Art Experienced on Your Skin

When we went to the Buffalo AKG Art Gallery in the spring, the docent encouraged us to view the visiting collections first and then, if we had time, the permanent collection—probably management pushes them to do this, because their permanent collection is a huge draw, with pieces even someone who actively ignores art would recognize and be excited about, and some of the visiting collections are from lesser known artists or even (gasp) young working artists who are doing things that aren’t in the canon—yet. Anyway, obedient, we went and toured the visiting collections and found some of it very good and some of very odd and then went on to the permanent and were absolutely washed away with the wonder of it all. And then we went to Olive Garden. A strange and magnificent day.

Something a couple of the less known artists were doing that none of the dead famous ones tried (that I know of—they might have in their lifetimes, but not now) was attempting to get their art into our homes and our lives. In both cases, it worked on the Sampsenblums, and that’s why I’m writing about this now, months later, because I’m still living with the art, and I guess I will be for a long time. I’m happy about this, it’s just a surprise. The first piece is Untitled (Double Portrait) by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. It’s a print of two golden rings, side-by-side. You can see it online at the link above or in the header photo of this newsletter framed in an Ikea frame on my bedroom wall. The exhibit isn’t one piece of art but a stack of hundreds of reproductions—and the art is also the fact of the ability of the museum (or whoever is making the exhibit maybe?) to make as many more as they need or want to from the original form—and then provide in a stack for guests who are so moved to take one. The curatorial note says it is a piece about solidarity and love, and I think I get that—the two rings link the viewer and the artist, but also link all of us viewers through having this same physical object. There’s something very intimate about having this piece in my home, in the bedroom. Of course, I could have bought a reproduction of almost any piece of art at a museum shop and that would be in my home too, but this is different and I can’t say why. Perhaps because we were living out the artist’s intention for the piece, not a manufacturer’s or marketer’s, and because that intention was just to live with it in some fashion and become a part of that solidarity. I think about the other museum-goers who took copies that day—I saw some of them, strolling around with their rolled-up posters like swords. I’m sure some just tacked or taped them up, and some bought much nicer frames or even had them custom mounted, and some got our exact same one from Ikea because it matches the gold tone so nicely, and some accidentally wrecked their rolled up papers on the way home or forgot about them or…or…or… We are all linked, like we always are—this art project just makes it a little more manifest.

The second piece was “scent art”: After the Sun by Simon Daniel Tegnander Wenzel. In the museum there was a poem mounted on the wall about a childhood memory in a forest and then a kind of amphora with a scent in it meant to evoke that experience, and it does, surprisingly well. It’s eerie and evocative and…mulchy. There’s also a sign saying that you could obtain a souvenir of this exhibit to take home at the entrance desk while supplies lasted. I very much wanted to do this but the AKG is a confusing museum and this was one of the first things we saw (experienced) so by the time we left, hours later, we had travelled to a distant part of the campus and exited through another door and no one had any idea what I was talking about. Neither did Mark, but he was content to stand in the waning sun while I walked back to the original entrance and asked if they had any of the scent souvenir left. They gave me one for each of us, and I was so thrilled until I realized that the little boxes contained the poem and a little atomizer like a perfume sample, and I didn’t know what to do with it. It seemed wrong to just spritz it on my wrists and throat like actual perfume. It wasn’t until this week that I realized that the little boxes also contained cards that said, “This scentscape is meant to be experienced on your skin.” So it isn’t disrespectful! Ok! I put it on today, and Mark said, “You smell like a forest.” Exactly.

I think it is very exciting to live with art, or even live inside art. I love the feeling of being invited in, because then whatever I do matters too. My body chemistry changes the scent, the angle of the light in my bedroom affects the image of the rings, and I materially affect my own experience of the art the way I never could in a gallery. How wild, right?

PS—I’m giving a READING! I almost never do those these days, right? It’s on Thursday December 12 with the Ampersand Review Reading Series on the Sheridan College Hazel McCallion Campus—so, Mississauga, I know not everyone can make it. But if you can, I’ll be reading material both old and new, and Michelle WInters is reading too. Plus it’s a holiday-themed event with sugar cookies and ugly sweaters, which sounds fun. You could take the Go Bus with me??? Cute poster below—think about it!