Shingo Francis at Art Center Open Studios

I really enjoyed meeting Shingo Francis at the Art Center open studios.  Upon entering his studio, I couldn't get a good read on his paintings, especially the large digital ones.  I liked his collage of environmental disaster imagery: ideas that weigh heavily on all of us.  And there was a screen displaying digital pixelation which I was not initially compelled by. 

After speaking with him for a bit, he explained what the digital image was—snippet of surf cams from all over the world with feeds that were throttled in some way.  The data-choking leads to bizarre pixelation and compression, where the visual feed tries to update itself, tries to correct the image, but never can catch up.  

So what we are left with is an image of the environment trying to right itself.  Constantly updating, it cannot overcome the digital bottleneck.  Then the environmental devastation imagery pinned up next to it brings it into focus.  The environment, the ocean in particular, is always trying to right itself, clean itself, but we won’t let it.  The metaphor of digital garbage as real pollution is made very visible in his videos. 

I was then transfixed by an acid green set of waves breaking in the foreground of a heavily compromised image, and it felt as appropriate as any piece of art I’ve seen.

Ragnar Kjartansson at the Broad

This was my second time to the Broad and I must say it is a beautiful museum….  but…  The upstairs collection shows none of taste of the collector—It seems like a who's who of contemporary art.  Kara Walker aside, downstairs was much more fun, with the Murakami room, the Saville drawing, Burden battleship, and the Currin tailor. 

But for me what stole the show was the installation The Visitors by Icelandic artist Ragnar Kjartansson.  My first time to the museum I spent a 5 or ten minutes there, but this time I spent a full half hour there watching it, mesmerized.  It is a strange hybrid of music video, art film, and just aesthetic experience that is fully realized, fully engaging and becomes more and more enjoyable as you watch.  

The mood of the room is palpable— 9 screens each showing an individual musician lost in their own creative process.  Then you realize they are all creating a song together… Separate together.  Each screen feels formally isolated—the compositions thoughtful and compelling.  But then this cohesion of the whole overwhelms.  One cannot take in all 9 screens at once, you have to wander around, get to know the different musicians in more intimate proximity. (I measured the scale of most of the figures on the screens— they are about 3/4 size, a very painterly scale, one I am using a lot in my current portraits.  But I digress.)   

There is a solemnity to the act, one where you feel the calm readiness of the different parts as they silently sit until they join into the song.  

The song is, by the way, very compelling— perhaps a bit hipster and of our time, but hey, it is melodic and cinematic.  Haunting and catchy at once.  

I spent longer this time and saw things I hadn’t before—them entering the house and setting up; yelling at each other to make sure all the cameras were recording, etc.  It was disarming and you felt you were present at a happening.  Because it was happening.  I also noticed the one screen that was a bit different, a group of people on the porch that would sing along occasionally, and what was actually going on: the two figure in the foreground would load up a cannon and light it off at the climax(es) of the song!  And when it went off you see the other musicians react by looking up at the boom.  

I hope it stays permanently in the lower part of the museum.  I doubt it will, but one can hope.