Cтатьи
About Vadim Gushchin’s new photographs or a History of “trompe-l’oeil”. The continuation.
Mikhail Bode, 2011
Having crossed the border of the zero years, Vadim Gushchin’s photographic still-lifes have remained quite recognisable. Nevertheless, something new has appeared in them. Of course, they are all of the same “Gushchin” type, it’s just that they already belong to another generation. As often happens in such cases, on the one hand, some family traits are preserved, on the other – new ones have overlaid them. However, the most important thing is that the “descendants” already have another way of behaving, a different environment and way of existence.
Let us recall some of Gushchin’s “old” works – for example, his still-lifes made between 2000 and 2008, the distinctive textured representatives of the world of objects, sometimes worn and tattered by life amongst people: books with their binding edge torn off, rolls of Whatman paper with frayed edges, bedraggled plaster casts for drawing training, billets with sawing scars, cloths with creases-wrinkles and so on. In Gushchin’s works they always used to pose with particular dignity, with a special seriousness and composure, like Protestant syndics in their black and white vestments. It is as if they instructed the photographer to photograph them only en face and from a deferential point of view disotto in su, i.e., from below. As a result, there appeared a series of portraits of objects, imbued with the pathos of modesty (forgive this oxymoron).
But what if we look at this without metaphors. In Gushchin’s still-lifes of the zero years and even of the late 1990s there appeared the author’s distinctive perspective: he shot the object/thing in close-up, en face, with a low horizon bringing monumentality to the image, with a black background which placed the “model” in some kind of metaphysical, timeless space. In a sense, these photographs remind one of geometry exercises done on the school blackboard. The frontal view makes it impossible to see the three-dimensionality of the objects photographed, of which we, of course, have some notion. In this way the photographer’s magic/mastery turned solid geometry into plane geometry: a pyramid became a triangle, a cylinder – a rectangle, a sphere – a circle, a sculpture – a contour. And even in those cases where the object was shown in a three-quarters view (e.g., the stack of paper from the series “Library-2”), the image tried to convince us that is a planar surface. There appeared, while working with clear, explicit imagery, a rather strange effect of a speculative operation in which real things became as if “ideas” of things, in the Platonic sense, so to speak.
In one of his interviews (the catalogue “Photographs. Vadim Gushchin”, 2008, page 205) the photographer said: “I photograph things which are completely useless from a practical point of view...” This statement could be reformulated also as follows: “I photograph things from a practically completely useless point of view...” It is clear that this is about the transformation of a real “useful” object into an artefact, and, to be more precise, into a fact of art photography.
If it were not for the light, specially set up lighting, which brought out all their palpability, tactility, texture, that is, all their tangible reality, it would seem that one could also make the assertion that Gushchin’s still-lifes are exclusively contemplative, one can even say, conceptual. Hence, quite naturally, many have drawn rather shaky parallels with Dutch and French still-lifes and even with trompe-l’oeil, i.e. “tricking the eye”. But, in contrast to the classical trompe-l’oeil, Gushchin’s still-lifes are devoid of colour which is one of the major components through which the skilfully made image is taken for reality (after all, one cannot mistake a black and white photograph of a bundle of books for real volumes which we would like to take off the shelf). Thus, Gushchin’s “photographic tricks” – are not trompe-l’oeil, but trompe d’esprit (“tricking the mind”, as Picasso said).
In the still-lifes of the post-zero years (and here we resort to the previous metaphor) it is quite obvious how Gushchin’s “models” changed. Before it was possible (of course, with some reservations) to talk about some kind of tradition – the Dutch or French. Now there is no trace of it at all. Neither is there that already mentioned “pathos of modesty”, there is no pathos at all. There is no piety in relation to the past (antiques), and the previous attention to the substance of the thing itself is also lacking. It is clear that something has happened to the representation of the still-life per se. This is evident from the way the “models” behave. In comparison with the “old”, the “new” ones behave somewhat too freely: they wish to live in open space (as far as possible), at times crossing its boundaries (the “new” bundles of books literally hang from the tables, risking falling into the blackness of the background); the new accumulations (combinations of objects), without hesitation, show both their front covers and insides (though empty). And on the whole, they look like some kind of uniform monads, which can be arranged this way and that. Like the pills or tablets scattered here and there in Gushchin’s last photographs (we politely reject the borrowing of the subject matter from Damien Hirst).
How far is the art photographer himself responsible for this change? – would be a strange question. It is clear that the things themselves, the very image of their existence, impose these “orders” on him.
If one is to use the old categories of art criticism, then Gushchin’s perspective has in much been adjusted with an eye on the contemporary. A very high horizon has appeared (i.e. the point of view) which turns the still-lifes into some kind of landscapes made of objects. One could say that he has exchanged the Italian, early Renaissance “frog’s eye view” for the old Netherlandish “bird’s eye view”. We no longer see a “portrait” of the object, but a map, a plan, a scheme, on which it is located. Which is strangely similar to how the Avant-garde artists and Modernists of the first quarter of the 20th century perceived the still-life – from the followers of Cezanne and the Cubists to the Russian “Bubnovy Valet” artists, along with Shterenberg, Shevchenko and so on (recall the objects’ supports – tables, bases and shelves, turned upwards vertically, – and also the plane geometry of Suprematism). Ultimately, perhaps generalising, let’s draw a conclusion: the view of a still-life from above, the “alienated” view – is a typical feature of 20th century Art, the Art of Modernism.
And another new sign – colour has appeared in Gushchin’s work. Though it does not so much convince one of the real existence of a thing, but serves as its autonomous characteristic, as in the case of Minimal Art (for instance Donald Judd and Richard Serra). Texture is no longer so important, there is virtually none here: the things are uniform (different coloured envelopes, stickers and writing paper, now the same all over the world, as well as in Russia) and they no longer need specificity. Everything is convertible, everything is interchangeable.
P.S. This would be a good point stop, as the philosopher Michel Foucault used to say. Only the comments remain. However, as it is said, in them (the comments) lies the essence of the research.
Vadim Gushchin’s still-lifes, which he called the “wake” series, is noteworthy. These are photographs that depict all sorts of liquor glasses covered with slices of brown bread, pasties, bread rings and other food. It is difficult to find anything closer to the essence of “still-life” (“dead nature”). This type of still-life, in principle, is fiction, ordinary trompe-l’oeil. Such a wake custom does not exist in the Orthodox Church (as it doesn’t in other Christian denominations). However, in Russia it is common practice. As a vestige of pagan times, as an echo of shamanism, pursuing a certain aim: to invoke the memory of the deceased, but at the same time not admit his spirit to the feast, to the gathering of the living (and that is why the liquor glass is covered with a slice of bread). It is an interesting topic, I would like to develop it further, but...
Let us recall some of Gushchin’s “old” works – for example, his still-lifes made between 2000 and 2008, the distinctive textured representatives of the world of objects, sometimes worn and tattered by life amongst people: books with their binding edge torn off, rolls of Whatman paper with frayed edges, bedraggled plaster casts for drawing training, billets with sawing scars, cloths with creases-wrinkles and so on. In Gushchin’s works they always used to pose with particular dignity, with a special seriousness and composure, like Protestant syndics in their black and white vestments. It is as if they instructed the photographer to photograph them only en face and from a deferential point of view disotto in su, i.e., from below. As a result, there appeared a series of portraits of objects, imbued with the pathos of modesty (forgive this oxymoron).
But what if we look at this without metaphors. In Gushchin’s still-lifes of the zero years and even of the late 1990s there appeared the author’s distinctive perspective: he shot the object/thing in close-up, en face, with a low horizon bringing monumentality to the image, with a black background which placed the “model” in some kind of metaphysical, timeless space. In a sense, these photographs remind one of geometry exercises done on the school blackboard. The frontal view makes it impossible to see the three-dimensionality of the objects photographed, of which we, of course, have some notion. In this way the photographer’s magic/mastery turned solid geometry into plane geometry: a pyramid became a triangle, a cylinder – a rectangle, a sphere – a circle, a sculpture – a contour. And even in those cases where the object was shown in a three-quarters view (e.g., the stack of paper from the series “Library-2”), the image tried to convince us that is a planar surface. There appeared, while working with clear, explicit imagery, a rather strange effect of a speculative operation in which real things became as if “ideas” of things, in the Platonic sense, so to speak.
In one of his interviews (the catalogue “Photographs. Vadim Gushchin”, 2008, page 205) the photographer said: “I photograph things which are completely useless from a practical point of view...” This statement could be reformulated also as follows: “I photograph things from a practically completely useless point of view...” It is clear that this is about the transformation of a real “useful” object into an artefact, and, to be more precise, into a fact of art photography.
If it were not for the light, specially set up lighting, which brought out all their palpability, tactility, texture, that is, all their tangible reality, it would seem that one could also make the assertion that Gushchin’s still-lifes are exclusively contemplative, one can even say, conceptual. Hence, quite naturally, many have drawn rather shaky parallels with Dutch and French still-lifes and even with trompe-l’oeil, i.e. “tricking the eye”. But, in contrast to the classical trompe-l’oeil, Gushchin’s still-lifes are devoid of colour which is one of the major components through which the skilfully made image is taken for reality (after all, one cannot mistake a black and white photograph of a bundle of books for real volumes which we would like to take off the shelf). Thus, Gushchin’s “photographic tricks” – are not trompe-l’oeil, but trompe d’esprit (“tricking the mind”, as Picasso said).
In the still-lifes of the post-zero years (and here we resort to the previous metaphor) it is quite obvious how Gushchin’s “models” changed. Before it was possible (of course, with some reservations) to talk about some kind of tradition – the Dutch or French. Now there is no trace of it at all. Neither is there that already mentioned “pathos of modesty”, there is no pathos at all. There is no piety in relation to the past (antiques), and the previous attention to the substance of the thing itself is also lacking. It is clear that something has happened to the representation of the still-life per se. This is evident from the way the “models” behave. In comparison with the “old”, the “new” ones behave somewhat too freely: they wish to live in open space (as far as possible), at times crossing its boundaries (the “new” bundles of books literally hang from the tables, risking falling into the blackness of the background); the new accumulations (combinations of objects), without hesitation, show both their front covers and insides (though empty). And on the whole, they look like some kind of uniform monads, which can be arranged this way and that. Like the pills or tablets scattered here and there in Gushchin’s last photographs (we politely reject the borrowing of the subject matter from Damien Hirst).
How far is the art photographer himself responsible for this change? – would be a strange question. It is clear that the things themselves, the very image of their existence, impose these “orders” on him.
If one is to use the old categories of art criticism, then Gushchin’s perspective has in much been adjusted with an eye on the contemporary. A very high horizon has appeared (i.e. the point of view) which turns the still-lifes into some kind of landscapes made of objects. One could say that he has exchanged the Italian, early Renaissance “frog’s eye view” for the old Netherlandish “bird’s eye view”. We no longer see a “portrait” of the object, but a map, a plan, a scheme, on which it is located. Which is strangely similar to how the Avant-garde artists and Modernists of the first quarter of the 20th century perceived the still-life – from the followers of Cezanne and the Cubists to the Russian “Bubnovy Valet” artists, along with Shterenberg, Shevchenko and so on (recall the objects’ supports – tables, bases and shelves, turned upwards vertically, – and also the plane geometry of Suprematism). Ultimately, perhaps generalising, let’s draw a conclusion: the view of a still-life from above, the “alienated” view – is a typical feature of 20th century Art, the Art of Modernism.
And another new sign – colour has appeared in Gushchin’s work. Though it does not so much convince one of the real existence of a thing, but serves as its autonomous characteristic, as in the case of Minimal Art (for instance Donald Judd and Richard Serra). Texture is no longer so important, there is virtually none here: the things are uniform (different coloured envelopes, stickers and writing paper, now the same all over the world, as well as in Russia) and they no longer need specificity. Everything is convertible, everything is interchangeable.
P.S. This would be a good point stop, as the philosopher Michel Foucault used to say. Only the comments remain. However, as it is said, in them (the comments) lies the essence of the research.
Vadim Gushchin’s still-lifes, which he called the “wake” series, is noteworthy. These are photographs that depict all sorts of liquor glasses covered with slices of brown bread, pasties, bread rings and other food. It is difficult to find anything closer to the essence of “still-life” (“dead nature”). This type of still-life, in principle, is fiction, ordinary trompe-l’oeil. Such a wake custom does not exist in the Orthodox Church (as it doesn’t in other Christian denominations). However, in Russia it is common practice. As a vestige of pagan times, as an echo of shamanism, pursuing a certain aim: to invoke the memory of the deceased, but at the same time not admit his spirit to the feast, to the gathering of the living (and that is why the liquor glass is covered with a slice of bread). It is an interesting topic, I would like to develop it further, but...