Abstract
In 1997 I saw an early manifestation of Ann Hamilton's tearing wall, in the Projects Series at the P.S. 1 Contemporary Art Center in Long Island City, New York. The simplicity of this minimalist gesture—a tiny, single drop of water snaking its way down a vast, white wall—belied an elaborate technical apparatus just beneath the surface. Almost unnoticed by passers-by, this weeping wall imbued the space with an elegiac quality. It seemed a subtle testimony to a loss unacknowledged by the indifference of its architectural support. The disjunction between what was visible and what was hidden, between this poetic gesture and its technological manufacture, augured a shift in Hamilton's work from an emphasis on material excess to a concern with haunting presences that are barely detectable, and yet somehow persistent.
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