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Review of Tivon Rice at Lawrimore Project
Lawrimore Project is a major new Seattle gallery on the far southern fringes
of downtown. The gallery’s
dramatic sequence of exhibition spaces, designed by the noted Seattle
architects Lead Pencil Studio, has hosted a wide variety of cutting-edge
exhibits since the Project’s debut last summer.
The current exhibition, a series of video sculptures by recent UW
graduate Tivon Rice, is very much true to form: eye-catching, provocative,
and one-of-a-kind. Our art
critic Gary Faigin joins us to talk about this intriguing show. The most revealing piece in Tivon Rice’s spectacular
array of video-powered light displays is the smallest and the most
straightforward. A tiny, black
and white television screen sits on a shelf, its tapering glass tip wired
into hidden components. A mirror
image of the same TV tube, molded from milky white plastic, is glued onto
its front, covering the screen. Along
the rim where the two elements are joined, a tiny bit of very intense
television activity is visible. The
pulsating, sparkling edge (created by video snow) gave me the impression of
a swarm of electronic bees, buzzing in furious protest of their carefully
engineered confinement. All of the 5 installations in the Rice exhibition share
this strategy of using television screens as source of illumination rather
than information. No wonder
those swirling electronic sparks are so mad – Rice has effectively put a
bag over their digital head. Content
isn’t the point, so much as the way that content is delivered, the
intensity, rhythm, and color of the media stream.
Given the hypnotic effect that conventional television tends to have
on its viewers, Rice is turning the tables, using television not for its
considerable mesmeric power, but mostly as a source of artistic light.
Key to his enterprise is the peculiar flicker of the old cathode ray
tube, familiar to all of us as shifting nighttime radiance we see behind a
neighbor’s drawn window shades, here taking center stage. This isn’t new, of course.
James Turrell famously created a light box in which a hidden
television made the air vibrate with mysterious pulses, and Dan Flavin
explored the evocative glow of store-bought fluorescent tubes. Rice builds on the work of his erstwhile predecessors,
hiding the screen like Turrell, making industrial light spiritual, like
Flavin. But programming of his
video sources is more complex, his installations and the concepts behind
them, much more involved. Take
“Philo’s Cave”, for example, another display based on naked black and
white TV tubes covered with plastic hoods.
In the installation, five small monitors flicker on a set of vertical
wooden shelves. This time we are
invited to peek at what’s on TV, since Rice has left a small peephole at
the snout of the plastic cover. What
we see inside –barely – is a snatch of a Balinese shadow puppet play,
created and filmed by the artist.
But the puppet show is part of the subliminal message of the piece;
what we perceive once we take our eye away from the peephole aren’t
puppets and poles, but merely a chorus line of flickers, with a dark
horizontal scan line traveling across all five screens at once, again and
again, an abstract visual metronome beating time. The title of the piece can be taken on several levels.
The ‘Philo’ of “Philo’s Cave” is Philo Farnsworth, the
tormented figure at the heart of the invention of television, but the title
also refers, of course, to Plato’s Cave.
Like the cave dwellers Plato described in the Republic, we poor
viewers mistake the shadows of the puppets, transmuted by electronics, for
reality. Rice very cleverly and
engagingly suggests that rather than bring us closer to the forms of the
real, Farnsworth’s television has only pushed us further back into
Plato’s Cave, and that much further from direct experience. Other installations explore different aspects of the
way video can mediate our experience. In
the enormous front room of the gallery, specially designed for large-scale
installations and at the moment kept completely dark, Rice has mounted three
multi-faceted, six-foot plastic domes on wooden pedestals.
Each dome, its form reminiscent of close-ups of stone crystals,
covers an array of video monitors programmed to display three color channels
from the sci-fi movie “Tron”. As
the highly-modified and pixilated video clip progresses, the domes glitter
and pulse, now showing the three primary colors, then all one color, then
all another. It’s clear
something very complicated is going on, but the visual payoff isn’t quite
up to the scale and ambition of the piece. More satisfying as an experience is the equally
ambitious multiple screen installation entitled “Apotheosis”.
The piece was designed for the Project’s theatre space, a large
room with wooden bleachers specially built for media experiences.
In the current display, 44 video monitors face the bleachers, mounted
cheek-to-jowl four screens high and 11 rows across.
As we watch, shimmering pastel colors sweep in successive waves
across the lined-up TVs, the color shifts following a sequence meant to
suggest alternating natural rhythms of growth and annihilation.
To say that the shifting colors are meant to suggest the cycle of
birth and death isn’t really a stretch, since Rice has covered each
monitor with a bulbous plastic snout suggesting, especially when pink or
orange colors are active, a variety of body parts: nipple, nose, penis.
I personally imagined groping, fleshy fingers, a satisfying metaphor
for Rice’s desire for the video experience to touch the viewer in some
new, previously unattainable, fashion. Seattle is still in its early stages as a place to make and appreciate art alongside long-established centers like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, but Lawrimore Project clearly has a vision that reaches far beyond its romantically scruffy, edge-of-the-civilized-universe setting. The Project represents a potent match between a set of smart, ambitious artists, and a smart, ambitious art dealer, Scott Lawrimore. Stay tuned.
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