The Sisyphean Task of Art

Abstract

SPENCER FINCH: WHAT TIME IS IT ON THE SUN? MASS MOCA NORTH ADAMS, MASSACHUSETTS MAY 26, 2007-MARCH 31, 2008 After the monochromatic canvases of Kasimir Malevich, Helio Oiticica, and Robert Ryman, it might be difficult to envision an artist who could make an entirely work of two dimensions seem novel. But Spencer Finch, whose exhibition, What Time Is It on the Sun?, currently occupies the entire first floor of MASS MoCA, has accomplished just that. His white drawings, which include Sun (August 27, 2001) (2001), created by exposing a sheet of paper to the sun from dawn to dusk, suggest that there is far more to the world than can be discerned at first glance. The result of this long exposure is a barely perceptible warping that stands as a testament to the power of otherwise invisible sunlight. It reminds us that for much of history, one of the more noble goals of art was to inspire sustained meditation on the elusive brilliance of nature. Finch's art does this and more. Fittingly, the show's title is derived from Ludwig Wittgenstein, as Finch's experiments bear witness to the ineffable nature of all sensory perception. It was Wittgenstein who stated, If a lion could talk, we would not understand him, proposing that how one perceives and thus describes the world is entirely individual. This philosophical truth is borne out in two of Finch's endeavors from the installation Studio Interior (Odor of the Gowanus Canal Six Attempts), August 7, 1995, and the painting Grand Canyon from Walhalla Plateau with My Eyes Closed (morning, late morning, noon, evening effects, October 16/17, 1995). In Studio Interior, Finch tries to recreate the smell of the polluted water outside his Brooklyn studio, using pastels to create six multi-hued squares that range from a fiery yellow to a corrosive gray. But Finch's attempts (as he rightfully refers to them) at synesthesia are ultimately that: mere attempts. A tactile person might find these images too flat to recall what once viscerally overwhelmed them; a visual person might find Finch's pea-green the perfect olfactory invocation of something putrid, yet find his purple inoffensive. No descriptive system seems quite right. In Grand Canyon, Finch tries to capture the view of that iconic landscape through his eyelids, and renders it as a palpably heated blend of reddish-brown brushstrokes that seemingly pulse and hum. Here, in using a visual medium to recreate a visual effect, one might be tempted to think that Finch comes closer to achieving a universal point of view. But, like Wittgenstein's queries, Finch's witty trials reveal just how subjective seeing through our own eyes really is. The influence of Eastern philosophy is also present, particularly the contemplation of nature's transience and the futility of trying to recreate its beauty in art. …