MOTION CAPTURE: DRAWING AND THE MOVING IMAGE
Curated by Ed Krčma and Matt Packer
Lewis Glucksman Gallery, Cork
27th July – 4th November, 2012
AND
Regional Cultural Centre, Letterkenny, Co. Donegal, Ireland
22 January – 10 March, 2013
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MOTION CAPTURE: DRAWING AND THE MOVING IMAGE
Lewis Glucksman Gallery, Cork
Curated by Ed Krčma and Matt Packer
Artists: Pierre Bismuth, Tacita Dean, Brian Fay, Tom Hackney, William Kentridge, Alice Maher, Henri Matisse, Henri Michaux, Susan Morris, Ailbhe Ni Bhriain, and Denis Oppenheim.
Motion Capture… is an exhibition that explores the relationship between drawing and the moving image, examining the way in which each one involves both movement and stillness. The exhibition presents works on paper alongside investigations of drawing in other media, including film, video and photography.
The language of film and the cinema was adopted in the mid-20th century by such celebrated artists as Henri Matisse and Henri Michaux to describe their drawing practice. The contemporary artists in Motion Capture make contact with these earlier moments and reveal the ability of drawing to capture and articulate movement.
A 183p fully illustrated catalogue is available, featuring texts by participating artists and essays by Ed Krcma, Matt Packer and Chris Clarke.
(ISBN 978-1-906642-56-3)
http://www.glucksman.org/motioncapture.html
GALLERY WALL TEXTS (Ed Krčma)
Cinematic Drawing
What we think of as drawing is determined by what we define it against: our idea of drawing will be different depending on whether we compare it with, for example, painting, writing, sculpture, photography or dance. What does drawing look like when compared with film? Crucially, this comparison draws attention to the play of movement and stasis within both forms.
Film is composed of a linear sequence of discrete photographic stills. The celluloid filmstrip is passed through the projector to give an illusion of movement, allowing the eye to fill in the tiny gaps between frames. Each frame constitutes an imprint of a moment in time, the camera registering the fall of light across its surface in an immediate and involuntary way.
Drawings, too, are composed of a series of imprints, capturing the work of the artist’s hand. The image is the result of a combination of traces inscribed onto a single surface, each one the record of an act now past. The finished drawing may be literally still but, importantly, our looking involves movement. Both the eye and the mind of the viewer are constantly in motion: following the trajectory of the line, clothing it with an imaginary texture, and animating the image with our own internal equipment for projection.
The Rain of the Brush
In a 1946 documentary film, an elderly Henri Matisse is shown at work in his studio. The film includes a celebrated sequence of slow motion footage which reveals the strange wanderings of the artist’s hand before it ever places a mark. In the 1960s, the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan described these weird involuntary movements as ‘the rain of the brush’. Lacan was interested in bodily gestures that escape our systems of conscious intention, and that make contact with the spontaneous life of animals: ‘If a bird were to paint would it not be by letting fall its feathers…?’ In the 1920s, under the influence of the revolutionary ideas of Sigmund Freud, the Surrealists had devised various ‘automatic’ drawing strategies, whereby they tried to bypass the conscious mind to enable the uncensored presentation of unconscious material. The hand would not follow the dictates of the eye or the ego, but would set down the traces of illicit drives and repressed traumas usually silenced in waking life. The idea of automatism has been of persistent concern to 20th century artists, with the mystery of the meaning and origins of the body’s involuntary movements remaining a compelling site for investigation. From what clouds does it fall, this rain of the brush?
Analogue and Digital
How has the arrival of digital technology affected our conception of drawing? Can we now speak of ‘manual’ drawing as ‘analogue’ in opposition to the kinds of drawings made with a computer tablet and stylus, for example? While digital media have dominated technical and industrial drawing practices for at least two decades now, drawings made using digital means have struggled to gain recognition in an art context. One reason for this might be that digital media do not have the same relationship to the trace; ‘analogue’ photographs and drawings are imprints – of light or of manual pressure – and therefore bear a direct connection to their object. One of drawing’s seductions has long been its privileged relationship to the artist’s hand – and, by extension, to his or her creative imagination, inner feeling and thought process. Digital media, on the other hand, translate signals into a vast sequence of zeros and ones, which can then be reconstituted into various output formats; image files, text files, sound files, etc. They no longer share that direct relationship to physical objects and processes. Indeed, one potentially alarming property of digital information is its capacity to be instantaneously removed from view. Erasure, however, is not deletion: it is partial, it requires effort, and it leaves a trace. It provides a language for loss.
Diagram and Rebus
Much modern and contemporary drawing is both language-like and enigmatic. Resembling a strange hieroglyph, a drawing will invite our deciphering, and yet its material, gestural and aesthetic qualities can never be fully assimilated into language proper. Like a diagram or a rebus, drawing wavers between being a vehicle for communication and a mute, visual, graphic figure. A pattern of involuntary bodily movements can, when traced in a drawing, come to resemble an alphabetical character. An abstract picture, having seemingly abandoned any reference to the world, can in fact contain a very high concentration of symbolic material. Groups of marks – gathered together, seemingly by chance – can take on, by the strength of their formal organization, a sense of purposefulness and significance. Drawing’s proximity to writing and its innumerable uses beyond the realm of art – in scientific classification, cartography, industrial design, and architecture – enables it to reveal the tension between meaning and nonsense with particular precision. There is no key that solves all the puzzles that works of art pose; and part of art’s significance is precisely not to be explained away in these terms.
