In taking things apart in their entirety, Paula Louw leaves
very little unsaid. The works of art, these objects of meticulous, excruciating
detail, seem to embody their own meaning. It is the act of witnessing the end
result of her process that I find startling and compelling. The meaning of
Paula’s work lies inextricably linked to the experience of being fascinated by
it, caught up in the act of witnessing it in all its complexity.
When looking at her work, I find myself drawn into it;
compelled by it. In addition, the nature of the experience is fascination. I
cannot help but be aware of the huge amount of work—intensive, physical
labour—that has gone into the work. Her labour is an act of revelation, of
simultaneously discovering and imbuing meaning. This is the nature of creating
art from existing objects; the result refers to both existing (historic)
meanings, and yet-to-be-discovered, new meanings.
Art, here, is the practice of bestowing upon an ordinary
thing the gift of beauty. Of turning it into a source of admiration; of
reviving our fascination for a dead object. Art, here, gives new life. The
dismantled pieces are now objects of veneration, ready to be regarded in new
and different ways.
As we look at the work now, we are confronted with something
new and profoundly different from that thing we previously presumed to know and
understand. We experience the sensation of being drawn into the moment—an act
of meditation, perhaps; a freeze-frame opportunity that allows us to
concentrate on the object and observe its difference from the thing it once
was, the thing, which it resembles now in only abstract ways, requiring complex
intellectual processes of which we are not even aware. It is an act of
contemplation resulting from the studiousness of the project; the opportunity
to witness a moment in time and— thanks to the physical form of her
work—witness this moment from multiple angles.
Continuing this metaphor, it is apt to point out that this
is precisely what Paula does with her deconstructed/reconstructed artworks: She
stops time in order to get to (or expose) the meaning embedded in banal,
everyday, ordinary objects. I experience this as a bit of a trick, though,
because when she takes them apart and transforms them, they cease to be banal.
I say “trick” in the sense of being and an act of magic, rather than an
illusion. She transforms objects into artworks that are fascinating in and of them.
So, whereas this piano might previously have been fascinating because of what
could be done with it (producing music when played by an artist), now it is an
object of fascination in its own right. It has attained multiple new meanings,
repeatedly refigured by everyone who views it. Transformed in this way, it
necessarily refers to its former life (as a piano), but draws us into an
altogether different discourse around its present state. Now we look at the
piano in a reverential way, as if it were a disembodied, spectral version of
its former self.
Or perhaps, rather than seeing the ghost (of a piano), we
are seeing its corpse…
Perhaps it is because there is so much to look at. Minutiae
and intricacies revealed within the objects she dismantles seem to suggest the
presence of the sublime in even the most banal objects. If you look around this
gallery, it is nothing more than a vexingly shaped room with vast walls and a
magnificent approach. However, insert Paula has dismantled piano, and suddenly
this space becomes a surgery for the practice of visual dissection. In
addition, the piano is suddenly not merely a dysfunctional instrument that has
been put out to pasture, but is now hallowed; revered. As watchful eyes gaze
upon it, its nature is transformed, and as light falls upon it, the shadows on
the walls become objects too; and sources of intrigue. Paula says that in
pulling apart old things she is breaking apart an established order, but I
think she is also paying tribute to that order, she is reminding us (and no
doubt herself in the process) of the value of that order. After all, in order
for the piano to produce music the way it does, it must necessarily be put
together in a certain way. By taking it apart, she reminds us of the genius of
human creativity, just as dissecting a human body reveals the brilliance of
Nature. To come up with a piano is to have produced something magical. There is
magic in order. Yet, when she restages the piano in a new and unexpected way,
we are forced to consider the piano in all its parts, a bit like the way in
which a person is considered differently after they are dead. The way you look
at the re-imagined piano might echo the experience of reading or hearing an
obituary. You will grapple with the piano in profound ways that might not have
been possible—or permissible—when the piano was “alive”. In its original form
the piano perhaps loses meaning, fades into the realm of the ordinary, gathers
dust, and is potentially forgotten. Paula has bestowed new life on this object,
and this act of resurrection fascinates and enthrals.
Her work may suggest to us something like a disembowelment
or autopsy, but I find Paula’s work life affirming, a reminder of the human
potential to create, to imagine, and re-imagine. In addition, by displaying the
many parts or components of an act of creation, her work becomes a meditation
on creative process itself. “Don’t just see a piano,” this piece seems to be
saying.
Look at the piano; stare at it and be reminded of the human
potential for fascination. It is an invigorating study; captivating and pulsing
with life, even as it invites us to contemplate the afterlife of an ordinary
object.
(Source Keith Bain, www.art.co.za)
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