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CINEMA-SCOPE: "TOMMORROW WAS THE
DAY BEFORE"
@ THE SCOPE-LONDON ART FAIR, OCTOBER 21-24, 2005 "Tomorrow Was the Day Before"
shows how contemporary artists are responding to the turbulent beginning
of a new era.
CONVERSATIONAL LAG @ VOLUME GALLERY,
NEW YORK, NEW YORK Nick Lawrence | Owner / Director
LETTERS IN A COMA @ JEN BEKMAN GALLERY,
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
LETTERS IN A COMA, FREE TRANSLATION,
& JUST KEEP DRAWING @ ARTISTS FOUNDATION, BOSTON, MA The Artists Foundation in the South End presents three solo shows, a sculpture installation by Phyllis Ewen, a collection of drawings by Ria Brodell, and a video by Jennifer Schmidt. It’s a lot of work packed into a small space, and the artists are notably diverse in style and medium. By far the most compelling work of the three is Jennifer Schmidt’s videopiece, . Effectively exploring the phenomenon of 'the uncanny', the piece speaks to what Freud characterized as the aesthetics of anxiety: “It is when [Freud] starts to pursue the idea of ‘repetition’…It is cited as one of a number of cases where an ‘unintentional return’ may produce ‘the same feeling of helplessness, the same sense of the uncanny’, such as being lost in a wood but returning to a familiar spot, or ‘groping around in the dark in an unfamiliar room’ and colliding with ‘the same piece of furniture’. Freud postpones discussion of ‘how the uncanny element in the recurrence of the same things can be derived from infantile psychology’, saying that he treats it elsewhere as part of the ‘compulsion to repeat’ that dom- inates the unconscious mind’. After Freud, repetition will never be the same.” (Haughton 2003) Literally en-trancing, Letters in a Coma sits hypnotically somewhere in between painting, video and digital needlepoint. The video has several layers. On the very surface is a blue stencil that frames the background. The stencil features two birds facing each other and recalls a design remembered from childhood giving it a distinctly nostalgic flavour.Within and behind this frame, is a changing background consisting of a kind of pixilated grayscale plaid that fades in and out of perceptibility and provides the grid for appearing and disappearing tic tac toe games repeatedly played in bright colors. The red diagonal lines that appear resemble scars or cuts as they bleed through the screen. The sound is integral to the piece, on which Schmidt collaborated with Colin Asquith (Contra). Apparently a mix of acoustic and electronic elements, the result is an eerie soundscape through which a heartbeat (or hospital monitor) occasionally emerges. The weaving of image and sound here builds us up to a climax that never comes, giving the piece a time-lapse quality. The xoxo’s of the tic tac toe games also remind us that the piece is also made of zero’s and one’s; the game playing, the persistence of the grid and the notion that the image is generated through a repeated activity gives the impression that Schmidt has somehow stitched a video together through a needlepoint sampler. In many ways, the piece explores the uncanny- that which is both familiar and strange, the anxieties of memory, and the futility of communication.
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