Last week, I had the great privilege to spend several days visiting my friend Joan Schulze. Joan is an internationally recognized artist known primarily for her quilts, but she also works extensively with paper, making collages and artists books, and she is an accomplished poet. Her work has just been featured in a 40-year retrospective called Poetic License: The Art of Joan Schulze, on view at the San Jose Museum of Quilts & Textiles through May 9.

Joan Schulze with The Angel Equation, ©1994, 56 x 57 inches.
Silk, paper, cotton, and transparent overlays.
Photo by Deidre Adams.

Joan’s long and illustrious career in the arts began with embroidery in the early 1970s and quickly expanded to quilts. She has always been an innovator and was an early pioneer in using techniques that art quilters take for granted today. Over the course of the last 40 years, she has made over 1800 quilts and collages, exhibiting a phenomenal dedication and never-ending passion to her work that serves as a true inspiration to artists working in any medium. Her artwork and her poetry enjoy a symbiotic relationship, as each is nurtured by the other. As she says, “Writing poetry is as necessary as stitching cloth.”¹

Joan’s work is known around the world, and in addition to exhibiting and teaching in many countries, she has developed strong ties with artists and teachers in China through her affiliation with the Beijing International Tapestry Exhibitions and Tsinghua University. As she does not have an official academic title, the Chinese bestowed upon her their own title: “Famous Activist of Art.” They’ve since expanded it, but I think this one is succinct and says it best.

My first introduction to Joan’s work came through a marvelously beautiful book which arrived at the offices of Quilter’s Newsletter Magazine one day while I was working there as a graphic artist. Titled The Art of Joan Schulze, it was an eye-opening experience for me, containing very large and detailed photographs of her work, along with essays and anecdotes by other artists, and a selection of Joan’s poems. At that time, I was beginning to understand how quilts could be art, but this book transcended anything I had encountered before.

In 2008, I was fortunate to be able to meet Joan in person when she and I and Teresa Barkley shared a hotel suite in Traverse City, Michigan, while we were all there for the opening of the 12 Voices exhibition. Joan and I found we enjoyed a lot of the same things: good food and wine, going to art galleries, taking pictures at the abandoned Traverse City State Hospital (a.k.a. the Northern Michigan Asylum), exploring the nearby roads and towns, shopping at second-hand stores, and admiring stones on the beach — whether on the shores of Lake Michigan or the Pacific coast, as on this recent trip. Knocking about with Joan is an educational experience, as she has a unique perspective and looks at everything in a careful, considered way, seeing what others miss.

I was so excited to have this opportunity to visit her in her own world. We did so much in just a few short days, it’s hard to know where to begin. It was complete art immersion, beginning with Joan’s beautiful house and her extensive art collection, then visits to museums and Joan’s studio in San Francisco, and topped off by a visit to her retrospective at the gallery. On Wednesday, Joan gave an artist’s talk for members of the SAQA Northern California-Nevada region. She talked about the stories and inspiration for each quilt in the exhibition, as well as reading correlated selections from her own poetry.

I won’t attempt to describe the exhibition, but if you’d like to know more, you can read a descriptive and thoughtful review by artist Liz Hager on the Venetian Red blog. Joan also speaks about her life in the arts in this article from the San Jose Mercury News. I also highly recommend a visit to her web site for many luscious images and more information.

Poetic License: The Art of Joan Schulze is accompanied by another beautiful book (to call it a catalog would understate its presence) with photographs of quilts in the exhibition plus many more, and essays by Deborah Corsini, Sarah E. Tucker, and Peter Frank. It’s available on Joan’s web site.

¹The Art of Joan Schulze, 28.

Palimpsest

Amy Metier at William Havu Gallery through April 10, 2010

1040 Cherokee St.
Denver, Colorado

In her third solo exhibition at the William Havu Gallery, Metier fills the space with exuberant abstractions of objects from her studio, other artist’s studios and recent travels. These shapes are drawn with fluid, gestural lines, wiped away or partially painted over, and redrawn again, inviting the viewer to engage in the painting.¹

I was excited to see this show last week, because Amy is a professor at Metro, and she was the instructor for 3 out of the 5 painting classes I took there. She’s been exhibiting her work nationally and internationally since the mid-1980s, but is especially well known and loved in the Denver area. This is her third solo at Havu. I had seen some of her work in person, and more of it online and in Colorado Abstract, a book by local art critics Michael Paglia and Mary Voelz Chandler published last year. So I was interested to see the new work, some of which is done in new, more muted color palettes. I admire Amy’s fearless approach to painting, with free-spirited brushstrokes which give each piece a lively energy and a sense of rhythm. Placement of colors and shapes seems random, yet logical in the sense that balance is achieved in an organic way. Expressive linework animates the compositions and ties them together.

On Saturday, 60 x 60 inches, oil on canvas, ©2010 Amy Metier

Amy sometimes uses a photo as a starting point, but it’s difficult or impossible to tell what the subject was originally, leaving the viewer free to make a personal interpretation and connection with the work. As many abstract painters do, she maintains a balance between chaos and harmony, and the unexpected color combinations keep the work fresh and exciting.

In the Studio, 72 x 48 inches, oil on canvas, ©2010 Amy Metier

Metier is fully engaged in the push and pull between the representational and the way in which a shape informs abstraction. Her paintings, studies, and works on paper demonstrate an ease in resolving what she has called “that tension between wanting to create an image and not wanting to create an image.”²

The William Havu Gallery is a beautiful space, especially in the late afternoon with the warm golden glow of the sun illuminating the paintings.

Amy also does lovely monotypes and linocuts. I wasn’t able to get any good photos because of the reflections from the glass, but here’s an overall shot of selections from her Harrison Suite, linocut with chine collé.

You can see more of Amy Metier’s work here and here.

¹from William Havu Gallery’s literature

²Colorado Abstract (214)

Gordon Matta-Clark, Splitting, 1974

Completion through removal. Abstractions of surfaces. Not-building, not-to-rebuild, not-built-space. Creating spatial complexity, reading new openings against old surfaces. Light admitted into space or beyond surfaces that are cut. Breaking and entering. Approaching structural collapse, separating the parts at the point of collapse.
— Gordon Matta-Clark, 1971

I’ve just spent a couple of weeks researching the work of Gordon Matta-Clark for a paper for my Art Theory & Criticism class this semester. The assignment was to choose an artist and/or specific work to tie in with some of the theories we had been discussing in our readings. Deconstruction theory* is very interesting to me, so I started with a Google search on that term and came up with Gordon Matta-Clark. As soon as I saw the images that came up, I remembered having seen a slide of his work in an earlier art history class. The slide we saw was from his work Bingo, in which he cut out sections from the side of an old condemned house. Some of these sections were saved, and this slide shows them placed in a pristine museum setting — a striking contrast of particular interest for me because I find abandoned structures so compelling.

Gordon Matta-Clark was quite an interesting guy. He was the son of two artists — Chilean surrealist painter Roberto Matta and American artist Anne Clark. Marcel Duchamp was his godfather. He was active during the early 70s and died an untimely death from cancer when he was only 35. His work is somewhat difficult to categorize, consisting of elements of sculpture, drawing, film, performance, social activism, and “semantic deconstruction,” a label applied to his fondness for word play in his documentation.

His most well-known works are probably those often referred to as the “building cuts.” The earliest works involving cutting of buildings were “urban guerilla acts” in which he illegally entered abandoned apartment buildings and cut out parts of what would have been a floor on one level and a ceiling for the level below. These cut-out fragments were displayed in a gallery setting as Bronx Floors.

Gordon Matta-Clark, Bronx Floors, 1972-73

As he gained notoriety, Matta-Clark was able to gain legal access to various condemned structures in order to perform his interventions. Splitting (top) is probably his most iconic work, consisting of a house which he cut completely in half. He and his collaborators were able to remove part of the foundation on one side so that the affected half tilted back and transformed the opening into a dramatic wedge, widening from bottom to top.

Matta-Clark was interested in the social aspects of how abandonment and urban renewal would affect and displace communities. His ideas about consumerism and capitalism seemed to be taken almost directly from the Situationists: the concepts of psychogeography, dérive, and détournement. In explaining his “dualistic habit of centering and removal,” he said,

Here I am directing my attention to the central void, to the gap which, among other things, could be between the self and the American Capitalist system. What I am talking about is a very real, carefully sustained mass schizophrenia in which our individual perceptions are constantly being subverted by industrially controlled media, markets, and corporate interests. … This conspiracy goes on every day, everywhere, while the citizen commutes to and from his shoe-box home with its air of peace and calm, while he is being precisely maintained in a state of mass insanity.[i]

Matta-Clark was trained as an architect, having received a B.A. in architecture from Cornell University in 1968. But he spent a lot of time in the company of artists while in college, and he expressed some disaffection with the field of architecture, and especially with the type of modernist ideas he encountered there. After leaving Cornell, Matta-Clark moved to New York City, to an area now known as SoHo but which was then called the South Houston Industrial area. At that time, the area was in a state of decline, a prime example of urban decay, with numerous abandoned buildings and streets lacking lighting and maintenance. Since the 1950s, artists had been attracted to the area for the cheap rents, living illegally in buildings zoned for commercial, not residential use. In the late 1960s, the city’s urban planners and wealthy landowners wanted to transform the area into a modern corporate and financial center, an idea which was met with no small resistance by the inhabitants.

At this time, much of Matta-Clark’s work involved a spirit of community, calling attention to the plight of the poor and homeless and involving neighbors and other artists in the work’s creation. He had several ideas for making building materials from discarded bottles and other trash, with thoughts of developing some of these ideas into places for the homeless to live.[ii] He explained his motivation:

As a native New Yorker my sense of the city as home runs deep … [and] my attitudes are still keener as regards an awareness of prevailing conditions and their need for improvement. Among the conditions my training and personal inclination have taught me to deal with is neglect and abandonment. There are words which when applied to children or human beings of any age evoke a profound call for alarm and rectification, yet when existing in massive proportions throughout our urban environment evokes only bureaucratic or juridic ambivalence and in-action.[iii]

Matta-Clark’s ideas about the social content of his work grew clearer to him as he progressed in his career. In a 1976 interview with Donald Wall, after he had done several building-cut projects, he reiterated his commitment to fighting against what he saw as a flawed system:

By undoing a building there are many aspects of the social conditions against which I am gesturing: first, to open a state of enclosure which had been preconditioned not only by physical necessity but by the industry that profligates suburban and urban boxes as a context for insuring a passive, isolated consumer—a virtually captive audience.[iv]

In 1975, Matta-Clark began work on Conical Intersect, one of his more complex building interventions. In Paris at this time, the old section of the city known as Les Halles was being demolished to make way for modernization, including the building of the then-controversial Centre Georges Pompidou. Matta-Clark obtained permission to work on two 17th-century houses that were the last to be demolished to make way for the modernization project.

Gordon Matta-Clark, Conical Intersect, 1975

Having been to the Pompidou myself last summer, I found this especially interesting. The pictures are fascinating, but how amazingly cool it would have been to be able to experience this first-hand. These works could only exist, and for only a short time, because they would subsequently be destroyed. All that remains are photographs and film of the process.

Interior view of Conical Intersect

I can’t help feeling nostalgic when older buildings are demolished to make way for the new. I know that’s a kind of sentimental attitude, and we must have progress and all that, but I just like the character of old buildings better than new ones. If I never saw what was there before, of course I couldn’t give that too much thought, but Gordon Matta-Clark did want people to think about that, and that’s why I love his work so much.

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*Deconstruction is a literary theory credited to Jacques Derrida, who is maddeningly difficult to read. I found a very understandable explanation of deconstruction in Literary Theory for the Perplexed by Mary Klages. (Wow – Amazon seriously wants $132 for this book? Good thing we have libraries!)

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[i]Gordon Matta-Clark, Interview by Donald Wall, 1976, in “Gordon Matta-Clark’s Building Dissections,” in Gordon Matta-Clark: Works and Collected Writings, ed. Gloria Moure (Barcelona: Ediciones Poligrafa, 2006), 58.

[ii]Christian, Scheidemann, “Material and Process: Gordon Matta-Clark’s Object Legacy, in Gordon Matta Clark: You are the Measure. Exhibition catalog published by the Whitney Museum of American Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 119.

[iii]Gordon Matta-Clark, notes from the Estate of Gordon Matta-Clark, quoted in Judith Russi-Kirchner, “The Idea of Community in the Work of Gordon Matta-Clark,” in Gordon Matta-Clark, ed. Corinne Diserens (London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2003), 148.

[iv]Matta-Clark, Wall interview, 57.