David Gryn blog

Daata Editions at Zuecca Projects Venice

In @gaybar, Alessandro Posseti, Arcadia Missa, Bauer Hotel, Daata, Daata Editions, daataeditions, David Gryn, Hannah Quinlan, Rosie Hastings, Spazio Ridotto, Uncategorized, Venice, Zuecca Projects on 17/05/2016 at 5:11 pm

2016-05-10-VeniceInvite-Web-insta

Gentrification: featuring Hannah Quinlan & Rosie Hastings

Daata Editions at Zuecca Projects & Spazio Ridotto

BBAR, Bauer Hotel, San Marco 1459, Venice

24 May – 24 Aug 2016

To coincide with the opening of the 15th Venice Architecture Biennale, Daata Editions and Zuecca Projects present Gentrification, an exhibition of new commissioned artworks by Hannah Quinlan & Rosie Hastings.
Alongside Hannah Quinlan & Rosie Hastings’s new work, the BBAR space will also showcase Michael Manning’s Daata Editions commissioned artworks, while a Daata Editions TV Channel will be available in all Bauer Hotel rooms, presenting a selection of new Season Two video, sound, web and poetry editions by artists: Tracey Emin, Michael Manning, Rashaad Newsome, Jacolby Satterwhite, Katie Torn and bitforms gallery selected artists: Sara Ludy, Jonathan Monaghan and Quayola.

Tuesday, 24 May 2016, 6 – 9pm
Party celebrating the opening of Gentrification & PIN-UP magazine’s tenth anniversary

Wednesday, 25 May 2016, 9 – 10am – Breakfast & discussion with David Gryn & Alessandro Posseti

Location: BBAR, Bauer Hotel, San Marco 1459, Venice

Bauer Hotel: http://bauervenezia.com

Press release available by Sutton PR: http://suttonpr.com

Hannah Quinlan & Rosie Hastings are represented by Arcadia Missa

Jane Bustin – Rehearsal review in Saturation Point

In Copperfield, Jane Bustin, Laurence Noga, London, Nijinsky, Saturation Point, Uncategorized on 13/05/2016 at 12:25 pm

Jane Bustin: Rehearsal at Copperfield Gallery, London

16 March – 20 May 2016

A review by Laurence Noga

http://www.saturationpoint.org.uk/

“The systems approach is compatible with the evidence that human decisions are largely based on an intuitive feeling of rightness – Rechtsgefuhl – but seeks to validate this subjective feeling by a massive information input, which stands in true correspondence with reality before being refracted through the unconscious.” Jeffrey Steele (Systems, Arts Council 1972-3)

Jane Bustin’s material approaches allow an open system, without a hierarchy. They include: fresco techniques; oil-washed aluminium; acrylic panel painting with ceramic glazes; mirrored copper with latex; polyurethane; wood; copper; silk; paper; gesso; ceramics and ready-made objects

Together, the artist’s relaxed sense of geometry evident in her idiosyncratic solo exhibition, Rehearsal, at the Copperfield Gallery, her sense of rhythm, and her distinctive handling of material through assembly and editing, effect a powerful coercion on her audience.

Bustin works with a highly fragile phenomenology in her expanded approach to painting. This sense of ‘memorial’ is interwoven with techniques that are always meaningful, and which bring together a systematic emphasis on materiality with an intuitive proportional balance. Like Donald Judd, Bustin uses pairs as a single work. She is prepared to generate, or test, arbitrary oppositions in her approach to symmetry and asymmetry, combined with her technical virtuosity in surface facture. With Bustin the relationship between the artist and the object is always equal.

Jane Bustin: Faun, acrylic, polyurethane, copper pins, balsa wood, 50cm x 100cm, 2015. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

The influence of the Russian ballet star Vaslav Nijinsky (1890 – 1950) underpins her decisions here, as a dancer who exceeded the limits of traditional ballet. But this is a show with a more personal edge, not only because works like Faun (2015) are hung at the same height as Bustin’s son, who is also a dancer, but through her ongoing correspondence with the painter Jeffrey Steele. That conversation, in its lucidity and recognition of significant concrete events, combined with an understanding of the intimacy of human relationships (expressed in writers like Proust) casts a spell over the exhibition.

Jane Bustin: Spectre, acrylic, oil, wood, aluminium, 30cm x 35cm, 2015. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

Research, collaboration, and correspondence all seem to have equal weight in Bustin’s vivid shorthand of privacy and illusion. In her work Spectre (2015), Bustin’s line of enquiry synchronises the different surface qualities. She uses two adjoining panels to register an apparition with unequal time value. The painting’s assembly and colour decisions disturb that passage of time, allowing the colour, and its spatial depth, to register in the viewer’s subconscious. The side of this work interacts with the spectator, flickering enough colour peripherally to be visible as you view the front of the work. This phosphorescence attracts your curiosity, makes you look at the sides with equal scrutiny. The small deep red rectangle at the bottom corner of the Prussian/Ultramarine blue panel has an intense registration, played off the frontal white rectangle.

The manipulation of this structure calls to mind the relief constructions of Victor Pasmore, where the painted wood and plastic (e.g. Relief Construction in White, Black and Indian Red, 1961) is handled in an instinctive manner. I get right down underneath this picture to investigate the stained surface of the red /silver panel, but it’s the light green/red lines painted down its side, with a minute red rectangle at its base, which creates that relationship between form and substance.

Jane Bustin, Nijinsky’s Window, oil, acrylic, aluminium, porcelain, oxides, 30cm x 28cm, 2015. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

In one of Bustin’s conversations with Steele in 2014 they talked specifically about Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past. That sense of insight feels embedded into Bustin’s operations and assemblage. Nijinsky’s Window (2015), 30 x 28 cm, oil, acrylic, aluminium, porcelain, oxides, has a bodily emphasis in the handling of the surface facture, but the power and strength of the dancer feels unbalanced, perhaps alluding to Nijinsky’s social awkwardness. The thin, slightly inflated porcelain ceramic feels torn and dysfunctional, hinting at Nijinsky’s fragile mental health just after the First World War. The in-between space has the most concentrated red/gold oxide colour which filters out into the continuous undulating surface, echoing Morris Louis’ veiled paintings such as Mem (1959), allowing the same sense of diffusion and enveloping of the viewer in the same moment.

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Jane Bustin, Rehearsal II, copper, acrylic, oxides, cloth, 80cm x 50cm, 2015. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

Rehearsal II (2015) is strategically persistent in its placement; the mirrored copper surface nags at our self-consciousness. This encounter catches the viewer off guard, stretching the neck adjusting their position. Nijinsky, in his score for L’Après-midi d’un faune, talks about this inclination of the head, a slight forward tilt. With Bustin we get the history (Robert Morris or Judd a reflection of polished metal) but we also experience the exhibition space or the rehearsal space. The cloths hung next to the work further extend the colour source. They pick up on the opaque colour used in tonal shifts on the side of the work. The cloths themselves are important to a more philosophical sense of system.

Jane Bustin, Nijinsky I, overall, acrylic, thule, polyurethane, wood, 28cm x 44cm, 2015. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

In the symmetrical work Nijinsky I , (2015) the use of opacity and transparency introduces real and virtual depth, with an internal compositional relationship. The work is sensual, psychologically charged. Bustin states that the materials include ‘thule’; this is a term used in medieval geography to denote an unknown place, beyond the borders of the known world. The light and its illusionism connect to a feeling of unreality. You start to notice the small white ceramic cloth, its connotations shifting the balance of the show, reminding me of the work of Joseph Beuys with his interest in different substances, and how they could be explored through spirituality and ecstasy.

Jane Bustin, Rose, Copper, oil acrylic, polyurethane. 30cm x 42cm, 2016. Courtesy of the artist and Copperfield, London

Rose (2015) draws our attention further towards the problems of construction. This work seems to have the greatest sense of a machine aesthetic. By this I mean that it impacts on the viewer through a sense of co-existence. Its visual power echoes both the machinery of the dancer, and the industrial impulse that drives the language of precision.

Nijinsky, like Steele, was a revolutionary. His use of symmetry and ‘sensual expression’ questioned the role of choreography, to the point where he became paranoid, even frightened of the other dancers in his company. Bustin explores this sense of vulnerability and subversive attitude by making her works objects of desire. Through a kind of dematerialisation, she invites recognition of the perceptual/ psychological/physical. The whole installation adds this extra dimension through a sensation of sound and movement. Its undulation and acceleration is dependent not only on the notion of sequence, but in its very intimate exploration of symmetry and resonance.

The strength of the show is its ability to engage us in a series of relationships which push the viewer towards a systematic/ syntagmatic order. That system has an elaborate complexity in which the conversation between language, literature, linguistics and logic combine. There is an inherent chain of reaction, which unwraps, for the spectator, a dialogue between concept and object. This multi-layered synthesis of art and life is backed up by Bustin’s understanding of a semiological approach, in which she is able simultaneously to induce a memorable sensation with a combination of generative and emotional processes in the real space.


The exhibition runs weekly, Wednesday – Saturday, 12 – 6pm until 20 May, 2016

©Copyright Patrick Morrissey and Clive Hancock.  All rights reserved.

Notes for the Second Season of Daata Editions by Anton Haugen

In Anton Haugen, Arachne, Daata, Daata Editions, Gavlak, NADA, New Art Dealers, Rhizome, Uncategorized on 06/05/2016 at 12:13 pm

 

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Michael Manning, Dinner Party in the Garden, 2016

Notes for the Second Season of Daata Editions 

by Anton Haugen

In approaching a platform like Daata Editions, one searches for an apt way to describe the experience of screen-based works. In the past, too often have the gallery and its spatial metaphors been invoked to falsely characterize the experience of artwork on the internet, reducing the medium to a mere extension of the gallery structure. This glaring lack necessitates born-digital platforms like Daata Editions and, importantly, new contextual frameworks that can provide ways of understanding these works. However, it’s so easy to forget yourself on a screen. While dependence on mnemonic aids does leave private memory to falter, users are known to experience difficulty in locating the mental faculty to fully separate from the digital networks within which they exist; these networks, in turn, are all too often a systemization and amplification of offline social strata. Where in the past there seemed an unmediated flow of time, there is now an interconnected superfluity of images, capable of simultaneously enveloping and further segmenting any possible interval of a day. Art, once delineated to studios for production and to controlled environments for preservation and reception, finds itself liberated, only to be subject to the comingled flows of content and time. Although there once was the hope that the global village would provide the conditions to transform each person into an artist who would see contemporaneity as a task or an environment to be discussed, to be analyzed, and to be coped with, increasingly, we find this work performed and prepackaged for us: the auxiliaries meant to allow us the tools to cope with the present algorithmically derive their means through the data from ourselves as well as the data from human and nonhuman others, placing us further under the gaze of power and perhaps further from the means to clarify the future. Coping becomes a hyper-individuated task: a task that approaches the apex of a drive towards what can be described as a bureaucratic and alienating specialization.

In its presentation of content by decentralized and reversible analogies, hypertext and its non-linear organization can be seen as indicative of this societal abandonment of culminating narratives. Content and this self-referential nature of its context have altered the ways in which artistic production occurs and is received. Cameras are omnipresent; their images are perpetually in post-production and often possess more apparent value in their metadata than in their content. Scroll bars and load times have supplanted past narrative structures, and with its schizophrenic switching between texts, images, and videos, the internet, at its utmost, has made the mind more malleable to erasure and new traces — the screen is a place for forgetting. Like the impossibility of imagining the platonic ideal of a photograph, the screen finds its definition in its capabilities as a displaying mechanism. The screen and its contents may gather attentions but remains a terminal locus.

Through itself and its architecture, the web uniformly characterizes digital content with the attributes of a performance: each act of downloading or streaming reawakens and performs the apparatuses, both technical and textual, that had laid behind the content’s initial production. With this performativity, screens lend themselves to the blending of manifest ephemerality with invisible permanence, despite these qualities’ diametric opposition. Though one often finds within digital content an appeal to difference within the quotidian, materially, what often occurs is a willingness to deny space in favor of digital content. Spaces, whether within an arts institution or not, begin to slowly transform in order to best invoke that private, half-dreaming denial found in the darkness of a cinema.

Digital memory’s infinite capacity for retention and invocation often leaves one with the feeling of cold feet, considering the oceanic dimensions of the concatenations, both material and immaterial, within this Borges-like archive of digital traces. As content has drastically changed, this context has accordingly resulted in a different impetus towards art curation and viewership. The role of the curator seems less a declaration of a definition of historicity or of belonging to a certain encompassing narrative than an assertion that nears breakage of this type of digital memory’s associative capacities: becoming less a gate and more of a node or transitory centering within the pareidolic fissures that this digital mentality creates. As it is now where the majority of monetary and bureaucratic transactions take place, the internet perhaps no longer possesses its former glean of subversion or utopic transformative visions, but, in the way that documentation generally precedes the presence of the object, the immateriality of the file could be said to possess more of “the real” than the material art object due to digital dissemination’s access and sometimes chaotic democratization.

In a gesture that can be seen as reactive to the general reticence to fully embrace this state of affairs, Daata Editions sees the fertile ground within this immaterial context. Daata is a simple solution, among an infinite number of possible solutions, to a difficult problem: how to promote the production of works that are made to exist for and accordance to the web. Placing artists at the center of its platform, Daata Editions shows how digital dissemination can be a sustainable distribution model for art. In a manner that echoes photographic editions or an artist book, the commissioning platform issues numbered editions of each new work for purchase, demonstrating an understanding of how artistic production can exist empowered rather than destabilized by its digital mass reproducibility and accessibility.

Daata’s curation promotes a certain type of work that considers how medium and content function within the web’s immediate and immaterial context. Typified by their employment of the vernaculars of the web, the works do not seek recourse in the label of art but are instead mindful of how one would produce works targeted to the multi-faceted audiences of the web where there is often the collapse in the distinction between producer and consumer. In a way, artistic work has already become part of the ceaseless flow of content found on any newsfeed. Through Daata, this form of work becomes viable. By allowing users to purchase art in the same way one can buy content from distributors like iTunes, Daata forgoes the model of a gallery in favor of a platform reminiscent of a digital auction to reflect the nuanced mentality of art viewership on the internet: one doesn’t stroll but scrolls.

Now in its second season, Daata Editions furthers its reach, commissioning new works by forty-two artists and expanding its collection to include a poetry tranche. In its navigation of market viability and discursive substance, Daata Editions continues to set new paths for the intersection of art and the web, promoting work that weaves this interstice into the flow of digital content.

Anton Haugen is a writer from Silicon Valley. His texts have frequently appeared in Rhizome and Arachne.

Michael Manning is represented by Gavlak Gallery

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