Doug Aitken: Electric Earth

Aitken's exhibit "Electric Earth" is currently on view at The Geffen Contemporary at MOCA. His photos, videos, sculptures, and collages represent the image-centric society we live in today. The exhibit is an immersive experience, as you walk from one dark room to the next you are drawn in by the moving images and bursts of bright light. Often times you find yourself placed within the art, viewing it along with the strangers beside you.  For example, your reflection becomes part of the visual experience of "Black Mirror". As you look up at the various videos you are confronted by your own appearance repeated throughout the patterns of mirrors. This exhibit challenges the way one normally views art while pushing the boundaries of what an art experience can create. 

A Lot of Sorrow by Ragnar Kjartansson

When I was in Copenhagen I stumbled upon a video exhibition by artist Ragnar Kjartansson at the Copenhagen Contemporary. Kjartansson recorded the band The National sing their popular song, "Sorrow" for six hours straight. It was an exploration of human resilience. Could the band perform this raw and triggering song for that extended duration of time?

I walked in at an interesting time in the video. The band was almost at the end of the six hours and they looked both physically and emotionally exhausted. I was able to see them perform the song for the last time and rejoice along with their live audience and friends and family. But I decided to stay put in order to watch the video restart. I saw them set up the stage and perform the song for the very first time. Their voices sounded stronger, there was more enthusiasm, but the words they were singing held significantly less weight. The band didn't seem as moved by what they were saying. I think by the end of the six hours they had been consumed by the melancholy lyrics and it completely transformed their performance. They were forced to confront the lyrics head on and the emotion became part of the performance in a way that was kind of unsettling.

I left wondering what would happen if you forced a band that sang uplifting songs to perform for six hours straight? Would it have the same effect? Would they be overwhelmed by happiness? 

The Tellus Panel, Ara Pacis, 13-9 BCE, Rome

The Tellus panel is part of the Ara Pacis from 13-9 BCE. The Ara Pacis sits in a large room with glass walls so that natural light shines in from every angle. The monument was erected to celebrate peace so it makes sense that it sits in a quiet, tranquil haven in the middle of Rome. I remember being so struck by the way the light changed as the sun began to set and it reflected off the white marble of the Ara Pacis. 

The Tellus Panel specifically focuses on the figure of a woman thought to be the allegory for Mother Nature. It depicts a mother earth figure surrounded by nature and life, holding two children who are sucking on her breasts. This scene has also been interpreted as a personification of Rome, with the mother symbolizing the wolf and the two babies symbolizing Romulus and Remus suckling the milk. Regardless of the interpretation, we see a curvy figured woman with flowing robes and a headscarf surrounded by all forms of life - plants, animals, children. There are no real specific characteristics to her; it’s easy to imagine any Roman matron of the time might have looked like her. This concept of familiarity adds to the greater allegorical meaning of the panel. The figure is supposed to represent something larger than herself, something like Mother Nature or the entire city of Rome. 

Stefano Maderno, Santa Cecilia, 1600, marble, Santa Cecilia Church in Trastevere, Rome

I had never learned about nor seen Stefano Maderno's Santa Cecilia so I really had no expectations as I entered the Santa Cecilia church in Trastevere. My immediate reaction was about her size - she was so small and frail I thought she couldn't possibly be life size. She seemed so dainty to me, I was overcome with the desire to help her. I also felt like I was somehow being intrusive, like I was walking into something I wasn't allowed to see. The sculpture represents her most poignant moment of suffering and I felt like nobody should see her go through that. The fact that her back was towards us and we couldn't see her face also added to my feeling of intrusion. She wasn't aware of my presence and that made me uncomfortable. In terms of style, it's clear to me that Maderno was influenced by the Mannerist movement of the time. The twisting, turning, elongated scarf around her head is reminiscent of Mannerist paintings as well as the exaggerated hips and stretched out toes. Although the sculpture initially made me feel uncomfortable, after thinking about it for a number of days, I've grown to really love it. I think the small size of the sculpture draws you in and makes you look a little longer. The details in her hand, the gash on her neck, and her robes are so immaculate and graceful. I feel like even though she's on her deathbed she's still able to find a moment of peace.