Mirroring the illusion of a reticent volcano, the solo show of Monica Grabuschnigg at Lehmann + Silva is glazed
with an attentive look at the powerplay of the tensions and energies of Earth’s
gravitational condition.
Originally from Austria, Grabuschnigg cleverly explores the erotics of
geothermal pressures through
suspenseful weight distribution
fragile-looking plinths and hanging
finger-smudged
footprint-engraved
latin-welded
sheets of metal.
The works on show foresee the imminence of shattered
glass, a crack, the inexorable
crash. A gripping movement, mirage-like,
rendering the passing of years months hours seconds into
glowing banks of flaming
metal.
Imbued with an undeniable literature-borrowed sensibility,
the works subtly untangle the confines of dictionary descriptions. Treating hard-surfaces with the same flexibility of poetic writing, the artist reframes them as a metaphor to
the blazing death drive, sprawled across
moonlit tarmac.
All over the gallery floor, familiar vestiges and artifacts of the present. Burning
metal-looking,
clay
Crocs™ reveal the intricate game of contrasting sensibilities so particular to Grabuschnigg’s fatalistic take on humour
and chaos. Setting
ablaze the notion of the body as resistant unchangeable uncompromising,
the tale of ceramics fictitious rigidity is told through an underlying mimetic approach not only to
sculpture but also to
future visions of the self.
With a sense of incendiary intimacy and
desire crystallised
in remnants of 1050oC submissive
clay, the curatorial process highlights the politics of
taking-up space, of expansion, of fire
to other-worldliness.
The Berlin-based artist stretches time - weaving complex and slippery
chronologies into tangible surfaces. The ever-present feeling of extinction counters the regular
ceramic process of adding one more
Layer, one more marking of the now. It is exactly through this volcanic process of
creating that Grabuschnigg paints
the simultaneity of the world - where all its traces appear
disappear
flash against blinding
velocities,
radar-breaking
head lights.
What do you call a second, when it moves like lava?
The silent, red assault of the
last few gasps before wavering tires leave perpetual
traces of
Glimmering
Oil
Slick across borders of sand.
Hope burned against the rear fender - incessantly
asking for one more
Cliffhanger another
break in words materials structures the
world. Much like the surprise of suddenly
disengaged gears, Grabuschnigg twists the granted presence
of the now through a sharp web of crackling
ecstasy-filled
speeds.
Do you remember what it was like moving forward? Perhaps
Motion is a memory we cannot recall. And commitment
just another way to tell time.
Like fire smoke reaching beyond rear-view mirror reflections, Grabuschnigg investigates
permanence or rather
the lack of it, letting us take the passenger’s seat in her poetic capsule of time-travelling tricks.
Can you reach the burning rims of the world
Drifting past, like ash?
