Hartford
This Means Something — Right?
by | Jul 21, 2023 12:43 pm
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Posted to: Visual Art
“Radio Railing” by Paloma Izquierdo.
I like experiencing art randomly. If an exhibit or event catches my eye, I don’t research it or the artists, I just go in blind. That was how I attended Speaking Sentences Backwards, a visual arts exhibit at Real Art Ways.
The first piece I encountered was “Freemason Rainbow” (pictured above) by Matthew Schreiber. It consists of 20 holographic panels which show depictions of Masonic imagery. Each hologram is colored a shade of the rainbow, transitioning from red to violet.
Next I viewed “a week of the same moth on my window,” a series of seven pieces which feature the changing positions of a white moth and white spiderwebs on a black canvas. The intricate patterns of the webs seem to grow more disordered as the paintings progress.
I looked at these pieces and felt somewhat disappointed. I’d come all this way to review some art, and there were only two works. I turned to leave and saw a pamphlet for the exhibit.
Inside was a map that showed seven different works in the exhibit. I was shocked. I had missed five pieces of art in one giant room.
I re-entered the exhibit and scanned the room again. Freemasons to the left, moths straight ahead. There was a railing immediately to my right, a pile of dirt and other debris in the far right corner and … a convenience store door bolted to the wall?
I glanced down at the map again, and saw that the numbers corresponded to the rail, the door and the pile of junk. This was the artwork!
The railing is named “Radio Railing” by Paloma Izquierdo. I thought it was there to serve as railing, so I hadn’t noticed the wire protruding from the open front of the rail or the ’90s era Sony Walkman attached to it.
I puzzled over it for a moment before moving on to “Site specific collage from found materials” by Miguel Gaydosh. It consists of several piles of dirt and debris with sticks protruding out the top. Attached to the sticks are strings that crisscross and attach to the wall.
Next to that was “The Governess,” a poem by Laura Henriksen, arranged onto a newsprint broadsheet by Gaydosh.
In the small theater in the back of the exhibit room, Jeremy Toussaint-Baptiste’s “…And Drive (Far Away)” played on a loop. One screen played forward-facing dash cam footage of a car on the highway in Texas, while another played rear-view footage.
Finally I came to the door: “Panic Piggy Bank” by Izquierdo. It looked like the kind of door you see at a convenience store with the push bar, minus the glass.
After another trip around the room viewing all the artwork, I was lost. What made these things art? What was the context that tied all of this together? What did each piece mean on their own?
Why was there a Blue Moon bottle cap in the dirt of “found materials” and not a Heineken cap?
I opened the pamphlet describing the exhibit: “The works in Speaking Sentences Backwards are haunted: by history and myth, by extractive processes of of capitalist industry, by anti-Black policing and government surveillance, by conspiracies both real and imagined.”
Third time’s the charm, I thought as I took another lap around the room. I noticed on “found materials” that where the strings attached to the wall were pages ripped out of a book. One page detailed American archaeology’s focus on indigenous peoples, while another described the history of redlining in Greater Hartford.
I watched more of Toussaint-Baptiste’s video and witnessed that he’d been pulled over by the police. Inside of the push bar on Izquierdo’s door were pennies.
Afterwards I sat at the tables near the exhibit and thought for a few minutes. I called my friend and talked about what I’d seen. I turned the exhibit over and over in my head, and flipped myself a few times too. I gave up on trying to understand what I’d seen and went to Dave and Buster’s.
My first coherent thought about the exhibit didn’t form until after I started writing this review. As I sit here poring over the photos, describing the pieces, I’m finally starting to make meaning. I can see some interplay between context and design. I see a contrast of form and purpose. I hear another friend’s voice in my head, telling me how she misses taking long drives for the pleasure of it, while I watch the Texas video.
I still have no idea what the artist’s intent was, but I’m beginning to understand what I think about it.
A thought occurred to me right before I began writing. Maybe I shouldn’t go blind into future events and exhibitions. If I’d done some research on the kind of work the artists of “Speaking Sentences Backwards” create, I might not have walked right past the railing. But I don’t think I will. Working at understanding, creating context the morning after in your pajamas is part of the artwork as well.
And creating meaning is hard. I thought the theme was violence, exemplified by the moth and the spiderweb and the references to redlining. Yet a walkman hardly works with that theory … unless it’s an example of the extractive process of capitalism.
Which makes sense with the convenience store door full of money. But where does a masonic hologram fit in?
Understanding the exhibit feels like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube, a feat I’ve never achieved. I look forward to twisting and turning this exhibit in my head for a long time to come.
Up Next At The Venue: “Speaking Sentences Backward” continues at Real Art Ways through Aug. 6th. On Sept. 13, Kriss Allen and Benjamin Lanz will give a concert.
Up Next For Jamil: I plan to attend one of my favorite events of the year, ConnectiCon.
