In 1992 Paul Schimmel,
chief curator at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, curated the
infamous Helter Skelter: L.A. Art in the
1990’s. In his catalogue essay Schimmel equated the anxiety at the end of
the 19th century and the work of the Symbolists — which was imbued with an
obsessive fear that reflected “the general sentiments of the society at large”
— with the art (and artist angst) of the early 1990’s.
The Symbolists used
anxiousness and doubt as subject matter to express exaggerated personal
emotions. Schimmel went on to say that the Symbolists placed “inner vision above
the observation of nature.” It was a strategy of “subjectifying the objective
world.” Many artists in the late 20th century were also beginning to look at an
invisible world, a world of an inner psyche, and did so just as the Symbolists
did: by using figuration. Of course, this anxiety can be seen even earlier in
the works of William Blake, who was disillusioned by England’s lagging social
reforms already realized in France and America.
At first look, there
is something very much like a turn-of-the-century apocalyptic vision taking
place in the drawings and ink-jet prints comprising Andy Gilmore’s exhibition, A Dance of Dust and Flies, currently on
view at A\V, (formerly the All-Purpose Room) at the Public Market. His images
are, on the surface, observations of nature, but their style speaks of inner
voices.
The presentation,
which is reminiscent of Helter Skelter artist Raymond Pettibon’s installation strategy, consists of drawings hung in
groups on the wall. The drawings each make individual statements, but they are
then forced into narratives because they are placed in such close proximity to
each other. Gilmore’s work is at times pinned or even nailed to the wall while
a number of pieces are framed in recycled picture frames of different sizes,
styles, and materials. The modernist grid is eroded. There no longer seems to
be any rational order.
Unlike Pettibon,
Gilmore’s work does not include any text but his title, borrowed from Aldous
Huxley, suggests dystopias and human atrocities. The drawings themselves have
more in common with Blake than they do with Pettibon in their use of very fine
and detailed line.
Sometimes these lines
are articulated in very naturalistically-rendered figures of animals such as
crows, dogs, pigs, and fish, while other times the lines are reminiscent of
anatomical drawings. But the anatomies are not really bodies but the results of
a surrealist strategy of making drawings in a state of reverie. These automatic
drawings are produced on a variety of paper surfaces ranging from single sheets
to the back cardboard cover of a notebook whose spiral spine is echoed in the
convolutions of the drawing.
Although there is
definitely a feeling of the obsessive, the automatic, and the spontaneous,
there is also a definite strategy and style. The choice of materials and the
placement of the frames are all predetermined.
Which leaves us to
question if what we have here is really apocalyptic and obsessive anxiety or a
calculated style. What’s interesting is that, in the end, it’s hard to determine.
You wonder why draw a raven or twisted dog? Are these fanciful doodles, like
those whimsical surfers done by Russell Crotty, that go on and on in their
permutations, like the doodles in the margins of a notebook of a bored high
school student? Or are they reflections of the demons of our time? Are they
subtle comments of our troubled times of war and country divided? Whatever they
are, the drawings are definitely worth the time to look at and ponder.
The only thing that
disappointed us were his nauseatingly blurry inkjet prints which do little
justice to the wonderful drawings. After seeing the drawings, who would want
the prints, that only vaguely remind you of those detailed and, at times,
convulsive and brilliantly psychotic gestures?
A Dance of Dust and Flies: The Drawings
of Andy Gilmore is on display at A\V: Art-Sound-Space, 8 Public Market (second floor), through October 23. Hours:
Thursdays 7 to 10 p.m., Saturdays 12 to 9 p.m., and Sundays 12 to 5 p.m.
423-0320, www.avspace.org.
This article appears in Oct 13-19, 2004.
