Holli Garrido Julie D.

Hicks 9 April 2012 Response 7 Bechtler Museum on a Sunday By suggestion of the friendly front desk worker, I climbed all the way to the fourth and highest floor of the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art in uptown Charlotte. The strange orange color of this building has always made me stop and stare, so I was glad to finally have a chance to go inside. The museum was practically deserted, since it seemed some Sunday event had just wrapped up across the street, as young girls in sundresses and men in fitted jackets now filled the streets. The security guard on the fourth floor said I was dressed like an artist, before departing to patrol some other area. Like many museums the whole room was made up of blank, clean white walls with singular lights shining down on each piece so that your attention can be drawn to the right places. The fourth floor was notably the largest, while the second and third floors below it simply wrapped around the shape of the lobby, allowing for a stunning view from the top out of the floor to ceiling windows that made up the inner square of the building. At the proper angle you could still see into the outside world, down at the shining bird sculpture in front of the museum and the happy children and families fresh out of church. Of course I had to turn back around, and immerse myself in the art this place had to offer and soak up as much meaning as I could in an afternoon.

After a couple walks around the floor I came back to the first piece that greeted, and startled, me when I walked in the door. A large 3-dimensional piece of art by Jean Tinguely called Untitled (le buffle) or in English, Untitled (water buffalo) is now looking me in the eyes. I dont mean that figuratively either, since the focus of this piece is a life size water buffalo skull, horns still intact, mounted on a crest shaped slice of wood, and moving back and forth on a timed three minute cycle. This half animal, half machine contraption had metal rods for legs with shopping cart sized wheels, bent to resemble the two front feet of a buffalo. There is even a curled pole in the back as if it was a tail, and a small motor in the middle to stand in for the body and to propel the skull forward and back ever so slowly, creaking as it moves. The pace of the motor is unsettling, since it is rather slowed and a second curled pole bends forward past the skull, coming uncomfortably close to my face as I stood in awe. Just as eerie as it sounds, the rust that covers all the metal pieces does not help, and the inhuman quality of the body does not match with the very realistic head. Its almost as if someone tried to create a crude animal replica, or some natural looking robot substitute, but failed a little bit at both. It is not hard to guess what this piece is trying to portray culturally, the very obvious combination of machinery and nature, but the unsuccessful combination, makes clear that the artist was not a fan of the pollution we as humans are causing in the world around us. Chains wrap around the buffalos feet, as if it is trapped by mans world, unable to adapt or escape. It is becoming increasingly hard to find nature completely separated from man and his machines, and the rusted frame suggests that this trend has been going on for quite some time. The motor is jerky and creaks, proving that neither animal nor man is benefitting from this combination of realms. What is increasingly interesting is that this piece was made in 1990, only one year before the artists death. It seems he had lived his entire life witnessing this destructive pattern,

and decided to portray it as accurately as he could before he went. The skull is synonymous with death, not only of the animals freedom but of the artist himself. Once dead he shall, as some believe, rejoin the natural world; perhaps this is what he hopes for. From a personal standpoint it really made me think about the world that I live in. I know this is probably the intent of most visual art, and perhaps its because I was so startled when I walked in to see a rotating buffalo skull, but it really struck me as to why no one has a problem with the way our natural world is treated. We soak up the resources and use them for our own benefits, regardless of what it does to the animals that were there before us. In many cases the animals themselves are used as resources for our own pleasure, and in less than humane ways on top of that. I have recently gone vegetarian, and have been meat free since January. While I miss the grilled chicken and cheeseburgers from my past, when people ask me why I chose this lifestyle I simply say animal rights. I like to think that every vegetarian and vegan helps, and that if enough of us make the change than the animals in this world can gain some better treatment. If not, what will keep everything around us from rusting into a slow, unsteady pattern of life, much like Tinguelys piece, that benefits neither man nor nature. Choosing only two pieces from a museum of this size was no easy task, but I covered the fourth and third floors and headed down to the second, coming up on a very different layout from the fourth. On the far wall I found a line of sketches, charcoal or black pencil on tan paper, all similar in style but equally striking. The first of the frames on this wall was not a sketch but a photograph of the artist in work. Ernst Scheidegger took this gorgeous picture of artist Albert Giacometti while he was painting his model, Annette, in 1951. The photo is black and white with the artist on the right hand side, seen in the prefect light space between his easel and the back of Annette, both of which are dark thanks to the light coming in the window behind

Giacometti. He has paused to glance at his model, and just above his head is a willowy statue of a man who also seems to have paused, arms outstretched, face turned to the side and up a little, seemingly asking to be painted or giving advice to Annette to sit up straight, look proud, and model well. The building the two are in is old and run down, with the window clouded in dust, the walls cracked and torn, and all equipment covered in smears of paint. The look on the artists face is one of sudden thought or insight; he seems unsure of what to do next. The model, unlike the artist, is blurry in the shot which directs emphasis on the artist but also cleverly represents his work. The wall of sketches and one final painting titled Annette (1961) that lines the Bechtler exhibit are all blurred and difficult to make out. The painting in particular is almost completely black and smeared, with only specks of clarity to make up the nostrils, pupils, and two front teeth peeking out from behind her upper lip. This was the very woman Giacometti was painting in the photograph at the beginning of the line. The blurred figure in the photograph that ended up being a very blurred painting is a powerful symmetry, one that Im sure was on purpose, but I hope it was a brilliant accident between artist and photographer. As an avid photography lover this connection was wonderful for me to realize and behold. To see an idea or a mood come across in two different mediums of art is astounding, especially on such a unique subject such as this. It is photographs and artists like these that make me strive to always do better, and to make a statement as strong as this. The blurred image of ourselves that we give out to others is not just depicted in art. Psychologically we falsify our personality in order to be accepted, this behavior is particularly present when we are adolescents, and we give dating partners and family the most false versions of ourselves. Only our close friends get to see our genuine selves, and most times we are not

even aware that we are doing this. Albert Giacomettis sketches show just that, blurred and in a way false versions of the people around us. Nothing more than a set of pupils, nostrils, and front teeth that makes up an individuals face and how he or she comes across to the world. It is not only until you pause, as seen in the photograph, do you realize who someone is and what they mean to you. In todays rushed society and day to day routine, who pauses anymore to make this analysis? While it is becoming more rare it is no less necessary to stop and truly get to know one another. Without this connection, even though it does take time and focus, how will we be able to draw the people around us without making them all the same blurred, darkened, undistinguished figure? Without this pause we might as well all be a woman named Annette from the 50s.