I have always been fascinated with deep structure — the rules and information that largely go unnoticed but determine what is truly possible. I also find myself in situations, as we all do, where I don’t have complete control but still have a substantial stake in the outcome. Like most, I struggle to manage my frustration when things start heading in a direction I don’t agree with. Rather than getting Zen and releasing all ambition and desire, I try to understand my convictions at the fundamental level to determine when I need to push back and when I can let go. Exploring the role deep structure plays in creative collaborations is a mild fixation and I occasionally probe these matters through various art projects. I have created several pieces where the observer is given substantial control over the composition of the artwork.
This is a difficult and frightening step for most artists to take. If an artist is not determining the visual appearance of their work, what are they doing?
Those of you that follow the paintings I post on this blog know about the visual journal — producing three paintings a day for over a decade. At one point I was using small wood cubes, which I would paint. I would then stack and rotate the blocks and produce paintings based on the front face of the blocks or façade. Four cubes, six sides each, with four possible rotations on each side produce more than 250,000 distinct compositions. I exhibit these works in a nine-square format. The first eight works were paintings documenting a few of the compositional options. The ninth frame held a small shelf upon which the blocks are placed. It was an invitation to the viewer to create and explore the other compositional options and complete the set of nine. At one point in my exploration I dispensed with the physical blocks and created a computer program that allowed one to virtually rotate the blocks and print the results. I also added features that allowed one to change the saturation and hue of the blocks.
Armed with this new technology, I held an exhibit in Chicago that started with completely blank walls. When visitors arrived at the opening all they saw was a bank of computers hooked up to a series of printers.
The visitors were asked to sit at a computer, rotate the blocks, print out a painting and pin it to the walls. When they completed this task they were given a bright orange t-shirt with bold letters on the back that read “ARTIST.” By the time the opening drew to a close the walls were completely filled and the gallery was packed with orange t-shirts. The exhibit was exhilarating for me as well as the visitors. My role was not to predetermine every aspect of the exhibit but rather determine the deep structure or rules that insured the artistic integrity of the work and exhibit.
This is why I get so much pleasure from the work entitled Obliteration Room by Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama. In this particular installation she prepares a room with furniture, fills it with common household items and then paints the entire space and its contents white. As visitors enter the space they are handed some round colorful stickers to place in the room as they please. A portion of the wall is shown here. The work was captivating — constantly changing and adapting. Allowing others to interact with the work transforms their experience — moving from a passive observer to an active participant is incredibly powerful.