Tim Hawkinson
Zoopsia: New Works by Tim Hawkinson
Through September 9, 2007
Getty Museum
The J Paul Getty Museum has commissioned four new sculptures by Tim Hawkinson, and, for the first time on the west coast, his gargantuan Überorgan, 2001 is on display. Using an actual organ and a variety of ducts and pipes as a conveyance of massive sound, the flatulent and moaning piece is loud, overwhelming and completely obnoxious. It is also fantastic. From the intestinal tubes and belching aortas in the Getty’s entrance hall, you proceed into the collections looking for quiet, struck with wonder yet fleeing a magnificent creature that woke you up.
The Getty is slowly revealing a new face bent on an active use of its collection and resources. First, its curators included Modern and Contemporary works alongside the gems of its collection to invite historical schism and connection. The From Casper David Freidrich to Gerhard Richter: Painting from Dresden show set this idea into more pointed motion, bringing a fantastic group of Richter squeegees into town. Then the photography galleries opened to much acclaim and much delight last fall. Now, video and contemporary painting exhibitions are in the works. The Hawkinson show is yet another step towards a more exciting and hopefully reformed Getty. The Überorgan plays as we speak.
Not all Hawkinson works have the effect or the depth of scope of the entrance hall piece. Each of the four commissions has its virtues. Bat, 2007 is craftsmanship par excellance, a night creature made of Radio Shack plastic bags and twist ties. However earnestly it means to convey different types of communication and hearing, the metaphor does not quite work, and the fact that you have to be told that the plastic is from Radio Shack sort of takes a bit of the fun away. It is, however, worth seeing. There is also Octopus, 2007, a photocollage of human body parts creating the sensation of a tentacle packing undersea dweller. Always riffing Ovid, Hawkinson creates a transformation of his own body into a beautiful if not creepy sea monster. We’ve seen this from Hawkinson before in Untitled, 2003, where his body became a sprouting spud, or in Fruit, 2004, a delightful if not slightly cheesy take on the Sistine Ceiling. As with those pieces, it is easy to like Octopus, but with an artist like Hawkinson, you do expect constant wonder and often end up just wondering.
On the other hand, there is Leviathon, 2007, a skeletal whale constructed with such wit and intelligence that it makes Maurizo Cattalan’s Felix look like a parlor trick for millionaires. Initially, it looks like any skeleton you would find at the La Brea Tarpits or in a natural history museum. The whale’s back is arched, its serpentine mouth moves forward as if to strike, a posture part drama and part comedy. Then the typical Hawkinson transformation occurs, and you realize that something more is at work, like the pop top moving on his Coke Clock, 1996. The spinal column of the fish, you find, are people rowing and its ribs the oars. Then, in a hilarious gesture, the skull itself is a man bent over looking between its legs, its proud brow of the whale nothing more than an ass.
To the fan of Moby Dick, this piece not only recalls, but extends The Nut, the chapter where Ishmael makes an argument for the intelligence of the Sperm Whale. Quoting German Phrenological legend, Ishmael argues the spinal cord of the whale as nothing less than a series of partially developed skulls. Thus the tiny brain of the whale could be seen as extending the immense length of its carriage.
I don’t know whether Hawkinson was thinking of Melville or not, but spending time with his mighty Leviathon, its string of tiny brains and ribs created of men rowing, I was caught up in a sweep of thoughts on life and death not typically granted to me by contemporary sculpture. Hawkinson's whale both dreams and anticipates its own death, the whalers rowing towards it no doubt with harpoon in hand, but the whale is also able to make light of the horror in its use of playful materials like sculpey and crayola model magic. To repeat, the magnificent brow of the monster, which Ishamel weighs in on his chapter The Prairie, is to Hawkinson an ass. “Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Life is but a dream.” Bottom steps forward to deliver his speech.
You will find that Hawkinson and Ishmael have a lot in common. They both have the tendency for outrageous boasting as well as subtle craftsmanship and nuance that would impress the finest diamond cutter or most troubled and insane poet. They want to impress you. Their’s is an earnestness that is comic and tragic at the same time. They are both romantics. However, neither wants to give you mere allegory, but want their work to be seen less as symbols, and more as things which cause and activate. This is also the new Getty’s hope and I like it.
Through September 9, 2007
Getty Museum
The J Paul Getty Museum has commissioned four new sculptures by Tim Hawkinson, and, for the first time on the west coast, his gargantuan Überorgan, 2001 is on display. Using an actual organ and a variety of ducts and pipes as a conveyance of massive sound, the flatulent and moaning piece is loud, overwhelming and completely obnoxious. It is also fantastic. From the intestinal tubes and belching aortas in the Getty’s entrance hall, you proceed into the collections looking for quiet, struck with wonder yet fleeing a magnificent creature that woke you up.
The Getty is slowly revealing a new face bent on an active use of its collection and resources. First, its curators included Modern and Contemporary works alongside the gems of its collection to invite historical schism and connection. The From Casper David Freidrich to Gerhard Richter: Painting from Dresden show set this idea into more pointed motion, bringing a fantastic group of Richter squeegees into town. Then the photography galleries opened to much acclaim and much delight last fall. Now, video and contemporary painting exhibitions are in the works. The Hawkinson show is yet another step towards a more exciting and hopefully reformed Getty. The Überorgan plays as we speak.
Not all Hawkinson works have the effect or the depth of scope of the entrance hall piece. Each of the four commissions has its virtues. Bat, 2007 is craftsmanship par excellance, a night creature made of Radio Shack plastic bags and twist ties. However earnestly it means to convey different types of communication and hearing, the metaphor does not quite work, and the fact that you have to be told that the plastic is from Radio Shack sort of takes a bit of the fun away. It is, however, worth seeing. There is also Octopus, 2007, a photocollage of human body parts creating the sensation of a tentacle packing undersea dweller. Always riffing Ovid, Hawkinson creates a transformation of his own body into a beautiful if not creepy sea monster. We’ve seen this from Hawkinson before in Untitled, 2003, where his body became a sprouting spud, or in Fruit, 2004, a delightful if not slightly cheesy take on the Sistine Ceiling. As with those pieces, it is easy to like Octopus, but with an artist like Hawkinson, you do expect constant wonder and often end up just wondering.
On the other hand, there is Leviathon, 2007, a skeletal whale constructed with such wit and intelligence that it makes Maurizo Cattalan’s Felix look like a parlor trick for millionaires. Initially, it looks like any skeleton you would find at the La Brea Tarpits or in a natural history museum. The whale’s back is arched, its serpentine mouth moves forward as if to strike, a posture part drama and part comedy. Then the typical Hawkinson transformation occurs, and you realize that something more is at work, like the pop top moving on his Coke Clock, 1996. The spinal column of the fish, you find, are people rowing and its ribs the oars. Then, in a hilarious gesture, the skull itself is a man bent over looking between its legs, its proud brow of the whale nothing more than an ass.
To the fan of Moby Dick, this piece not only recalls, but extends The Nut, the chapter where Ishmael makes an argument for the intelligence of the Sperm Whale. Quoting German Phrenological legend, Ishmael argues the spinal cord of the whale as nothing less than a series of partially developed skulls. Thus the tiny brain of the whale could be seen as extending the immense length of its carriage.
I don’t know whether Hawkinson was thinking of Melville or not, but spending time with his mighty Leviathon, its string of tiny brains and ribs created of men rowing, I was caught up in a sweep of thoughts on life and death not typically granted to me by contemporary sculpture. Hawkinson's whale both dreams and anticipates its own death, the whalers rowing towards it no doubt with harpoon in hand, but the whale is also able to make light of the horror in its use of playful materials like sculpey and crayola model magic. To repeat, the magnificent brow of the monster, which Ishamel weighs in on his chapter The Prairie, is to Hawkinson an ass. “Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Life is but a dream.” Bottom steps forward to deliver his speech.
You will find that Hawkinson and Ishmael have a lot in common. They both have the tendency for outrageous boasting as well as subtle craftsmanship and nuance that would impress the finest diamond cutter or most troubled and insane poet. They want to impress you. Their’s is an earnestness that is comic and tragic at the same time. They are both romantics. However, neither wants to give you mere allegory, but want their work to be seen less as symbols, and more as things which cause and activate. This is also the new Getty’s hope and I like it.
posted by Ed | 7:09 PM
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