NICHOLAS DE MONCHAUX

Aerosol—literally, “dissolved in air”—is a tricky word. It describes something subtle, yet forceful; invisible, yet bound in action. And if that language evokes Star Wars, that’s probably alright, too. For after the elaborate wires of stagecraft are digitally removed (or, in the case of the original, laboriously and manually erased), it is the apparent ability to manipulate and affect the world without physically touching it that is the most palpable evidence of the power of Lucas’s capital-f Force. And, more palpably, of the aerosol as well. Which leaves its mark with action, but without touch.

The word aerosol is relatively new. But the thing it describes is actually not. Fog, smoke, mist, and cloud are all aerosols, containing particles of soot or water so fine that they are suspended on the air itself, pillowed by the energy of countless invisible atoms of gas. Especially given the nature of the primordial earth, such diffuse atmospheres long predate our own time. And of course, from the start of storytelling, these uncertain atmospheres have been omens and instruments, surrounding oracles (as at Delphi, where Plutarch described the effect of the volcanic, “sweetest perfume” on the oracle’s trance 1) or confounding heroes (as, in the Odyssey, at the hearth of Circe2). As is usually the case, however, we only really notice something when we do it ourselves. In the case of the aerosol, we came to identify the special actions and properties of gas-borne particles when we began to control and reproduce the natural phenomena of the aerosol with our own abundant industry.

“AER-A-SOL ‘BOMB’ ”

America’s first advertised aerosol appeared almost immediately after the close of World War II. It promised its own kind of genocide, not for humans, but insects. A September 1945 Gimbels ad is representative, hawking an “aer-a-sol ‘bomb’”consisting of a 3 percent solution of DDT. “Not only murders moths, flies, roaches, mosquitos and the rest, but goes on working long hours after you use it.”3

While not a bomb in a literal sense, the bug bomb was no less military for it. The aerosol bug bomb sold by Gimbels, and many other outlets, in the months after the Second World War was, in the original sense, army surplus. Stockpiled in anticipation of a punishing war through the malarial Pacific toward the Japanese home islands, the bug bombs were rendered unnecessary by the very latest advance of science in the service of war: the nuclear bombs dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki on

Jenny Holzer et / and Lady Pink, I AM NOT FREE BECAUSE... (1983–84)

Peinture aérosol sur toile / Spray paint on canvas

231,1 × 292,1 cm Courtesy Sprüth Magers © Jenny Holzer / Adagp (Paris), 2023

Introduction To A History Of Interiority

Jenny Holzer et / and Lady Pink, I AM NOT FREE BECAUSE... (1983–84)

Peinture aérosol sur toile / Spray paint on canvas

264 × 288 cm Courtesy Sprüth Magers © Jenny Holzer / Adagp (Paris), 2023

Between the late 1970s and the early 1980s, Jenny Holzer and Lady Pink infiltrated the public space in New York to produce clandestine works: while Holzer anonymously pasted posters and put slogans on the walls of Manhattan, Lady Pink made XXL graffiti in the subway, to be seen like paintings in motion. In this way Jenny Holzer spread her Inflammatory Essays . So as to act in the public space, she drew on a wide range of reading (Mao Zedong, Lenin, Emma Goldman, Leon Trotsky, Rosa Luxemburg…) in order to form fragmentary essays comprising always 100 words in 20 lines. As though in advance of what is now being played out in social media flows, these essays contradict each other, change tones, navigate between criticism and praise, threats and intimidation. At the same time, Lady Pink was taking part in the bulimic effervescence of New York graffiti, in a milieu where this painting practice was generally dominated by men. Her imaginary weaves links between the chaos of NYC’s urban jungle and her memories of Ambato, her birthplace, at the heart of the Ecuadorian Andes. She played a leading role in Wild Style , the first hip hop motion picture directed by Charlie Ahearn in 1983. After meeting in 1982, the two artists produced together several paintings on canvas, combining texts by Jenny Holzer and often apocalyptic images by Lady Pink. An extraordinary collaboration which marked a decisive step in the transition from works created in the street and subway to the studio work.

Lady Pink, Untitled (1982) Dessin / Drawing 35 × 42,5 cm Collection particulière / Private collection

INTRODUCTION À UNE HISTOIRE DE L’INTÉRIORITÉ

Entre la fin des années 1970 et le début des années 1980, Jenny Holzer et Lady Pink se sont infiltrées dans l’espace public de New York pour y réaliser des œuvres clandestines : Holzer collant anonymement des affiches et apposant des slogans sur les murs de Manhattan, Lady Pink réalisant des graffitis XXL sur le métro envisagé comme un tableau en mouvement. Jenny Holzer diffuse ainsi ses Inflammatory Essays [Essais incendiaires]. Pour interpeller l’espace public, elle puise dans diverses lectures (Mao Zedong, Lénine, Emma Goldman, Leon Trotsky, Rosa Luxemburg…) afin d’élaborer, par fragments, des essais composés systématiquement de 100 mots et 20 lignes. Comme s’ils annonçaient avant l’heure ce qui se joue aujourd’hui dans les flux des réseaux sociaux, ces essais se contredisent, changent de ton, naviguent entre critique et louange, menaces, intimidations. À la même époque, Lady Pink participait à l’effervescence boulimique du graffiti new-yorkais, dans un milieu où cet exercice de peinture était largement dominé par des hommes. Son imaginaire tisse des liens entre le chaos de la jungle urbaine de New York et ses souvenirs d’Ambato, son lieu de naissance, au cœur des Andes équatoriennes. Elle incarne l’un des rôles principaux de Wild Style , le premier film sur le hip-hop réalisé en 1983 par Charlie Ahearn. Après s’être rencontrées en 1982, les deux artistes ont réalisé ensemble plusieurs peintures sur toile, pour lesquelles Jenny Holzer a composé des phrases et Lady Pink des images souvent apocalyptiques. Une collaboration inédite qui a marqué une étape importante dans le passage du travail de rue et du métro à celui de l’atelier.

Jenny Holzer, Inflammatory Essays (1979-1982 ; 1983) Courtesy de l’artiste /

Caley Feeney, Phases of a Dream IV (Guardian II) (2021)

Lily van der Stokker, Art by older people (design for wallpainting) (1999) ; 9 o’clock I could be wrong (design for Gobelin + furniture) p. 105

[fr] Fin des années 1990 à San Francisco. Un nouvel élan créatif underground voit le jour à Mission District, un quartier majoritairement hispanique tiraillé entre la pauvreté et le surgissement de la révolution numérique de la Silicon Valley. C’est ici qu’est née la « Mission School », réunissant Margaret Kilgallen, Barry McGee, Ruby Neri, Alicia McCarthy et Chris Johanson, autant d’artistes qui repoussaient les limites du graffiti et faisaient de la rue leur atelier. Margaret Kilgallen signait aussi ses peintures du nom de « META », ou encore de « Matokie Slaughter » (en hommage à la musicienne folk). Ex-restauratrice de livres anciens, Kilgallen était fascinée par les typographies des xve et xvie siècles, par le jaunissement des pages, par la manière dont l’encre imprègne le papier. Mixant lettrines, formes géométriques, portraits (souvent pour rendre visible les femmes dans le paysage), son travail est imprégné par une recherche du « fait main ». Mais l’apparente simplicité des images plates aux lignes claires cache un travail laborieux : « Je passe beaucoup de temps à essayer de perfectionner mon travail sur les lignes… Lorsque vous vous approchez, vous pouvez toujours voir les lignes vaciller. Et je pense que c’est là que réside la beauté. » Empruntant la route alternative tracée par Jack London, Kilgallen et sa bande envisageaient la peinture comme une écriture vagabonde, à l’image des monikers, ces dessins tracés à la craie par des hobos sur la ferraille des trains de marchandises. Margaret Kilgallen est décédée en 2001, à l’âge de 33 ans. Barry McGee lui rend hommage à travers ces photographies.

[en] The late 1990s in San Francisco. A new underground creative momentum started up in the Mission District, a mostly Hispanic neighbourhood torn between poverty and the uprising of the digital revolution in Silicon Valley. This is where the “Mission School” was born, bringing together the artists Margaret Kilgallen, Barry McGee, Ruby Neri, Alicia McCarthy and Chris Johanson, all of whom pushed back the limits of graffiti and turned the street into their studios. Margaret Kilgallen also signed her paintings as “META,” or else “Matokie Slaughter” (in homage to the folk musician). A former restorer of old books, Kilgallen was fascinated by 15th and 16th century fonts, by the yellowing of pages and by the way ink impregnates paper. By mixing initials, geometric shapes and portraits (often to make women visible in the landscape), her work was steeped in the desire to be “handmade.” But the apparent simplicity of flat images with clear lines conceals painstaking work: “I do spend a lot of time trying to perfect my line work… when you get close up, you can always see the line waver. And I think that’s where the beauty is.” By taking the alternative route traced out by Jack London, Kilgallen and her gang saw painting as vagabond writing, like monikers, those drawings chalked up by hobos on the metal sides of goods trains. Margaret Kilgallen passed in 2001, at the age of 33. Barry McGee pays homage to her in these photographs.

1999, ICA Boston (exposition / exhibition « Frieze: Wall Paintings by Franz Ackermann, John Armleder, Margeret Kilgallen, Sarah Morris, Alexander Scott ») ; milieu des années 1990 / mid-1990s , 16th & Potrero Avenue, San Francisco (encre sur bâtiment abandonné / ink on abandoned building) p. 106

2000, UCLA Hammer Museum, Los Angeles (« Hammer Projects: Margaret Kilgallen ») ; novembre 1996 / November 1996, gare de triage / trainyard, East Bay (bâton de peinture sur wagon / paint stick on boxcar) p. 107 novembre 1999 / November 1999, gare de triage / trainyard, Pope Valley, Californie / California (bâton de peinture sur wagon / paint stick on boxcar) ; mars 2000 / March 2000, Black Butte, Californie / California (Reconstruisant le moniker de Rambler / Rebuilding Rambler moniker) p. 108 mars 2000 / March 2000, gare de triage / trainyard, Black Butte, Californie / California ; 9 septembre – 9 octobre 1999 / Septembre 9 – October 9, 1999 , Deitch Projects, New York (To Friend and Foe, vue de l’installation / installation view)

Photos : Barry McGee