Towering hills of plastic cups, strips of paper spun round and intertwined and millions of straight pins molded into a huge cube fill the space in an otherwise empty Tara Donovan exhibit at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston. The artist, a New York City native, takes everyday objects, collects them en masse, and assembles them into something beyond their original form, letting the pieces develop organically. According to the wall text, Donovan creates each work based on "how the material will behave," and allows the medium to designate the outcome.
It is, however, rather unfortunate that the material produces something quite similar to the "art" found hanging in some the newly renovated T stops throughout Boston. Like the pipes gathered on the wall of Davis Square station, Donovan's work seems superficial. Though it may have meaning to the artist, the work does not have much significance for the viewer. And, like much of modern art, the works leave a befuddled observer desperately searching for a purpose and clinging to the belief that art must have some sort of underlying motivation.
Whether or not one considers modern art to be art at all is another question entirely, but Donovan's exhibit is a perfect example of the way today's artists can slap together a third-grade art project, call it "contemporary," and sell it for millions. Simply because Donovan glues together thousands of clear buttons to form something that resembles ice crystals and throws it in the middle of the floor at a gallery does not make it worthy of a viewer's time and consideration. As one onlooker said while she examined a wave of cups resembling a snowy mountain range, "That's a lot of cups." As such, the pieces do not warrant more attention than would any other pile of stuff lying around.
Possibly the most discouraging piece in the show is "Nebulous" (2002), a collection of translucent straws protruding from a wall. Up close, the straws create a kind of psychedelic effect and leave the observer dizzy. This, however, is a significant improvement on the view one gets when he or she faces "Nebulous" straight on. From this angle, the piece might be more appropriately titled "Dirty Mattress Pad" or "Grimy Wall," as the images leave much to be desired.
If anything, Donovan's exhibit is more of a public service announcement for recycling than true artistic expression; it's all flash, no substance. That is not to say it is not worth visiting. While it is not the type of art worth pondering about, the sheer magnitude of the works is captivating. This may in fact be why Donovan's show has gained some acclaim. The engineering of the pieces is quite impressive and, considering the time it must have taken Donovan to twirl yards of scotch tape into a pattern that takes over the floor on which it sits, it's hard not to respect the artist's patience. Plus, there is something rather captivating about the shine produced by the Mylar clusters and block of pins.
This exhibit leaves many questions unanswered. Do people feel obligated to like this art? The modern art movement tells us that we are supposed to appreciate pieces for what they mean to the person who created them, that each piece has artistic value because it means something to the artist. But why is this the case? Is Donovan's work truly exceptional? Should we as observers appreciate it because of its importance to her? Or should we simply look at it for what it physically represents: a lot of cups?
--At the West Gallery, through Jan. 4
The Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston
100 Northern Avenue
617-478-3103
