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Undammed/Desbloqueada is a subtle piece of art which currently hangs in a gallery corner. A crucial element within the piece, though easily overlooked, is a copper IUD belonging to the artist. The work is the result of an introspection to find the dams in Carolina Caycedo’s personal life and to reveal infrastructure on a human scale. Removing the IUD, for Caycedo, is an act of decolonization that eliminates the damming within her body and restores the natural rhythms of it.  

The work teases out a parallel between water and women, highlighting a gender dichotomy. Both are subjugated to the intrusion of artificial objects; dams and IUDs are infrastructures built to seek control over the bodies, of water and of women. Operating within the context of Western, capitalist systems, the subjugation, oppression, and exploitation of the bodies of water and women reveal the governing patriarchy.

Undammed/Desbloqueada feels especially timely in the midst of the current pandemic, as the needs and rights of women have been unsurprisingly disregarded. We’ve heard news ranging from the initial exclusion of sanitary products from essential medical supplies for the frontline in China, to the denial of abortion services as essential medical procedures in some parts of the United States. Undammed/Desbloqueada perfectly reiterates the feminist slogan “The personal is political.” It is a reminder that under patriarchy, we, the women, constantly need to fight for control over our own bodies. 
 

Nemo Xu, a Visitor Assistant at the ICA, is a Chinese international student and a recent graduate in Art History and Sociology. She is passionate about exploring the social impact of art and culture. During this time, her diasporic situation has prompted her to look into postcolonial and Orientalist discourse in the handling of COVID-19.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more

A bouquet of roses, a can of sweetened condensed milk, a travel-sized tube of hair gel. There is this game I loved to play on my morning subway ride to school, where my classmate would pick someone who was exiting the train and I would guess their last in-store purchases. We took a quick look as the doors were closing, seeing them fall out of our periphery as the train left the station, and I would still be in a half-thought about a last minute drugstore buy. Our public selves make momentary assumptions about others, and are also subject to that focus.  

Ol’ Bay is from Tschabalala Self’s 2017 project, Bodega Run, encompassing the people, products, and everyday activities that make up the ubiquitous urban corner store. Each figure is set in these hallmarks of colored metropolitan life in New York, sites for social and political interpretation. Often operated by people of color to serve their communities, bodegas are microcosms of multicultural exchange. They are celebrated for camaraderie, late-night service, and unwavering commitment to the neighborhoods’ necessities. The avatars in Self’s series are based on characters you may pass in these places or encounter in the world. In Ol’ Bay, we are faced with familiar items and a larger-than-life personality.  

I was fortunate enough to engage a group of museum goers in a Friday night pop-up talk about Ol’ Bay. While the paintings were arranged in the galleries to evoke a walk down the street, we were able to slow down and identify what materials are used, discern the cans behind the figure, and reflect on immediate feelings about the painting. Some comments included “It looks like someone just called her name from the door. Maybe she is well known there,” “I put on lipstick to go to the store too,” and “Who is out of frame?” We confronted the scale of the piece and all of the assumptions that can be made about who this person is.  

Tschabalala Self informs each of these figures as composites of interactions of the body in the social world, interacting with objects, spaces, and others. We take the time to regard the difference between who this subject is intimately, what they put forward, what is recognized through social engagement, and ultimately, what is lost.   

Kelly Chen started at the ICA in Fall 2019 as a Visitor Assistant, and is a film student and arts community organizer. She is particularly interested in surveillance media, found footage, and public domain video. She is also a short fiction writer and printmaker whose work explores community, labor history, and kitsch.  

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more

Whenever I look at Sheila Hicks’s sculpture Banisteriopsis II, I think of my son. For the record he is not blond nor particularly fluffy! But the exhibition Fiber: Sculpture 1960 – Present, in which this work was a highlight, was one of my primary occupations while pregnant, and Hicks’s magnificent floppy pile has imprinted on my brain as the visual companion to this period. 

Knowing a little bit about Hicks, I appreciate the poignancy of this. Many of the artists recognized in the Fiber exhibition were women whose contributions to art went overlooked for decades due to gender and the implications of working in a medium associated with craft. I was also happy to see Hicks, at the tender age of 83, the subject of a major retrospective at the Centre Pompidou in 2017. This long arc of achievement is inspiring. Perhaps there is hope that my foggy brain will re-emerge, sharp and kicking, in a few decades. 

I will let our wall text do its job of highlighting the work’s formal qualities and art historical significance. Here, I just wanted to give voice, for a moment, to a thought and a memory – one of the many that Banisteriopsis II has inspired and will continue to inspire every time it is on view.  

I first wrote these reflections in May 2018. In summer 2019, the ICA produced a print compilation of staff art notes and sent them to the artists whose works were mentioned. A few months later, I went to the mailroom and found a postcard addressed to me, written in a classic slanted script. I was puzzled – you will recall the aforementioned foggy brain – but it slowly dawned on me that the postcard was from Sheila Hicks, in response to my art note written the year before. What a joy! She said that she had read my text and that it “pleased her immensely” because in 1965 (the year that Banisteriopsis II is dated) she gave birth to her own son and had many dear memories associated with the work. It warms my heart to think of these stories and memories, so personal and meaningful, unknowingly intertwined in one artwork. 

Colette Randall has worked at the ICA since 2008 and is the Director of Audience Development and Communications. 

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more

The pieces of the “puzzle” gradually come together. And the Japanese concept of umami comes to mind. Robert Pruitt’s Woman with X-Patterned Dress (after Bill Traylor) is simultaneously salty, sweet, and sour; a bit magical and mostly mysterious.

There is a synergy about the painting on butcher paper that joins identity and process. Robert Pruitt is a stylistic polymath producing art in a variety of mediums and paintings. This painting represents both personal and cultural concerns. Looking closely is rewarded when you notice the box cutter partially hidden behind the women’s back, as if to cry out, “I’ve had it.”  Box cutters have a fraught history in America. Despite the diversity of the African American population, there is an undercurrent of collective oppression. Witness an artist who once worked briefly designing craft projects for Martha Stewart flexing his visual muscles to remind viewers of the trouble he’s seen. The visual tension Pruitt portrays is palpable. Note the butcher-paper hue and that of the subject’s skin. The lighting contrasts support the mystery. And at the same time, the brown and black hues dance as comfortable partners. The figure is in profile in a patterned dress. But the facial expression is both confident and quizzical. Without background noise, the figure strengthens and presages a violence that just might be out there. Roughly the size of life, the lone figure warily presents. And I am reminded that after all, we all put our pants on one leg at a time.

Pruitt’s image indeed touches a nerve. We can write our own story from this image.

Upon retiring in 2009, Ruth Quattlebaum “fed her passion” by training for and subsequently guiding public and private tours at the ICA. 

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more

 

Lite by Tschabalala Self shows a figure standing in the middle of the canvas holding a can of lite beer while another figure is shown partially, exiting the painting on the right.

While I love the formal aspects of all the works in Self’s exhibition – the use of paint, fabric, printmaking, sewing as a means of drawing – it is the character of this male figure that draws me in. After 35 years in New York City, 27 of them in Brooklyn, this is a person I feel I know.

“Deli” in this context does not mean delicatessen, but bodega, or in Boston it would be the corner store. There were several in my Brooklyn neighborhood, really in all residential neighborhoods, and there is always a group of mostly men who stand outside all day, every day, drinking and smoking. The stores themselves were often fronts for gambling and had few items to sell other than beer, cigarettes, toilet paper, and milk.

In the painting the man’s pocket is turned inside out, an indication of his impoverished state; he is as stuck in his life as the chewing gum on the lower left sidewalk. The leg to me indicates life passing him by.

I came to know one of the men at my local deli by name – Raffi – but I had a chin-up nodding, “hey” relationship with them all.

A year or so after I left (was forced out of) Brooklyn, I ran into Raffi in Manhattan at around 7 AM. He was drunk. I offered him money, but he just walked away. I never saw him again.

Gregg Handorff joined the ICA as a Visitor Assistant in 2018.  He makes art in a variety of media whenever he can.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more 

 

At first glance, Sterling Ruby’s ACTS/WS ROLLIN is gritty, imposing, solid yet precarious. The surface of the base is reminiscent of city streets, complete with graffiti. The off-balanced resin block shot through with red is, from afar, a bit unnerving.

After approaching the piece for the first time, however, my perspective shifted as I inspected the details more closely. The ink droplets now appeared less threatening as they formed beautiful, delicate curls seemingly frozen in time. At a closer distance each vein is more distinguishable in its own trail, and every detail is striking and unique. The suspended liquid arrests your attention and refuses to let go.

Reflecting on the current situation and my own state of mind, I can’t help but recall my first reaction to Ruby’s piece. As I write this, working from home, I am reminded of my initial anxiety when confronted with this imposing sculpture. Life is often unnerving, uncertain, and precarious—somewhat like this lopsided stack of blocks. However, within the overwhelming chaos, moments of beauty can be found.

In the past few weeks, I have had some time to appreciate not only what obstacles life throws at you, but also the treasures it holds. I have recently had more time with my husband, making me appreciate his compassion, patience, and humor. I have witnessed countless acts of neighborly support in my community and city. I have also made more of an effort in self-care, and have taken time to focus on my own mental, emotional, and physical health. I am starting to notice that, like in Ruby’s sculpture, beauty can be found in life’s details, and after noticing that beauty, it will be hard to forget.
 

Brittany Eckstrom has been with the ICA since 2017 and holds the position of Assistant Manager of Visitor Services. In her spare time she enjoys practicing yoga and lives on a boat in Boston Harbor with her husband and their cat.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more 

 

Listen here:

When you enter William Forsythe: Choreographic Objects, you are immediately part of the art on view. With the help of a GoPro camera, computer algorithms, and TV monitors spanning the gallery wall, City of Abstracts depicts bodies in the gallery, with the illusion of physical and time alteration. Every movement captured is fluid, elongated, and elegant in its motions, unlike reality, where one may feel awkward and bumbling. Time itself appears stretched, akin to a sci-fi film. 

I hung out with City of Abstracts a bit during the run of the exhibition. At one point, a giggling child wearing a bright-colored outfit wove around myself and a Visitor Assistant in the gallery. The streak of their vivid clothing contrasted beautifully with our mostly black outfits. Swatches of stretched rainbow from my Polaroid logo T-shirt danced with my body. 

I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so long and boisterously from an experience in a museum setting. While museums can help facilitate tough conversations surrounding the state of contemporary society, it’s refreshing to deal with the stresses of our current world by laughing at yourself and your body’s capabilities.  

Sarah Hachey has been a part of the ICA staff since 2015; in her current role as the Interpretive Media and Adult Education Coordinator, she manages all content and interactive activities in the Poss Family Mediatheque, co-produces digital educational resources such as artist interview videos, and oversees the behind-the-scenes for adult programs. Outside of the ICA, she is a multimedia artist, filmmaker, and also enjoys roller skating. 

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more 

 

I was mesmerized walking through Carolina Caycedo’s Cosomotarrayas. Hovering around me were these kaleidoscope-like creations, but the more I wandered throughout the room, the more I understood the spiritual scope of what surrounded me. Nuestro Tiempo hangs mysteriously along the wall, a deeply painted purple, white flowers and tambourine in hand, beckoning me to take a closer look. Like an ancient relic, Nuestro Tiempo is eerily quiet, yet at any moment I felt that I might hear the fingers bang upon the tambourine. I imagined that this would transport me to a different time. A time that was simpler, more natural. This was a time when my grandparents would bring out these vibrantly woven hammocks from Guatemala and hang them on the beach or between the trees on our family camping trips. My cousins and I would squish our bodies together to fit in, our bare feet kicking the sand below to make the hammock swing higher. The times sitting on Lake Atitlan watching the lone boats sail across the water, and the women weaving their traditional Mayan textiles along their village shores. That is the impact of Caycedo’s Nuestro Tiempo; like a conduit between the past and present, this net reminded me of things that I greatly miss. 

Katherine Gudiel started at the ICA as Customer Relations Manager Assistant in fall 2019, joining the data systems team in supporting all things Tessitura. She is also a painter in her free time with a focus on portraiture.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more 

 

As a printmaker, I think in impressions. Prints are impressions of the maker’s manipulation of a surface. Prints are memories.

I have been drawn to Ana Mendieta’s Silueta Works in Mexico, pigmented inkjet prints of photographs of the artist’s body covered in natural materials or impressed in the earth, since I first encountered them on view in First Light: A Decade of Collecting at the ICA in 2016. I spent the first hour of every morning with the Silueta series as a Visitor Assistant and I am grateful to revisit them again in Beyond Infinity: Contemporary Art After Kusama.

Ana Mendieta’s impressions of her body in the earth, themselves prints made over forty years ago, have almost certainly been erased from the land. These impressions have been preserved as photographs and then printed decades later, framed, and hung in the gallery. While looking at these familiar works, I straighten my fingers with my arms at my side, mimicking the artist’s position. I raise my arms above my head and bend my elbows, imaging the feeling of being buried by the earth or covered in flowers. I see my silhouette reflected in the glass as a contemporary echo of Mendieta’s movement.

Prints are memories linking the artist’s physical touch to the contemporary viewer, distorted and removed from their origin by the indirect process of the press—or in case of Silueta Works in Mexico the camera and the inkjet printer. As the viewer, I am simultaneously connected to Ana Mendieta but distanced by space, time, and the photographic process. The Silueta series is an impression of the artist’s body in space, a memory of her presence.

Emily Mogavero started at the ICA as a Visitor Assistant in 2016 and currently manages visitor surveys and outreach as Marketing Associate for audience development. She is also a painter/printmaker whose work explores history, portraiture, and abstraction.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more 

 

It has always been interesting to me what we choose not to see. Perhaps this impulse to look away is a form of self-preservation, a strategy of survival when the reality of trying to keep going in our current political climate feels so bleak. As an able-bodied immigrant, a person of color, and a woman, I am sure I share this impulse with many others. And perhaps McArthur Binion, even as he rejects the imposition on Black artists to create art only about Black life, is thinking about this impulse, too. Through a compelling yet minimal use of line, form, and media, perhaps what Binion is really asking us to do is to see differently, to look harder at what we don’t want to see, and to accept that what we want to turn away from is still present, affecting our sightlines even when we try to hide from them.

What I learn from looking at Binion’s work is how to slow down looking itself. The tender details in his paintings and drawings reward our attentions, even as works like Route One: Box Two: V (2017), on view in Beyond Infinity: Contemporary Art after Kusama, still appear to hold something back from us. For a moment, I get the impression that something important remains beneath these repeated images of Binion’s Mississippi childhood home, just out of eyesight and boxed into tiny rows and columns beneath dense hand-applied oil stick paint.

I remember feeling this way the last time I was in Mississippi, driving down U.S. Route 49 between Sumner and Money, two towns at the heart of the story of Emmett Till’s lynching in 1955. Highway 49 is one of the most important roads in Mississippi. It’s a crucial site in Southern folklore and music; it’s a government-mandated evacuation route for climate emergencies; and it remains the only major artery between Mississippi’s Gulf Coast and the state capital. And it’s the last road that Emmett ever saw.

It’s hard not to think about what he saw traveling down that highway in August 1955. It’s even more astonishing to realize how little Route 49 has changed since then, too. Apart from a few areas of development, it’s quite literally the same road; very little has been paved over or rerouted. In general, the same few families own the same few parcels of land, and while new crops like soybeans have been introduced, it’s still cotton framing the views from the road, however much we want to look elsewhere instead.

In Route One: Box Two: V, Binion’s gridlines leaves us with small, slight gaps to catch our breath, to take a step back before returning close to the work once more. Without conflating this history with theme or subject matter, or requiring that we need to hold these ideas always in tense or tight relation to each other, Binion makes it clear that to hold ourselves back from looking closely is as much a misapprehension as to force ourselves to see only one way.

— Anni Pullagura joined the ICA as a Curatorial Assistant in 2020. She is completing a PhD in American Studies from Brown University.

Friday Art Notes are personal reflections on works of art shown or in the permanent collection of the ICA, written by ICA staff, volunteers, and supporters. Read more