Last year, I studied the effect of technology on human nature in one of my classes. While I definitely don’t remember the nuances of then lectures or essays that comprised the unit, I do remember Hamlet’s Blackberry, one of the required readings. I’ll be honest, I read the 2 or 3 chapters that my peers recommended (“Read those, the rest is pretty repetitive”), and heavily skimmed the other 8 or so. But, nonetheless, what I did absorb made an impression: it got me to think about gaps.

In William Powers’ part-autobiography, part-social critique, Hamlet’s Blackberry,  Powers explains that society isn’t going down the intellectual drain because we’re all infatuated with technology. Rather, we’re doing so because we’re not attached to technology in the right ways. We text, we load the email app, we scroll, we read, ding!, we text again, maybe again, phone call!, email loading, ding!— and we’ve arrived at class. That’s the extreme, collegiate example, but there is evidence of Powers’ statement almost always at least 20 feet away. In his understanding, we are incapable of having meaningful, technological communications or interactions because we do not allow ourselves space between these interactions to reflect, make connections of our own, and even grow from them. Because we no longer consider these interactions as an activity (dial-up was definitely an activity back in the day), we don’t allow ourselves time in between them, just to be, to be with whatever we have gained from them, or simply to let our mind wander away from them to new places.

So this concept has been in my head for the past year, and I’ve grown with it. It makes me appreciate silences, and in general, the beauty of space. Mentally, and physically.

That was more or less a transition to my latest association with gaps: The Stamp Gallery’s current exhibition by Larry Cook, “Looking Black at Me.”

What Cook is saying here with his art is powerful, it’s weighty, it’s staring straight at you, the viewer (literally). And this power becomes nearly tangible because the space around it, some of which contains you as you take it in, is part of the work. I’m looking at the farthest piece from the main entrance, “Deandre, Aujena, Dougald, Henry,” right now. It is a silent 13 minute video composition of portraits of young black adults, all of which have visible tattoos. The only prompt that the young adults in the video were given was to stare into the camera as if they were looking back at those who had ever stared at them in judgment. This video is placed on two eye-level TVs, facing each other. To view, one stands in between the videos, and looks back.

There are raw, sweet moments in that piece. Physically, the significance transcends into that space between the video loops, in which the viewer is psychologically and emotionally engaged. The piece has meaning when it is seen through that space: in that gap, it is most valuable. One can walk through it, or make a round through the gallery and “see” it, but I don’t think such a viewing could serve it justice. In that light, it’s just another ding!.

Then, internally, the work requires space too. Working in the gallery, I get to absorb and reflect on the work for hours on end as desired. But the greatest reflection I have garnered from Cook’s work has come when I give his pieces my physical space, then walk away, and allow them my mental space as well. It isn’t a lesson in meditation, but maybe in seeing. Larry Cook wrote up a description of the pieces himself, and there is a stack of them at the gallery docent’s desk. I think I can speak for everyone working here that taking that paper, and maybe reading it tomorrow or next week, and then just thinking back– creating and enjoying that gap– is what it means to appreciate powerful work like this.

With that, tomorrow evening is the reception for “Looking Black at Me,” 5-8 pm in the Gallery, and Larry Cook will be there to discuss the pieces himself. Bring one and all–we’re looking forward to a bustling time. And, if you take the work in tomorrow, and then step away, come back another day, the gallery will be its usual ‘sanctuary quiet’ exactly when you need it to be.

Grace DeWitt

Larry Cook’s exhibit, Looking Black at Me, officially started this Monday, but I’ve known for awhile that I was excited to write a blog post about his show. The reason is semi-selfish, since it involves blending a couple of my favorite topics (re: the title). Nonetheless, what I have to say will relate to what Cook’s use of double consciousness, and challenging how we view black men and women. So let’s get to it then.

This semester, the classes I am taking have some heavy handed work in discussing race, whether it be socially, or legally. For instance, this morning I was attempting to read a 43 page article for my Psychology and Law class that is focusing on schemas. Basically the article says that a schema is how people group different situations, events, and people into general characteristics. If we did not have schemas, maneuvering in life would take a lot of work. So in other words, when you think of a professor’s office, you may think of books, a desk, book shelves, office chairs, etc. Perhaps, when you see fur you automatically think of a dog. This is a good thing, because now you won’t have to invent the wheel every time you experience different professor’s office, or different breeds of dogs – you still will understand the general concept. We group things to make sense of the world around us (Davis & Loftus, 2007)

Unfortunately, schemas are not all fun and games. In fact, schemas can lead to a whole mess of problems, but one that is actually relevant (I know, I know, get to the point) are schemas built around race. This is a huge problem. Basically, a schema based around race is problematic, because schemas are automatic and take in anything related to the general concept. Therefore, it is often found through research, and poignant social events, that being raised in a racist society will influence people’s schemas for different races (Davis & Loftus, 2007). Researchers Wittenbrink, Judd, and Park (1997), examined that when exposed to the color black, research participants were more likely to notice negative words, compared to when exposed to the color white they were more likely to pick out positive words in a word association activity

You do not have to think hard about a schemas, that’s why they are both great and horrible depending on the situation. Cook in his show is forcing us to challenge our own stereotypes, assumptions, and schemas. Focusing specifically on the piece, Deandre, Aujena, Douglas, Henry (two channel video, 13:00 mins. 2012), the viewer stands in between two TVs, and you are intended to look directly into the eyes of a black woman or man for a couple of moments. During this time, I found myself automatically coming up with a judgement of who this person was using the clues that I had in front of me. Yet, the longer I looked the more I could actively think about those quick judgements and ask myself if they are valid, or if I am making unnecessary assumptions. Cook’s work is allowing the viewer to set aside our lazy schemas and think hard about the issue he is presenting.

I challenge everyone to come to the opening reception Thursday September the 18th (5 pm to 8 pm), and while you’re enjoying the refreshments, take a moment to examine your prejudices, and to readjust your schemas.

Ashlyn

Citations

Davis, D. & Loftus, E. (2007). Internal and external sources of misinformation in adult witness memory. In Toglia et al., Handbook of Eyewitness Psychology (pp. 195-237

Wittenbrink, B., Judd, C. M., & Park, B.  (1997). Evidence for racial prejudice at the implicit level and its relationship with questionnaire measures. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 72,  262-274.

With the closing reception last Thursday, VOLUME (between you and me) by Maya Freelon Asante has officially left the glass confines of the Stamp Gallery. While we are all sad to see the exhibition go, it will surely go down in gallery history has the first of its kind — not only as the first installation of the Artist in Residence program, but as the only exhibition in which visitors made the art on display.

Participating in VOLUME meant something different to every guest who took part in the process. For some people, sitting down at the table to work on the tissue paper quilt was a form of meditation in itself. They were able to temporarily remove themselves from their hectic schedules and take solace in the repetitive motion of attaching piece by piece of colorful paper to the ever-growing quilt. For others, entering the gallery was a source of excitement, and they were eager to showcase their creativity by adding to the kaleidoscopic conglomerate hanging from the ceiling. They added personal flair by embellishing the quilt with abstract shapes, twisted pieces, and images of butterflies (see Carmen’s blog post for more details on this development). I also witnessed visitors who were content to simply gaze at the quilt from outside the gallery before continuing on their way.

Observing these varying reactions to the exhibition got me thinking about its title, and how the word VOLUME has several meanings as well. I have to admit that I took a cue from the artist on this idea; she had decided to post the three definitions of the word “volume” on the wall just beyond the main entrance. However, Maya gave no explanation as to why each definition relates to the exhibition. I can only assume that she wanted the gallery’s guests to interpret the relationship between the exhibition’s title and the artwork, so I will attempt to draw my own parallels. The following is my interpretation of the definition as it relates to the pieces presented. I cannot speak to the artist’s vision, but only to my own receipt of the exhibition.

The full title of this exhibition is “VOLUME (between you and me)”.

One of the definitions of “volume” is “the amount of space that a substance or object occupies, or that is enclosed within a container, especially when great.” Perhaps this definition was meant to be the most literal of the three. As the quilt and “Peace by Piece” grew, each occupied a greater amount of space. The concept seems pretty straightforward. Let’s move on to the other, more metaphorically meaty definitions.

Another definition of “volume” presented was “quantity or power or sound. Degree of loudness”. This definition makes sense in terms of the dynamic nature of the artwork. As the quilt grew, it not only became physically larger, but the number of lives it has touched increased as well. More and more people have become connected through the mutual experience of adding to VOLUME, albeit unknowingly. The “degree of loudness” of this exhibition was not in decibels, but in the potential that it had in bringing together complete strangers. Perhaps one day, two people who had both participated in quilt-making will meet and discover that they had this activity in common. Upon realizing this common experience, they may be more likely welcome to future interaction. (If this ever happens to you, I would love to hear about it!)

The last definition of “volume” that I wanted to address is “a book forming part of a work or series.” While the artwork in this exhibition did not include words, each piece of tissue paper can be viewed as a story in itself. The people who entered the gallery carried their experiences, and thus their personal stories, with them. When each person added a piece of tissue paper to the artwork, he or she left behind a little chunk of their time on earth, along with a whisper about the chain of events that led them to be in that place at that moment, placing that particular piece of tissue paper where they chose. In this fashion, volumes upon volumes of personal history were swirled around “Peace by Piece” and strung together in the quilt.

I think that in a lot of ways, this display was aptly named. I hope that you agree.

-Geena Gao