Still Hapenning at Pomona...

 Part 2: Helene Winer at Pomona

                        Part 2 of "It Happened at Pomona..." was definitely a disappointment after part 1, but that was to be expected.  Still it had its ups and downs.  My main problem was simply the level of abstractness the exhibition had to offer.  When it comes to art, I appreciate literal pieces, and if not so then the abstract concepts have to be explained or at the very least aesthetically pleasing.  So in this exhibition, my favorites were the aesthetically pleasing ones, or the "interesting to think about" ones.  You first walk into the room and I immediately smelled wood.  (Photo above)  Jack Goldstein's sculptures of 9 ft tall blocks of wood with no apparent stabilizing structures around it.  I had the hugest urge to push it over - but obviously I contained that.   It was just powerful.  Strong.  Solid.  I'm not sure what the meaning behind it was, but it was definitely capturing.  In the same room were videos of random acts (people lifting weights, dead geese doing calligraphy, a naked man lying on a floor... I don't even... anyway) and I couldn't take my eyes off these sculptures.

                               Then I saw this canvas (Photo above) and was immediately absorbed.  The photo does not do it justice.  It was a huge canvas that covered the entire wall, but it seemed to be made out of plastic.  The light shined on the particles used to "paint" on it, and gave it a shimmer.  Again I have no idea what it was representing -- even after reading the blurb -- but it was still cool to look at.  And also again, I had the hugest urge to touch it -- but I abstained.  It was just a spectacle.  Something amazing and large-scale to enjoy.  It was fantastic to be honest.

                        I walk into the further room (RIP blue glowing room) and see the set - the patio - and immediately shake my head.  Again.  I just don't understand.  I read the blurb, it was ... interesting.  And very specific.  Just strange.  Then I finally noticed the tiny TV by the wall.  It was a video of the artist in distress, shedding tears and showing sadness on camera.  The piece was entitled "I'm to Sad to Tell you."  Just the title alone hit my heart.  Watching someone let go of all their guards and being vulnerable on film is truly a magnificent thing.  He was so raw, so intense -- yet silent.  Having the film silent was such a crucial part to the piece.  I was captivated so much that I sat there and watched it replay 2 or 3 times.  I feel that everyone could relate to the artist in the video at some point in their life.  So he successfully managed to grab deep into everyone's heart by letting himself be vulnerable.  I read the blurb on the artist and was shocked to see that he went on an expedition for his last art piece and got lost at sea -- they declared him dead.  Then looking back to the video was even harder.   It makes you want to know what he's thinking about.  Why he would do this.  And what you can possibly do to help.