Review by Colin Herd
At the heart of this extensive survey of Rosemarie Trockel鈥檚 works on paper is a corner-wall of the central gallery devoted to Perspex cabinets displaying what must be about a hundred of Trockel鈥檚 鈥渂ook drafts鈥. These books, which Trockel has produced in half-formed, unique editions throughout her career, form a fascinating paper-patchwork of Trockel鈥檚 recurrent thematic concerns. Unconventionally erotic, sexualized imagery and a thorough attention to the materials she uses characterize Trockel鈥檚 practice, which has subtly explored gender politics since she burst onto the art scene in the 1980s with groundbreaking works such as her mechanically produced 鈥榢nitted pictures鈥, her life-size ceramic sofas or her kitchen stove sculptures. The unrealized and inconclusive quality of the book drafts also sets the tone for a show that is ambiguous, anti-didactic and disconcerting, a show whose common threads are in fact threads, where matters of binding, adhesion and unraveling are central.
The book-drafts draw attention to the range of materials and techniques employed. In particular I found myself taking note of and examining the range of different bindings Trockel makes use of: some hand-sewn, some seemingly stuck together with glue, others loopily spiral-bound, a few left loose-leafed and still more stapled up the sides like razor wire. The paper-stock is just as various, with books made from ruled paper, graph-paper, artist鈥檚 paper, magazines, newspaper, yellowing letter-paper. Very often, these materials form the major part of the concept of the book-design. One book made from yellowing letter paper is hand-sewn with a golden thread. The cover is blank except for a small, typewritten, lower-case statement: 鈥渋s not enough鈥. It鈥檚 an amusing comment on capitalism, on art, and on her own practice of producing 鈥榰nrealized鈥 books. The books straddle the line between private and public, especially as they鈥檙e displayed behind Perspex, showing only the cover and not what鈥檚 inside. There鈥檚 an underlying dynamic of revealing private thoughts. For example, one book, with the title 鈥渋magine鈥 has below it two columns of text, labeled 鈥渟maller鈥 and 鈥渂igger鈥. Under 鈥渟maller鈥, the hand-written words: 鈥渟chulden鈥 (German for 鈥渄ebt鈥, but also 鈥渇ault鈥), 鈥淎merika鈥, 鈥淓go鈥, 鈥渁ujourd鈥檋ui鈥, 鈥減ast鈥. Under the heading 鈥渂igger鈥: 鈥渂reasts鈥, 鈥渋ncome鈥, 鈥渂eings鈥, 鈥減risons鈥, 鈥渨itchcraft鈥, 鈥減roblems鈥 and 鈥渢ime鈥. Running counter to the revelation of private thoughts and fears, though, is an equally strong dynamic of ambiguous or secretive withholding and restraint, where blueprints for narrative are suggestively whispered but not ultimately delivered. One book has the word 鈥減hobias鈥 in large letters next to a faded picture of a woman standing next to a desk in what looks like an office. The piece suggests claustrophobia or agoraphobia, but also male prejudice against or discriminatory treatment of women in the workplace. Another cover simply has the word 鈥淒ad鈥 in large black lettering.
Trockel鈥檚 exploration of juxtaposed texts and images continues in her wall-mounted, framed collages, as does her engagement with books and book-forms. Neighbouring Fields (1990) is made out of two different size pieces of graph paper stuck together. The right hand side of the image is dominated by a picture of John F Kennedy, which is overlapped and partially obscured by a book-jacket from Sylvia Plath鈥檚 volume Winter Trees. The connections between the two figures are traced by a black line in the shape of a slanted irregular quadrilateral that borders the Plath book and has one of its corners at the right hand side of Kennedy鈥檚 bright white smile. Both Kennedy and Plath met tragic, early deaths in 1963, and they were both born in Massachusetts. It took me a while to realize that the line is not black ink but a single thread, hovering just above the paper and literally tying these two very different but somehow parallel cultural figures associatively together. More recent collage-work extends and complicates this associative approach, juxtaposing a greater number of elements in a more oblique, confrontational dynamic to one another. The Magician鈥檚 Apprentice (2008), titled after the Goethe poem about an over-ambitious young apprentice, is a collage on painted wood-panel. From what we can see (much of it is obscured by the collaged elements) the painting is abstract, but there are faint suggestions of the shape of a face, as if we might decipher a face if the collaged elements were removed: a disappearing act. At the top of the page, a stuck-on leaf of paper with a portrait in pen of an elderly, overweight artist, sitting at an easel, self-assured but distinctly static. Below this portrait is another, much more crudely drawn, in brown ink, of a muscular male figure, standing proudly but a little embarrassed in his underwear. At the side of the collage is a piece of written text, like the name of a hackneyed spell or trick: 鈥淒isintegration de la Madame鈥. The piece flaunts masculine tension and insecurity, exploiting and obscuring female presence. In an ironic, provocative and defiant gesture, a single black thread stitched down the side of the top piece of paper is coming unstitched and fraying.
The disappearing woman act is turned on its head in the drawing Untitled (sleeping) (2000), a figurative study of a woman sleeping. Utilizing a hatching, shading technique that she uses in a number of works, lending her drawings a texture like wool, Trockel reveals the woman鈥檚 figure in the un-shaded space. The woman is a definite shape in the space uncontaminated by the little, uniform, fabric-like stitches or prison bars. Most of Trockel鈥檚 drawings are characterized by this engagement with and interrogation of the political and sexual associations of her materials and techniques. A suite of preliminary studies shows puffed up portraits and what look like statues of men, on a purple background. The men are splattered with white glue, or watery, gloopy acrylic, unavoidably seminal, like a porn-magazine. The images are powerfully degrading and vaguely ridiculous, revealing the corresponding degradation and exploitation of the pornography industry, and art industry too. The fact that they are preliminary studies playfully plants the possibility that these works might be carried out off the page. Trockel is an artist for whom ephemera, preliminary studies and drafts are a mode of operating rather than a mode of preparation. Her drawings, collages and book drafts are an extremely impressive, challenging and provocative body of work.
Rosemarie Trockel
Drawings, Collages and Book Drafts
until 30th April
Image:
Rosemarie Trockel, Ich kann 眉ber meine Filme nur lachen (My Films Just Make
Me Laugh), 1993 Copyright: Rosemarie Trockel, VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2011.
Image courtesy of Spr眉th Magers Berlin London and Private Collection
