Renaissance Society introduces Sekula to Chicago arts scene
Photographer Allan Sekula struggles to document a place that doesn’t exist. In his new series, “Polonia and other Fables”, on display at the Renaissance Society, Sekula travels from the University of Chicago’s Pick Hall to a Polish pig farm to trace the co-mingling of national identities, capitalism, labor, and globalization in America and beyond.
Hamza Walker, director of the Renaissance Society, says that Sekula and his challenging social photography make him a perfect candidate to exhibit at this contemporary art museum space.
“Allan Sekula is one of the foremost photographers working in a social documentary vein,” says Walker. “But he’s very under-represented in the United States [and] he’s never had a show in Chicago.”
Renaissance Society: ‘An artist’s museum’
Though the Renaissance Society does not have a permanent collection, Walker says the Society’s chief role in the contemporary art world is to contextualize the works of living artists about art historical-movements the way a museum might; this distinguishes the Society from other galleries. “Our exhibitions represent a critical first-response to these works.”
But Walker is wont to share the Society’s methods for selecting artists: “It’s a secret process that involves incense, oddly weighted bronze coins, very thin leather straps, and a little bit of rice. Those things are deciphered on a platypus pelt, but the freshness of the pelt is also very important… are you writing this down?”
Platypus pelt or not, Sekula rose to the challenge of exhibiting in the Renaissance Society’s unique gallery space. “Because [the gallery] is free, people can come back if they’re on campus, and you can expect that people will spend time in your exhibit maybe not during a continuous period, he says. “I think of the whole installation as a work in itself, so I’m always thinking about the specific quality of the space. The hallways and entry way are really key to me.”
‘Discourse on the value of a humanities degree’
When visitors enter the gallery, they are met with the photo of a young woman—an art student—on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. According to Sekula, wrapped up in this single image, the exhibit’s opener, is a discourse on the value of a humanities degree, the intersection of the art world and finance, and the state of capitalism in the wake of the recession. “She spoke to me because she had some background in photography. She could have been one of my students, working to make a living here…”
Other works in the exhibit more opaquely address the other keystone of Sekula’s series—“Polonia.” Polonia, says Sekula, describes both the locations where Polish immigrants settle outside of Poland and the imaginary embodiment of their country. Because Poland wasn’t recognized as an independent nation until 1918, and suffered colonial domination throughout its history, Polonia has arguably existed for much longer as the locus of Polish national identity.
“Poland hasn’t had its own history—there are these blanks, periods where the language was outlawed,” and episodes of Polish diaspora during the nation’s communist and post-war periods, Sekula said.
But in addition to documenting “Polonia” in and out of the United States, Sekula’s photos speak to the universality of the immigrant experience. “Part of American history is the history of immigration, especially in the Midwest and Chicago. Today you have people coming to work in the industrial jobs that the Poles worked in. I wanted to show who is falling into the roles once occupied by the Poles, and playing them today.”
To do this, Sekula sought inspiration in Chicago—and on campus.
Sekula’s Chicago inspirations
One photo in the Eastern corner of the gallery depicts what Sekula and Walker both call a peculiar campus ritual—University students and staff gather around to watch the high-noon shadow of Dialogo, the bronze sculpture by Virginio Ferrari in front of Pick Hall on May 1, which is rumored to form the shape of a hammer and sickle.
“That event with the shadow is just ready-made irony,” Sekula said. “People come to see that rumored apparition of the hammer and sickle at noon on May Day. Some look to be more conservative, some to be more hip, young, politically liberal or left. I like to look at it as a physiognomy of the University community,” he said; in that sense, the piece puts the University’s conservative and liberal personas in tension, and suggests its role in global economic affairs.
The statue may not cast the exact shadow of a hammer and sickle, Walker adds, “But it’s near enough to activate wishful thinking, which can’t be discredited. Who would show up for this rumored event?” On the opposite wall is a photo of the 2009 May Day Parade in downtown Chicago. “You’ve got this working-class protest going on at exactly the same time—and you can see that the issues of immigration and labor rights are hopelessly intertwined.”
“Documentary is often equated with the quest for social justice. But is that idea that you can point a finger at a very clear wrongdoing even possible anymore?” In Walker’s interpretation, Sekula’s images suggest that, thanks to globalization, no one can view injustices with the distance of a photographer anymore.
“Sekula’s work is also an indictment of that ethical lens,” he says. “That’s what makes Sekula extremely important—his reflection on the genre.”
By Rachel Cromidas, third-year in the College
Showing posts with label visual arts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label visual arts. Show all posts
Monday, November 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
InQue(e)ry: So, we queered Ida Noyes and tied people up; Now what?
I would not have attended Que(e)ry two years ago.
In fact, I probably would not have taken one iota of interest in the "radical, queer, arts convergence"- radical-anarchist-radical-takeover of Ida Noyes Hall that took place in all its glittery, gender binary-shattering (did I mention radical?) glory last Saturday. I just didn't care what anyone had to say about gender and sexuality—These categories just exist, okay? I get it, enough!—And especially not someone with a pink mohawk. Also, I hate wearing make-up and glitter. But that's just me.
But a lot has changed for me since high school, when I was embarrassed to admit I was studying "Gender and Sexuality in Latin American Literature" at UC San Diego; when less than a year ago a certain sociology professor prodded me to justify why I thought "Problems in the Study of Sexuality" would be a useful addition to my Autumn Quarter course schedule, and I lied to my parents that I was actually taking "just an introductory English course" to fill my fourth slot and prevent more awkward conversations.
Now I conspire to get people tied up in the Third Floor Theater and eat vegan food with my hands on occasion. Go figure.
The thing is, I've thought about this a lot, the "where do desires come from?" question, and "why do I expect people to relate to each other in cerain ways?" and "what in me wants to be normal?" I don't have any good answers of course; but since I landed here as a freshman, many personal events, friendships and other experiences outside of academia have led me to appreciate these questions and recognize that the many possible answers are far from obvious—no where near as simple as we might have them be.
I think gender and sexuality are enormous, and enormously important, concepts that we should all pay more attention to. I am dying to hear more people my age talk about the assumptions that we all make about the way men and women should appear, behave, dress, make love to each other—assumptions about sexuality that go beyond what is heterosexual and what is homosexual to include a clusterfuck of kinks, fetishes and preferences.
We don't spend enough time acknowledging that desire exists, power exists, relationship categories are varied and changing, "normal" is a fallacy... If you have to stage an impromptu performance or sit people in a make-up chair and paint their faces to examine gender, to examine behavior, then please do it.
I'm not saying my peers need to drop their Adam Smiths and their Platos and take up reading Gail Rubin and Michael Warner, though these are theorists I have come to love by happy accident. They can just hang out with me and my queer, kinky friends sometime...
But much about Que(e)ry would put off the average UChicago student (let's face it, guys, it takes a lot of dessert food to get us out of our study caves on a given night). First of all, it was an all-day event conceived of, produced, organized and unorganized by a small group of campus activists who emphasized anarchy, art-making, veganism, and using the adjective "radical" every other sentence, as forms of resistance. This broad take on how to resist norms was its strength, but also made the party inaccessible to the people I most want to talk to, who don't already believe these concepts are discussion worthy.
With workshops on "BDSM as Bio-political Resistance" (I didn't attend, but I heard the presenter read a little Foucault out loud, and screamed a lot) and "Radical Cheerleading," the event was like a big inside joke; a ritualistic prank against all sorts of social conventions just a few steps above TP-ing the president's house, that only the iniated could understand. In fact, if you weren't laughing and screaming along, you might develop the uncomfortable feeling that you just don't get the punch-line.
Some workshops were more productive than this (and by productive, I mean accessible to a wide audience not already versed in the ethos of sex positive, queer and kink communities. Other attendees probably had different definitions of productive, or didn't make being "productive" a priority at all): "Practical Non-Monogamy," by Scathe, a presenter I really respect, was one of them. My boyfriend's praise sums it up: "He didn't assume that we all wanted to be polyamorous... he didn't try to convince us that open relationships are great for everybody, if we would only get rid of our hang-ups, which is an argument I've heard. They're not!" it was practical. It didn't make any assumptions.
I wanted people to stop assuming things because I'm a girl; dating a boy; really bossy; don't wear makeup; etc. etc. But this means I, and the sex positive communities around me, need to stop assuming that people share in common the same social leanings and political agenda, or would if only they spent the afternoon with us, some pot and some Judith Butler. If I want everyone to take gender fluidity and alternate sexuality seriously, then I'm going to have to start explaining this stuff to them where their understanding stops, rather than ask them to make the mental leap all the way to an anarchist arts convergence, and what it takes to feel comfortable in such a space.
The workshop I organized with two lovely, lovely people, Vincenza and Wren, possibly had one of the tamer titles descriptions: you can look it up, it was called "Intro to Bondage." What we like about rope, what you might like about rope. Some practical, hands on demonstrations. Hopefully some fun. I didn't ask anyone to hog-tie the patriarchy or wrap their heads around Foucault's biopower or Agamben, and I'd like to think that's why we had close to 30 attendees.
I'd also like to think that this practical ethos will serve future sex positive, kink positive events on campus well, if we can get some started.
Thanks, Que(e)ry, for making me feel more supported than ever before on this campus; now, any suggestions to keep the inquiries going?
In fact, I probably would not have taken one iota of interest in the "radical, queer, arts convergence"- radical-anarchist-radical-takeover of Ida Noyes Hall that took place in all its glittery, gender binary-shattering (did I mention radical?) glory last Saturday. I just didn't care what anyone had to say about gender and sexuality—These categories just exist, okay? I get it, enough!—And especially not someone with a pink mohawk. Also, I hate wearing make-up and glitter. But that's just me.
But a lot has changed for me since high school, when I was embarrassed to admit I was studying "Gender and Sexuality in Latin American Literature" at UC San Diego; when less than a year ago a certain sociology professor prodded me to justify why I thought "Problems in the Study of Sexuality" would be a useful addition to my Autumn Quarter course schedule, and I lied to my parents that I was actually taking "just an introductory English course" to fill my fourth slot and prevent more awkward conversations.
Now I conspire to get people tied up in the Third Floor Theater and eat vegan food with my hands on occasion. Go figure.
The thing is, I've thought about this a lot, the "where do desires come from?" question, and "why do I expect people to relate to each other in cerain ways?" and "what in me wants to be normal?" I don't have any good answers of course; but since I landed here as a freshman, many personal events, friendships and other experiences outside of academia have led me to appreciate these questions and recognize that the many possible answers are far from obvious—no where near as simple as we might have them be.
I think gender and sexuality are enormous, and enormously important, concepts that we should all pay more attention to. I am dying to hear more people my age talk about the assumptions that we all make about the way men and women should appear, behave, dress, make love to each other—assumptions about sexuality that go beyond what is heterosexual and what is homosexual to include a clusterfuck of kinks, fetishes and preferences.
We don't spend enough time acknowledging that desire exists, power exists, relationship categories are varied and changing, "normal" is a fallacy... If you have to stage an impromptu performance or sit people in a make-up chair and paint their faces to examine gender, to examine behavior, then please do it.
I'm not saying my peers need to drop their Adam Smiths and their Platos and take up reading Gail Rubin and Michael Warner, though these are theorists I have come to love by happy accident. They can just hang out with me and my queer, kinky friends sometime...
But much about Que(e)ry would put off the average UChicago student (let's face it, guys, it takes a lot of dessert food to get us out of our study caves on a given night). First of all, it was an all-day event conceived of, produced, organized and unorganized by a small group of campus activists who emphasized anarchy, art-making, veganism, and using the adjective "radical" every other sentence, as forms of resistance. This broad take on how to resist norms was its strength, but also made the party inaccessible to the people I most want to talk to, who don't already believe these concepts are discussion worthy.
With workshops on "BDSM as Bio-political Resistance" (I didn't attend, but I heard the presenter read a little Foucault out loud, and screamed a lot) and "Radical Cheerleading," the event was like a big inside joke; a ritualistic prank against all sorts of social conventions just a few steps above TP-ing the president's house, that only the iniated could understand. In fact, if you weren't laughing and screaming along, you might develop the uncomfortable feeling that you just don't get the punch-line.
Some workshops were more productive than this (and by productive, I mean accessible to a wide audience not already versed in the ethos of sex positive, queer and kink communities. Other attendees probably had different definitions of productive, or didn't make being "productive" a priority at all): "Practical Non-Monogamy," by Scathe, a presenter I really respect, was one of them. My boyfriend's praise sums it up: "He didn't assume that we all wanted to be polyamorous... he didn't try to convince us that open relationships are great for everybody, if we would only get rid of our hang-ups, which is an argument I've heard. They're not!" it was practical. It didn't make any assumptions.
I wanted people to stop assuming things because I'm a girl; dating a boy; really bossy; don't wear makeup; etc. etc. But this means I, and the sex positive communities around me, need to stop assuming that people share in common the same social leanings and political agenda, or would if only they spent the afternoon with us, some pot and some Judith Butler. If I want everyone to take gender fluidity and alternate sexuality seriously, then I'm going to have to start explaining this stuff to them where their understanding stops, rather than ask them to make the mental leap all the way to an anarchist arts convergence, and what it takes to feel comfortable in such a space.
The workshop I organized with two lovely, lovely people, Vincenza and Wren, possibly had one of the tamer titles descriptions: you can look it up, it was called "Intro to Bondage." What we like about rope, what you might like about rope. Some practical, hands on demonstrations. Hopefully some fun. I didn't ask anyone to hog-tie the patriarchy or wrap their heads around Foucault's biopower or Agamben, and I'd like to think that's why we had close to 30 attendees.
I'd also like to think that this practical ethos will serve future sex positive, kink positive events on campus well, if we can get some started.
Thanks, Que(e)ry, for making me feel more supported than ever before on this campus; now, any suggestions to keep the inquiries going?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
What I’m Reading on the Plane
…You can bet it won’t be the articles on U.S.-Mexico border policing I just printed out for one of my classes. At least, not when I have a ton of wonderful books I received as holiday presents:
*True Notebooks: A Writer's Year at Juvenile Hall by Mark Salzman. This book is an excellent non-fiction account of writer Mark Salzman’s time teaching a creative writing class at a juvenile detention center in Los Angeles. His students are just teenagers, but the crimes they are charged with are so severe they are being tried as adults. And regrets about there cases, the gangs and families waiting for them in the outside world, and the choices they made that led them to prison consume the vignettes the boys write during Mark’s visits.
My boyfriend gave the book to me for the holidays and I couldn’t be more pleased with it—I’m about half way through the it now, but I would finish it all tonight if I didn’t have to pack. He joked that the book was an apt answer to the question “Why write well?”—a Raymond Pettibon quote written on a popular UChicago t-shirt—but I am impressed by how the boys’ honest, unadorned language answer the question “Why write at all?” in the first few chapters, both for themselves and for Mark, who portrays himself as shallow, quick to stereotype and afraid of Central Juvenile Hall’s inmates in the first chapters.
The next two gifts are both art books—which reminds me how absent visual art has been in my life since I provisionally nixed an Art History major in favor of Fundamentals: Issues and Texts. I’m taking an Art History class this quarter, but these texts should hold me over until then:
*Solar System & Rest Rooms: Writings and Interviews with Mel Bochner, 1965–2007
I worked at the San Diego Museum of Art for almost two years in high school, giving tours and teaching children about art during Family Weekends. One of my favorite exhibitions (and probably the most challenging to tour) was of Mel Bochner, a conceptual artist who played with language, transparency and representation in very monochromatic, symmetrical and patterned drawings and installations. Like Bochner, I am fascinated with the question “How do we articulate what we think about what we see?” or in other words, how do we use language to express how we feel, think and live from an intellectual premise? The book opens with one piece that I think exemplifies this conundrum: “Language is not Transparent,” (1970) a phrase written in chalk on a wall of the L.A. County Museum of Art, is an installation which explores how writing and art lend immediacy to an abstract and not at all transparent idea.
I’ve only skimmed the book so far, but I’m already pleased to read about Bochner’s relationship to the philosopher Wittgenstein who examines similar concepts in Philosophical Investigations, a text I keep returning to since I arrived at the University.
* Paul Klee: Selected by Genius, 1917-1933
ed. By Roland Doschka
Klee is just fantastic; I don’t have much to say here besides awe over this full-color volume of some of Klee’s best works—a mix of abstract, German expressionism, and witty, swirling images that don’t quite fall into any one art movement. I’ll have to visit the Art Institute of Chicago this winter to see some of his paintings and etchings up-close again. What, a girl can’t read all the time?
*True Notebooks: A Writer's Year at Juvenile Hall by Mark Salzman. This book is an excellent non-fiction account of writer Mark Salzman’s time teaching a creative writing class at a juvenile detention center in Los Angeles. His students are just teenagers, but the crimes they are charged with are so severe they are being tried as adults. And regrets about there cases, the gangs and families waiting for them in the outside world, and the choices they made that led them to prison consume the vignettes the boys write during Mark’s visits.
My boyfriend gave the book to me for the holidays and I couldn’t be more pleased with it—I’m about half way through the it now, but I would finish it all tonight if I didn’t have to pack. He joked that the book was an apt answer to the question “Why write well?”—a Raymond Pettibon quote written on a popular UChicago t-shirt—but I am impressed by how the boys’ honest, unadorned language answer the question “Why write at all?” in the first few chapters, both for themselves and for Mark, who portrays himself as shallow, quick to stereotype and afraid of Central Juvenile Hall’s inmates in the first chapters.
The next two gifts are both art books—which reminds me how absent visual art has been in my life since I provisionally nixed an Art History major in favor of Fundamentals: Issues and Texts. I’m taking an Art History class this quarter, but these texts should hold me over until then:
*Solar System & Rest Rooms: Writings and Interviews with Mel Bochner, 1965–2007
I worked at the San Diego Museum of Art for almost two years in high school, giving tours and teaching children about art during Family Weekends. One of my favorite exhibitions (and probably the most challenging to tour) was of Mel Bochner, a conceptual artist who played with language, transparency and representation in very monochromatic, symmetrical and patterned drawings and installations. Like Bochner, I am fascinated with the question “How do we articulate what we think about what we see?” or in other words, how do we use language to express how we feel, think and live from an intellectual premise? The book opens with one piece that I think exemplifies this conundrum: “Language is not Transparent,” (1970) a phrase written in chalk on a wall of the L.A. County Museum of Art, is an installation which explores how writing and art lend immediacy to an abstract and not at all transparent idea.
I’ve only skimmed the book so far, but I’m already pleased to read about Bochner’s relationship to the philosopher Wittgenstein who examines similar concepts in Philosophical Investigations, a text I keep returning to since I arrived at the University.
* Paul Klee: Selected by Genius, 1917-1933
ed. By Roland Doschka
Klee is just fantastic; I don’t have much to say here besides awe over this full-color volume of some of Klee’s best works—a mix of abstract, German expressionism, and witty, swirling images that don’t quite fall into any one art movement. I’ll have to visit the Art Institute of Chicago this winter to see some of his paintings and etchings up-close again. What, a girl can’t read all the time?
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