Orly Genger

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The DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park in Lincoln, MA is a fine place to spend an afternoon.  We went on the last day of a year-long exhibition of Orly Genger's Red, Yellow and Blue.  This work was originally commissioned as a site-specific environmental sculpture by the Madison Square Park Conservancy in New York City, and then redesigned for the DeCordova's New England landscape.  Although one could look at this piece as the ultimate "knit bomb," at this scale and in this rustic setting it reminded me of the old handmade stone boundary walls which meander up gentle hills, around trees, and across fields. 

In Red, Yellow and Blue, the male craft of laying stones in complex weight bearing puzzle patterns (think of the hefty workman who constructed Andy Goldsworthy's large wall at Storm King) is replaced with the the feminine traditions of crocheting and knitting.  Instead of stone, Genger uses a thick heavy rope – 1.4 million feet for New York's incarnation – salvaged and repurposed from old fishing and lobster nets collected from working ports around the East Coast.  These nets are traditionally maintained by men.  Returning to land, fishermen would carefully untangle and dry them in the sun, artfully tying and knotting them when repairs where necessary.  In contrast, while the men were out to sea their wives and daughters would create extraordinarily delicate lace, as famously in the fishing village of Burano near Venice. 

The scale of the piece and the rope itself is massive, even macho; Genger has been called "one of the toughest makers I know" by curator Lisa Freiman, who also calls the process of building these works "an endurance performance."  So Genger's piece has some gender references woven into it that are fun to think about, although probably not her primary interest.  Red, Yellow and Blue is land art, framing and highlighting the contours of the land, shaping intimate "rooms" in large open spaces, inviting people to experience familiar environments in new ways and to interact with the sculptural forms -- to play.

The sculpture's brilliant primary colors reinforce this invitation to interact.  Red, yellow and blue are the colors of childhood, and of play, learning and imagination.  The sculpture could have sprung from the pages of Dr. Seuss; the colors remind me of my brother's Legos and one of our favorite books, the adventures of Ant and Bee. 

At the DeCordova, we were sternly forbidden to climb, sit or lie on the sculpture -- despite that the fact that the sculpture is clearly inviting us to do all of this and more: to dance along it, recline cradled in its curves, and gather with friends and strangers amongst its rootlets.  So, I was delighted to see that this is exactly what New Yorkers did in Madison Square Park, in these pictures from Orly Genger's website.  Although the DeCordova exhibit is over, its likely that you can see one of Genger's pieces somewhere, as she is becoming deservedly well known and widely shown. Check her website for current exhibits.

More information:
New York Times article
Orly Genger's website
DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum
Madison Park Conservancy
Orly Genger's installation at The Contemporary, Austin, TX

An ancient garden of the imagination: Livia's frescoed dining room in Rome

Livia's garden caught in a modern pentimento

Several years ago, I went to Palazzo Massimo, one of Rome's four National Museums.  I hadn't done any research, so I was completely unprepared to stumble upon one of the miracles of the ancient world -- a frescoed room, beautifully preserved, that was commissioned by the Empress Livia for the underground chamber that served as her dining room during hot summer months when she and her husband, the Emperor Augustus, would retire to the country to escape the oppressive heat of the city.  The walls portray an abundant garden, enchanting and botanically accurate in every way except that each plant is captured at its peak; they would never have bloomed together.  The fruits and flowers of spring, summer and fall are brought together in a scene of abundance and quiet joy; the blue background is the heart-stopping color of the sky at twilight.  The paintings have a fresh delicate quality, as if recently finished, all the more amazing given their creation date: 30-20 BC.
 
This room lay under the dirt, protected from the unfolding turmoil of hundreds of years of history, until a construction crew likewise stumbled upon it.  I imagine the backhoe dipping into the soil, opening up a curious gash in the ground; workers pointing a flashlight from above and catching a glimpse of a bird in flight, an orange hanging heavy from a branch.  Climbing down a rope to explore their discovery, realizing they should call someone, someone important, that this was not a treasure to plow over in order to finish their job. (In actuality, I must confess that it was discovered less poetically, during an 1863 excavation of Livia's "Villa of the White Hen.")

I found it shocking that I could stand in the same room where these two people – among the most powerful that ever lived, shapers of the western world – had their simple meals and imperial feasts.  My eyes could follow theirs, lingering on the same details of mark and color, enjoying the calm Arcadian idyll, and leaving behind the pressures and bustle that continued on in Rome's busy streets.  And it was somehow reassuring that even these two ruthless, ambitious, occasionally murderous schemers needed an oasis of beauty and serenity.  The first emperor of Rome (Caesar never took that title) and his third wife (third time the charm – married for more than 50 years, though according to rumor she may have poisoned him) could have anything, and they chose to create this, a magical place to recover from the endless grind of running their far flung empire.

Over the years I have told various people that they must visit this wonderful place if fortunate enough to be in Rome.  A week ago, two such people told me they had a surprise for me.  I had not seen these friends in over a year, but somehow, I instantly intuited that they had taken my advice and gone to see Livia's glorious frescoes.  "Wait until you see R's phone!" they said, and there it was, a fragment of this beloved place caught in a modern pentimento; the details of ancient painted leaves, branches and fruit shimmering through the graphics of their IPhone's elegant screen.

This encounter was the catalyst I needed to start this blog, which will hold the fruits and harvest of my own travels. 

"The scene is one of timeless and exotic fecundity; each species frozen in its own moment of glory. We are, the painting tells us, ensconced in the perpetual spring of the glorious reign of Augustus." – Agnes Crawford, Understanding Rome

Links to learn more:
Annenberg Learner, with an interactive image of one wall allowing you zoom in on details: http://www.learner.org/courses/globalart/work/286/index.html
Palazzo Massimo, near Termini in Rome: http://archeoroma.beniculturali.it/en/museums/national-roman-museum-palazzo-massimo-alle-terme
An interesting blog called Understanding Rome, where I found the quote in the caption above: http://understandingrome.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/paradise-regained-the-painted-garden-of-livia-at-palazzo-massimo/