| It took a shrug and a touch of cheerful humility to get inside the doors to Jessica Stockholder’s Table Top Sculpture show at Gorney Bravin & Lee. How many sunny Sundays have I spent stepping over similar disposable plastic clusters at a sidewalk sale while tossing a sympathetic half-smile to the kids in sandals and frumpy frocked grandmothers peddling these never-have-beens? I recall my own basement and storage closets filled with banal items too mundane but practical to be tossed out. Last decade’s lamps, buckets, picture frames, area rugs and swim gear clog space where Lotto winnings could have filled an esteemed wine collection. |
from left)Jessica Stockholder, (372) not titled, 2003, mixed media, installed 68x40x45 in Jessica Stockholder, (373) not titled, 2003, mixed media, installed 45x80x14 in Jessica Stockholder, (381) not titled, 2003, mixed media, installed 58.5x53x30 in
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In one sweeping
view of the gallery, the eye takes in a garish array of sculptures composed
of apparently valueless, domestic items such as soft plastic buckets, plates,
folds of carpet, fake fur mats, tin foil, old lamps and bottles, all strapped
together with tape, mashed with paint, stuck with nails and spilled over forlorn
wooden chairs and tables. Paint is thick, lumpy, primary and bright, oozing
and splashed over their equally colorful landscapes. Black pleather furniture
is arranged conversationally on a shag red carpet at the entrance of the gallery,
tearing away from modern sheen. To the sides hang framed works from a mishmash
of artists selected by Stockholder, a seemingly random assortment that compliments
the sculpture within and further adds to the forlorn “family den”
feel. Subjects range from erotic line swirls to a clown-face portrait to a small
orange canvas marked “8 inches.” I sit down on a large, plush, but
slightly faded sofa to take some notes, enjoying the gallery’s casual café
atmosphere which is a welcome contrast to the sterile icebox of so many others.
The warm homeliness is inviting. Good cheer emanates from this set-up, a warmth
that throws off any cynicism that she might be setting up our nostalgia only
to criticize and tear it down.
The gut reaction
to these unusual-yet-familiar conglomerations is that this is worthless material.
I stand before the constructions and feel arrogant and then I am won over by
Stockholder’s quirky sense of composition and arrangement and the fact
that she has chosen to work with some undeniably American/Western icons. Her
use of the gallery space, with each piece’s placement in relation to the
others carefully considered, is inspired and essential to upholding her vision.
A common thread through almost all the pieces is that they are titled only by
three-digit numbers and are based on a table of sorts. Tables are a fixture
of home furnishing and often—as in the case of coffee tables—a receptacle
of random elements as well as a platform for display. Abstracting this domestic
fixture allows Stockholder’s random elements resting upon it to appear
mundane.
The item strapped
to the east wall (373) is the most dramatic of the collection. It is aggressive
and tamed only by bungee straps, dynamic and intensely anti-gravity in comparison
to the rest, which huddle heavily in their own space. 381, an assembly of a
thick light-blue painted wooden table, glass bottles, a flipper and a fur curtain
are attended by an upholstered chair. It is as innocent and playful as a child’s
make-believe tea set. 386 hangs from the wall over a pink upside-down tub, lobbed
with thick red paint and a slab of orange fake fur. Towering in the center of
the room is 387, a tree branch protruding through the middle of a table piled
with a couple radios buzzing classic rock, an overly ornate and bright chandelier,
a bowl on a bunch of gray fur and orange shag carpet. Nearby, 372 sits angular
and carefully balanced. A slice of wood leans on a chair, all hinged and bolted
to a top board, all smothered in basic reds, greens and browns. 389 looks like
a long-forgotten child’s art project in a basement, a pool of green paint
awaiting to be mixed in several plastic bowls atop a piece of plywood.
These pieces are
proud and unapologetic, orderly messes breathing by their simplicity and familiarity.
It looks like a child has been at play, and thereby invites playfulness which
left me uplifted. The fact that her sculptures (1) are not made of fine materials,
(2) are not precious and (3) lay about in seemingly random display, off the
wall, off of pedestals, untagged or titled, is very reflective of our own possessions
in our everyday environment. Stockholder has been able to remove all pretense
from her approach to being creative and has a genuine love for the multitude
of disposables within our reach and at every turn. By seeing these “valueless”
items bound together, is the value increased? Do the items retain a value just
as an object, when their practical usage has been taken away or constricted,
deformed from the shape we desire? If one light green plastic plate is ok. is
two? Three stuck together? It is a reflection of the plastic surroundings (post
WWII) we’ve grown to love and depend on, and yet loathe for their abundance,
cheapness and tackiness. Tons more is produced and bought every day.
“…I avoid
the development of a cohesive look that will too powerfully direct the work
in only one direction. A lot of people have written about my work in terms of
junk. That I sometimes use junk doesn’t seem of central importance to me,”
Stockholder said in a 1991 interview. Whether her use of “junk” is
incidental or subconsciously nostalgic, what Stockholder has crafted is something
playful in a very challenging sense. Homely beauty. Her disjointed yet playful
work has been compared with such visionaries of the sixties and seventies as
Robert Rauschenberg, David Hockney, Judy Pfaff and Ellsworth Kelly. What makes
her refreshingly contemporary is her unblinking, idealistic celebration of regurgitated
domestica without a smirk of irony or camp. Instead, the total effect smiles
with joy and inspiration.
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