| B. Wurtz’s work deals with the mundane incidents of daily existence. In his own words: “Basic things, the kinds of things I use in my art, were invented by humans and I find that fascinating. The act of seeing the extraordinary in an ordinary object makes me feel connected to the universe in general, and life in particular. I like the idea of pointing out just how simple it can be to ‘see’ this.” Salvaged bits of construction lumber, plywood, wire, string, recycled plastic bags, plastic jar and bottle covers and plastic twists take on a magical life in his low-key pieces—given the artist’s playful and poetic touch. Zen haikus come to mind. |  |
Back To Basics – E.K. Clark
B. Wurtz’s work deals with the mundane incidents of daily existence. In his own words: “Basic things, the kinds of things I use in my art, were invented by humans and I find that fascinating. The act of seeing the extraordinary in an ordinary object makes me feel connected to the universe in general, and life in particular. I like the idea of pointing out just how simple it can be to ‘see’ this.” Salvaged bits of construction lumber, plywood, wire, string, recycled plastic bags, plastic jar and bottle covers and plastic twists take on a magical life in his low-key pieces—given the artist’s playful and poetic touch. Zen haikus come to mind.
Consider the work—all the pieces are untitled—constructed of two pieces of plywood nailed together and placed on a green plastic bag. From the plywood base emerge four twisted black wires. A plastic gizmo that, in real life, is used for fastening storage bags here hangs down with an attitude so that viewers are forced to reconsider it in its novel role. Such a reversal of fortune evokes laughter and delight. The mighty have fallen and perhaps the poor will indeed inherit the earth.
Another untitled sculpture, sitting on two blocks of wood with the mysterious word “Burrill” scribbled on the side, sports three plastic bags: one red and two white, the latter almost invisible. The whole is reminiscent of a dumbed-down Japanese flower arrangement. Several of the smaller pieces have a similar look.
Then, there are the faux functional pieces. B. Wurtz noted that, in his selection of found material, he would limit his choices to those having to do with food, clothing and shelter, the basic categories. In the shelter category, a particularly engaging work presents a hook and an eye separated by a space too huge to bridge—the whole ensemble resonates, even though the sculpture presents a frustrating lack of resolution. The hook and eye will never meet. Ah, that’s life.
Another piece refers to our daily routines, tangentially to clothing or, more accurately, to laundry. A number of blue, green and striped plastic bags hang fastened with clothespins; another bag with an army camouflage pattern hangs on a wire, possibly alluding to war. A solitary clothespin topping a black wire delivers the comical coup de grace.
In another particularly enchanting piece, B. Wurtz pulls out all the stops—combining texture, color and language. Rising from different length dowels is an “architecture,” so to speak, composed of a tied beige rag, red mesh (which had, perhaps, previously held garlic), some red, pink and white plastic bags, one with the word “open” printed clearly on the surface. With sly wit, the artist manages to marry Dada, Constructivism and Pop under one roof.
In addition to the three-dimensional work, there are nine wall pieces.
The largest measures 81.5 x 59 inches—a piece of raw canvas festooned with printed bits cut from plastic shopping bags. It’s interesting to note that pieces of tied thread connect these bits to the canvas. It is important for B. Wurtz to make every part of the process of construction visible. His belief in “Truth to Materials” connects him to the Constructivists and, of course, to the Minimalists.
The other eight wall pieces constructed of plastic jar and bottle covers and painted canvas collaged with newspaper ads hawking produce hang vertically from strings resembling eccentric medallions or some strange, hybrid forms resting uneasily between sculpture and painting.
Consider this: at the top, a red jar top declares its lineage—“whole Yogurt” followed by rectangular pieces of canvas dabbed with paint, collaged with ads for Bonita bananas, iceberg lettuce and, finally, a plain cover states that what it once contained were cut pineapples which came from Dean & Deluca. These hybrid objects provide a glimpse of the artist’s life—where he shops, what he eats, what he collects and, most importantly, what he values.
In the context of Chelsea, B. Wurtz’s exhibition looks fresh, inventive, non-commercial and downright subversive compared to the glut of trite, slick products begging to be bought.
