And one piece in particular, Angelini tells me, is often overlooked: Renata Har’s ‘Each gesture is an anthill,’ installed outside the gallery.
It’s as if, in seeing these pieces as one thing from up close and quite another from a few meters away, our worldview is similarly shifted, displaced. The dialectic somersault many of the works in ‘unexpected others’ perform very often relies on a variation of sight. Sarah Ancelle Schönfeld: ‘Shamans Coat VI’, 2016, UV print on cowhide // Courtesy of L’atelier-ksr Rather, the artist has merely positioned various binaries at odds with themselves what is naturalized is not opposition (of analog/digital materiality, or indigenous/interplanetary societies), but the ease with which such dualism blurs when we are allowed to examine it closely: smudging for beginners. Nor staging a spiritual ode to the machine. Later, I’m told the photo is of a rocket’s ventilation system, but I don’t see Schönfeld “updating” the regalia of an indigenous healer with the atheist’s vessel of otherworldly travel. Like a Borgesian or mystic architecture, there are struts, scaffolds, and an identifiable regularity that still just doesn’t add up. The coat’s image has the definition of a digital print but, in following the drapes and folds, is unreadable. A bright turquoise color, maybe found in a stone, but not a strip of cow skin, and still, up close there’s a smell of leather that I may have imagined, and the hairs are coarse. Both coats are UV prints on cowhide, one of which is pinned to the wall at waist height and allowed to drape and fall. If a common nature is glimpsed between “organic/synthetic” or “raw/cooked” with Missika and Renard’s works, Sarah Ancelle Schönfeld’s ‘Shaman’s Coat’ pieces take a similar, liminal view to spiritualism and science. Then again, from the other side of the room, the language simply looks like woodgrain on 5 felled branches.Īntoine Renard: ‘Untitled (¥$€)’, ‘Untitled (Keith Haring Medicine Stick)’, ‘Untitled (95 War club)’, 2016 // Courtesy of L’atelier-ksrĪmongst other entities, Angelini mentioned ghosts, wizards, witches, and shamans as references for ‘unexpected others’-not in any sense of the macabre, but as beings capable of traveling within and through an elsewhere, sin fronteras. Zigzags and scratches bored into the metal become a kind of asemic writing they follow a logic very present but elsewhere, outside our understanding. On an adjacent wall lean Antoine Renard’s 5 altered and untitled aluminum pipes, whose parenthetical subtitles range from ‘Smudging for Beginners’ to ‘Keith Haring Medicine Stick.’ From up close, they’re undoubtedly ceremonial objects. Seemingly dead, its beige roots in a tangle-but still, strangely, catching cold the glint of fluorescent lighting-the plant looks less like a plant and (by virtue of the title) more like a gestating life form. The liminal gulch, an uncanny valley: some pieces really seemed like they could’ve grown naturally in such a place, one being Adrien Missika’s ‘Jurrasic Park.’ Mounted on the wall opposite the gallery’s front entrance, a little tuft of a plant is doused in epoxy, fixed to an 8x12cm acrylic slide. Stefania Angelini, the gallery’s director, described the show’s conceptual space as a “rift.” Such a gap could be equated with the slash dividing (or linking) the “nature/culture” opposition. Adrien Missika: ‘Jurassic Park’, 2012, Acryl, epoxy, plant, 8×12 cm // Courtesy of L’atelier-ksr
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