Modular origami, or unit origami, is a paper folding technique which uses multiple sheets of paper to create a larger and more complex structure than would be possible using single-piece origami techniques.
We thought we knew a good paper snowflake, that is…until we saw the work of artist Richard Sweeney. Based out of the UK, Sweeney takes the traditional structure of the paper model and redefines what it means to work with the often neglected medium. Chosen for its malleable qualities and easy manipulation, the artist finds that paper lends itself to playful yet challenging experimentation and discovery of form. Taking on modular formations, Sweeney’s 3-dimensional paper structures exemplify the limitless configurations of shape that modular forms create when joined together. Using only folded and glued paper, Sweeney’s delicate designs are a true reflection of art found in the fine details.
Interestingly, a number of Sweeney’s modular pieces derive from various Platonic solids, such as tetrahedrons, octahedrons and dodecahedrons. This connects his work to both past and present, to ancient ideas about nature’s atomic make-up, and to modern predilections for formal abstraction. Perhaps we can think of him as a paper version of sculptor Tony Smith: elemental and contemporary at the same time.
Jason Green, “Recurrent 2″, hand-cast and glazed terra cotta units, wall-mounted, 6 1/2 x19 x 2 in. (2008). Click on images to enlarge and play slideshow.
On Thursday, March 3rd, we will be opening our booth at the Verge Art Fair in Dumbo, Brooklyn. This is rather a significant undertaking for us, as it represents the first time we’ve participated in an organized collective art-related event. Perhaps more significantly, we’re bringing together five contemporary artists whose work investigates the theme nearest and dearest to our heart which, of course, is modularity. Now, we’ve come across other recent shows with the term modular in their title or description, but honestly, we were consistently hard pressed to recognize just how the concept related to the work being shown. So perhaps our brief showing at Verge is the first time this particular aesthetic preoccupation is being examined among multiple artists from the post-Minimalist generation since, well, since the heady days of modular machinations when people like Sol LeWitt, Carl Andre, Dan Flavin and Donald Judd were doing their seminal work.
A lot has changed since then, of course, including the way in which the post-Minimalist modulartists approach their chosen theme. It’s our intention to discuss these changes in a series of subsequent posts. For now, we’d simply like to present images of a few pieces in the upcoming show by each of the participating artists, all of whom we’ll profile in greater depth in the later pieces.
Show Information:
Location: 1 Main Street, Dumbo, Brooklyn
Booth: Number 1
Dates/Times: 3/3-5 12 to 10pm, 3/6 12 to 6pm
Telephone: (718) 360-9305
Email: us@art-rethought.com
Fair website: www.brooklynartfair.com
ABOVE: Susan Weinthaler, “FIX”, wood, paint, epoxy, magnets on steel. 48 x 48 in. (2011). Each colored wood unit has a magnet mounted on its back side, which allows it to be moved to any position on the steel “canvas”. The images above show the same work, but with the pieces re-arranged into different patterns.
ABOVE: Moshé Elimelech: “Cubic Construction #25″, twenty-five hand-painted wood cubes in velvet case with brushed aluminum frame, 25 in. sq., 4 in. d. (2010). Another example of interactive, customizable module art: both images are of the same piece. The cubes are removed by hand from their case and rotated to display one of six variously painted faces. We previously discussed Elimelech’s work here.
ABOVE: Donald Rattner, Studio for A.R.T. and Architecture, “Tapestry NO-2-1 in Red and Black”, wool felt modules, 48 1/2 x 58 1/2 in. (2010). This modular tapestry is assembled by connecting individual felt modules together by means of interlocking slots and tabs. Hanger pieces permit the piece to be hung on a wall-mounted rod.
ABOVE: Trevor Elliott, “Untitled Number 29″, reclaimed wood and magnets, 12 x 34 x 3/4 in. (2011). Magnets are particularly amenable to interactive modular art because of their connective (and dis-connective) qualities. Elliott has used them for innovative product design as well, such as his GrowFrame modular picture frames.
The Morgan Bracelet by Klik Klik. Klik – er, click on any image to enlarge.
It’s struck us, as we continue to populate our gallery of customizable art and design with new pieces, that quite a few of our designs work on the basis of magnetics. Were we not so busy serving our customers this might have occurred to us this earlier, since magnetics are an almost perfect mechanism for achieving customization. They create just enough of a connective force that pieces will hold together even under stress and motion, until finally releasing when a breaking point has been reached simply by pulling on them. They can be embedded in other materials or left exposed, cast in almost any shape (including ones that allow for movement), do not require specialized skills to connect, do not require adhesives or other secondary materials to assemble, are a natural, sustainable and non-energy consuming material, never lose their attractive force, and are not terribly expensive. In short, they’re a customizers dream come true.
Magnetude by the Starut Group. A modular magnetic toy.
Not surprisingly, magnetics are particularly prevalent in things involving play – for children and adults. Kids take to them naturally because they’re so low-tech and physically undemanding at the same time they allow for total free play. With children prudence requires that the pieces be of a sufficient size that they not be swallowed along with their oat squares, so many toys implant the magnetics in a larger envelope. Magnetude is a good example of a play object that implants magnetics inside a traditional form of toy, in this case the wood block. The designer also had the smarts to make the blocks quite large and colored, which means they can be used at a relatively early age.
Imaginets (left) has been another popular piece. Here magnetics are fixed to the underside of variously shaped colored wood pieces, which are then placed on a magnetic board encased within a fold-out wood frame. The child is encouraged to move the pieces around to create a kind of two-dimensional drawing using pre-formed shape and color. Included in the package are some printed cards with suggested arrangements for children to follow in case the creative juices are running a bit dry and need a jump start. Imaginets augments this compositional function by making the underlying surface not only magnetic but an erasable whiteboard as well, which allows the child to draw on it with markers – a nice combination of linear and surface techniques. And for extra measure the whole toy folds up and can be carried around by a handle. Do we hear rooooaaad trip?!
Above, top: Stix + Stones, a reconfigurable choker necklace by Brendan Perhacs. Below: a Klik Klik bracelet: magnets in motion.
A similar emphasis on play is prevalent in a second major category for magnetics: jewelry. Since it’s expected that adults will refrain from treating magnets as digestives, designers can use the magnets in their inherently metallic form and at the small scale needed for this genre. Shapes tend to be either cylindrical or spherical, since rounded surfaces allow for rotation and movement among the pieces. Necklaces, bracelets and rings lend themselves well to magnetics. One of our favorites is Stix+Stones, a choker necklace formed from the two aforementioned shapes. Another is Klik Klik, which has developed a reconfigurable jewelry system, with a cubic component added to the standard formal repertory. Klik Klik has really studied the creative possibilities at length, their website showing quite a few stunning configurations crafted from their pieces.
Have a ball with Bucky Balls.
Adult magnetic products are not restricted to jewelry; some of them position themselves as intended for the kind of purely formal play that we typically associate with children. Bucky Balls are one of the best known in this category. They concept is as simple as it gets – take a collection of spherical magnets and configure them however the imagination dictates. One distinguishing feature of Bucky Balls, besides the alliterative roll-off-the-tongue name, is that the magnets come in several different finishes other than the standard chrome plate.
The modular picture frame system GrowFrame (left) employs a similar technique as the Magnetude product in embedding magnetics inside wood pieces. In their case the purpose is to allow for the combination and reconfiguration of multiple picture frames. We really like how this concept takes an existing, static type of product and re-invents it in ways that open up whole new approaches to the genre. For example, one can assemble and stack the frames in ways that give them a three-dimensional sculptural quality quite different from the typical two-dimensional character a frame exhibits when hung on a wall or placed individually on a table top.
Perhaps the most intriguing area where magnetics are being used is in the field of fine art. An artist we admire, Susan Weinthaler, has been exploring the theme of artistic interactivity in a series of magnetic wall sculptures which she calls BITS. Her work is very closely aligned with the aesthetic philosophy of A.R.T. | Module R, as is clear from her own description of the series:
Each individual BIT is unique. They magnetically adhere to large steel canvases attached to the wall. By combining a large number of BITS together into a collection a work of art emerges that is not intended to be static. My work is indeed meant to be rearranged, therefore redefined. Constructed and deconstructed. This simple mounting system makes for infinitely variable compositions that take on a life force of their own as they migrate around the steel canvas manipulated by the hands of others. Life is not rigid, why should art be? I am completely taken with the idea of the potentially infinite and am creating an art form that is capable of it.
Susan Weinthaler, BITS: CURRENT (2010), hand-finished magnets on steel plate. Private collection.
Hey, Susan – in the spirit of the upcoming Valentine’s Day, we love it!
There has been much talk in recent years about the convergence of the creative disciplines. The divisions that once differentiated art, design, fashion, and even advertising from each other are now said to be dissolving under the influence of the digital revolution and other cultural forces. To be sure, the impact of these changes has not been limited to the arts; the boundaries that once existed among all sorts of categorizations have similarly eroded in the recent past.
Take day and night, for example: traditionally what people routinely did during the so-called waking hours was rather distinct from what they did after dark. Now we can sometimes barely tell the difference between the two as we check our email or do some online shopping in the depth of night. Same with the physical setting of home and office: once upon a time we traveled from the former to the latter before returning home again, with no confusion as to which was which. Now we might occupy one space for both purposes, or use our digital communications devices to keep working even when we’re away from the workplace. Near and far have similarly lost much of their antithetical qualities: the vast distances that used to make us feel separated from people on the other side of the globe now hardly matter at all as we video-conference with them in real time.
So back to the arts. As those of you who’ve followed A.R.T.’s trajectory know, we started our venture with a portfolio of modular art. From there we launched a blog and twitter stream in which we explored modularity and the related topics of mass customization, digital fabrication and co-creativity. In researching material to write about we came to discover that there’s a slew of well-designed modular products out there, but which are currently scattered among many vendors and venues. It occurred to us that what was lacking was a central hub in which to present this rich cache of design work. Thus was born Module R, which aims to fulfill precisely that purpose. And since art and design can now co-exist in a harmonious relationship rather than be segregated into separate venues, we decided to marry Module R (how fast they grow up!) with A.R.T. by opening a popup gallery exhibiting both modular art and design.
The gallery is located at 400 Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, New York, and will run through January 9th. There’s a reception on December 2 at 6.30pm, to which you’re all invited (it’s the least we can do for the nice folks who read this blog). For those of you who can’t make it, below is a small sampling of some of the design pieces we have on display at the shop. Either way, we’re looking forward to your feedback, and to the future success of Module R.
ABOVE: Filmmaker Gerry Schum looks around for the rest of his crew.
Postscript
This is the third of a 3-part series on Rethinking the Artist’s Model. Click here and here to view parts 1 and 2, or scroll below if you are viewing multiple posts.
This past summer the Artists Space in New York held an exhibition on the sculptor Charlotte Posenenske, an event which introduced us to this interesting figure and inspired us to write a post about her. Our good fortune in learning about Posenenske was doubled when we attended a film series one evening during the show in which several documentaries relating to the exhibition theme were aired. To our shock and awe, one of the films, Gerry Schum’s “Consumer Art / Art Consumption” absolutely bowled us over because we felt like we were experiencing a twenty-nine minute long déjà vu. For nearly every single theme that underlies what we’re trying do at A.R.T. was in some way represented by the people and art featured in the film.
Now, we thought we were pretty contemporary in our efforts to link state-of-the-art digital fabrication technology with artistic production and distribution. But the funny thing is this: Schum’s film – which we might just as well have made ourselves if we owned a camcorder and could do voiceovers – was done in 1968.
The film surveys a brief moment in modern art history when a group of art dealers, thinker types and artists came together in the late 1950s and 60s in an effort to democratize the art market. The movement – business venture might be a better term – was spearheaded by the Swiss artist and writer Daniel Spoerri, and later joined by Karl Gerstner, who dubbed their enterprise édition MAT. The acronym stands for Multiplication d’Art Transformable, or Transformable Art Multiples, a phrase which sends shivers of sheer delight up our collective spine – hey, that’s what we’re doing with modular art! Transformable insofar as the modules can be arranged and re-arranged at will; multiples insofar as the modules and their assemblies are infinitely replicable; and art insofar as…well, insofar as it’s art.
While not strictly modular, nearly all of the art issued for sale by édition MAT involved some degree of interactivity between observer and the art. It was co-creativity before there was any such term. Moreover, like our modular art, it was intended to be fabricated by industrial means so that the art would be affordable and continuously produced in sufficient supply without overloading the artist who conceived the work. (Among the artists participating in the venture were Agam, Soto, Tinguely, Vasarely and Duchamp.) Finally, just as we have advocated in the preceding parts of this essay, Spoerri and Gerstner envisioned the art being sold on a retail basis rather than on a speculative one as it would normally have been in a gallery context.
One is tempted to remark that there is truly nothing new under the artistic sun, but of course, there are a few significant differences between édition MAT and A.R.T. Most obvious is the manufacturing technology available in the two periods. In its purest sense the term ‘industrialism’ in the 1960s still referred to the Henry Ford variety, meaning that things were made according to the principles of mass production and with power-driven analog mechanics. Yet in the film there is something of a disconnect between what édition MAT theorized for its means of production and what actually took place in scenes showing its art being made. Instead of large factories with soaring smokestacks rolling out dozens of works of art every few minutes, one mostly caught glimpses of a couple of workers in smocks putting together one or two pieces at a time inside a loft-like setting. If this was industrialism, it was on a very small and artisanal scale, making it more akin to pre-industrial handcraft than to the output of the modern factory.
The problem of being able to manufacture things industrially in comparatively small runs has been solved with the recent rise of digital fabrication techniques, which allows for as few as a single unit to be produced without severe economic cost to the seller. It has also done away with the need to stockpile large amounts of inventory, another substantial barrier to entry and cost control that constrained what édition MAT could do. And unlike the global marketplace in which we can distribute our work, édition MAT had to rely largely on the existing bricks-and-mortar gallery system to adapt itself to a retail business model.
Fascinating film, a remarkable period, and the promise of a democratized art market that we will continue to pursue.
If you haven’t read the first installment of this post you’ll want to do so now by either clicking here or scrolling down when viewing all posts.
In the first part of this two-part essay we cogitated on the basic economics of artistic production, in particular, how the laws of supply and demand relate to price. In doing so we concluded that there are several built-in dilemmas in the current marketplace. First, the more successful an artist becomes, the fewer people or institutions can afford his/her work; and second, the less an artist can sell his/her artwork, the more difficult it is for either artist or gallerist to remain in business (no great revelation there). Both of these conditions relate directly to the fact that the art in question is largely executed by the artist’s own hand one piece at a time. Moreover, we pointed out that today’s marketplace seems more and more bifurcated in its extremes: super-high price points at the upper end (galleries), super-low prices at the other end (internet). The middle segment of the market is only scarcely populated in terms of the artwork or venues to sell it.
We think this situation is unfortunate because the middle of the market is a place of great promise for artists. As first Daniel Bell and later Richard Florida have pointed out, there has arisen over the past several decades a demographic variously known as the professional, creative, managerial and/or technological class. These terms pretty well describe the profile of this population segment in terms of their occupations. They are on the whole trained professionals adept at creative problem-solving, managing complex business relationships and utilizing technology. Many have sophisticated tastes, are design savvy and have an interest in the arts not only as spectators but as participants. (Hence the recent popularity of interactive art in which non-artists physically engage with the artwork rather than merely watch or hear it passively.) And, while not uniformly wealthy, many have discretionary income to spend on things like art.
Of course, there is certainly no shortage of mid-career and reasonably established artists who would be happy to sell these people their work. But now another problem of the market comes into play. Galleries are almost entirely mom-and-pop affairs, meaning they are generally run by their proprietors as a single shop. There are good reasons for this, beginning with the fact that the artist-gallerist relationship is an intensely personal and individualistic one. In addition, the ‘stock’ in which the gallerist deals is by its nature unique and its supply not always controllable, thus greatly reducing the feasibility of trying to franchise or replicate the business across multiple locations. On top of all this the economics of the traditional gallery are such that they require a pretty high population density to reach a threshold of viability, which is why they are overwhelmingly situated in only the largest urban centers.
So, not only do all the people in this middle market who don’t live in this handful of cities have a large hurdle to clear in trying to gain access to them geographically, even if they do transport themselves to where the galleries are they may very well be priced out of range anyway. Not to mention that visiting the many galleries in places like New York City is largely a hit-and-miss game for anyone who doesn’t spend hours culling through the galaxy of art spaces to discern the ones worth exploring. Sure, part of the fun for folks like us is the process of discovery, but that level of investment may not be possible or appropriate for others.
It should be increasingly evident (if it wasn’t already) that the current gallery system and the predominant means of artistic production are inter-connected. Change one and you’ll need to change or augment the other. Which is precisely what we at A.R.T. propose to do (if that wasn’t obvious already). The goal of this initiative is straightforward: to make compelling contemporary art more accessible to more people. And, we believe, to make contemporary art more closely aligned with the fluid, collaborative nature of 21st century culture than traditionally conceived art.
We start by addressing the means of production. In place of traditional hand-crafted art we propose instead that artists utilize the techniques of the New Industrialism to fabricate their work. As introduced in part 1, the term New Industrialism summarizes the novel ways that we can now manufacture things when we marry the computer to the machine. It also references the new ways we create and distribute objects of design. In the former category we can include digital fabrication, mass customization and on-demand production; in the latter are crowdsourcing, open innovation and ecommerce.
For the artist it means that there are two end products rather the one: the digital file from which the physical piece will be produced, and the final assembled artwork. The beauty of this approach is that once the file has been created it can be used to generate an unlimited number of physical pieces – none of which requires the personal intervention of the artist, who is then free to utilize the time to create more art. Since the supply of a given work of art is theoretically unlimited, the speculative pricing method utilized in the traditional gallery system is no longer applicable. Instead, the work can be priced as a function of the cost to manufacture plus overhead and profit, which will invariably lower the cost of art in general. That is actually a potential boon to the vast majority of artists. Rather than receive a one-time commission, the artist instead derives income based on a licensing agreement in which he/she earns a percentage of total sales. If the artist does good work that’s accepted by collectors, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. Put it another way, the Scarcity Principle has given way to the Abundance Principle.
It should be remarked that all the work in our ModulA.R.T. portfolio is designed, constructed and distributed using the methodologies of the New Industrialism.
Now, some may argue that art that isn’t made by the hand of the artist is intrinsically invalid. To which we would respond that we must then invalidate almost all of Sol LeWitt’s portfolio, since he ‘outsourced’ to others much of his physical production, as have other prominent artists all along the historical spectrum. We would also point out that for the last 150 years neither architects nor composers have fabricated or performed their own work either. Seen in this light, having visual artists shift to the same production paradigm as these other creatives does not seem out of line.
Another objection that can be made is that reproducing art in unlimited supply reduces it to a commodity. We’re not entirely sure that is an issue, for reasons too lengthy to go into here. But one of the ways we at A.R.T. try to address this potential problem is by creating a portfolio that is modular. The creative dimension necessary to art is therefore satisfied by the imaginative arrangement of the modules rather than the uniqueness of the individual, static object. Being modular also dovetails with what we asserted above about contemporary audiences wanting to be more interactive in their experience of art, in contrast to the top-down and passive approach associated with traditional gallery pieces.
Speaking of the gallery, with all these proposed changes in the way the artist works it’s inevitable that an alternative economic model will have to be adopted for the distribution of the art of the New Industrialism. That model is no more or less than the conventional retail operation, in which objects are sold for a price over and above that of the wholesale cost. Not only does this make sense in terms of how the art is made, but it also means that the venue for selling this type of art can be either a one-off boutique or a multi-store operation. Nor are large cities the only environment in which such a venue could survive; now mid-sized cities, university towns and other concentrations of the professional and creative classes become viable contexts as well.
Let’s conclude by stating unequivocally that we make no value judgments about art that is traditionally conceived and created, nor are we advocating or predicting the disappearance of the gallery system. Both serve a purpose and a market that values the hand-crafted item, and will no doubt be with us for a long time. Instead, we are proposing to add a third option to the current constellation of distribution points as well as to change our perceptions of what contemporary art can be, how it can be made and how it’s valued. After all, if contemporary art is to be contemporary, then shouldn’t it be open to to the ideas that make contemporary culture contemporary?
Full disclosure: this is not an essay about the people who pose for artists, as intriguing and largely neglected a subject as that might be. Rather what we want to write about is the economic model by which contemporary visual artists operate. Wait! Get your hand off that mouse or trackpad – you’re not clicking out of here so easily. This really is an important discussion which is absolutely intertwined with fundamental questions surrounding contemporary art…you know, like, what makes it contemporary? So stick around, it might just be illuminating.
Let’s start by looking at the contemporary artist in terms of his/her production model, since economics are closely related to production. How do visual artists generally make their work? Surveying the kind of art generally exhibited in galleries, which is the preferred venue for artists producing quality work, we can safely say that the vast majority of pieces are made largely by hand. Of course, we find an extensive use of various types of machines as well, be they mechanical printing devices, chemical processes such as are used for engraving and etching, and power tools for the production of sculptural objects. Despite the intercession of these non-manual techniques, however, we can still characterize the overall production process used for such work as being essentially manual, because they all require the human hand to operate.
That, in turn, means there must be a degree of variability in the execution of each piece. For example, if a sculptor uses hand-held power tools to carve one block of stone into a figure, and then tries to repeat exactly the same design in a second, the two will be different in small or large degrees, depending on how well the artist can match the ‘choreography’ of the first version. But they will never be exactly the same.
Beyond its purely aesthetic qualities, it is the quality of uniqueness that endows the work of hand-made art with much of its perceived monetary value. That is simply a function of supply and demand economics, and in particular, of the Scarcity Principle. This principle states that the the rarer an object is, the greater its value if there is demand for it. That value will then increase further as demand grows and especially if it exceeds supply.
The perfect storm for artists and gallerists – in the positive sense of the term – is for an artist’s reputation to grow, as that will increase demand for what is inevitably a limited supply of product (sorry, that’s what it is). Because as we all know, a human being can only work so many hours in a day and will only live so long; by its nature supply is going to be limited and finite as long as the artist is expected to be personally involved in the physical production of his/her work.
Some artists have managed this ‘problem’ by operating as proto-industrialists, setting up workshops populated by trained assistants who then carry out much of the labor required to produce their work. Koons, Murakami and, until his recent market collapse at least, Hirst have each employed dozens and even hundreds of such surrogates as a way to boost production to feed excess demand. All have ample historical precedent: Warhol worked under the same arrangement in his aptly named Factory in the 1960s and after, as did the Baroque painter Peter Paul Rubens in 17th century Antwerp. Nor was Rubens the first to do this; workshops centered on individual artists working for personal gain can be traced back as far as antiquity.
Whether the artist is highly successful or barely known does not ultimately affect the economic model under which they operate; it’s still very much a question of supply and demand as to how their work is valued. This poses several problems from a market standpoint. Generally speaking, the more successful an artist is, the higher the price for their work, which means fewer and fewer people can afford it. The less successful an artist is, the lower the price, which is positive in terms of affordability but means that the emerging artist is increasingly unlikely to be able to earn a living from it (not to mention the challenges to the gallerist trying to sell it).
Several responses to this problem have been devised over the years. Mechanical processes such as photography and printmaking offered an opportunity to produce artwork in unlimited qualities. In the 1960s the concept of the art multiple was taken up by a number of artists and dealers as a way to make art more democratic and affordable. Keith Haring opened his first Pop Shop in 1986, where he sold gear like t-shirts, bags and posters embellished with his signature line drawings. Even the exalted Gagosian Gallery has entered ‘democratic space’ in opening up a retail store on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
But the fact is that none of these developments has truly solved the problem of the market. In fact, the polarities of the market seem to have never been greater. At the upper tier the prices for the most coveted artists continues into the stratosphere (only partly halted by the recent global slowdown), while the ‘bottom’ of the market is more and more served by websites that sell open edition work by the yard, ranging from the not so good to the pretty okay. For quality artists caught in the middle, the financial challenges of sustaining their calling remain significant, while the buying public with real interest in acquiring compelling contemporary art that is not restricted to the usual suspects of photography and prints is left with relatively few choices. That most art galleries are mom-and-pop businesses and therefore limited to certain geographic areas only exacerbates their difficulty in accessing art other than through the internet outlets.
Naturally, we think there is a potential solution, or why would we be going on like this?
Over the past few years there has arisen a wholly new mechanism for the physical production of objects. We have nicknamed this novel set of production capabilities the New Industrialism. It can be considered new because for the first time in history industrial manufacturing equipment has been married to the computer. Laser and water cutting, CNC milling machines, rotational molding and many other techniques have been developed out of this synthesis of the digital and the analog.
The New Industrialism also encompasses what we might call new design and production strategies; these would include mass customization, crowdsourcing, open innovation, on demand and short run production, and various other ways of working that were not viable in the pre-Digital Age.
In Part 2 of this thinkpiece, we will expound on the ways that artists can utilize the tremendous creative possibilities born out of the New Industrialism and in doing so rethink the economic and production models that have guided them for centuries.
A sampling of modular paintings by Roy Lichtenstein (gridded arrangement by us).
Roy Lichtenstein is an artist widely known for paintings whose form and content are derived from comic book illustration. So it comes as quite a pleasant surprise to us to discover that his oeuvre includes a series of ten canvases and additional preparatory drawings based on a modular theme.
Lichtenstein executed the bulk of these works in 1969. Nine of the ten works were composed of four identical panels arranged in a grid; a single canvas, done in 1968, contains nine panels in a similar arrangement. All but two are square in overall proportion, since the individual panels in them are themselves square. All of the finished works are rather large in scale, measuring somewhere between eight and ten feet in either direction.
We find these pieces compelling on a number of fronts. From an historical perspective, it’s refreshing to see an artist ‘crossing over’ from one current stylistic genre to another, in Lichtenstein’s case, from the figurative Pop school to the abstract Minimalist one. This fluidity underscores one problem we have with art historical labels – they tend to pigeonhole people into categories under the assumption that one must be a hedgehog and not a fox when it comes to artistic production (the hedgehog knows one thing really well, the fox knows a bunch of things but none as well as the hedgehog). It’s particularly curious that we laud the idea of pluralism when applied to art and design as a whole, but seem less ready to embrace stylistic diversity when it comes to defining individual artists.
Then again, if one digs deep enough one might find some thematic connections in Lichtenstein’s paintings that tie the two seemingly opposite schools together. For instance, like other Pop artists Lichtenstein took inspiration from the mechanical processes of commercial illustration. Modularity and minimalism have a similar affinity for industrial character, but emphasize its abstract qualities rather than try to bring it into an overtly humanized framework. Lichtenstein seems to want to bridge the gap by using repetitive and abstract forms, but then endowing them with rich, sensuous colors and patterns for the purpose of inducing visual pleasure in the eye of the viewer.
Of course, people like Frank Sella, Ellsworth Kelly and Kenneth Noland had been generously applying color to their Minimalist canvases for some time when Lichtenstein produced his modular series. But Lichtenstein composes his panels with more visual complexity and contrast than his colleagues, many of whose works indicate a reductivist desire to simplify rather than amplify. In one sense, he was taking modular painting in the only direction it could go, if we consider Rauschenberg’s White Painting series of 1951 as the grand-daddy of the multi-panel modular work of art. Devoid of color or content, Rauschenberg’s paintings are the obvious antecedent to and a point of departure for all the modular canvases that came after them.
One quality which the modular pieces we’ve cited so far have in common is a lack of mobility. In other words, all of them are fixed works of art, unchanging and untouchable in their finished state. Other artists, like one of our favorites, Charlotte Posenenske, had already associated modularity with changeability, but she was among the few to incorporate this understanding into her work. Another was Norman Carlberg, a modular artist and sculptor who we will talk about in an upcoming post. Until then, you’ll just have to ponder the possibilities.
Can you tell which is the real Scott Snibbe? Click on the image for the answer.
We frequently read about artists exploring the ‘intersection’ of art and technology, but Scott Snibbe realizes this concept more literally than most. Trained in computer programming and fine art at Brown University, Snibbe makes use of both skill sets by producing interactive digital programming for commercial as well as fine art applications. According to his company’s website, Snibbe Interactive has undertaken installations in more than twenty countries, which makes for a good start on his goal of developing his work product as a ‘worldwide communication medium’. Most of his portfolio derives from orchestrating the human body to come into contact with a digital sensing apparatus, which then translates the encounter into visual form for others to see.
Modular art, as we untiringly remind everyone, is by its nature an interactive and co-creative type of art, since it necessitates a collaboration between originating artist and collector, spectator or designer to achieve form (a cluster of connected modules) out of formlessness (a pile of disconnected modules). It can also be described as a generative medium, because each module has been designed by an artist to automatically generate a coherent whole when the modules are joined to each other.
Snibbe’s drawing apps for the iphone and ipad can also be described as generative insofar as their internal computer codings automatically produce a coherent visual form when a finger or other suitably shaped body part is dragged across the touchscreen. As with modular art, Snibbe the digital artist takes the process only up to a point, and then leaves it to others to consummate the work.
There are several aspects of Snibbe’s portfolio we find appealing. First, unlike some of the more purely abstract and digitized forms of generative art, Snibbe’s apps require the intervention of the human hand (literally) to produce the work, which connects them to the manual tradition of historical art. Second, like modular systems, there are no limits in the number of formal permutations that can grow out of the coding, which makes them highly economical in every sense of the term. And third, we find the idea of using a mass-produced object (the phone or tablet) to make contemporary art an exemplar of the democratizing capabilities of the digital era, and an encouraging sign of things to come.
Bottom: Moducool: Modular Vaccine Rucksack. Designed by Ian Friday (2010). Courtesy of Open Architecture Network.
Art and Design as a Return on Investment (ROI)
If the art market were a sport, then the painter Rackstraw Downes (b. 1939) should be credited with scoring a hat trick for appearing in no fewer than three different regional exhibitions at the same time: a small, focused show of his work at the Aldrich Contemporary Museum in Ridgefield, Connecticut; a broader retrospective at the Parrish Museum in Southampton, New York; and an exhibit of his drawings at the Betty Cuningham Gallery in New York’s Chelsea art ghetto. Most artists would be thrilled to have any one of these events on his or her résumé; in fact, the only person who appears to be a more popular subject in these parts than Mr. Downes at the moment is Andy Warhol and, sadly, he’s not around to enjoy it.
Mr. Downes’ work is notable, among other things, for synthesizing two seemingly opposing impulses: on the one hand, to lovingly render the material world by means of a luminous and sensuous application of paint, and on the other hand, to choose as his subject matter some of the least visually appealing snapshots of the urban streetscape. But we’re not going to dwell here on Mr. Downes artistic accomplishments. Rather, what caught our eye in the review of his works that appeared in the Times was the reference to his painting of the underbelly of the Westside Highway pictured above having taken him fifteen months to complete.
Now, it’s not clear whether Mr. Downes spent these months working exclusively on this particular painting, or whether he is the sort to have several projects underway at the same time, but in either case we are reminded of the labor intensity of good old-fashioned plein-air easel painting. The hugeness of the time invested is only further amplified in our minds when we realize that the object which is born out of this endeavor is singular in nature – that is, there is and always will be only one painting to show for the effort (along with some notebooks compiled by Mr. Downes and, of course, a potentially infinite number of inferior mechanical reproductions). Only one person or institution will be able to own it, and a limited number of people able to view it.
By the laws of supply (necessarily low, given Mr. Downes’ working method) and demand (high, given the artist’s reputation and quality of work), the cost to acquire one of Mr. Downes’ works is no doubt very substantial. Which further means that only a limited number of people or institutions will be able to purchase it. Let’s not bemoan the fact or question the value of Mr. Downes’ work or the work of other artists who create by means of manual craft; this is how capitalism is played, and apparently nobody’s thought of a better way to do it.
Speaking of capitalism, these circumstances raise a question in our minds about value, or more particularly, about a return on investment (ROI) when it comes to objects of art and design: how do we measure the value of the work product relative to the amount of creative energy invested in producing it? In the case of “West Side Highway”, it’s fair to say that the high quality of the piece is offset by the large amount of time and effort needed to produce it and by the comparatively small size of the audience which will enjoy it, and therefore its relative valuation is at best, in strictly capitalistic terms, flat. Take a painting similarly composed by another artist who is lesser known or, um, emerging, and the valuation of the return on effort goes into negative territory since the sales price for such work is likely to be considerably less than Mr. Downes commands, and far fewer will clamor to see it.
Now let’s apply the same approach to assessing ROI for a work of modular art or design. In its most elemental form a single module deployed in multiples is sufficient to generate a piece that has the aesthetic integrity and critical mass to stand on its own, as in the illustrated example from the textile designer Mia Cullin (left). The greatest investment of creative energy required to realize Cullin’s concept no doubt went into the design of the individual module, which we can reasonably presume did not remotely approach the fifteen months needed to create the Downes canvas. Even adding in the time needed to evolve from individual module to concepts for assembled pieces, or the hours spent developing prototypes, or the interaction of the designer with the parties responsible for the physical production of the modules, would not greatly alter the disparity between the (hu)man-hours required for the two works. And if one objects to comparing a fine art painting with a textile design as a case of apples and oranges, we can reply that the very same point could have been made by referencing works by recognized modular artists like Sol Lewitt, Tony Smith, Norman Carlberg and others.
Having spent far fewer waking hours devising her module, Cullin was ostensibly free to design other modules and other pieces in the same amount of time it took Downes to make just one. But here is where the ROI of the modular approach really pays off: unlike the singular work of art, which is both the beginning and the end of itself, the design of the individual module spawns an infinite number of subsequent iterations, since it can be reproduced in unlimited quantities with no loss of artistic quality. When we figure in the limitless permutations that can be generated from the design of a single module, then the potential ROI of modular art and design balloons to an astronomically high figure.
Using slightly different terminology and a metric based purely in terms of energy versus output, we can say that modular art and design is by its nature a highly efficient system of both design and production, whereas the arduous practice of crafting fine art by hand is a largely inefficient means of value creation. Efficiency benefits the greatest number of people by producing the greatest amount of goods or services at the lowest cost; inefficiency yields a lower supply, an inflated price point and a necessarily restricted audience.
Which takes us, finally, the question of socially responsible design. If the modular method is in fact highly efficient and provides a high rate of return on the investment of creative energy, then it stands to bear that it is equally advantageous as a means of addressing the problems that afflict humankind, or at least those which can be ameliorated with the help of design. A recent project by Ian Friday for a modular vaccine rucksack, affectionately labeled Moducool (ah, a wordsmith after our own heart), reminds us that design can indeed solve problems beyond those of a purely aesthetic nature. And in a world of limited resources and a seemingly unlimited number of humanitarian ills, we need to “capitalize” on any expedient we can find.
Project Description of Moducool, via Open Architecture Network:
Function
Moducool is a modular vaccine rucksack designed to aid in the transportation and distribution of vital vaccine vials in rural areas of developing countries. Vaccine vials must be kept between 2 and 8 degrees Celsius, anything above or below and they start to lose potency. Millions of pounds worth of vaccines are wasted every year because of heat damage. Moducool features removable insulated modules that house custom-made icepacks allowing each module to be dedicated to particular communities, thus, ensuring that only the vaccines needed at any one point are exposed to heat. In the existing product, there is no other storage for syringes or anyway to dispose of medical waste. Moducool, however, features a removable sharps box and extra storage to ensure that the user takes away all the medical waste and can carry the vaccines with both hands free, making climbing mountains to reach remote communities much safer.
Inspiration
Inspiration came from a documentary on the immunization process within developing countries and witnessing aid workers struggling to carry the cumbersome existing product, a traditional cool box. The major flaw in the existing product is the fact that it only has a single chamber that the vials are stored in. As the aid workers tend to visit multiple communities within a day, with a single chamber, it results in all the vaccines being exposed to heat every time the lid is opened. The cold air is released and hot air enters, therefore, risking heat exposure to ALL the vials. The advantage of Moducool’s modular design is that only the vaccine vials required at certain locations are exposed to heat, thus, keeping more vials colder for longer which could potentially saves millions of dollars and lives.
Development
Development involved initial user, task and environment research to develop the idea in to a potential product. Many cardboard prototypes were made of various insulated rucksack forms and tested with potential users. A PDS was developed which adhered to World Health Organization criteria regarding vaccine transportation. A full working prototype was made by hand and was fully evaluated with potential users. Feedback was highly positive and users felt there was a real need for the product.
We must admit, despite our own efforts in the field of Word Art, that we’ve often felt uncomfortable with the preachy tone of a lot of work coming out of this genre. Maybe that’s because the conversation has always seemed…well, kind of one-sided. And in your face. And over-scaled. And prone to one-liners and the self-consciously profound. And most of all, very top-down because of the tendency among word artists to deliver their content in the form of proclamations, an attitude underscored by the widespread use of text laid out in all caps.
But in the age of crowdsourcing this sort of dictatorial attitude can no longer relied upon to attract viewers, so it’s interesting to see how the art world is straining to meet the crowd halfway by associating a major figure in Word Art like Holzer with an interactive art project. Titled ADDRESS (there are those caps again), the project is connected with an exhibition of her work at Montreal-based DHC/ART Foundation for Contemporary Art, running from June 30 to November 14, 2010. It’s billed by the host as an Art Education project, which is a somewhat puzzling label and perhaps reflects the uncertainty of the host as to how to involve spectators in the otherwise passive experience of viewing art exhibitions.
Projects by Jenny Holzer, from the artist’s website. Words words words!
In any case, the project has something to do with inscriptions, postcards, mailboxes, graphic imagery, video and the Canadian postal system, although how they interrelate is not altogether clear from the DHC/ART website. Perhaps you will have better luck if you read it yourself:
Project
Participants will create a postcard based on the theme of social engagement. At the end of the exhibition participants will be invited to take part in a happening where as a group, each card will be addressed and deposited in a selected mailbox as a symbolic, group gesture.
In reference to themes explored by Jenny Holzer, the participant will call up and reflect upon social engagement inspired by:
a point of view on human behavior
a point of view on culture
a reflection or critique on society
Text is central to this project. The challenge is to express an idea in a one word or concise phrase in order to remain within the constraints of the postcard format, which may motivate the participant to take a poetic approach.
Creation of a postcard
The participants will receive a short presentation from the DHC/ART Educators about the postcard’s presence in art history, on the public function of objects and the impact of words in poetic writing in order to contextualize the project.
Each participant will then receive a blank postcard on which they are free to:
Visually interpret the word or phrase on the front of the card
Write the word or phrase on the back of the card and to create a visual on the front that is thematically linked to the word or phrase
The participant may use drawing, photography, painting, collage and decoupage to make their creation.
Exhibition
The projects will be exhibited in the Education Space and in a virtual gallery on DHC/ART’s website. A reception will be held to conclude the project.
Happening 10 / 11 / 10
During the closing reception, participants will be invited to go as a group to a selected mailbox where the cards will be deposited as a symbolic gesture. This event will be documented on video and posted on DHC/ART’s website and Facebook page.
*DHC/ART will provide postage for the mailing. Canada only. [Thanks guys! ~Eds.]
Elimelech’s cubes are approximately 3 inches square on each face, which makes them perfectly scaled to the human hand.
Los Angeles artist Moshé Elimelech makes cubist art — only not the kind you’re probably thinking of. Elimelech’s pieces are constructed of a series of cubes nested in a gridded container mounted on a wall. Each cube is rendered on all six sides with a variety of solid colors and bold geometric figures. The cubes can be removed from their cells and rotated to present any face to the viewer. By manipulating the choice of visible surfaces the artist or co-creator can generate a nearly infinite number of graphic compositions, either deliberately or by chance rotations.
Elimelech’s work reminds us how rare it is for artists to invite the viewer to actually touch the art they’ve made. We’re usually warned by signs or sternly faced museum guards not to do any such thing, which is understandable since most pieces are not constructed with that possibility in mind (not to mention the need to protect them against theft). On the other hand, that persistent distancing between us and the art makes our experience of it too uniformly passive for an interactive and energetic culture such as ours. It also reinforces the perception of the art object as something endowed with a sacred aura to be venerated, rather than as an agent of material beauty and sensuous delight to be enjoyed.
Exhibiting steadily since the 1980s, Elimelech shows primarily in California galleries, and has work represented in several museum design stores as well.
“Cubic Constructions” by Moshé Elimelech. Though they may look like independent and distinct works, the various compositions in each image derive from a single assortment of cubes. It’s often surprising how such a broad range of formal diversity can be generated from a finite set of modular components.
From the artist’s website:
“Expressing his fascination of the nature of duality, artist Moshé Elimelech has created a unique series of three-dimensional abstract cubic constructions that invite the viewer to reinterpret each piece. Putting into play his notion of opposing forces has yielded works that are fixed yet mutable, precise but free-flowing, analytical yet imaginative, singular in essence and at the same time open to reinterpretation.”
Henry Ford, move over – the era of mass production has come to a close! Personalization is the name of the game now. People want a role in shaping the physical world around them to suit their individual needs, tastes and resources; to satisfy that goal they're looking for works of art and design that are reconfigurable, interactive and scalable. This blog explores how creatives are responding to the quest for customization, as well as the impact customization is having on the creative disciplines themselves.
