A new exhibition at the American University Museum at the Katzen Arts Center, Inner Piece features works by groundbreaking contemporary artists, including Pilar Albarracín, Clare Langan, Julie Roberts, and Laurel Nakadate, from the Heather and Tony Podesta Collection. The section of this exhibition that struck me the most was 365 Days: A Catalogue of Tears by Laurel Nakadate. During a one year span from January 1- December 31, 2010, this contemporary photographer documented herself conveying the emotion of sadness every single day.
The exhibition begins with two rows of photographs that span along a white wall, leading the viewer to an overwhelming display of seven rows of photographs that completely encompass the circular gallery space. The architecture of the building is essential to the overall impact of this show, as the viewer remains at eye-level with only the lowest row of photographs, looking up at the vast expanse of circular white walls above. The large scale of these photographs, all of equal size and shape, further contributes to the overwhelming nature of this experience. From the bridge above, the viewer is provided with the opportunity to engage with the photographs from a different angle, but the sheer intensity of the works remains paramount. In what appears to be a variety of locations and under different weather conditions, Nakadate presents us with images of herself expressing the condition of “sadness.” Moreover, it is presented as a universal emotion felt by all humankind, which any viewer can relate to.
Yet, one especially thought-provoking aspect of this exhibition is the minimal presence of explanatory wall text. With just one basic label noting her overall concept in general terms, the viewer is not provided with any information on the artist or where the photographs were taken. Moreover, while Nakadate documented this experience chronologically over the course of one year, the specific dates of the photographs are not listed. This leads to an ambiguous sense of chronology, as it is unclear which way to follow the photographs along the wall. As a result of this ambiguity, the viewer is presented with an opportunity for pure, unfettered contemplation. This got me thinking: should this type of contemplative encounter with artwork be the goal of a museum exhibition? Or does a lack of background information hinder the overall viewing experience and, in turn, opportunities for learning in the museum context?
I haven't seen this installation but generally speaking contemporary art in museums seems to function with the notion "less is more." I am not sure there's a hard and fast rule about this, but think about when artists began to exhibit their works without meaningful titles. The subject became the art, putting paint on canvas, questioning the very meaning of the definition. The writer Lucy Lippard wrote that the field of contemporary art "has become mystified to the point where many people doubt and are even embarrassed by their responses." On the other hand, information can intervene between an artist's work and the viewer's engagement. Perhaps this is where technology can come in handy, where the user could choose to seek further information about the artist's process, other works, etc.
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