Volume 4, Issue 2 by The Bridge TCD

ART, ARCHITECTURE, DESIGN | IN FOCUS

VOL. IV ISS. II

THE BRIDGE

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The Irish Art Research Centre (TRIARC for short) 2

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THE BRIDGE ON DIVERSITY VOLUME IV ISSUE II

REGULARS 4

What’s On in Dublin

From the Editor

Gallery Focus

Books for procrastination

Exhibition Focus

FEATURES 7

Wendy Red Star The process of decolonising photography sounds like a big task, but for Wendy Red Star it is at once witty, inquisitive, and unsettling.

Red blocks in the sky The controversial architectural style that has divided critics has empowered indigenous architects to take back control of their cities.

Nano Reid Reid’s non-traditonal traditional art is still innovative to this day.

Living as resistance Felix Nussbaum’s watercolours give a unique insight into the devastating effects of the Holocaust on German communities.

COMMENT 14

The male chaperone Female artists frequently find themselves in the shadows of their male counterparts and the art world does nothing.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Stacey Wrenn PRO Muireann Walsh COPYEDITORS Sebastian Strohmayer, Laura Thomas

The problems of ‘outsider art’

Wildfire’s Hidden Figures

The normalisation of this category of art comes at too great a cost to allow it to continue. True intersectionality allows for the judgement of art based on its own merits, rather than who it is associated with.

CONTRIBUTORS Ciara Kummert, Lucie Rondeau de Noyer, Giordan Castellon, Alexandra Day, Hannah Rieger, Maia Mathieu, Weronika Kocurkiewicz, Charlotte Lee LAYOUT Stacey Wrenn

WHAT’S ON IN DUBLIN With exams fast approaching here are the exhibitons that you should prioritise for your ‘quick break’ from the library. Ciara Kummert

Douglas Hyde Gallery Tamara Henderson: Seasons End: More Than Suitcases This multi-media exhibition transforms everyday objects into the otherworldly. As her first solo exhibition in Ireland, this gathering of a large body of work is described by the gallery as showing the “vessels of communication between different states of conscious and unconscious”. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 27 October – 31 January 2018

Project Arts Centre Agnieszka Polska: Softly Spoken Her first solo exhibtion in Ireland sees her addressing, through video art, the mechanisms of visual perception and its interplay with language, touching upon urgencies such as environmental catastrophe, the rise of nationalistic sentiments, and also on the individual and their social responsibility. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 19 April - 16 June 2018

IMMA The Hugh Lane Amanda Dunsmore: Keeper The exhibition marks 20-years since the Belfast/ Good Friday agreement. Dunsmore looks at social and political issues in Northern Ireland in 1998. Videos and portraits of those involved with the agreement are presented in the exhibition. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 10 April – 22 July 2018

Chester Beatty Sacred Traditions Illuminated manuscripts, scared texts and miniature paintings are included in the CBL collection. Religious books from Christianity, Buddhism and Islam are presented as well as those of Jainism, Sikhism, Confucianism and Daoism. Qur’an manuscripts and scrolls make up a vital part of the exhibition. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. Permanent exhibition

William Crozier: The edge of the landscape Work by the Scottish-born, Irish artist William Crozier is shown. The exhibition presents work from both the landscape near his west-cork home and also paintings inspired by the Existentialist movement and the postwar period. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 13 October 2017 – 8 April 2018 Frank Bowling: Mappa Mundi This exhibition is a stunning overview of the work of seminal British artist Frank Bowling. Through his ‘map’ paintings Bowling addresses issues of history and migration - like the mass movements of people, from colonial slaves through the ‘Middle Passage’ from Africa to South America, to socio-economic motivated migration. His work on geographic and human movement has special relevance in our time. Tuesdays are free. Wednesday to Sunday is €5 concession for students. 24 March 2018 – 8 July 2018

SPRING 2017/18 ‘Paradise Lost’, Emil Nolde, 1921

▼ SPOTLIGHT ON There are a number of public talks in Dublin at the moment, but this series in particular stands out as it addresses the problematic future of architecture and urban planning.

Kerlin Gallery Jan Pleitner: Helios In Pleitner’s second show at the gallery he occupies the entriety of th espace - floor included. creating threedimensional forms and objects to ground his cosmic impulses. He uses the term ‘sci-fi expressionism’ to describe his work, and nothing else captures it as well. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 20 October – 26 November 2017

National Gallery of Ireland Emil Nolde: Colour is Life A collaboration between the NGI and the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art showcases works by the German expressionist artist, Emil Nolde. Paintings, drawings, woodcuts and etchings vibrantly depict people, creatures and scenes of city café culture. Entrance is €5 for students. Pre-booking required. 14 February – 10 June 2018

Temple Bar Gallery and Studios The time-travelling circus: The recent return of Pablo Fanque and the Electrolier British artist Katrina Palmer uses storytelling as a means through sculptural forms. Palmer’s work encourages the audience to use their imagination in the exploration of narrative, as objects are indicated but not fully formed. Auditory means, publications and found objects are presented to the viewer. Entrance is free. No pre-booking required. 23 February – 21 April 2018

FROM THE EDITOR FROM GRAND CANAL TO DOHA We need to reclaim architecture from it’s twisted state at the hands of the neoliberal elite. Stacey Wrenn Rern Koolhaas, one of the most renowned urbanists or our time, once said: “Architecture is a dangerous mix of power and importance”, and this statement is as relevant now as it was when discussing buildings of the past. From Grand Canal to Doha, gigantic mounds of glass and steel are appearing at an alarming rate in our neighbourhoods. The developers behind these ‘quarters’ and ‘districts’ mask reality by using buzzwords like ‘regeneration’ instead of ‘gentrification’, ‘development’ instead of ‘destruction’. These projects consist of nothing but benefits for the few and exclusion for the rest, and are prime examples of how classism and racism continue to be live issues in our society. Working class and migrant communities are the most affected by the increased privatisation of our land, being priced out and forced to live in commuter belts - damned to hours on an underfunded public transport system.

that when walking through the city on a Saturday morning. Dame Street Plaza, aka the front of Central Bank where grassroots activists and young emos mingle on a regular basis, is privately owned. In 2012, photographer Eilis Murphy was accosted by security staff whilst walking through the docklands of the IFSC for taking photographs of private property. The extent of the control that these corporate bodies have over freedom of information and expression is constantly increasing - the neoliberal image is so precious to them that they will literally limit it’s exposure to publications and press releases where they have the final say.

“ The developers behind these ‘quarters’ and ‘districts’ mask reality by using buzzwords like ‘regeneration’ instead of ‘gentrification’, ‘development’ instead of ‘destruction’.

Despite these limitations, artists are standing up and fighting back. In July 2017, Kerry Guinan created an exhibition for A4 Sounds studio in response to Dublin City Council’s attempt to create a designated ‘cultural quarter’ in Parnell Square. This was after numerous failed past ‘cultural quarter’ initiatives such as Temple Bar and Smithfield Square, with the positions that former and current residents were placed in testifying to the dangerous outcomes of these initiatives – rising rents, the closure of independent art spaces and sole trader businesses, replaced by international coffee chains and expensive supermarkets. We can often be easily transfixed by what we perceive to be architectural wonders with their award winning designs, without taking into consideration the long term impact of their introduction into the urban landscape. In a country with a usually quite restrictive planning permission process, any attempt at a high-rise building can be awe inspiring to the passer by in comparison to the humble Irish bungalow.

But when it comes to the planning process of these projects, ordinary people are duped into thinking that they are included in this grand scheme. In the built-up areas radiating from the quays of the Liffey, what often appears to be a public park or footpath is actually private property. The ground that you walk on has a ‘™’ on it -- consider

We must not get distracted like a congregation of magpies, the shine of millions of euro in government and EU funding should not go by unchallenged. We must reclaim architecture as a fundamental force for good, rather than letting it be utilised by the neoliberal elite to propagandise their authority and control the population under the guise of ‘community works’. Token gestures are not enough. We should build homes, hospitals, and decent infrastructure - genuinely public spaces. We should not have to have this discussion again in fifty years’ time. We cannot continue to let people’s lives be uprooted for the sake of a glossy tourism advert.

Wendy Red Star The process of decolonising photography sounds like a big task, but for Wendy Red Star it is at once witty, inquisitive, and unsettling. Weronika Kocurkiewicz While scrolling aimlessly through my Instagram feed, I came across an image of a Native American woman set in an artificial ‘natural’ setting, full of vivid colours with cardboard animals and fake flowers arranged against a huge photograph of an ideal landscape. The work called Spring (2006) is part of the Four Seasons series by Wendy Red Star, a Native American contemporary artist whose work is influenced by both the Crow Indian tribe in which she grew up, and Indian culture as seen from historic photographs. What is striking about this particular work, is that it was intended to mock our perception of the Native American culture which is largely shaped by Hollywood films. This example shows the dilemma of the appreciation of ethnic minorities in the art world today. The glorification of art of the Western culture is omnipresent and artists such as Wendy Red Star are an exception. ‘Spring’ is an epitome of the romanticised view that nonethnic viewer might associate with Hollywood films. It is disappointing how we are exposed to this stereotypical image and yet know so little about the true art of Native Americans. However, Red Star is trying to abolish this stereotype by promoting her Crow identity, particularly through presentation of traditional regalia. Her works can also be identified as feminist as she is celebrating the women of her tribe. As a Native female artist, Wendy Red Star is giving voice to Native women. An example of this is another work titled ‘Grandmothers - I Come As One, I Stand As Ten Thousand’ which presents twenty portraits of Crow women taken by Cree Photographer Richard Throssel printed on a mirror

‘Spring’ from ‘Four Seasons’ by Wendy Red Star, 2006

“ The glorification of art of the Western culture is omnipresent and artists such as Wendy Red Star are an exception.

which cleverly incorporates the viewer into the portrait while looking at it. In this way, the viewer is allowed space to identify with the figure depicted, by standing shoulder to shoulder with the Crow woman. In addition, Wendy Red Star found social media, especially Instagram, as a great means of expressing her art. She stated in an interview for Paper magazine that for her, it is a “miniature gallery” where she can present herself freely. Fascinated by the concept of a hashtag, she created #apsáalookefeminist (a worthwhile one to follow), to celebrate feminism and the Crow identity and aesthetic as seen through her eyes. Red Star sees a slow appreciation of contemporary Native American art in the wider art world, and claims that the lack of diversity in the collections is so evident that American curators are seeking more ethnic artists to exhibit their works to provide “the voice” which has been lacking in many museum collections. In short, Red Star’s parody of stereotypical perceptions of Indian culture shines a light on the lack of knowledge and appreciation of nonWestern cultures in the artistic sphere, and in turn, inspiring her to promote her own identity as a Native American.

‘Apsáalooke Feminist #2’ by Wendy Red Star, 2017

Red blocks in the sky The controversial architectural style that has divided critics has empowered indigenous architects to take back control of their cities. Giordan Castellon ‘Cholet’ (not to be confused with the French town) is an ugly word, and Freddy Mamani, the inspiring mind behind the bright neo-Andean superstructures that have started to spread across El Alto, which the term refers to, dislikes the word, too. Supposedly an amalgamation between ‘chalet’ and ‘cholo,’ (a word used to describe indigenous people, often carrying a disparaging tone) the term has stuck, as tends to be the case with short and snappy words. Not only is it ugly, but wildly inaccurate, too. Cholets, for the most part, bear no physical resemblance to chalets. They are modern, brimming with colour, and stand tall like skyscrapers overlooking the Bolivian Altiplano. Most likely, it’s the racial undertones of the term that have been the biggest pull-factor for its adoption. After all, it is Bolivia’s burgeoning, indigenous middle and upper classes that have been providing Mamani (himself of indigenous descent) with the necessary financial backing to build cholets in the first place, the significance of which should not be understated. Cholets are more than just bright and quirky buildings, they are yet another page in a chapter that started being written in Bolivian history when Evo Morales was elected president in 2006. They are an attempt to reclaim and rehabilitate a suppressed culture and identity, reborn as a result of the social and economic prosperity brought about by the Morales administration. They are also a repudiation of an unquestioned Eurocentric sentiment, harking back to colonial times, that has tacitly clouded Bolivia’s collective conscience and sense of direction ever since. Like many countries, Bolivia is home to a deeply unequal society.

However, to understand this is not simply a matter of acknowledging that it is populated by both rich and poor citizens; further consideration of the interplay between race and colonial violence is required if we intend on sourcing the root of this inequality. When the Spanish empire invaded and colonised large swathes of South America in the 16th Century, it stole great riches but also enshrined a caste system deep into the fabric of society. While Spain was taking vast amounts of stolen gold and diamonds back to Europe, it was bringing thousands of men, women, and children from Africa to South American shores, many of whom went on to die in the course of the torturous journey, or while working in mines after failing to acclimatise to the poor high-altitude conditions. Under Spanish rule, indigenous and African people alike were enslaved, and their cultures were repressed and replaced by the cultural norms of their colonisers. In the social hierarchy that stood on what was to become the plurinational state of Bolivia, white, supposedly civilised Europeans stood at the top, while supposedly barbarous indigenous and African peoples were placed at the bottom. The children of those who transcended this barrier nowadays referred to as mestizos and mulatos, stood ambiguously in between. The political and cultural impact can be felt to this day. Since its independence in 1825, it took 181 years for Bolivia to elect Evo

Morales as its very first president of indigenous descent - this being despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of Bolivia’s population is indigenous. On another level, to walk through the roads of Oruro, and to compare that experience with walking through the roads of Valencia is not dissimilar, only in that the state of Oruro’s architectural structures is much more dilapidated. Of course, this extends beyond Spain alone. A great deal of Bolivia’s churches, houses, and gardened plazas have a distinctly continental European feel to them. This hopefully paints a clearer picture of the world that Mamani was raised in. When reminiscing about his beginnings, Mamani recounts his humble background, and the struggle of making the choice to study civil

“ They are a repudiation of an unquestioned ...

Eurocentric sentiment, harking back to colonial times, that has tacitly clouded Bolivia’s collective conscience and sense of direction ever since. Below: Freddy Mamani.

Left and below: Freddy Mamani designs.

engineering at UMSA, all while his family and Bolivian society, failed to recognize a place for an indigenous person in a classroom, nevermind at university. Not uncommon to the indigenous experience in Bolivia, he became alienated with the fact that there was a certain, accepted and unquestioned way about doing things that provided little if any space for creativity and expression. He didn’t see himself, or much of Bolivia’s rich cultural history in the ideas that were taught. In an interview with El Deber, Mamani recounts a journey he took to Tiwanaku, and how upon his return he started thinking that buildings should be constructed that demonstrate our millennial culture, particularly those with Andean structures, with the colours of the Aguayo. He suggested this to the owner of a plot of land at the time, and the proposal was accepted. They built the first building and painted it green, because, as Mamani recalls thinking at the time, in El Alto, there aren’t many trees, and he wanted to give the city some colour. Following on from that, Mamani’s popularity soared. It’s notable that Mamani lacks any formal architectural training. He draws his designs by hand and develops his ideas through dialogue. He neither owns nor uses computers and office space to develop his work; Mamani is self-taught, and draws inspiration from his ancestral background, incorporating the colours, designs, and patterns of the Andean cross, the poncho, and Aguayo, to name a few, handed down from the Tiwanaco and Aymaran culture. Above all, Mamani cares little for breaking architectural and structural conventions. To him, this is about representation and pride, and about instilling confidence in authentic Bolivian self-expression. Beyond this, Mamani’s Cholets, in bringing our cultural heritage to the fore, simultaneously allow us to look ahead to the future, and,

coupled with a little imagination and ambition, they have the potential to pave the way for solutions to the collective challenges that we face.

“ Mamani lacks any formal architectural

training. He draws his designs by hand and develops his ideas through dialogue. He neither owns nor uses computers and office space to develop his work;

At present, cholets are only accessible to the rich, who build them with the intention of living in them and using them for the most part to host expensive parties and banquets. With the TIPNIS scandal fresh on Bolivian minds’, the issue of oil extraction and climate change are topics that need to be explored. It is not difficult to see Cholets being used to harness solar energy for public consumption, especially given the favourable conditions in places like El Alto, where the high-altitude results in highly potent sun rays. Furthermore, it is no secret that the rate at which El Alto’s population is growing has resulted in overpopulation and high levels of congestion. Cholets, if used to house citizens could help to alleviate this. The matter of overpopulation relates to El Alto’s cultural practices, too. El 16 de Julio, famous for being perhaps one of the largest markets hosted in South America, has struggled to cope with a rise in attendance and demand as a result of overpopulation. Crime is on the rise, and public hygiene has suffered. Citizens may need the Mercado model – the thought of a Mercado being established within a cholet would not necessarily be a bad idea and could be a possible avenue to futureproof the concept. Of course, the reaction to Mamani’s work has not been entirely positive. The President of the College of Architecture in Bolivia, Rim Safar, as one of the more vociferous critics of cholets, argued that cholets don’t express an ethnic Andean cultural identity – they are merely a ploy by the newly-rich, who ostentatiously call out to us from the top of their cholets saying “I’m a proud cholo. Before, I had no money, but look at me now.”

Nano Reid Reid’s non-traditonal traditional art is still innovative to this day. Alexandra Day Nano Reid (born Anne Margaret Reid) was an Irish artist who worked throughout the twentieth century. Born in Drogheda, Co. Louth in 1900 or 1905 (depending on which sources you believe) Reid was best known for presenting typically ‘Irish’ subject matter in an idiosyncratic, abstracted style. A theme to which she consistently returned throughout her career was her birthplace and its surroundings, in particular, the ancient Boyne Valley. Despite this, Reid often, though sometimes unfairly, bemoaned the fact that being born in Drogheda did not afford her greater artistic recognition and that the local population had very little interest in painting and the arts. Furthermore, Reid criticised what she perceived as provincial indifference to the local historic sites of Knowth and Dowth. Her career did not follow a straight trajectory. After moving between Paris and London from the late 1920s to the early 1930s, she returned to Ireland for good. Reid initially had ambitions of becoming a society portrait painter but her sharp, unapologetic temperament and style did not readily encourage clientele. Her earlier career was influenced by continental European trends, such as expressionism and ‘heroic’ cubism, as well as her training under Irish artists Seán Keating and Harry Clarke. However, by the 1940s Reid had developed a distinctive artistic voice. She utilised a totally subjective style of design, recognisable for its muted colour palette and bold linear treatment. Reid usually approached space in a non-naturalistic way, keeping the compositions of her works highly compartmentalised with little sense of depth. It has been suggested that this stems from study of the carvings at the Boyne Valley, though this seems like something of a hopeful reach, particularly when such practices were already so deeply associated with European movements. Over time her works became increasingly abstracted,

featuring matter.

symbolic

subject

Visibly influenced by the expressionist movement, ‘View of Drogheda’ (c.1920s) is one of Reid’s earliest works depicting her hometown. It captures a view from a window onto the town in a loose, painterly style. The light, tapering brush strokes, combined with Reid’s deft use of pale watercolours evokes a bright, breezy day. Additionally, the simple, linear treatment of the paintbrushes and cup in the foreground, as well as the birds and church tower in the background creates great immediacy, suggesting that the work was made on the spot. ‘View of Drogheda’ enables viewers to see the town through Reid’s eyes.

“ Reid was best known for presenting typically ‘Irish’ subject matter in an idiosyncratic, abstracted style

A work in which Reid explores the possibilities of a ‘traditional’ Irish subject through a distinctly ‘modern’ lens is ‘Seanchai’ (1944). The painting depicts a seanchaí (a storytellerhistorian) in typical ‘Irish’ costume. However, Reid approaches the subject with her distinct linear style and shadowy colour palette. A small green cat peers out from beside the man’s feet, allowing the image a sense of wit. The sleeve of the figure’s jacket and hat are defined by broad black lines, interrupting the obscured background and giving the central seanchaí a strong presence. The lightest tones of the work are concentrated on this figure, which further draws viewers to him. We immediately feel engaged in the storytelling of the seanchaí, as though we were sitting on the ground opposite him. ‘The Struggle’ (1962) is one of Reid’s later works, exhibiting a much more abstracted style and vagueness of subject than her previous works. It has been suggested that this piece may be inspired by the Irish myth Táin Bó Cúailnege, a tale centred around a legendary cattle raid. This is the argument proposed by those who discern a figure wrestling a bull from the composition. The urgency of the brush

‘The Struggle’ by Nano Reid, 1944 strokes and flattened forms create dynamism in the work. The central ‘figures’ are treated with strong lines while the rest of the composition is dominated by swirling motifs, demarcating where the ‘action’ of the painting occurs. The limited colour palette and immediacy of technique enables Reid to illustrate the story in an authoritative and unmistakable voice. When Nano Reid was selected to represent Ireland (along with Norah McGuinness) in the 1950 Venice Biennale, Italian critics expressed surprise at the fact she was a woman, such was the ‘power’ of her work. Her reticence to ‘explain’ her art meant that Reid was frequently misunderstood at home. Furthermore, she has posthumously come to be viewed almost exclusively as a foil to Belfast-born Gerard Dillon. This was exemplified in the 2009 Highlanes Gallery Nano Reid and Gerard Dillon exhibition, which narrated her work almost exclusively in terms of its ability to bolster Dillon’s work. Another narrative which has emerged discusses Reid’s work as little more than a billboard for Drogheda and the surrounding countryside. It is time we value this woman’s work for its individual merit and appreciate the determination with which Reid went about pursuing a career as an artist on her own terms.

Living as resistance Felix Nussbaum’s watercolours give a unique insight into the devastating effects of the Holocaust on German communities. Hannah Yael Rieger The Jewish artist Felix Nussbaum was born in 1904 in Germany to Philip Nussbaum, a proud German patriot, and his wife Rahel. He received a prestigious scholarship for the Villa Massimo, an extension of the Berlin Academy of the Arts in Rome, where he studied with a small group of German students from October 1932 until April 1933. Nussbaum left the programme after the students were visited by Hitler’s Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels, who lectured them on the Nazi’s view of art and the confines of this doctrine to the main themes of promoting heroism and the “Aryan race”. He did not see it possible for a Jew and an artist like himself to remain there. His studio in Berlin, Germany had been set on fire because of his Jewish identity, and some 150 works fell victim to the flames. During the beginning of NationalSocialists rule in Germany, he and his wife lived in exile in Italy, France and from 1937 onwards in Brussels. In circa 1939, near the beginning

‘The Great Disaster’ by Felix Nussbaum, 1939

of the Second World War, he drew ‘The Great Disaster’, which is seen as a visionary depiction of the demise of Europe. In this black and white painting Nussbaum depicted several intriguing persons against a backdrop of destroyed buildings. In the lower left corner a man is crying out, much like Edvard Munk’s ‘The Scream’, from the horror of the scene behind him, but he covers his mouth with his hand as to hold in his overwhelming angst. In the middle of the scene Nussbaum depicted a man resembling a rabbi with a prayer shawl, who looks up into the sky with a gesture of despair. In front of the rabbi is a naked women in a semi-recumbent position, who might be a visualisation of Synagoga, the personification of the Jewish Synagogue. On the right hand side a damaged arch symbolises the broken Covenant between God and his Chosen people. Although the imagery Nussbaum used in this painting is very specific, it is hard not to look at this painting and think of images of the recently destructed cities in the Middle East. Two days after German troops march into Belgium in May 1940 Nussbaum was arrested by Belgian authorities and got deported to the detention camp Saint-Cyprien in the south of France. He asked to be returned to Germany and managed to escape on the way. He returned to his wife in Brussels and they both went into hiding with the help of a befriended art dealer. During his time in hiding Nussbaum was able to work in his studio on Rue Archimède. As he is now unable to move freely within Europe or even within the city, these paintings often show views of the rooftops, chimneys, and branches of treetops, which he can see from the studio. More importantly, he processes the Holocaust through his artistic work, in a way that hardly any other artist of his generation did. During this lifethreatening and hopeless time in hiding, painting became an outlet and an act of resistance for him.

‘Above the Roofs’ by Felix Nussbaum, 1940

With the creation of over 450 works, he retained his human dignity and the right to self-determination. One of the paintings he drew during this time depicts a make-shift synagogue from the Saint Cyprien concentration camp, located in the French Pyrenees, where Nussbaum was held as a prisoner. It shows a group of men wrapped in prayer shawls praying at a desolate shack. One man stands alone - possibly a depiction of the artist himself who, like many young Jewish people of his time, was ambivalent about his Jewish identity. Like many others who had been arrested for being Jewish he honoured his Jewish heritage hesitantly. Nussbaum painted throughout this long period of flight from the Nazis, until he was arrested with his wife by the Wehrmacht on June 20, 1944. They were got deported to Auschwitz, where Nussbaum died like most of his family members. While Nussbaum became known as one of the main representatives of New Objectivity, he powerfully illustrated a narrative of hopeless flight and the life of Jewish refugees, as well as their despair, anguish and frustration. Many of his paintings concerned with his fate as a Jewish artist are connected by a common atmosphere of destruction, despair and melancholy. His works were heavily influenced by the changing socio-political framework, and his concern for the Jewish people in Europe is evident throughout these works.

GALLERY FOCUS LIMERICK CITY GALLERY OF ART The claim of being the largest contemporary art gallery in the Mid-Western Region may not automatically sound as one of great achievement, but the LCGA proudly and deservedly holds it true with its diverse exhibition programmes that continue to highlight both the rising artists abroad and local talent. Established in 1937, the gallery hosts on average 8 exhibitions a year.

‘Country Dance’ by Sean Keating, 1918

The Permanent Collection is exhibited on a rotation basis throughout the year in its dedicated exhibition gallery in the Carnegie Building. Artists within the Permanent Collection are Paul Henry, Jack B. Yeats, Sean Keating, Charles Lamb, Letita Hamilton, Grace Henry, Sarah Purser, Walter Verling, Donald Teskey, John Shinnors, and many more. The variation in the content of the permanent collection is testament to the innovative approach to art and design in Ireland over the last 100 years. A Sean Keating sketch of the Ardnacrusha hydroelectric power station holds little comparison to a surreal religious painting by Mainie Jellett.

‘Beautiful Mouth,’ by Alice Maher, 1996 ‘Annunciation’ by Mainie Jellett (1897-1944)

When you are done browsing what is on display the setting of the gallery is equally deserving of your attention. It is set in the People’s Park, a beautifully landscaped Victorian park in the heart of the historic city of Limerick. This, coupled with the architectural richness of the city’s urban planning — namely the Georgian townhouses of Pery Square and the gallery’s Regency building — only add to the experience.

// KNOWN UNKNOWNS. TEMPORARY EXHIBITON The most recent temporary exhibition, ‘Known Unknowns’, merged the old and the new, the known and unknowns and aimed to forge new relationships and narratives which connected the different artists in the LCGA’s collection of 18th — 21st-century artworks. This curation produced an alternative way for LCGA to present its collection while acknowledging the 80th anniversary of the nucleus of the gallery following an exhibition of ‘pictures’ in the Savoy Cinema in Limerick. They represent the journey that the gallery has undertaken thus far, leaving the open-ended question of what the gallery will look like in times to come?

“As we know, there are known known’s; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns — the ones we don’t know we don’t know.” Donald Umsfeld, Secretary of Defence with George Bush’s Cabinet in 2002. ‘Untitled’ by Unknown

Along with showcasing its impressive permanent collection and encouraging new artists to display in public settings, LCGA has become a major part of the community in Limerick City. You will often see people strolling in after a trip into town — including the stereotypically atypical visitors for an exhibition of toy skeletons in white lab-coats hanging from the ceiling. They have achieved this, first and foremost, through respecting and including the community in their work. LCGA hosts the annual EVA International, Ireland’s biennial exhibition of contemporary art, where guest curators are invited over the course of 12 weeks to create exhibitions that actively engage the people of Limerick, setting an example for the rest of the country for the future of the arts.

Visit the Limerick City Gallery of Art for free from 10.00am– 5.00pm Monday to Saturday, with later closing on Thursdays at 8.00pm.

The male chaperone Female artists frequently find themselves in the shadows of their male counterparts and the art world does nothing. Charlotte Lee

That women are unappreciated in the world of art is not exactly groundbreaking news. Western art is traditionally the domain of white, upper class men and the ‘great works of art’ of our past were painted by men for a male audience. Even today, when art is technically more accessible for women and other minorities (we are now trusted to look at the nude form without our lady parts exploding – the true meaning of progress) women’s art tends to be undervalued, underappreciated, and underrepresented in comparison with their male colleagues. And to rub salt in the wound, when a woman defeats the odds and is recognised as a great artist they will still, somehow always, be viewed in conjunction with their male associates rather than as individuals. The world of art cannot conceive of a female artist who exists distinctly from the men in her life. Discomfort at a woman in the public sphere without a male presence? Surely not… Barbara Hepworth (1903-1975) was one of the forerunners in the

“ Western art is traditionally the

domain of white, upper class men and the ‘great works of art’ of our past were painted by men for a male audience. development of the British sculptural modernist movement in the 1930s. She was one of the first artists to adopt this form, inspired first by nature, and then motherhood to create sculptures with a sweeping elegance and a mammoth presence. Today she is remembered as one of Britain’s

greatest sculptural innovators. She is also remembered as a contemporary and lover of Henry Moore. Their work is undeniably similar (they trained together and shaped this emerging style together) but her memory is inextricably linked to his name in a way that is not replicated on his behalf. He is remembered as a great artist. Not a great artist who worked alongside Barbara Hepworth. Yet Barbara Hepworth’s name is linked with a man who was wrongly considered her teacher (she pierced her sculptures first and was generally the more innovative of the two) and who publicly announced that they had been lovers, a claim she strongly denied. The truth of the matter pales into insignificance when one considers Moore used her sexuality to boost his public profile without her consent. Stories such as Hepworth’s are not unusual in the art world. The French sculptor Camille Claudel (1864-1943) never escaped the shadow of her mentor Auguste Rodin – despite her genius. Some even suggest she is responsible for aspects of his pieces, aspects she was never credited for, never mind that he signed many of her pieces with his own name. For a long time the Mexican-British painter Leonora Carrington (1917-2011) was remembered as a muse for the Surrealists, despite being one of the most talented artists in her own right, and even today she is not remembered without reference to Max Ernst. The Cuban artist Ana Mendieta (19481985) was allegedly killed by her abusive husband, Carl Andre, and she will never be able to disassociate his name from hers, yet a retrospective exhibition of his work in 2017 made no reference to her. And to invert (while confirming) the trend, Japanese painter Yayoi Kusama (1929-present) is forgotten where she should be remembered as Andy Warhol copied many features of her work. The trend is extensive and exhausting. Time after time the treatment of female artists extends beyond the contextualising of them. Their male associates become not just their colleagues, but also a part of their artistic identity. And as Andy Warhol’s reputation proves – this is not reciprocated.

Margaret Keane and her husband Walter who took credit for her work, 1961.

The world of art is a better place for women than it was thirty years ago, and attitudes are shifting – female artists are celebrated more for their work now than ever before. So why does this world fear the power of an artistically independent and distinct woman? Why do we feel the need to temper the power and influence of women? Why on earth would we want to dilute the necessary diversity that women bring to art? It is for the same reason we need the expression ‘white feminism’ and why people think the ‘A’ in LGBTQIA stands for ally. Even when we push for change, even when we are ‘woke’, and especially when we want to do better it is all too easy to fall back into old ways, to rely on the hierarchical power structures that we are accustomed to. And so we think that because we are celebrating women in art we don’t need to think about the terms we are using to do that. Or because we are pushing for pay equality we can focus on the further discrepancies in the wages of women of colour ‘later’. Just as art reflects society, so to does the language we use to talk about it. So when we talk about women artists in terms of the men in their lives we are reflecting a society that tells women that their identity is tied to the men in their lives. And not only are we reflecting it, we are feeding back into it. The only way to subvert this is to consider what power structures our language feeds into. To diversify our art. And most of all, to watch women produce great art without chaperones, without homogeny, and without limitations. Then talk about their art in those terms.

The problems of “outsider art” The normalisation of this category of art comes at too great a cost to allow it to continue. Lucie Rondeau de Noyer Since the label “outsider art” was coined in 1972 by art critic Roger Cardinal, it is generally agreed that such a category is problematic. For example, if you define an “outsider artist” as a creator who is poor, unrecognized, marginalized or dealing with mental health issues, then why would Vincent Van Gogh not be an outsider artist? It could be argued that it is because he received at least elementary art training, whereas “outsider art” often stands as a synonym for “self-taught art”. However, my answer would be simpler: Vincent Van Gogh is not an “outsider artist” because he was established as one of the most valued and celebrated artists of the late 19th century and held a conspicuous spot in the Western artistic canon long before Jean Dubuffet, a French Painter, started to promote l’art brut – literally “raw art”, historically the concept that ended up being translated in English as “outsider art” – during the forties. The paradox with “outsider art” is that the label is always used and applied by people who are “insiders” in the art world, namely famous gallery managers and artists, wealthy collectors or university-trained museum curators. Talking about “outsider art” therefore resembles the way in which medical professionals have developed series of words to describe people with

disabilities. The result is labels that define without explaining anything. Saying that an artist is an “outsider” only indicates that their persona does not quite fit what we expect from artists in terms of social and educational background; it does not shed light on their individual works nor on their personal ways of creating.

“ The paradox with “outsider art” is that the label is always used and applied by people who are “insiders” in the art world...

That is why featuring “outsider art” in legitimate institutions might not be that progressive and emancipating after all. True, it certainly debunks the reductive assumption according to which you have to be trained in well-established institutions to become a respected artist. In 2013, the Bonovitzes’ donation to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, composed of works by selftaught artists now famous, such as former slave Bill Traylor (1853 – 1949), African-American sculptor William Edmondson (1874 – 1951) and deaf and recluse James Castle (1899 – 1977), was celebrated as the final step of the assimilation of “outsider art” in the Western artistic canon. However, such a “bold” move only replicates the exclusionary process that led to the birth of our artistic canon. Some artists – here all male and working in the United States during the 20th century – are deemed by collectors and institutions worthy of entering museums, while the rest of the artists once called ‘outsiders’ are left out of the realm of recognition. “Outsider art” has therefore not disappeared. It has just been filtered in order to produce a slightly wider version of our canon. The selected art pieces have received

new names – visionary art – non selected works have received others – “maverick art, “naïve art” – or for the ones that are not coming from the Western world, they are still commodified as “folk art”. Such a light revision of our canon is unlikely to encourage a more diverse approach of art. It does not make us move away from labels. It does not invite us to consider artists as individuals. It just normalises culture once again and reinforces the institutional power of museums and other art institutions, without questioning the relevance of their actions towards people and local communities. Interestingly, the normalisation of “outsider artists” always comes at a cost and, more often than not, it consists of ignoring one aspect of their multifaceted creativity. The case of Henry Darger (1892 – 1973) is enlightening since his promotion from the world of “mad art” to the “nobler” realm of “visionary art” came with the denial that he was a writer as well as a painter. It is worth noting that it is only because he had undertaken to write an epic lengthily entitled ‘The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion’, that Darger produced the paper frescoes he is now famous for. However, his writings are not studied by art historians and hardly spoken of, while the very illustrations of these literary works are celebrated worldwide as proto “pop art”. This might not be the best way to pay tribute to his extraordinary creativity. Before bringing their art into our museums, we should ensure doing the most basic justice to those we call “outsiders” and embracing the whole of their works instead of posthumously picking among their productions what is the most compatible with our canon.

A selection of works by the AfricanAmerican sculptor, William Edmondson (1874-1961)

Wildfire’s Hidden Figures True intersectionality allows for the judgement of art based on its own merits, rather than who it is associated with. Maia Mathieu Edmonia ‘Wildfire’ Lewis might be the most important artist that you’ve never heard of. She was born to a Mississauga Ojibwe mother and an African-Haitian father in 1844, twenty-one years before the passage of the 13th Amendment ended slavery in the United States, and was one of the first American women of color to achieve international fame for her art. Her work is significant not merely due to the artist’s race and heritage, but her subjects’ as well: Lewis was a gifted sculptor who depicted indigenous American and Black people in the heroic neoclassical styles usually associated with white ‘high art.’ Lewis’ personal life was marked by the struggles typical for people of color in nineteenth century America as well as personal tragedies. Her parents both died before she turned nine, and she spent much of her early years with her mother’s tribal family, hunting, fishing and selling trinkets to tourists. At age 15, she enrolled in Oberlin College, one of the first colleges to admit women and non-whites, but failed to graduate due to the systematic racism and an accusal that she had tried to poison her (white) roommates, for which she was acquitted. Oberlin honors this distinguished alumna with her namesake Edmonia Lewis Center for Women and Transgender People, but was less enthusiastic about her at the time. Upon leaving college, Lewis was apprenticed to a Boston sculptor, Edward A. Brackett, who had strong connections with the abolitionist community. The abolitionists loved her: she was educated, creative and her work (at this point, often sculptures of famous abolitionists) provided a perfect way of refuting notions that people of color were subhuman. Lewis herself was suspicious of the sort of do-gooders

who were more interested in her as an exemplary ‘colored girl’ rather than in her work as an artist. By the 1860s she had made enough money to to fund a move to Rome. Italy was a more welcoming environment for Lewis than the Americans, here she was no longer subjected to constant racism and prejudice as a Black/ Indigenous Catholic woman. Lewis came in contact with a largely-lesbian circle of American expats in Italy, leaving historians curious about her own sexuality. Lewis never married, nor had children, and is reported to have favoured androgynous dress. Rome became her base of operations until she died, although she’d often return to the US for exhibitions as her fame grew. Lewis was the only African-American to exhibit her work at the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition of 1876. She made an incredible impression with her life-size, two-tonne depiction of ‘The Death of Cleopatra’. It is her most famous work and had a fascinating journey after Lewis’ death, including serving time as a racehorse’s grave monument before being rediscovered in the late 1970s. It now resides restored, along with most of Lewis’ surviving work, in the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Depictions of indigenous and black people in the nineteenth century were typically racist caricatures. Black people were rendered as subhuman slaves with animalistic features; women were overly-sexualised, as part of the narratives that sanctioned the ongoing rape of slave women. Indigenous people were violent savages to be subdued, depicted by white artists in ways that make the Neverland tribe in Disney’s Peter Pan look restrained and subtle. Lewis’ art stood out in dramatic contrast. Her subjects were

“ Black people were rendered as subhuman slaves with animalistic features; women were overly-sexualised..

humanised and given the dignity long denied them. Significantly, she created the first sculpture by an artist with African-American heritage on the subject of emancipation. ‘The Freed Woman and Her Child’ (1866) was lost over time, but it was followed by ‘Forever Free’ (1867) which survives. ‘Forever Free’ features a standing, half-nude male figure with a broken shackle at one wrist and a kneeling, fully-clad female figure praying by his side. By giving the woman more clothes than the man, in doing so Lewis was directly challenging the sexual objectification of enslaved women. ‘Forever Free’ is a work of immense intersectional and artistic import, but it has been criticised -- along with certain others of Lewis’ art -- for the more European-styled features of the woman depicted. This was intentional on Lewis’ part. Given the intersections of identities she was navigating, both the willful misunderstandings and romantic notions of different parts of her audience, Lewis very deliberately sought to avoid suggestions that she was creating self-portraits. Above anything else, this was her assertion of empathy and privacy as both an artist and a human being. More than half of Lewis’ known works have been lost over time, and the details of the end of her life are unknown. Perhaps the mystery this creates is good, given the cultural desire for women to publically bleed and tell their personal tragedies to validate our desire for a voice. It creates a space for Lewis’ work to stand alone and be judged on its own merits -- and from what we do know of this pioneering artist, I think she’d like that. ‘Forever Free’, Edmonia Lewis, 1867

S N IO T A D N E M M O C E BOOK R number one

‘The View from the Train: Cities and Other Landscape’ by Philip Keller

‘The Body in Contemporary Art’ by Sally O’Reilly

The View from the Train establishes Keiller as one of the most perceptive writers and thinkers about the city, landscape and politics.

The role that the human form plays in shaping our opinions is central to O’Reilly’s seminal piece. It’s a must-read for all those who are tired of looking at Giotto.

‘Privatising Culture’ by Chin-tao Wu This groundbreaking book mapped for the first time the hegemonic position that corporate elites have come to occupy in the art world. #TakeBackTrinity

‘Curatorial Activism’ by Maura Reilly

‘Stud: Architectures of Masculinity’ by Joel Sanders

An inspiring thematic collection that illustrates pioneering examples of exhibitions that have broken down boundaries and creates the hope that new approaches are possible.

Sanders’ collection of essays and visual projects critically analyses the spaces that we habitually take for granted but that quietly participates in the manufacturing of “maleness.”

strong contender

EXHIBITION FOCUS Brian Maguire War Changes Its Address: The Aleppo Paintings WORDS BY STACEY WRENN

The absence of life is the most harrowing of the physical consequences of war, it directly contradicts our idea of a city. Buildings that were once filled with people, shuffling in and out of them, refused to nothing but a skeletal frame. Maguire’s documentation of the recent emptiness and ruinous nature of Aleppo He is not a war artist, he was not commissioned by a state department to depict the effects of sieges in a particular light. These people-less paintings are no William Orpen pastelhued view on death, there is nothing dreamlike about them. Since the 1970s Maguire has immersed himself in cities in an attempt to accurately understand and depict their social issues, he does not approach things in an isolated, theoretical manner. He visited Syria in 2017 after eastern Aleppo was liberated. During this visit he walked the streets with university students to hear their experiences, and facilitated an art class with local children, where he asked them to paint pictures of their homes - he was trying to see it through their eyes, to lessen the problem of ‘the Western gaze’ on the Middle East. There is clearly a significant amount of research and experience behind this exhibition, which shows a level of consciousness and self-awareness not always present in contemporary artist. Although the titles of the works - which are just ‘Aleppo’ followed by numbers to differentiate them -

‘Aleppo 4’ by Brian Maguire, 2017

inform us of where these paintings are representative of, the relative ambiguity of the generic white apartment blocks reminds the viewer of the seemingly never-ending cycle of war. At any given point, while may not be happening here, it’s happening somewhere.

However, his careful use of block colours in patches of the canvas provides some hint of life - or rather, potential return to life. All is not lost for Aleppo, it does not need to be completely abandoned and left to the destructive powers of time. Its buildings are not merely empty shells, his gestural brushstrokes and absence of perfectly straight lines give some warmth to what are otherwise cold, blocky structures. In an interview with Russia Today, Maguire explained the rational behind his approach to forms: “Buildings, when you start with them, are fixed, solid structures. When they have been subject to war, they almost change to organic structures.”

Maguire’s careful depiction of the theme of forced displacement is the stark reminder of the longevity of

war that we need in a time where international issues are often soon forgotten after a few months and attention is shifted to the ‘next’ issue.

Visit the exhibition in the Courtyard Galleries of IMMA for free from 11.30am - 5.30pm Tuesday to Friday, opening at 10am on Saturdays and noon on Sundays.

‘Aleppo 1’ by Brian Maguire, 2017

CESAR CHAVEZ (1927-1993)

“Preservation of one’s own culture does not require contempt or disrespect for other cultures.”