I came across the Victor Matthews installation in Battery Park last night. It consists of a field of umbrellas painted with Monarch butterflies. It was a ‘surprise’ and therefore an interesting diversion as I simultaneously tried to determine what snarky comments I could make (minor league Christo warm-up?) while also applying my ill-gotten art education to form a critical interpretation (always a fun challenge, given the range of work one can find). They are arranged to point in a particular direction, which makes for a nice shift in perspective (and a little disconcerting, as if something is being worshipped) as you move past them, but otherwise, they are interesting solely for the repetition and vaguely absurd concept. Their number is significant enough (3,000) that I began to wonder if perhaps there were a symbolic signifcance to the number. I thought, with some dread, that it was commemorating how the victims of the World Trade Center would never be able to stand in a rainstorm adorned by insect images ever again, or something like that. It’s not that I think any piece of sculpture of repetitive forms is inextricably bound to the WTC, but the specificity of the context, adjacent to The Sphere, makes such conclusions reasonable. And then I thought might be in response to impending extinction, though promoting a potential scarcity with visual excess is an odd contradiction. But neither is the case. Instead, a poorly hung sign outlines the concept, and heralds the work as ‘hand-painted.’ Word to those playing at home: beware of art that bills itself as hand-painted. It still isn’t clear to me why, or better, how, but the artist tells us:
Whether viewed from near or afar, the umbrellas will create a stunning and vibrant impression of a migrating flutter of flame-colored butterflies.
Granted, my scholarship is weak when it comes to literary or artistic allusions involving butterflies (something Greek perhaps?), so then some part of the work lacks richness for me. Given how obsessive some work can be, this seems a little slipshod. But it’s still an interesting thing to see, though not so much that is is worth a pilgrimage downtown (unless, of course, you were planning to watch television instead).
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It’s big, it’s a little confusing. It must be public art.
I came across the Victor Matthews installation in Battery Park last night. It consists of a field of umbrellas painted with Monarch butterflies. It was a ‘surprise’ and therefore an interesting diversion as I simultaneously tried to determine what snarky comments I could make (minor league Christo warm-up?) while also applying my ill-gotten art education to form a critical interpretation (always a fun challenge, given the range of work one can find). They are arranged to point in a particular direction, which makes for a nice shift in perspective (and a little disconcerting, as if something is being worshipped) as you move past them, but otherwise, they are interesting solely for the repetition and vaguely absurd concept. Their number is significant enough (3,000) that I began to wonder if perhaps there were a symbolic signifcance to the number. I thought, with some dread, that it was commemorating how the victims of the World Trade Center would never be able to stand in a rainstorm adorned by insect images ever again, or something like that. It’s not that I think any piece of sculpture of repetitive forms is inextricably bound to the WTC, but the specificity of the context, adjacent to The Sphere, makes such conclusions reasonable. And then I thought might be in response to impending extinction, though promoting a potential scarcity with visual excess is an odd contradiction. But neither is the case. Instead, a poorly hung sign outlines the concept, and heralds the work as ‘hand-painted.’ Word to those playing at home: beware of art that bills itself as hand-painted. It still isn’t clear to me why, or better, how, but the artist tells us:
Granted, my scholarship is weak when it comes to literary or artistic allusions involving butterflies (something Greek perhaps?), so then some part of the work lacks richness for me. Given how obsessive some work can be, this seems a little slipshod. But it’s still an interesting thing to see, though not so much that is is worth a pilgrimage downtown (unless, of course, you were planning to watch television instead).