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The idea of “The Joker" was open to discussion recently at the Broadway Gallery in Soho. Participating artists explored this flexible and rich notion of what the ominous joke might be. The group exhibition, co-curated by Basak Malone and Tchera Niyego, found its inspiration in a bit-story by the grandfather of existentialism—Danish philospher Kierkegaard, and yet certainly, as Niyego points out; not in existentialist philosophy. |
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The Jokers – Simone Cappa
The idea of “The Joker" was open to discussion recently at the Broadway Gallery in Soho. Participating artists explored this flexible and rich notion of what the ominous joke might be. The group exhibition, co-curated by Basak Malone and Tchera Niyego, found its inspiration in a bit-story by the grandfather of existentialism—Danish philospher Kierkegaard, and yet certainly, as Niyego points out; not in existentialist philosophy.
Kierkegaard once wrote, “A theatre catches fire. The clown steps to the front of the stage to announce the fact to the audience, who think it a joke and applaud. Then the clown announces again that there is a fire, but they roar with laughter and clap more loudly than ever. No doubt the world will end amid the general applause of these laughter-loving people who take everything as a joke.”
Jason Douglas Griffin makes an interesting start to this show with work that is deceptively good. His Diptych, Heaven n’ Hell, painted on an old wooden door doesn’t take itself seriously, and suggests that the doorway to heaven or hell is the very same door. He is working within the latest trend in art; a kind of slacker-chic and his self-deprecating, modest style can’t disguise this ability to fuse classic figurative painting with a laidback doodling that’s straight out of Williamsburg.
Ricardo Fernandez Alberti’s work is a standout of this exhibit, and is inspired by his thoughts on the pacifist nature of Switzerland. His work presents a large Swiss army knife, a practical tool and everyday item. Yet, Alberti plays upon the interesting yet ironic combination of the three words that are used to title this object: “Swiss,” “Army” and “Knife” since many question the political stance of the land that remained neutral even while surrounded by the darkest army of the 20th century, the Nazis. Alberti explains: “If I would have to reduce the meaning of the painting to a few words it would be ‘never underestimate the power that lies within the identity of a fool at first glance.’" Is this neutral stance foolish or absolutely brilliant?
Marc Dolce presents a photo-within-a-photo work, where he snaps a scene while holding a postcard before it to juxtapose the two images and the two ideas. Here, he holds a postcard of a Native American before an Americana style setting. In the background is a large, painted American flag and, in the forground, is a sign that reads: “A Nice Place.” But for whom? Not for this gent, whose ancestors were robbed and murdered on an a massive scale. Dolce explains his type of "Photo-Expressionism" saying “I choose to interject, assemble, rearrange and combine ideas using images to raise questions, through an exchange of personal experience and introspection, about societal values.”
The masterfully executed photographic work of Brian Ross continues in the trend of exploring identities through the notion of “Joker”—while bringing the technology of photography to its full potential, he chooses to use the concept more literally. With Ross, the joker is a façade—the class clown who exists outside categorization and whose sole purpose appears to be as entertainment for others. In the poem accompanying, he writes, “I am the joker, the wild card, one of a kind, no suit of class for me, a free ticket to anything you want me to be.” Ross leads the viewer on to question the authenticity of this jovial person whose “laughter is the deep exhale of pain and sorrow, of truth.” By combining the medium of photography (remember—the camera never lies?!) with a text that deviates from the image, Ross brilliantly leaves us unsure of which punch line we should listen to.
Confrontational gazes from Thor Downing are equally unsettling. In his expressive painting, The Fool, Downing, who is now based in Buenos Aires, asks us to consider human perception and judgement. The painting features a pair of disorientating eyes that glare down on the viewer as if we are confronted by a cruel joke, leading one to wonder whether the anonymous face in the painting is the fool—or could we be the fools looking at it? Art isn’t really a reality after all, just a representation of it. Here we are also questioning that “it.” How real—or unreal, for that matter—is it?
In the works of Elvan Erdin, a Turkish artist based in London for over 20 years, the viewer is perfectly aware that this joke is trapped inside of the painting. In the piece, Hands, shadows and symbols are used to tell the story of something that no longer is. By removing and replacing imagery, Erdin builds her own personal story in the process. Her story is one open to interpretation—the shadows in her work describe the classic, juggling joker. Only, the balls he juggles create a strain, a pressure never to drop them. In Erdin’s work we simply live in the question, never worrying about finding the answer.
Artist and poet Vincenzo Montella displays computer-generated images that feature the idea of a joker who plays pranks and causes mayhem. Using the pulcinella, a fantastic character from Italian folklore (specifically Naples), Montella is able to tie in the concept of “Joker” to its ancient roots. The pulcinella has been used in theater since Roman times and is still used in puppetry. The pulcinella is known to be mean and crafty, pretending to be too stupid to understand his actions yet ready to act aggressively and do harm. Instead of legs, Montella’s pulcinella has horns and must fly. With a wicked spin, Montella places these characters in the present-day world, flying before skyscrapers and such, haunting us with a maniacal nightmare that won’t fade.
Iris Genevieve Lahens’ gorgeous metal and stone sculpture, Femme Soleil, investigates the premise in three dimensions. Her sculpture adds light to the show, literally, with her candle-lit bronze piece. This is joker as seen through the eyes of a Haitian artist whose work looks closely at impalpable traditions and memories.
Janusz Obst’s work Revenge of Romans is a bas-relief of handmade paper. Obst synthesizes historical and contemporary styles, creating evocative images from strange, jagged poses and claustrophobic content. We see Roman columns stand next to the high arches of a cathedral alongside modern day skyscrapers; Einstein circled by the rings of Saturn, poised next to a military general. The artist declares that this work is a serious look at ourselves, as a society. He states: “In the constant search for identity of the fool, we look someplace else rather than our ‘own yard.’” Looks like the joke is on us.
Monica Hernandez took a more literal approach to the concept and displayed one of her gorgeous paper bag paintings. Instead of acrylic or oil, Hernandez uses coffee to “paint” her compositions, a technique she has been developing for over three years now. Hernandez’s joker seems to be straight out of a Shakespearean play, perhaps the personification of some commonsensical truth not yet learned, but oh so simple.
Saroushka K. is a critical element within the show, creating an enigma for herself in every single respect. The “Bad Artist,” as Saroushka K. is known, is a brilliant slap in the face; her naive, primitive painting seeks a definite reaction. By asking $8500 for the work, Saroushka K. challenges established categories of art in order to shock the public into greater sensibilities. Is Saroushka K. playing an art trick? Is she duping the viewer? Her works eschew typical standards of "good taste" in art and zero in, rather precisely, on the vulnerabilities of hierarchies and value systems. She creates her own notoriety and hooks in the well-meaning spectator who just wants to know what’s going on.
