“Socrates SculpturePark was an abandoned riverside landfill and illegal dumpsite until 1986 when a
coalition of artists
and community members, under the leadership of artist
Mark di Suvero, transformed it into an open studio and
exhibition space for
artists and a neighborhood park for local residents.”
Socrates is certainly one of the more engaging art viewing
destinations east of the East River. Di Suvero’s studio lot lurks large adjacent
to Socrates. His massive steel sentinels peer in upon the park with an
impervious, yet benevolent gaze.
A stroll through it’s relatively unimproved environs features
a landscape littered with leftover remnants of industrial detritus. Yet there
is an element of quietude that envelops the place. Hidden nooks and crannies are
scattered about, and then the grand vista of the sprawling East River, framed
by Socrates’ own little beach, contribute to a hushed contemplation at the
intersection of art, architecture and nature.
Wandering about the hardscrabble grounds is always an art
adventure. The eclectic nature of Socrates’ installations ranges from the overt
(politically as well as visually) to the nearly invisible. (As an aside to
social stratification,
KennethPietrobono has interred innocuous looking plants that
blend into the background scenery in
his park-wide installation
Selections from the Modern
Landscapes.)
Celebrating a low-tech revisionist vision of colonialism, and
race relations,
JustinRandolph Thompson’s tour de force Brutus
Jones, inspired by Paul Robison’s boisterous visage, integrates insurgent
guerilla theatricality, with a fond sentimentality for the black cultural icon
of quilting.
Dredging up a
1949 Dodge Power Wagon similar to one Robison used in a performance during the
Peekskill riots of 1949, the artist invokes all sorts of connotations relating
to black rural agrarian traditions, as well as a scathing indictment of racist intolerance.
Quilting installed
under a floppy awning serves as a kind of abstract bulletin board or
storefront, relating a visual throwback narrative that evokes Gees Bend
gentility.
Thrusting
across the ramshackle flatbed is a crossbeam based on a Roman battering ram,
encrusted with quilted barnacles, and mounted with the head of Paul Robison instead
of the traditional ram horns.
This
configuration could be considered in an allegorical context. Portraying
Robison’s visage as an heroic symbol may belie manipulation by Soviet
propagandists, but he was indeed a champion of civil rights, and his
voluptuously booming voice served as bullhorn for mid century black autonomy.
Although
Thompson may have overloaded Brutus Jones with polemic, I’d think that was the
point. This is art that revels in a zeal for confrontation; the artist as an impassioned
ideologue wherein agenda takes priority. Perhaps if he had embedded a more
literal historical narrative, viewers might have taken away a more succinct
perception of Thompson’s protest.
But to his
credit the artist has avoided overt agitprop, and fashioned a visually
compelling sculpture as set design that morphs in and out of stridency. Brutus
Jones could work perfectly well purely as an existential jungle jim on a
playground derived from the artist’s psyche, and encompass a notion of cultural
identity that might trump his earnest activist intent.
Thompson’s art
succeeds from an aesthetic standpoint with a kind of funky outsider look, even
though the artist received a formal education. His rejection of traditional art
media helps sustain rebel credibility that rubs up alongside a populist pundit sensibility
seen in Thompson’s predilection for performance video. His enthusiastic axing
of a podium during a performance on the Power Wagon could've been an amusing reinvention
of Who guitar smashing.
BrutusJones - Trailer from Bradly Dever Treadaway on Vimeo.
Yet I doubt
Thompson endeavors to become an art/rock star. This underground artist seems to
inhabit a nether region of the art world mostly neglected by a predominately
white collector base. As such its good to see art created by one of the precious
few African American descendents in the contemporary art scene.
I hope we will
soon be seeing more of Thompson’s uncompromisingly entertaining commentaries on
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.
You MyungGyun’s monumental dollop of sculpture eschews social dogma for a commentary on
nature and the moment.
This South Korean artist joins the ranks of a burgeoning movement of Asian artists that have injected a freshness of spirit
into contemporary art.
Like his
compatriot Jong Il Ma’s 2008 installation at Socrates, Gyun has made a large
scale sculpture that transforms its bulky architecture into an expansive ode to nature and contemplation.
Fabricated
from the ubiquitous blue plastic re-cycling bag, still photos don’t capture the
ethereal monochromatic flutter as the feathery plastic coat catches a breeze.
The textural nuance gained from such innocuous art supplies infuses the surface with a suppleness that transcends
the mass produced matériel.
The ponderous
form achieves a kind of lumbering grace, perhaps the way a dinosaur would graze
on the upper reaches of a tree. It’s massive frame remains connected to the
ground, yet somehow gains lift, perhaps a billowy, airy blue pillow yearning for
the sky.
TamaraJohnson’s sly brand of humor seen in A Public Pool jolts our sense
of place into a disjointed perception of where things should/could be.
She is adept at
counter-intuitive association; a pool filled with grass, density encroaching on
space, or memory impeded by distraction. There could also be a sardonic poke at
suburban largess; you can almost feel Dustin Hoffman’s alienated Graduate soul
buried in dense layers of dirt and irony.
Johnson’s work recalls
the familiar, and then alters our experience of that certain reality by
distorting an expected syntax. The concept appears simple enough, but could
only have been conceived in a minds eye dedicated to disruption.
Anyone up for a
dip?
Aida Šehović’s
Obstacle Course: Patriot Challenge offers a rousing dose of irony and could be
symbolic of nationalist fervor. A native of Bosnia-Herzegovina,
I’d think she knows whereof she speaks concerning the dangers of ethnic
militancy.
There seems to be an interpretive intent going on, the course
is set up so that viewers can undertake their own attempts at basic training.
Perhaps this is a strategy to humanize the military mindset and help us
appreciate the individual dedication and sacrifice of those committed to making
the world a safer place.
The artist may also be expressing a cautionary morality tale
concerning the risks of social conditioning and violence as a means to an end.
Is it surprising that
Thordis Adalsteinsdottir’s woodsy ode to a
love bite from nature has created such an astoundingly prudish uprising (pun
intended) among the ranks of the good citizens of Queens? Or is the old adage
that good fences make better neighbors at work here, or perhaps a case of out
of sight, out of their minds?
Another cliché may also apply; that bad
publicity is better that no publicity. Although a Chelsea gallery exhibits Adalsteinsdottir, she is by no means a household name. Revenge may be best served here
if this crudely erotic, tempest in a teapot results in her becoming better
known.
Disclaimer: I had the adventure of shipping
one of her pieces to a collector.
Getting the reindeer into my truck without snapping off one of the
delicate antlers was tricky, but the beast never complained and arrived no worse
for wear.
The 2013 EAF pieces are a stimulating bunch of offbeat, oddball
selections that amuse as much as inspire. Socrates is probably one of the art
world’s most egalitarian and eclectic exhibition venues. New York’s art exhibition
hierarchy is anything but a meritocracy, so when a program like the EAF comes
along that’s not all about whom you know, authenticity and diversity have a
chance to thrive.
Post Script:
Speaking of diversity, another reason to visit Socrates is
their semi feral cat colony. They are not too skittish, and some of them will come
right up to you expecting pets.
