I.
It is very beneficial—even necessary—for me to have a critical theory class in conjunction with my studio/lab classes at ITP. It gets me outside of the projects I’m working on, floating above them in the realm of theory, gathering information and experiences before returning with a renewed perspective out of which old ideas are refined and new ones are born. It also gets me out of the classroom and into parts of the city I wouldn’t otherwise make time to visit. Just as autumn sets in, I recently found myself on a bench in Central Park, across from the Guggenheim Museum, reading through texts on synaesthesia, color and sound, the development of abstract painting, and Wassily Kandinsky’s position therein. Indeed it was Kandinsky who occasioned our supplanting from the East Village to the Upper East Side to gather around a retrospective of his paintings within the spiraling Frank Lloyd Wright structure.

I’d not been to the Guggenheim before, despite the fact that I moved to New York four years ago this month, and it was good to visit for the first time as a group to engage with the work. Having the class comprised somewhat evenly of people with an art background and those with other backgrounds allows for a freshness that is rare around discussions of modern and contemporary art. So the fifteen-or-so of us congregated around paintings to make observations, responding to Kandinsky’s canvases with emotion, analysis, and playfulness as well. It was interesting to note how the size—and, perhaps, energy—of our group drew other patrons into the discussion. I was reminded of how much people want to experience art together, to make sense of it collectively. Probably seeing people around a particular piece also gives the impression of an importance that shouldn’t be overlooked. Either way, together we traveled through Kandinsky’s development as we sloped our way upward, glancing across the open space to take in colors still fresh in our collective memories.
There is a feeling of pilgrimage about going up the Guggenheim that might not be inappropriate to Kandinsky’s work. The relationship of color and sound he was exploring seems to have lead him through a spiritual awakening. Living through two wars and experiencing displacement during each, Kandinsky was undoubtedly disillusioned by the violence of his time and, like his modern counterparts, sought liberation through the construction of a universal something—in his case, language. You can’t help but appreciate the optimism of such a project. Even though its outcome is more aesthetically emancipatory than socially, Kandinsky offers us possibility, emotional energy, and heightened sensory awareness.
II.

Returning to the scene of the park, a different search for a kind of utopia emerges in the work of Pierre Huyghe. In the fall of 2005, Central Park’s ice skating rink set the stage for a dramatic reinterpretation of an expedition the artist had taken to Antarctica earlier that year. A Journey that wasn’t plays with fiction and reality through the landscape of mediated experience. It is the product of several layers of development including a text laying out the motivation for the journey, the trip itself, its representation in Central Park, a video intertwining the latter two, and subsequent installations that combine multimedia with sculpture and immersive architectural elements. The scope of the project, to say the least, is impressive but what really interests me about Huyghe’s work is his ability to incorporate uncannily seductive forms of representation to draw an observer in while maintaining a complex level of criticality.
Pierre Huyghe, influenced by ideas coming out of the Situationist movement and the writings of Guy Debord, Victor Segalen, and those associated with the Frankfurt School, approaches media with a skeptical embrace. He’s keenly aware of a tendency within global capitalism to incorporate and homogenize peoples in subtle but far-reaching ways. Images and representations, at the level of spectacle, powerfully reinforce ways of thinking and modes of consumption that further the will of the market. By setting up a scenario around Antarctica’s remote shores, Huyghe is addressing the notion of the other, its comprehensibility, and the translation of experience through images. Where Wassily Kandinsky aspired to a universal language, Huyghe builds barriers and questions the possibility of real understanding between people groups.

A Journey that wasn’t helps us to reconsider how contemporary art can provoke serious conversation, challenge existing socio-economic structures, and invite participation in a compelling, if fragmented, narrative of exploration. It is from a position of privilege that Huyghe is able to realize his projects—the conclusions of which I am, at times, in sharp disagreement with—but I appreciate that he is engaged with both politics and aesthetics. As one who values deeply the interfacing of different cultures, sincere communication, and the mutual respect it necessitates, I believe in forces more powerful than the market to draw people together. Hopefully, my own work can be an affirmation of these ideals without failing to recognize the struggle that is its counterpart.