White Rooms and Feminine Representation in the Literary Canon

At the Hugh Lane Museum of Modern Art, Jesse Jones has an exhibit entitled No More Fun and Games. NMFG intends “to redress and renegotiate omissions in the historical canon of art.” This presentation is not a static piece, as we might assume of other pieces of art. Instead, Jones creates a dynamic experience for on-lookers. Her project seems to deal with minimalist ideas concerning the negative space of female representation in canonized art.

At first, the exhibition is confusing. The front desk of the show opens into a small room and then a large, white room. Jones includes speakers that play soft, soothing music, mounted on stands that face in all directions create an erratic pattern throughout the room. The huge walls, white and bare, create an eerie feeling of absence. After all, an art show should have drawings, photos, or paintings on the wall, right? The white room gives way to a room that has silver walls, reminiscent of aluminum foil or the industrial freezers we might see at a restaurant. In this room, Jones includes a few paintings, but still the inclusion is minimal.

Jones drags a floor-to-ceiling piece of cloth attached to a track overhead. It provides the image of woman’s arm and hand. I stand in the room and wait to see the impression it casts into the large white room. The cloth overlays the feminine over the represented absence of the empty walls. The experience moves me. Jones seems to be arguing that the work of women colors all art, even in places that may not seem to contain such art. She also creates a stark contrast between the blank walls of the white room and the obscurely reflective walls of the silver room, the first containing no art and the second housing only a few pieces.

The underrepresented nature of minority artists in cultural canons comes into focus through the work of Jones. As we discuss the importance of women in the politics surround Irish independent, we still understand how women are subtracted from the general discussion.

 

White Room

 

Feminine Hand

 

Jones Explanation

Through the Glass, Looking

bacon studio paint steps

Yesterday we visited the Hugh Lane Gallery that includes a striking installation of Francis Bacon’s studio. The gallery removed each item from the studio’s original location and reproduced the space piece for piece within the museum.  When considering theories of place in conjunction with this studio, we might begin by asking questions about the changes that a place undergoes when it is dis-placed.  However, I want to go in a slightly different direction and consider the experience of the visitor.  Under what circumstances can one claim to have been to or been in a place?

My family has a rule that you can’t say you’ve been to a country if you don’t leave the airport.  If you have a layover and go out into the city, then it counts whether or not you spend the night.  This family rule informs the way that I feel about experiencing place.  One must experience a place to be able to claim it.  At the Francis Bacon studio, there is small space where one can “go in” to the room.  There is about a 3’x3′ glass alcove that allows one to have a simulated feeling of entering the space.  But does this count as entering?  How many of the 5 senses must be awaken?  Does seeing a place counting as “going”?  Or must one touch, smell, taste, and hear in order to experience?  Where is the line drawn?  I would argue that the hermetic seal between the visitor and the Francis Bacon studio keeps the individual from being able to claim having truly “been” in that place.  But what about a room that is simply roped off?  Does that count as “being” in a place?  It’s closer.  Maybe, in the end, it doesn’t matter.  The way we lay claim to places is perhaps arbitrary to begin with.  But I will say that I have seen the Francis Bacon studio.

Stained Ain’t Plain

It does not get much better than free access to a museum, and I really enjoyed all that The Hugh Laney had to offer. This art museum was the perfect size to wander around, but still find something new around every corner. Interactive art pieces were a consistent part of the viewer experience, particularly one titled “Mirrors.” My favorite artist, however, was a man named Harry Clarke who is a well known stained glass designer of Ireland. He had a very small exhibit that consisted of a dark room near the entrance, it did not appear like much on first glance. Once you walked inside, though, you are surrounded by brightly lit and intricately designed pieces of art. The details of each piece are hard to capture at first glance so I found myself spending majority of my time studying the complexity of his work.

#dubbelgsu image image

We were lucky the day turned quickly from rain to shine and remained that way for the remainder of our evening. When I wandered up the highest floor they grant visitors access to, there was an incredible view of The Garden of Remembrance. I felt that the drastic change of weather represented what the Garden stands for to this day. Although Irish history came from a gray, dreary and downright negative space they were able to rise out of it. Even though lives were lost, they are not forgotten and the sun will shine again as it did yesterday.

image

 

Displacement of Place & Space

The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines “displace” as “to remove from the usual or proper place.” It is interesting that in our discussions of place, we have not encountered this word (or so I believe), which is heavily connected with place or rather the absence of a specific place. The Francis Bacon exhibit at the Hugh Lane Museum got me thinking about the concepts of displacement; his art studio abstracted from its original place to inside the exhibit hall. The Hugh Lane Museum website states that archaeologists “mapp[ed] out the spaces and locations of the objects.” The phrase, “mapping out spaces,” stood out to me. How can one map out spaces? When does displacement occur? How do concepts of place change when a place is literally displaced into another place?

As tourists and travelers, we have been “mapping out spaces,” finding routes on the bus system, following Google Maps (or our free fold up maps), and asking locals for suggestions. In these moments, we have not applied value or meaning to the space, but we contemplate the possibility of applying meaning and value; thus, we “map” the space and measure the spatial relations between ourselves and the concepts of place. Can we apply meaning to this space? Think of all the spaces that we have passed on our walks through Dublin–the spaces that go unnoticed or ignored. We consciously and unconsciously choose to map our spatial surroundings so that we can apply meaning and value– we can find place in the displaced space.

image

Beat the drums!

IMG_20160613_091537

I really like the feeling and emotion of music.  I like to feel it flow through my shoulders in a heavy, but still pleasant, way.  Purely based on my love of music, I knew that last night was going to be fun and that I was going to have a great time, but there was an added layer of personal attachment, that I felt, as soon as he (I have regretably forgotten his name) pulled out this drum.  I mentioned in my last post that my step-grandfather is Native American, but I didn’t bring up just how much so the culture and belief system had been brought into my family’s life.  Not too long after my grandparents were married, they started going to Sundance together in Michigan.  After the first time they went, my grandmother pulled me aside and asked me if I could go with them next year.  She said that she had never had such a personal and intimate connection with her place in her life; she had found herself.  I was 13 at the time, and my entire identity had been shifting around me, so I longed for this certainty in myself that my grandmother seemed to have attained.  As soon as the artist brought out that drum last night, I was transported back to that period of wondering who I was and feeling uncomfortable with myself, but still being secure in knowing that everyone around me had my back, that it didn’t matter what I was so long as I was me (and not a murderer, of course).

A Woman and a Room

Today, during our exploration of the Hugh Lane Gallery, I found several pieces of art that stood out to me and made me genuinely excited. The first of which was the Francis Bacon Art Studio exhibit. I watched part of the film playing in the gallery, and found it interesting enough, but what I loved the most was the quotes on the wall from Francis Bacon about the art studio the gallery had imported all the way from London to Dublin. As I observed the actual studio through the glass, I heard a woman scoff and comment about how messy and disgusting it was. There was another quote from Bacon about how he had tried fancy studios and was never able to create the same way that he could in the “messy” studio that we all saw today. The quote pictured reminded me of one of our discussions about place, and how each of our perspectives are so unique. We don’t see the same things, no matter whether or not we’re looking at the same things.

bacon

I also enjoyed a painting of Lady Heath by Sir John Lavery. It was called “An Irish Pilot” and done in 1928. I didn’t know anything about Lady Heath prior to this, but I learned that she was the first person (male or female) to fly a small open-cockpit plane solo from Cape Town to London. She also helped bring women’s track and field to the Olympics. She accomplished so much in her life. The painting was part of a series from Lavery titled “Women’s Work,” and what a woman to include.

lady

The Fog Hounds of Ireland

image

 

I apologize fot fot the upside down image above. I will go in to fix it when I have access to an Internet connection on my laptop.

 

The above image was taken while hiking in the cliffs of Howthe, a short distance from Dublin. Howthe is a beautiful place at all times, but it is particularly beautiful while covered over in fog. Though you can’t see the famed Eye of Ireland, the way that the fog moves through the wind on the cliffs make it seem alive, as if hounds of mist or ghosts are playing around you, learning at you out of the palpable nowhere from the corner points of your vision.

 

I have experienced these fog hounds of Ireland elsewhere on the Island, as well. At the cliffs of Moore, where the wind blows hard enough to make UFOs out of stones, pulling them over the precipice they rest on and then sending them back, hurtling upward to crash against the cliff face above your head, the hounds are most active. They twist, and turn, and bite at each other’s heels, and their mournful cries to each other and the hidden moon blow so harshly into your ears it feels as if the wind will grate your brain.

 

Fog in mountains or cliffs has always fascinated me. I grew up in the Appalachian Mountains in western Virginia and fog would curl down into the crevices of those blue mountains like a slumbering cat in a bowl. The fog in Ireland is different. It’s alive, like the magic that’s seeped out of the fog in the ancient Appalachias is still vital in the glacial formations of Eire. It’s beautiful and adds a fluidity to the static rocks of Ireland, allowing place to change while staying the same and allowing the land to live like an animal rather than lie like base mineral.