Pierre Huyghe (Twice Over) at The Met

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Past the torn-up pavement gathering water in new pools, at the far end of the long terrace in front of the stunning view of midtown, Pierre Huyghe has placed a rectangular aquarium as part of his Met Roof installation, on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art through November 1, 2015. Reminiscent of the Damien Hirst shark on view in the galleries below not so long ago, this aquarium’s aqua waters are also punctuated by a murky grey shape–in this case: a rock. The rock hovers above a pile of grey sand so that the two almost touch.

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Clearly, this off-center, relatively small arrangement of inert matter is anticlimactic after striding across the hot pavement. Such inconspicuousness is typical of the French artist’s works. Here, its subtlety becomes apparent as you stare at the tank and discover tiny organisms skirting about. They are lampreys and triops (apparently ancient species that do little more than swim and reproduce). Together with the excavation of the roofing tiles, their presence suggests the desire to unearth some primordial history or an other way of being with nature than the carefully manicured park below.

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Huyghe’s projects have including living animals, plants, and other natural elements before, and at the Met it seems like he is trying to create a minimalist ecosystem. Rather than abundance, what Huyghe presents seems basic, if not barely sufficient. At least for me, it is not easy to connect the work to its immediate environment aside from a sweeping generalizations about the disparity between nature (the work) and culture (the museum).

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However, much to my delight, the Roof Garden installation is complimented by a riveting, 19-minute video shown in the Modern and Contemporary Galleries downstairs. Untitled (Human Mask) (2011-2) provides a vignette of a strange creature in a desolate world. Set in a deserted Fukushima, Japan after the 2011 tsunami and nuclear disaster, the camera follows a pet monkey, which continues to go through the actions its owners had trained it to do–help serve in a sake house. The owners had trained the monkey to wear a mask while serving (thus, the title), and the half-human, half-animal creature alone in the post-apocalyptic scenario is at least one reason the video has such pathos. How much does the monkey understand the drastically changed situation? The video is beautiful and mournful, compelling viewing despite lacking dialogue or plot.

Untitled (Human Mask) is only up for 3 more weeks–until August 9.

 

All the El Grecos

El Greco, View of Toledo, 1598

El Greco, View of Toledo, 1598

View of Toledo, a rare landscape in El Greco’s oeuvre, is often remembered as a favorite from high school art class, maybe rivaling a canvas by the equally expressive Van Gogh. But perhaps this is unfair. Between visiting the Met and the Frick, you can now see all the El Grecos in New York City, an impressive 18 works, and consider for yourself whether there is more to be said.

El Greco, Cardinal Fernando Niño de Guevara, 1600

El Greco, Cardinal Fernando Niño de Guevara, 1600

Certainly both in View of Toledo and his portrait of Cardinal Guevara I was struck by how of our own time they both seemed. Consider how strange they must have seemed to contemporaries and even poorly made, considering how expressiveness is cherished over proper execution and draftsmanship. A modern taste appreciates being able to psychologize these works and read into them a visionary persona in a way that the Renaissance patron typically would not.

El Greco, Christ Carrying the Cross, 1577

El Greco, Christ Carrying the Cross, 1577

Those two examples aside, El Greco primarily painted religious scenes. Proper figuration is subsumed by flowing shapes in the overall composition, which seem simplified for more direct and iconic appeal. Although these are the more typical of his works, I don’t find them as appealing as the first examples. However, the liquid eyes of the Christ above are touching. Although I’m not sure how I feel about El Greco, I appreciate the current opportunity to reconsider the artist and see his body of work more holistically.

El Greco, St Jerome, 1600

El Greco, St. Jerome, 1600

Revisiting Imran Qureshi’s Roof Garden Commission: Miniature as Medium

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If you are like me, you might not have realized how closely Imran Qureshi’s installation on this roof of the Met this summer is connected to the tradition of miniature painting in South Asia. Certainly the red splatters remind one more immediately of Jackson Pollock, as well as of bloodstains, even if the suggestion of violence felt somehow unreal when seen over the trees of Central Park. When I saw the Pakistani artist’s more traditionally realized miniature painting below, it clicked into place for me.

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Qureshi’s 2011 miniature on traditional wasli paper, Blessings on the Land of My Love, uses the same splattered motif as the roof garden, only organized around the drainage grate on an interior courtyard. Blessings Upon the Land of My Love was also a 2011 site-specific installation at the Sharjah Biennial 10 that used this red vegetal patterning to take on the architectural structure.  The miniature on paper suggests that Qureshi sees the same vision whether writ small or large, and that moving the miniature off the page and putting it in dialogue with architecture still retains some essence of the miniature. In fact, considering the installation in closer relation to miniature painting allows one to see both how Qureshi employed formal elements of his traditional miniature training, in the Pahari style foliage, and even to connect it with the Mughal practice of employing pictorial artists to decorate their palaces with large wall paintings in addition to illustrating books. In a sense, miniature painting is a medium that the artist works through, rather than resides in.

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