Friday, May 8, 2009
Cezanne and Beyond and Beyond (and Beyond)
In case you needed further incentive to see Cezanne and Beyond...
Friday, May 1, 2009
Bill Viola
Silent Mountain
2001, Diptych: video on plasma flat panel displays
Bill Viola
American, born 1951
2008-167-1a—k
A cursory glance of Bill Viola’s Silent Mountain may resemble two photographic portraits, side by side. But the characters in Viola’s video are not static. Very subtly, on their respective screens, a woman (on the left) and a man (on the right) experience a kind of catharsis. Watching the monitors from the beginning, a clear transformation is evident. Against a black backdrop, the two comparably dressed figures stand in the immediate foreground before a still camera. They are lit from above in such a way that each nuance in their countenances can be observed and scrutinized. As time progresses, each movement evolves in almost excruciating detail. Restrained at first, the pair descends into hysteria. The woman holds her shoulders, while the man grasps at his head. The two let out inaudible screams, while they fling their arms about. It is only at the end of the presentation that the frenzy subsides.
The action is simultaneously violent and slow. Of course, this is an authorial choice of Viola’s: Through the use of slow motion, Viola stretches less than sixty seconds of raw footage into a video lasting more than eight minutes. But beside speed manipulation, the video does not rely on technological tricks: There is neither fancy editing nor special effects, and Viola dispatches sound altogether. The complexities of modern cinema and television – Hollywood’s gimmicks that might obfuscate Viola’s interest in clarity and immediacy – are discarded.
But while the execution of Silent Mountain – part of a series called The Passions – might seem relatively straightforward, the conception of the piece followed nuanced study during Viola’s fellowship at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. There, Viola carefully observed religious artwork of previous artistic epochs. Indeed the two screens placed right next to each other recall a devotional diptych – a popular convention to emphasize singular religious dedication in the Medieval and Renaissance periods.
Of course, Viola’s interest in painting is not surprising when one considers that the artist studied fine arts at Syracuse University before he became interested in video art. By his own admission, Viola was neither an accomplished, nor particularly skilled painter, and in when the video camera became more commercially available in the 1970s, the artist found his medium. Still, Viola never lost his appreciation for earlier artistic traditions. In fact, Viola’s 1995 submission to the 46th Venice Biennale was an installation based on the painting of the seminal Italian Mannerist, Jacopo da Pontormo.
Because Viola incorporates time as a central element of Silent Mountain, it is undeniably contemporary; at the same time, however, its spirit and impact are rooted in images that are centuries old. The simplicity and understated reference in its iconography, combined with 20th century technology, are at the heart of its power. So while the work seemingly belies rigid categorization, it does embody certain postmodern concepts. The ‘actors’ in this work are not recognizable; their setting and clothing are nondescript. Their anonymity serves an important purpose: essentially, it makes them more accessible. Viola suggests that the basic emotions of mankind are not specific to culture or time, nor are they unique to the individual.
2001, Diptych: video on plasma flat panel displays
Bill Viola
American, born 1951
2008-167-1a—k
A cursory glance of Bill Viola’s Silent Mountain may resemble two photographic portraits, side by side. But the characters in Viola’s video are not static. Very subtly, on their respective screens, a woman (on the left) and a man (on the right) experience a kind of catharsis. Watching the monitors from the beginning, a clear transformation is evident. Against a black backdrop, the two comparably dressed figures stand in the immediate foreground before a still camera. They are lit from above in such a way that each nuance in their countenances can be observed and scrutinized. As time progresses, each movement evolves in almost excruciating detail. Restrained at first, the pair descends into hysteria. The woman holds her shoulders, while the man grasps at his head. The two let out inaudible screams, while they fling their arms about. It is only at the end of the presentation that the frenzy subsides.
The action is simultaneously violent and slow. Of course, this is an authorial choice of Viola’s: Through the use of slow motion, Viola stretches less than sixty seconds of raw footage into a video lasting more than eight minutes. But beside speed manipulation, the video does not rely on technological tricks: There is neither fancy editing nor special effects, and Viola dispatches sound altogether. The complexities of modern cinema and television – Hollywood’s gimmicks that might obfuscate Viola’s interest in clarity and immediacy – are discarded.
But while the execution of Silent Mountain – part of a series called The Passions – might seem relatively straightforward, the conception of the piece followed nuanced study during Viola’s fellowship at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. There, Viola carefully observed religious artwork of previous artistic epochs. Indeed the two screens placed right next to each other recall a devotional diptych – a popular convention to emphasize singular religious dedication in the Medieval and Renaissance periods.
Of course, Viola’s interest in painting is not surprising when one considers that the artist studied fine arts at Syracuse University before he became interested in video art. By his own admission, Viola was neither an accomplished, nor particularly skilled painter, and in when the video camera became more commercially available in the 1970s, the artist found his medium. Still, Viola never lost his appreciation for earlier artistic traditions. In fact, Viola’s 1995 submission to the 46th Venice Biennale was an installation based on the painting of the seminal Italian Mannerist, Jacopo da Pontormo.
Because Viola incorporates time as a central element of Silent Mountain, it is undeniably contemporary; at the same time, however, its spirit and impact are rooted in images that are centuries old. The simplicity and understated reference in its iconography, combined with 20th century technology, are at the heart of its power. So while the work seemingly belies rigid categorization, it does embody certain postmodern concepts. The ‘actors’ in this work are not recognizable; their setting and clothing are nondescript. Their anonymity serves an important purpose: essentially, it makes them more accessible. Viola suggests that the basic emotions of mankind are not specific to culture or time, nor are they unique to the individual.
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