When I first experienced this piece, I was overwhelmed with respect for the artist’s ability to effectively transform a beloved American symbol — the baseball bat— into a representation of the history of exploitation and forced labor. The symbolism was so strong it sent chills down my spine. Concept has always been the most difficult aspect of art-making for me, and I am in awe of the artist's ability to make such conceptually strong, contemplative artwork. Out of all the pieces in the show, it gave me the most visceral response, and this response was further emphasized because I have mild trypophobia: although the cotton balls weren’t holes, they were arranged in a similar pattern that activated a similar, milder response.
I noticed this pole on my way to the Carnegie Museum of Art! It had so many staples in it from past posters that I’d like to imagine that it’s 5% metal. It also had a strange moldy white patch that added to the overall aged effect. Staring at this pole made me wonder if it existed 30 years ago, and if it did, was it unblemished? Will it still be there in 30 years? Will it be 10% metal by then? Will distributing information via paper posters still be an accepted convention in 30 years?
This panther elicits a sense of embarrassment within me; not for myself, but for it. Although its stance is aggressive and confrontational, it’s not growling at anything, making the scene absurd. It’s not growling at the viewer because of the positioning of the statue: so, is it growling at thin air? The ground? Although my friend whom I was with at the time says he didn't see anything embarrassing about the panther, I find the artists’ lack of forethought about the function of the sculpture within its destination embarrassing.
The panther hollow bridge area was highly resonant for me because I noticed a number of objects that reminded me of my own experiences with love and regret. The locks reminded me of the moments of absolute devotion and frivolity. It reminded me of the urge to mark the world with a symbol of love forever; however, I can’t imagine putting a lock up myself right now because the act of doing so holds too much significance for me to take it lightly. On the other hand, nearby, I noticed a pole with “IM SORRY” graffiti written on it. It had a strange resonance with the locks because while the lovers who put up the lock wanted to mark the world with their everlasting love, I imagine the person who wrote “IM SORRY” did so as a result of regret from a romantic relationship. He or she was so humiliated that he or she felt the need to display his or her regret to the world. These objects could also mean nothing: they could be the result of random and arbitrary actions that weren’t emotionally charged. Nevertheless, I can’t read any of these objects any other way because of how strongly they resonate with my own experiences.
This piece by Zach Lieberman was installed on a screen on the second floor of the Miller Gallery. He creates incredible work in the same medium that I aspire to work in: computational art. Experiencing his artwork makes me feel inadequate because despite studying Computer Science and Art, I haven't yet been able to piece together the disciplines yet. I’ve spent the first few weeks of college focusing on the disciplines separately instead. Four years may be a long time, but the rapid passage of time terrifies me. I’m worried that I’ll graduate with the same feeling of inadequacy from not having pushed the boundaries of computational art to the limit when I had the resources to.
Although Shrek Wet Ones may seem like an unworthy inclusion for this project, to me, it fulfills this specific category perfectly; it's one of the most stupid objects I’ve seen in a while, but I’m strangely fond of it because of that. When I first noticed this in Rite Aid, I thought it was incredibly dumb, so of course, I had to photograph it and send it to all my friends. I would be curious to know who on the Wet One's marketing team decided to partner up with Universal Studios and who choose the picture of Shrek looking like an awkward teenager about to bust a move at a middle school dance party. It just seems so desperately capitalistic to be marketing Universal Studios (with Shrek as the main selling point) through packaging on a completely unrelated household object, and I want to know if this tactic is actually effective.
Coming from Southern California, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the enormous amount of greenery in the ravine. It was so alive! So green! I discovered a small stairway to enter the ravine, so of course, I had to go down it. I didn’t go all the way; however, there was an old, abandoned house that the stairway was meant to lead to. I’d love to revisit the area again. One of my most memorable dreams occurred in an abandoned house, so I already associate that type of structure with my dreams. All of the plant life around me made imagine the ravine during the day as a dreamy fairy forest and the ravine during the night as a setting for a nightmarish horror movie.
Last year, I visited a Japanese goods shop that sold stuffed animals with new "stuffing technology.” Although I was a skeptic at first, their new stuffing is truly revolutionary. It feels like the stuffed animals are made of memory foam! I didn’t purchase a stuffed animal at the time because of the price; however, this past summer, my boyfriend visited me in LA and we drove an hour to return to the store specifically to buy these stuffed animals. I purchased a cat, and he purchased the stuffed animal depicted to the right. For lack of a more appropriate name, it’s been named “Squishy.” He keeps it at his apartment in Boston.
This piece uses fragmented, colorful depictions of body parts to reconstruct an alternative image of African American men. I personally love the idea of employing aesthetic beauty to challenge the viewer’s stereotypes. His work is visually appealing, but through that appeal, he is aiming to shift the very way that society views African American men. Jones asserts that African American men can be effervescent, much like the colors used in the sculpture.
I’ve had a plethora of unpleasant experiences that occur when I listen to my inner child and try to fit into structures only meant for children. Engineered for children specifically or not, this structure both reminds me of those experiences. It looks inviting at first, but a closer inspection reveals all the pitfalls of the sculpture. Once one enters the worm, he or she cannot retreat unless he or she is small enough to turn around. The small windows provide light, but no exit to safety. The whole sculpture screams “trap,” although on its description provided by the museum it is lauded as the first of its kind in the US after being massively popular in Switzerland.