My only regret in taking-in the Huang Yong Ping retrospective, is that I did NOT do so before reading the November selection of The Artist’s Bookshelf, “Mr. Muo’s Travelling Couch” by Dai Sijie. The novel overlaps and intertwines with this massive, sprawling show in so many ways, and on so many levels, that I think I would have appreciated my initial reading even more had I experienced the retrospective first.

Perhaps because both artists left their native China for the West at about the same time, and eventually settled in France, their work shares an alliance with intellectual European sensibilities that challenge the status quo. Just as Huang Yong Ping pays homage to Duchamp, Dai Sijie pays homage to Kafka, managing to master that writer’s unique ability to find humor in horrifically oppressive situations.

Both Huang Yon Ping and Dai Sijie display a fascination with creepy, crawling things and play with our discomfort, as humans, in sharing our world with them.

“Gently, very gently, with the fingertip of his right hand, he stretches the skin where the poor insect is about to draw blood. Then, abruptly, he lets go, imprisoning the mosquito’s proboscis in the creases. He watches the insect retract its wings and fold itself up until it has shrunk almost to the size of a pinhead, after which, with a sudden flurry of wings, it takes off, passing Muo’s nose, and then swooping down into the void outside.”

– p. 176, “Mr. Muo’s Travelling Couch”

Likewise, both artist and writer share a fascination with traditional Chinese healing arts, and seem to relish them as much for their sensory lushness, as for any potential clinical effectiveness.

“The jar is old, the glass scratched and dull. The poultice is dark brown this time, and the smell, though no less objectionable, is far more complex, remarkable in fact for the diversity of notes: a chaotic blend of grease, opium, beeswax, incense, tree bark, roots, herbs, poisonous mushrooms, ink, ether, resin, and a hint of the dungheap.”

–p. 270

And finally, on some level, one can’t help but analyze all of these images, and search for some patterns, some deeper, underlying connection to the subconscious. With Huang Yon Ping I wonder: Why all the roulette wheels? Why the I Ching? Why all the animal imagery? And with Dai Sijie I wonder: What’s with all the trains? And the shoes? And this strange obsession with virginity?

“When he came to Freud’s commentary about a staircase in a dream, it was as if a brick had been hurled through the window and hit him in the head… he wondered whether he wasn’t by astonishing coincidence dreaming the very dreams that Freud had dreamt before him…”

–p. 11

Overheard in the Walker exhibition, House of Oracles: A Huang Yong Ping Retrospective, as crickets chirped softly in the background:

“So, what did you think of this?”

“I liked it.”

“Yeah, I liked it, too. It’s like Science Museum meets Art Museum.”

Chirp!

Education Curator Amy Herman is schooling New York’s finest to be eagle-eye detectives by teaching them to analyze scenes in Old Master paintings from the Frick Collection. Soon-to-be NYPD police captains team up and take turns describing the paintings down to the last detail. The idea behind it being that officers will be able to use these newly-sharpened observational skills to deconstruct crime scenes and identify the who, what, why, when, and where. Check out a news video clip about this new program here.

So what if we apply these new techniques to a few pieces in the Walker Art Center Collection? Here are my best attempts:

Dinos and Jake Chapman, Year Zero, 1996. Gift of Peggy and Ralph Burnet, 1996

Juvenile delinquents! These youngsters are proud and defiant, and clearly in violation of public nudity statutes. And is that their tree? Are they trespassing, too? I also have to wonder about those shoes. Why is it that these kids can’t find a stitch of clothing to put on, but they have shoes? I say bring the youngsters in on suspicion of shoplifting.

Anna Gaskell, Untitled #2 (Wonder), 1996. Clinton and Della Walker Acquisition Fund, 1998.

This scene requires immediate attention. An ambulance has to be called in now! It seems clear that the juvenile delinquents from Year Zero, in all their rowdiness, knocked Woman #1 down and she sustained a head injury. If Woman #2 hadn’t been on the scene to immediately administer CPR, this could have escalated to manslaughter. Catch those kids!

Craigie Horsfield, Klub Pod Jaszczurami, Rynek Glowny, Krakow, February, 1976, 1991. Rollwagen/Cray Research Photography Fund, 1991.

This could be where all the problems really started. A loud and rowdy party scene is in full-swing here, and it looks like everyone has been throwing back a few. If we look closely, we may be able to make out the profile of one of our Year Zero kids–like, way in the back near the upper-right corner of the image. Yeah, right there! I would bring everyone in for questioning on suspicion of getting these kids intoxicated and turning them loose to wreak havoc on trees and unsuspecting women.

It’s so clear to me now why I work in the arts and not for the NYPD.

A seemingly endless stream of fascinating ideas flowed back and forth across the 9th floor conference room during this season’s first gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf. “The Lost Flame of Queen Loana” by Umberto Eco served as the topic of our discussion, but as often happens with engaging conversations, we got side-tracked along the way into some pretty interesting territory.

Because so much of the book revolves around memory as a basis for self-identity, the group questioned the nature of human memory, and the influences of various forces, ranging from pop-culture to high-brow literature (i.e., do we become what we read???). We all agreed that these forces undoubtedly DO have an effect, but how that effect might be measured remains (to us) a mystery.

This book’s continual references and allusions to other books, as well as the protagonist being a book dealer/collector, led us to ponder the importance of books in our own lives, and how much of our own identities might actually dwell there.

We closed the session with some thoughts about the Chuck Close exhibit, and its focus on self as content. In a recent NPR interview Umberto Eco declared himself a “puzzle-maker.” We thought that might be an apt description of Mr. Close as well.