| Does anybody care about nationality or nationalist art in New York City, where we rub elbows with every corner of the world on a daily basis? Yet this is an issue that Piotr Uklanski addresses—that of his Polish identity, in his exhibition Bialo-Czerwona (White-Red). Well-known as a conceptual artist on the international circuit, he nevertheless chooses what at first seems a dated subject. But then, Poland itself, the country of his birth, is only there by the grace of God; it has been ravaged for centuries. Even the first words of the Polish national anthem refer to its precarious position: “Poland hasn’t yet fallen…” This sentiment tugs on our heartstrings. Perhaps, more importantly, Uklanski confronts an existential dilemma, of his own fragile existence in the world and in terms of art. For Uklanski, what is important is constant self-definition. He performs a highly stylized dance of identity, using political symbols, folklore, and canny showmanship. |
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E. K. Clark
The work of Piotr Uklanski was on view at the Gagosian Gallery from March 27 to May 17, 2008.
Does anybody care about nationality or nationalist art in New York City, where we rub elbows with every corner of the world on a daily basis? Yet this is an issue that Piotr Uklanski addresses—that of his Polish identity, in his exhibition Bialo-Czerwona (White-Red). Well-known as a conceptual artist on the international circuit, he nevertheless chooses what at first seems a dated subject. But then, Poland itself, the country of his birth, is only there by the grace of God; it has been ravaged for centuries. Even the first words of the Polish national anthem refer to its precarious position: “Poland hasn’t yet fallen…” This sentiment tugs on our heartstrings. Perhaps, more importantly, Uklanski confronts an existential dilemma, of his own fragile existence in the world and in terms of art. For Uklanski, what is important is constant self-definition. He performs a highly stylized dance of identity, using political symbols, folklore, and canny showmanship.
Uklanski has a wicked sense of humor and is constantly testing and courting controversy. The first time I encountered his work, I stepped into a puddle on the floor of Gavin Brown’s Gallery, about twelve years ago. Then, there was the three-page ad in Artforum called “Ginger’s Ass.” It was a photograph of that part of the anatomy of Alison Gingeras, then curator of the Centre Pompidou, in Paris. No big deal, but it created a little amusement. His photographic series, The Nazis, followed. A straightforward representation of actors who had played the roles of Nazis in various films, it caused a big stir in Poland. One of the actors slashed a photograph of himself with his sword, no less. Only in Poland! The series finally sold for a million dollars.
The exhibition White-Red is choreographed like a theatrical production. A heavy red curtain with white lettering in Polish, a piece in itself, dramatically introduces the show. On opposite walls, two enormous photographs face each other. In one, hundreds of people dressed in red spell out the word Solidarnosc, or Solidarity—the workers’ party that challenged the Communist oppressors after the Second World War. The other photograph shows the crowd dispersing, illegible. These photographs allude to Poland’s Communist past and account for a period both traumatic and heroic. Though nothing special in themselves as art, they register a temperature—love, blood, loss, motherland. This has a mythical meaning for Poles, and Uklanski exploits these patriotic feelings.
The show is full of drama. A line of crockery of different colored plates runs diagonally from floor to ceiling—attached directly to the wall with cement. Opposite, a sculpture of a white eagle with a crown, the Polish national emblem, rises about twelve feet high. It is fashioned, ironically, out of humble Styrofoam; meticulously finished, it makes a powerful statement. The theme of red and white is carried out throughout the show. Large white paintings dripping red viscous resin, with names such as Untitled, Warsaw Uprising ’44-Ochata or Warsaw Uprising’44-Powisle symbolically reference Polish history and at the same time introduce a personal twist to the history of late modernism.
In radical contrast, a small, darkened room holds an array of folkloric buildings with gold domes, decorated in red and white, displaying the creche, the holy family, and the old town. Traditionally, these are exhibited every Christmas in the marketplace of the city of Krakow. Even these ancient folkloric traditions are grist for Uklanski’s mill.
Untitled (Fist), an eighteen-by-twelve foot steel tubular sculpture of a fist, stands as a challenge against oppression, recalling various groups, both on the left and the right, that used the raised fist to assert power to the people. It’s both a strong political and artistic statement and a lynchpin to this exhibition. On the walls around the room hang the white and red drip paintings; seen through the sculpture, they create a happy marriage. Finally, a huge painting, Polonia, constructed of two enameled glass panels, white and red—the colors of the Polish flag—are presented in a separate room. In its simplicity, it is riveting both in spite and because of its banality.
Of the eight paintings in this exhibition, seven titles refer to the uprisings in different Warsaw neighborhoods in 1944. Piotr Uklanski was born at least thirty years later—in another lifetime. He draws on this tragic and heroic history to redirect the meaning and perception of the white and red drip paintings. The titles indicate symbolic content, blood, gore and melodrama. Formally, they appear as attractive abstractions. What more we choose to see depends on how much more we are willing to read into them. ïâ¬Âª
