A few years ago, while visiting the Art Institute of Chicago, I came across a self-portrait of an artist whose exposed chest was carved with the word, PERVERT--fresh and reddened; a leather S/M mask obscured her mouth, nose, and ears; delicately placed needles ran up and down her arms, directing the viewer to consider multiple sources of physical anguish; and she sat, with fingers interlocked, in front of an elegant, patterned sheet, which appeared to belie the artist's true intent (is this photograph about "perverse" sexual inclinations no matter the gender, or does the image aim to address the issue of violence against women? All or none of the above, perhaps?). I had forgotten the name of the artist by the time I left Chicago, but was never able to shake off the image, so graphic and shocking, yet also quite refined and careful.
Earlier this month I picked up a European magazine--the name of which I cannot bother to recall right now--dedicated to the arts, in which I read about artist-photographer, Catherine Opie, whose mid-career retrospective is now on view at the Guggenheim. The article on Opie featured a photograph of her son, Oliver, wearing a pink tutu and crown; a USC t-shirt rounded out this most unusual of outfits for a young boy. I appreciated how the soft light accented a part of Oliver's face, and how two other subjects, in soft focus, carried on with their own lives, domestic and seemingly inconsequential, in the background. The article also referenced Opie's self-portrait; I was immediately taken back to the halls of the Art Institute, to the wonder and awe I felt towards an artist whose bold moves towards the personal and private made me reconsider the idea of the body as change.
Opie's show at the Guggenheim is wide-ranging, naturally; such is the nature of mid-career retrospectives. The problem with such views into the recent past, though, is that it can be difficult to trace something of a narrative; dozens of photographs arranged within multiple levels of a museum do not necessarily tell a story. Thankfully, the success of American Photographer owes as much to the show's curator(s) as it does to Opie, as both museum and artist selected works that offer far more than what is safe and expected, far more than what would please the average museum-goer. In other words, this show is something of a challenge, a direct call to the viewer to think about underrepresented--not to mention misrepresented--subjects and ideas. In this respect, Opie's portraits of icons within the S/M and queer communities work toward a disruption against a definition of supposedly "alternative" modes of living; in Opie's photographs, love and desire occupy the same space once reserved for comparatively conservative, hetero-focused art (see Reubens, etc.).
As much as I found the portraits of her friends and the large-scale Polaroids of performance artist Ron Athey worthy and shocking in their own right (how else to describe a picture of a heavily-tattooed man with a string of pearls coming out of his asshole?), I was most moved by the subtle simplicity of shots depicting Minnesota landscapes and surfers in California. These later images speak of isolation as delirium, as the viewer is lost, in one moment, in a scene obliterated by wind and snow, only to be subsumed, in another moment, in the deep expanse of the Pacific Ocean. I caught myself smiling and nodding my head as I walked past these particular photographs, and thought, Yes, of course!
Catherine Opie: American Photographer runs through January 7, 2009
[D | R]
Earlier this month I picked up a European magazine--the name of which I cannot bother to recall right now--dedicated to the arts, in which I read about artist-photographer, Catherine Opie, whose mid-career retrospective is now on view at the Guggenheim. The article on Opie featured a photograph of her son, Oliver, wearing a pink tutu and crown; a USC t-shirt rounded out this most unusual of outfits for a young boy. I appreciated how the soft light accented a part of Oliver's face, and how two other subjects, in soft focus, carried on with their own lives, domestic and seemingly inconsequential, in the background. The article also referenced Opie's self-portrait; I was immediately taken back to the halls of the Art Institute, to the wonder and awe I felt towards an artist whose bold moves towards the personal and private made me reconsider the idea of the body as change.
Opie's show at the Guggenheim is wide-ranging, naturally; such is the nature of mid-career retrospectives. The problem with such views into the recent past, though, is that it can be difficult to trace something of a narrative; dozens of photographs arranged within multiple levels of a museum do not necessarily tell a story. Thankfully, the success of American Photographer owes as much to the show's curator(s) as it does to Opie, as both museum and artist selected works that offer far more than what is safe and expected, far more than what would please the average museum-goer. In other words, this show is something of a challenge, a direct call to the viewer to think about underrepresented--not to mention misrepresented--subjects and ideas. In this respect, Opie's portraits of icons within the S/M and queer communities work toward a disruption against a definition of supposedly "alternative" modes of living; in Opie's photographs, love and desire occupy the same space once reserved for comparatively conservative, hetero-focused art (see Reubens, etc.).
As much as I found the portraits of her friends and the large-scale Polaroids of performance artist Ron Athey worthy and shocking in their own right (how else to describe a picture of a heavily-tattooed man with a string of pearls coming out of his asshole?), I was most moved by the subtle simplicity of shots depicting Minnesota landscapes and surfers in California. These later images speak of isolation as delirium, as the viewer is lost, in one moment, in a scene obliterated by wind and snow, only to be subsumed, in another moment, in the deep expanse of the Pacific Ocean. I caught myself smiling and nodding my head as I walked past these particular photographs, and thought, Yes, of course!
Catherine Opie: American Photographer runs through January 7, 2009
[D | R]
3 comments:
wow, d. you really should pitch/sell this review.
I had a feeling you'd like the icehouses and surfers... those were my favorites as well. The whole show is pretty strong, though.
Agreed, kind sir, agreed: her show is tops.
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