This evening the artist will be interviewed by another curator. More words to weave through and around the work and her practice, more meaning to dig into, more to uncover and understand.
But will they talk of beauty? That’s what drew me to her work in the first place, the drop-dead gorgeousness of it all. Surface and material, color and texture, the space it demands. That’s what I need to convey: how artwork can carry complex and intellectual meaning but also be beautiful.
I was lucky to attend a gallery talk by the artist and was struck by how connected I felt to the work. Raja’s use of visual language is powerful. She is able to take feelings of dislocation and loss, global experiences of violence and vulnerability, or personal practice, and transform them into visual experiences that are not only comprehensible, but also incredibly beautiful.
It is a difficult balance to achieve, I think, this equilibrium between content and aesthetics. I’m not even sure these are the best terms to describe what I’m trying to say. The meaning that many artists strive to convey can be masked or obscured by the visual experience. For works to convey meaning, it can be helpful to invite the viewer in somehow, to make them feel–if not welcome, then at least interested. Beautiful work may not always be complex, but it can whack you over the head. That’s what I am interested in. Raja’s work smacks hard. Double-whammy.
So that’s what I’m working on now. Trying to find the words, finalize the checklist, and develop the gallery layout for a group of works that will convey some powerful meaning in glorious ways. The exhibition opens in Madison at the end of August 2024.
“I remove such stuff as could make visible the remainder as armature of a different value.”
Buzz Spector
Not objects as an end, but objects as jumping off points. It is the spark that is interesting, and the process, not necessarily the conclusion. Because the objects don’t really end, they just stop and offer up a waiting area for what’s next. Like a train platform, or a cliff ready for a hang-glider.
A man in the otherwise empty, serenely quiet gallery interrupted my looking, my thinking. He asked me, “Do you think the art is about the content of the books? Do you think the artist is interested in what the books are about?” Maybe this man has my usual approach in museums and doesn’t read labels. I told him to read the labels.
(OK, that’s not all I said to him. I was balancing the frustration of being interrupted by a man as I looked and thought. Did I appear to be doing nothing? As a woman, did I seem to be waiting for a man? Someone to ask me to help him out of his confusion? But then I realized this is something I’m actually good at, something I happen to enjoy: talking with people about art in galleries. And although my thoughts were nowhere near shaped yet, I stepped out of my head and entered into a conversation).
“Buzz Spector: Reading Matter,” installation view
At that stage of still standing on the shore, of not having really waded into the work yet, I gave this man some guideposts. I said yes, I think the artist knows what is in the books. And not only that, but I think he loves books. A lot of his work deals with books or their composite parts: paper, binding, words, communication. And I did suggest the man read the labels, because they are really helpful in providing, you know, context.
Books and their context: paper, words, photos of books, frozen books, books as building blocks, books deconstructed or altered (and pencils, but that’s a different post). And what books? Well, you can’t know just by looking, for most of them anyway. They are pictured with titled spines turned away, their pages are missing, or they are actually invisible, buried and unknowable within multiple stacks.
This is where the labels help in showing the bigger picture, explaining how the books and paper are not alone, they do not exist here as isolated objects. They are each physical (or pictured) items within extensive, interconnecting webs, which the labels themselves are part of.
The labels explain that an individual book, pictured or altered, can be part of a collection or refer to another artist’s work. Torn paper is just one element in an on-going conversation, across time and distance, and even academic discipline. The title might be funny or sly to those in the know. But for all of us who are not academics, or not-so-well-read-in-the-classics? A book whose pages have been carefully torn and reduced to beautifully feathery but illegible shapes becomes a decision point: is the vagueness of meaning acceptable enough (am I contented), or am I intrigued enough to put in some effort and find out who the fuck Actaeon is? The missing parts expose the curiosity of the viewer, who becomes part of the context. No longer just looking, they’re involved now, with thinking, with seeing; they are connected and the web is extended even further.
The content of the books is very important to Spector, but it’s not the primary focus of his work. He doesn’t, for example, make images that refer directly to the stories or arguments presented in the books. Instead, he removes the text, rendering the book unreadable. In tearing away the content, the structure of the book is revealed, exposing its utter strangeness. The loss of the text is shocking, but it is a void that brings the function of the book into the spotlight. If it can’t be read, what is this paper thing that usually communicates ideas across time and space?
Words connect people, and books for Spector are (maybe) just one form of something that holds words. Without their words, books are no longer disguised by a purported use and can be seen more generally for what they are: containers. It is not the words themselves that are important, but rather the ideas and connections that are carried and supported by those texts. Once consumed, the words become thoughts that can be shared and changed and expanded. And once pages are torn away, books are freed to become something else: beyond narrative or explicative repositories they are now unknown objects, mysteries for strangers to ponder, together or alone, in a quiet gallery.
The altered books challenge us to connect and question, to learn, or decide not to. Together we not only replace what is missing, but we expand upon the loss by exploring the books beyond their physical forms. From the muted, missing books we leap, get lost, maybe find help, and (stacking things, tearing things up), we connect and create.
“Buzz Spector: Reading Matter,” is on view at the Rockford Art Museum from February 4–May 29, 2022.
Neurotribes, Steve Silberman’s 2015 look into the history of autism, weaves together science, publishing, politics, and personal experiences. Included are devastating explorations of lives spent institutionalized, of tortured treatments delivered by jaded clinicians or attendants, and promising interventions lost to political favor. But there are also essential stories of caring, dedicated researchers and parents who pushed for better support for their patients, their children, and themselves.
Most importantly, Silberman emphasizes the voices of autistics, describing how the involvement of people directly affected by the research enabled the creation of networks for support and advocacy. He describes how, more recently, the internet has proven to be an important space for autistics. This is easy to discover with simple searching. More than a communication tool, social media and the web are venues for connection and learning, paths to creating community, even spaces for building self-sufficiency.
Neurodiversity is a big concept. The idea that brains function differently is not earth-shattering, but recognizing that those differences can be productive? That’s transformative. The book demonstrates that with appropriate understanding, societal limitations placed on autistics can be reduced. In learning about how diagnostic criteria were changed over the last 30 years, I wonder how legislation can catch up to enable better support. Where are improvements possible that will help research, and people, thrive?
If everyone thinks in the same way, if we all have the same perspective, we will never see anything anew. Answers exist for the question of how to create more paths in the workplace:
Our research suggests that a small number of systemic changes — targeted recruitment, mentoring programs, open skill and management training, and diversity task forces — can lead to significant and persistent increases in workforce diversity and opportunity.
Companies Need to Think Bigger Than Diversity Training by Alexandra Kalev and Frank Dobbin
But existing diversity efforts can expand these solutions: they could grow to include a wider range of the forms that human intelligence takes. Can a DE&I program really be effective without considering neurological difference? Some consultants and businesses are starting to get this:
“Neurodiversity programs induce companies and their leaders to adopt a style of management that emphasizes placing each person in a context that maximizes her or his contributions.”
Neurodiversity as a Competitive Advantage by Robert D. Austin and Gary P. Pisano
With work from home and online communication tools, the pandemic has already forced a reimagining of workspaces. Maybe it’s time to build on this change, to push the boundaries of these newly acceptable spaces and acknowledge how much improved the work from home environment is for neurodiverse workers (who else never wants to return to an open plan workspace?). When work from home is such a revelation, it’s obvious that there is more change needed to make workspaces more inclusive for all.
This is where autistic thinking can be powerful. Brains that can easily connect unrelated concepts might lead to innovative solutions. If autistics can feel comfortable with both bicycling and motorcycling, aspects of these activities–at least one of which has been found to reduce stress and increase focus and attention–may lend a lot to the workplace. For example, finding comfort in surroundings (sound, light, smells), the freedom to wear clothing that meets personal requirements (touch, not irritating), the chance to focus without interruption, or pursuing shared interests but having the ability to avoid face-to-face interaction, all may seem to be minor needs, but having options like these can actually have a huge impact on individual productivity.
In the conclusion of the book, Silberman defines a worthy goal:
The process of building a world suited to the needs and special abilities of all kinds of minds is just starting…
The problem at hand is how to support each other and help each of us get to, well, brilliant:
As Steve Silberman says, we can’t afford to waste a brain.
Ann Sinfield: Projects 