Can’t Reach Me There
|When||30 Jul 2015 - 3 Oct 2015|
|Where||Walker Art Center
1750 Hennepin Ave, Gallery 4
Minneapolis, MN 55403
Opening Reception: Thursday, July 30, 6-8pm
Kelly Akashi, Diti Almog, Christina Forrer, Simone Forti, Jeff Ono, Laura Owens, Mark Roeder, Jay Tucker, with Isamu Noguchi*
Curated by Sarah Lehrer-Graiwer
Can’t Reach Me There is a headspace, a languid climate, a slow season, a quiet, a clearing, a bed with a view, and a struggle for open vistas. It is a desire for landscape and perspectives that express vital abstractions like distance, aging, death, escape, and an attention to scale that physically prioritizes the small and shrinking while temporally claiming the long and lasting. It is a fantasy of withdrawal and inaccessibility, the internal and the remote—of a private, obsessive art that is the medium of, what Lozano called, involution. It is a writer’s fantasy of being non-verbal, non-professional, and non-productive—of long-term immersion in private research compelled by pleasure and risking irrelevance. I want to be a medium of my time, too. Curling up in a shell, this aspirational refusal and being out of reach has much to do with pushing against crowding market forces that mangle and level all things. The show, fully estival in spirit, is a postcard from elsewhere.
It is devoted to duration and certain subjectively-clocked experiences of time: the time of painting, the time of weaving tapestry, the time of newspaper reading and book-making, the time of burning a candle possibly at both ends, the time of bathing, daydream time, calendar time, beach time, afternoon pool time, summer time, and the five hundred million year time of the evolution of seashells. Speaking of which, shells are important for their hyper-aesthetic mystery of slow, continuous self-formation that invites a rethinking of domestic architectures—because this show is also informed by a time in life, a generational and perhaps gendered period when home, home-making, and home-building demand greater attention, which comes at the same time that I feel more shell-like and cavernous, cozy in this form.
Photo courtesy of the organiser/s
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