Olaf Martens’s 2014 dystopic photograph “001 Liloba” showcases that even the most intimate and isolated moments of life may provoke a feeling of being watched, whether through egotistical fantasy or irrational suspicion. You go about your daily routine and as you are brushing your hair, you wonder how you would be acting if someone else were in the room. Would you brush your hair in a different way? Or, perhaps, would you go as far as to perform a certain way despite being alone? Maybe you are sharing a long awaited first kiss with a lover, yet you are beside yourself – the watcher of the movie you are acting in. Martens’s photograph refutes the question “Are we ever truly alone?” providing an answer that is comforting to the monophobic and terrifying to the paranoid.
The 58-year-old German photographer intentionally places arbitration in each of his works, exemplifying a perspective reminiscent of a quote from Paul Auster’s 1992 novel “Leviathan:” “A book [or in this case, a photograph] is a mysterious object. . .and once it floats out into the world, anything can happen.” The moment an artist lets go of their creation, intended reception can never be guaranteed. No matter how simple or profound the innate meaning, Martens plays with the idea that meaning is left up to interpretation through his hallucinatory, surrealist and saturated sharp-edged style. “001 Liloba” features a couple adorned in cherry red garments sitting closely in front of an illuminated television screen surrounded by an orchestra of vibrant aquamarine eyes, serving as another installment in Martens’s kaleidoscopic dreamworld. The photo sits alongside 14 other images on his website under a collection entitled “Liloba Music Project” and that’s about the only detail Martens provides. The rest is for us to figure out, stitching together meaning like a detective looping red string on their crazy wall. The couple’s body language is tense: the woman clutches tightly onto her black handbag with her other arm stiffly wrapped around her partner’s like a mannequin. She looks downward to the side ready to let out a sigh of despair. The man hunches over twiddling his thumbs. What could initially be mistaken for comfort, at a closer glance, evokes the chilling truth that the couple knows something we do not. The couple sits entrenched in anticipatory agony while an army of electronic eyes offer them little to no space to breathe. The eyes wear matching cream gowns, pale stockings and white leather handbags – the perfect characterization of an antagonist sitting in the corner of somebody’s acid trip gone awry. Some eyes sit turned away from the couple, digging their black heels into the beige shag carpet while others stand idly and poor postured, yet despite their positioning, their collective presence is obtrusive. Old box televisions are stacked atop one another embellishing the walls, and the only one turned on is the one in front of them, placed away from the viewer’s sight. The vivid color contrast and lighting compositions utilized by Martens opens up a world of senses, allowing the photo to be consumed through senses beyond sight. Despite being a still image, you can hear a buzzing white noise, feel a stagnant air sitting at approximately 71 degrees, smell dust-covered notes of an opened storage box stowed away in the attic some 20 years ago, and taste a dry tongue of dehydration. The illusive nature of this photograph, along with the rest of what Martens has captured, embodies his motivation, or rather druglike obsession with his craft. Describing photography as “an extension of consciousness” in a 2004 interview, his artistry is backed by “the desire and the chance, to open up another world for itself, to penetrate into another world. . .but also an escape from the world, which absolutely belongs to [Martens].” Leaving interpretation in the hands of the viewer, “Liloba 001” allows us to find our unique role in Martens’s world, or rather his role in ours.
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Realism painter Bruno Surdo has always had the goal of creating work that “can speak to different generations.” This aspiration especially rang true when creating works for “Realities,” an exhibit happening now at Gallery Victor Armendariz. The exhibition running from Sept. 11 to Oct. 30 features curated works of Surdo’s that were started well before the Covid-19 pandemic, then later revisited and finished in quarantine. The works included in this exhibition attempt to connect people during these uncertain times, as well as remind future generations what American citizens experienced at this point in history. “I try to think of universal themes that I've studied in past work – these are things that reflect on all of us. So, the more I can connect with the human condition, I think that's always going to be a timeless thing. . . The human spirit has always been universal in its expression, so I’ve always tried to maintain that with my work,” Surdo said. Surdo said that self-isolation was a common theme for these works. The piece that he thought most reflected this theme of the pandemic was “A New Day.” This 36-inch by 24-inch oil on panel piece features a woman in a hazy-orange home with her hands pressed against the window. On the outside of the window lies a patch of sunflowers, which he said represent optimism. He also said that the haziness inside the home is a fire, which serves as a symbolic metaphor of “the horrors that were occurring around her.” Due to the pandemic, Surdo was limited with models when preparing works for the exhibit. To overcome this obstacle, he referenced his previous models and pieced together different aspects of them to make one model. His 72-inch by 36-inch oil on panel piece “Inner Bliss” features his mother, niece, dog, and one of his regular models gathered around in a living room. They are close together, yet all appear to be distracted within their own internal worlds: his mother is shown knitting, his niece scrolling on her phone, and the model taking a nap. The spacious and tonal nature of Surdo’s oil piece “Separate Worlds of Reality” serves as a “contrast to some of the other works that are more cluttered,” Surdo said. This painting features a woman wearing a bright yellow coat while the subjects in the background are in black and white. “I could’ve had a beautiful scene around her with all colors. . .but the more I looked at it, it was really expressing this kind of space that we just don't feel comfortable around anymore,” Surdo said. Although these works specifically reflected the past few months, Surdo still had the goal to connect these pieces to all generations. “To have a timelessness to it as is about connecting with people's souls and connecting with people's lives and making them identify with something that they may experience now, have in the past, or will in the future.” When creeping up to the top floor of the exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Photography, the visitor is welcomed by an illuminating, yet chilling light. Displayed on the wall is a projection of Chinese artist Xu Bing’s debut film, Dragonfly Eyes. Watching it for even just moment may evoke the watcher to nervously examine their surroundings for a nearby surveillance camera.
"In Real Life," a MoCP exhibition running from January 16-March 29, 2020, wrestles with the ever-evolving relationship between humans and technology. The exhibit features the works of seven contemporary artists representing five different countries. Their works explore different facets of technology’s evolution and the potential dangers of how it interacts in society. Curated by MoCP executive director Natasha Egan, she hopes to raise questions about how technology is affecting us and how the future might be if we let it go unnoticed. “My hope is that the viewer leaves possibly with...more questions than answers” Egan said. The works displayed on the third floor represent themes of data collection and surveillance. Xu Bing’s spine-tingling film Dragonfly Eyes is comprised of over 10,000 hours of surveillance footage found on a cloud database from 2013-2017. Bing weaves together these clips to create a fictional narrative, simultaneously commenting on the lack of privacy in China (as its citizens are being tracked by an estimated 200 million cameras). “When these seemingly random yet intricately connected clips are assembled, what's the distance between the video fragments of real life and 'reality?'” Bing asked. Also featured on the third floor are the works of Salvadorian artist José Orlando Villatoro. Villatoro used natural materials such as coffee beans, buckeyes, and pennies to create large-scale, functioning QR codes. When the visitor puts their phone camera up to a code, they can access a hacked security camera functioning in real time. “Perhaps Villatoro is suggesting that the small moments that define daily life make up the true human code” Egan said. Both of these artworks are prime examples that once you leave the privacy of your own house, you are fair game to be monitored. This especially rings true in highly-surveilled cities such as Chicago and Shanghai. “It’s a strange feeling, this exhibition. It’s like a feel for the future, or maybe more of a fear for the future” said Jaime Soler, 52, Mexico City. |
authorHallie Newnam studied journalism at Columbia College Chicago. You can find her archived journalistic work here. |