Evolution 4.
Tableaux by a Norwegian artist whose photographs capture mundane objects in remote settings. I especially like these lines of migrating household lamps.
Previously on { feuilleton }
• Lightmark
• Maximum Silence by Giancarlo Neri
A journal by artist and designer John Coulthart.
Sculpture
Evolution 4.
Tableaux by a Norwegian artist whose photographs capture mundane objects in remote settings. I especially like these lines of migrating household lamps.
Previously on { feuilleton }
• Lightmark
• Maximum Silence by Giancarlo Neri
A largely-wordless tour of Gaudí’s architecture by the director of Woman in the Dunes (1964). Like that earlier film this also features a score by the composer Toru Takemitsu. I hadn’t realised before that the famous dragon gate (above) at the entrance to the Parc Güell, Barcelona, was as large as it is.
Teshigahara’s documentary is another film available at Ubuweb.
Previously on { feuilleton }
• Atelier Elvira
Fireflies on the Water by Yayoi Kusama (2002).
One of my favourite contemporary artworks, Fireflies on the Water by Yayoi Kusama, receives a new showing at Sydney’s Museum of Contemporary Art. Her mirrored room features 150 lights and a pool of water and while most photos show an impressive work, none of them can match this fantastic 360º panorama by Australian photographer Peter Murphy. Kusama isn’t the only artist to use mirrors this way but mirror rooms and reflective surfaces have become as much a recurrent feature of her work as her trademark spots.
Fireflies on the Water is being shown as part of the Yayoi Kusama: Mirrored Years exhibition and can be seen until June 8th, 2009. (Via Nevertheless.)
Mirrored Room by Lucas Samaras (1966).
I’ve often wondered how far back the invention of the fully-mirrored room can be traced. Halls of mirrors are historically common but the mirrors tend to be on the walls only. American artist Lucas Samaras produced his Mirrored Room (with mirrored chair and table) in 1966, something which fascinated me when I first encountered it in art books.

It evidently fascinated ex-art student Brian Eno who I’m sure must have borrowed the idea for the cover of his collaboration with Robert Fripp, (No Pussyfooting), in 1973. I’ve always assumed this was a room in Eno’s home at the time but never seen that confirmed. Anyone know whether this is the case?
Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The panoramas archive
Previously on { feuilleton }
• The art of Josiah McElheny
• Yayoi Kusama
• The art of Yayoi Kusama
• Exposure by Robert Fripp

Ghost Stories, an exhibition by Japanese design company Nendo at Friedman Benda, New York.
The installation presents 40 of their Cabbage Chairs embedded in a sea of suspended cords that fill the gallery space creating a visual haze and forces physical participation if you want to see the chairs up close.
Via Core77 when you can see further photos.
And in a similar but quirkier vein there’s Geister by Christine Haase at the Stir Gallery, Shanghai, a series of porcelain statues which look like Canova meets the Addams Family. Via Phantasmaphile via Blood Milk.
An automated performance of György Ligeti’s Poème symphonique for 100 metronomes at Ubuweb.
Since its world premiere in the Netherlands in 1963, Poème symphonique for 100 metronomes has been very rarely performed in public. The complicated scenographic staging, the detailed preparation by hand, the need for around ten technicians to activate more or less simultaneously the 100 metronomes, makes the demand for performances limited. Thirty-two years after the premiere, the sculptor and installation artist Gilles Lacombe heard a recording of the work. Impressed, he decided to invent a machine able to perform the piece automatically. After six months, he set up this ingenious device. Ever since, Poème symphonique can be performed accurately, at any time, and in public. Please understand that at its world premiere in 1963, the concert was filmed by Dutch television. On that night, after the final tick-tock of the metronome, there was a heavy silence, followed by booing, screaming, and threats. The concert was never broadcast.
And while we’re on the subject, let’s not forget Man Ray’s Object to be Destroyed (1923) (aka Indestructible Object). Richard Cork looked at its origin and meaning for the Tate magazine.
Previously on { feuilleton }
• The Avant Garde Project