From this single-projection light work from 1968 now on view at Pace Gallery to his stunning transformation of the Guggenheim Rotunda into a light installation in 2013 James Turrell suggest that light can manifest in physical form. Juke Green – glowing an emerald green that suffuses the room with color – conjures a giant gem or a portal into another world. (At Pace Gallery’s 534 West 25th Street location.)
California Light and Space artist De Wain Valentine pushed his chosen medium of polyester resin by finding a way to make larger pours and bigger pieces in the ‘60s; with their huge size, pieces like ‘Circle Gold-Rose’ from 1970 become actors in the room, changing the environment with shifting color. (At David Zwirner Gallery through August 7th).
De Wain Valentine, Circle Gold-Rose, cast polyester resin, 70 3/8 x 70 x 4 7/8 in, 1970.
Southern Californian minimalist John McCracken’s retrospective exhibition at David Zwirner Gallery is better seen in person – where sleek objects like this one (hand-crafted from plywood covered in polyester resin & fiberglass) reflect the people, objects and light conditions surrounding them. But the color contrasts alone between the richly green ‘Minnesota’ in the foreground and the sky blue of ‘On Stream’ in this photo set the mind thinking of nature. (At the gallery’s 20th Street location through Oct 19th.)
John McCracken, Minnesota (in the foreground), polyester resin, fiberglass and plywood, 1989. On Stream (background left), polyester resin, fiberglass and plywood, 1998.
Relational aesthetics took a beating last fall as critics decried participatory artworks like Carsten Holler’s three story slide at the New Museum and MoMA’s installation of Rirkrit Tiravanija’s free lunch. The visitor’s physical experience is also key to Doug Wheeler’s installation which opened today at David Zwirner Gallery and recreates a 1975 piece made in Milan by the influential So Cal ‘Light and Space’ artist. But the hushed environment, limited to ten people at a time and entered after donning white booties so as to keep the floor pristine, is all about aesthetics, and less about interrelating with your fellow gallery goers.
The lighting in the installation changes in intensity and color as it simulates the transitions from dawn to day to dusk, slowly revealing where the boundaries of the flat floored, egg-shaped room are. But even in the strongest light, it’s a strain to make out where gallery wall ends and floor begins; only the toes can tell as you feel the floor’s upward slope. The impulse is to find the spot where your senses are most confused.
Visitors who stayed in the gallery the longest this morning inched their way to the front and center of the installation and stood looking into an optical illusion – a space that appeared to extend to infinity. The sensation was like peering into a deep fog or a snowstorm (under comfortable conditions) as my perception of space kept shifting to make sense of what I was seeing.
Wheeler’s installation recalls James Turrell’s installations, in which visitors approach a shape on the wall only to realize that it’s a rectangle of recessed light. Here, the experience is more intimate – like entering into the space occupied by light rather than gazing in from the outside. Uta Barth’s photographs of light come to mind, as do Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Nets but both treat light and infinity as more concrete subjects than Wheeler does with what he calls his ‘molecular mist.’ The scale and ambition of Wheeler’s project won’t be matched again soon in New York; catch it while you can and arrive early to avoid lines.
For more background, read Randy Kennedy’s Jan 15th NYT article.
