers, critics, and art historians - seldom want to grapple with humor” (4). Humor is unnoticed because the viewer “wants to take art seriously, especially when lawmakers and the public questions its value” (4). Does humor have a place in art then? When combined with social cues, references to consumption, technology, and politics, humor can be viewed as a tool rather than something unnecessary and ridiculous. Reaves agrees that humor “must be added to the mix of cultural references that [the viewers] use to contextualize art” (4). It is one of the only ways to utilize humor effectively.
A more refined aspect of humor, which most artists seek to achieve in their work, is the utilization of irony. Subtlety through irony is difficult to grasp and to achieve. Because of this obstacle, artists resort to obvious play in scale, distracting color, or any apparent trick for the viewer to stay with their work for seconds more. A balance of thought and playfulness requires skill. Artists Gerit Grimm, Peter Morgan, Joseph Page, and Julie Moon all experiment with ideas of form, scale, gender issues, and irony through their work. Whether incorporating recognizable subjects like airplane magazines or familiar atmospheres like a boisterous carnival, each of these artists are also quietly slipping another suggestion in to the subconscious.
While form, scale, and subject matter are all formalized early in the making of the work, it is what the piece is projecting that announces itself late. Unfortunately, the message the work is emitting is the important factor. When an artist pushes an idea too much, the piece becomes too accessible. If an idea is not formulized enough, however, the message is lost and the presented work is perceived as unsuccessful or unfinished. Each of the listed artists utilizes irony in their form, their scale shifts, and their subject matter.
The playfulness and sexuality in the work that Gerit Grimm is known for stems from her imagination and “the childishness of [her] thoughts” (Grimm 2). Growing up in Germany, she had an idealized notion of American culture. While her homeland was in constant change, the Berlin Wall falling for example, she perceived America as “aged and exotic” (Grimm 6). After witnessing Robert Arneson’s work during a gallery visit, she decided to travel to States. She noticed the “casual approach American ceramists… took when working with clay” (2). While enduring the formal education of German ceramic art, Grimm wanted to experiment with the “humorous, sassy and mischief loaded stories” that American culture had to offer. She also wanted to “[ignore] aesthetic rules and create… artwork that functioned more unreservedly in space” (2). The relocation of her studies brought about a significant change in her work.
Gerit Grimm addresses the quirky behavior of people in social settings. In her MFA thesis report, Grimm makes humorous observations about the interaction of people. Depending on the atmosphere, people act differently. At the theatre, “the women [wear] beautiful ensembles, [have] nicely done hair, [and wear] the highest of heels and flash jewelry” (Grimm 3). They venture to the theatre not only to watch the show, but to also be watched themselves. There is a doubling in the idea of viewing and wanting to be viewed.
Irony is known for its duality, its multiple functions. In the book, Double Talking: Essays on Verbal and Visual Ironies in Canadian Contemporary Art irony is described as “saying one thing and meaning another… a double mode of address” (Hutcheon 13). Robert Wien’s The Rip is a piece that can be easily described by this doubleness. Wien’s initial intention was to re-create a theatre setting from his childhood. He remembers a Western film being projected on the screen with a tear. The native Canadians in the theatre were so disgruntled by the portrayal of the natives that they began to throw things at the screen. The tear grew, ripping the screen in half. In this instance, the rip was significant in a new way. The rip became a “spatial metaphor for the growing political activism of native Canadians, which ‘became impossible to ignore’” (Cheetham 59). The drastic ripping of the screen becomes distracting to the film, and the issue the natives have becomes more noticeable. The artist “has presented the potential for individual memories to intersect with social concerns” (61).
Grimm addresses the duality of irony, like Robert Wien’s, through social settings like movie theatres and carnivals. The presentation of such situations allows the viewer to become part of the crowded audience on velvety, red seats, or to want to push their way through the busy midway. Grimm’s Downtown Street: Movie Theater portrays several social settings. The innards of the movie theater are left out on display for viewers to come and inspect the people it holds. Each flat, ceramic figure gazes out at the audience when the theater doors are opened. This raises the question of who is viewing who. Because the ceramic pieces are about life size, and because the social settings are all too familiar, the viewer falls in to the ironic trap of participating. Questions like, “Do I really pay ten dollars to sit in a crowded movie theater to watch a generic romantic comedy,” rise in the viewer’s thoughts. The portrayal of human behavior in a gallery setting can actually be pretty revealing. Although Grimm’s subjects are not politically charged like Robert Wien’s art, both artists illuminate on elements of human tendencies and their flaws.
It is not Grimm’s Downtown Street that makes its appearance in my exhibition however. It is her piece, Wonderland that the viewer first encounters. To participate in this piece, the viewer is required to duck under the box that contains this other world. In the center of the bottom of the work, there is a hole where the viewer is expected to go through. Gripped with fear, the viewer holds their breath and ventures through to this alternate environment. The viewer is then suddenly immersed in a colorful, exotic place. Compared to the figures within the surroundings, the viewer is gigantic and purely a visitor to this alternate setting. There is no distance between the viewer and the work; the work automatically becomes less intimidating. The arrangement seems to encourage an investigation on the viewer’s part, of the surroundings. It is at this point that the viewer can digest the candy-colored grasses, the bubbling blue mountains, and the friendly natives in their natural state. Mirrors line the walls of the enclosure, creating the illusion of an expansive landscape. Dore Ashton explains in the book, The Unknown Shore: A View of Contemporary Art, that irony is the “ultimate detachment, a philosophical and psychological distance which precludes didactism or moralizing” (Ashton 178). In other words, irony is what prevents boredom in art. Grimm, as well as the other three artists in the exhibition, utilizes art as a vehicle to transport the viewer to mystical settings. These settings are unlikely to be seen in a gallery setting; they each obtain a dream-like quality. These transcending environments are unattached to the gallery and allow the viewer to relax and imagine themselves in these new, magical settings.
After endlessly waiting in line to have a chance to peek into Grimm’s Wonderland, the viewer notices Peter Morgan’s Sky Mall Exclusives. The objects within the sky mall are larger than life size, forcing their importance on the viewer. The viewer’s relation to this piece is again participatory. Items found in airplane magazines are on display, waiting to be purchased. Delectable items like elk salami or doggie steps are temptingly placed on fluffy clouds. The viewer is compelled to window shop while stepping around the sales items. Morgan emphasizes the ridiculousness of actual items found in magazines. It is ironic that these items do exist. They are absurd enough to exist in Morgan’s fictional sky mall. Morgan describes his playfully critical work as “idealized and faux” (Morgan 9). By placing these items in a created reality, he hopes the viewers can “mentally put themselves in this place, and understand it as an actual experience rather than a representation of one” (9).
As the viewer meanders through Sky Mall Exclusives, Doggie Steps is the last piece to be approached. Directionally, it is faced towards the gallery’s corner, where Grimm’s Carnival resides. The viewer’s gaze is curious to locate what the arthritic dog is staring at. Turning, the viewer journeys on to Grimm’s second piece of the exhibition.
Gerit Grimm’s Carnival consists of columns of flat depictions of people enjoying a day at the carnival. In contrast to Grimm’s Wonderland, the figures in Carnival are now towering over the viewer. The viewer is limited to only certain views of each column; the columns are displayed on a pedestal, restraining the viewer to walk around the cluster as a whole. Each column vaguely recalls the guidelines of the Egyptians Canon of Proportions. As the viewer moves around the piece, the figures drastically change point-of-view; each side of the column containing a different side of the character. Instead of the figure ebbing over the sharp edges of the columns, another side of the character is presented wholly instead. Like Grimm’s Downtown Street: Movie Theater, Carnival also immerses the viewer into an alternate environment. This time, the setting is familiar; the carnival is a place of wonder and disgust. While reviewing this work, the viewer asks himself, “Was spending all that money to win a carnival prize worth this little souvenir?” Again, Grimm is asking the viewer to question the celebration of the carnival setting. Can the viewer relate to the cheesy setting, the entertainers, and the collapsible park rides?
At this point, the viewer has wandered through half of the exhibit. He has been the titan in Grimm’s Wonderland, experienced a giant’s shopping district in Morgan’s Sky Mall Exclusives, and has battled the towering carnies in Grimm’s Carnival. The separate character columns lead the viewer over to Julie Moon’s Headspace. Out of all the pieces the viewer has met so far, Moon’s is the first to incorporate both overbearing size and the delicate comfort of figurines. Directionally, the piece is facing the left wall of the gallery. The path of the viewer is dictated solely by the facings of each piece. Each figure stands stoically, referencing a serviceman’s formation. Their proud configuration is concrete; the viewer must weave around the sculpture to continue through the exhibition. As he passes, the viewer notices that each figure is eerily headless. Moon’s pieces control the backspace of the gallery, setting a dark, fantastical scenario. The floating, organic shapes clutter the backspace, making it feel tight and claustrophobic. Although Moon’s pieces do not physically create an atmosphere, they demand attention and stand their ground.
The second piece of Moon’s the viewer encounters is Untitled. The sculptural wall piece is anamorphous. The only recognizable form stems out from the organic shapes. It is a woman’s curving arm, emphatically pointing in a direction. This piece is mounted on the back wall, near the right corner. It is a visual clue for the viewer to continue forward through the gallery. It is ironic that the piece is so literal. It does not contain the subtlety of the placement of Doggie Steps, but it still acts as a guide for the viewer. Moon’s flowery graphics on both Headspace and Untitled slightly retract the eerie feeling her work emits. The graphics damage the severity of each piece, but also add a dimension of humor.
The last piece the viewer exhaustingly experiences is Joe Page’s Flow Chart. Like Grimm and Morgan, Page creates a whole new reality for the viewer. This installation acts as a smooth transition between the imaginary worlds and exiting the gallery. Page utilizes the stark, white gallery walls within his Flow Chart. The colored graphics on the wall act cohesively with the walls. This piece is also very directional. Because it so dependent on the wall, the viewer is forced to follow the curving lines and bending backgrounds along, while also taking in the installed wall pieces as well.
Flow Chart is purposely limited to certain color and form. Page empathizes with early video game designers who had to work with “extremely limited color pallet and an inability to render recognizable shapes” (Page 1). Page takes this constraint and follows its strict rules; he only displays certain color, shape, and a limited direction in his piece. His simplicity of color and form in his colored wall elements allow a “contextual way to change the character of the ceramic pieces near them” (4). The environments he creates “serve as a vehicle for the creation, transformation, and travels of the bubbles” (4). The doubling of irony occurs here as well. There is a transformation of the “bubble” within Page’s piece, as well as the modification of the gallery setting to allude to a magical world.
The exhibition toys with themes of scale and irony. There is an immeasurable weight to what the work is saying. Irony is a heavy theme that runs thick through all of the work. The size of the irony portrayed in each piece depends on the artist’s employment of subtlety. Scale is the other main theme within this exhibition. The experience of the work is based on the comparison of the work’s size to the viewer’s stature. Each artist experiments with size and is interested in the viewer’s relationship to that piece. Because this exhibition relies so heavily on size, both metaphorically and physically, it is called “Life-Size.”