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The Open The Open is an investigation into the natural and conquered, or rather continuously explored and interrogated, worlds by two Hamilton-based artists, Brad Isaacs and Peter Karuna. The title of this exhibition is borrowed from a book by Gorgio Agamben, an Italian philosopher, who reintroduces the concept of “the open” in his investigations into the ideas of being and of world. Agamben ponders the hierarchical relationship between man and animal, and he succeeds in triggering speculations about which being is unrestrained in its existence, which species sees more accurately the world as it is unveiling before them, and finally is it the human or the animal that can penetrate the boundaries of “the open” and act upon the world freely. What is “the open”? After numerous nightly re-visitations of the text, the definition of this concept remains quizzical, and I am pacified by the notion constructed by Agamben that in the open every being is freed in itself. I am instinctively and perhaps slightly forwardly inviting the concept of “the open” into the reading of Isaacs and Karuna’s photographic prints, as I am hoping that in turn their artworks embody this notion by suggesting a symbiotically complicated relationship between all living beings and things, including shadows, gusts of wind, water waves, and the ever evolving yet recognizable landscapes. Focusing on their personal ethics and individual modes of production, the artists explore psychological and physical notions of human, animal, and time through their black and white photo-based practices. Isaacs points to a rupture between ‘domesticated’ and ‘the wild’ by questioning the concealed and unexpected resonance between the animal realm and the human domain. Creature depicts a dog longingly meeting our gaze while fallen at the feet of a female companion. Yet it is the dog that is at the centre of the scene and knowingly exercises its expected right to play and enjoy the grass. The unidentifiable person in the photograph, decapitated below her knees is secondary and acquires the status of a companion to the animal instead of the main subject. Yet her presence is a reminder of the wild being extracted from the dog, which most likely possess a name, but in this case was further animalized by the artist with the savage title. Interestingly this work presents a concealment of the open as well as its reveal, as Isaacs uncovers a certain truth about the simultaneous gaining and giving up authority between the animal and the figure. Similarly, A Dog is an example of the blurred distinction between which creature is considered to be wild, and which one is considered domesticated, and to what degree. There is an echo of a sitter’s iconic profile suggesting a confined wisdom and elegance often acquired through age and experience, however this time it is attributed to an animal. The background is at crossroads of meaning since nowadays many naturally forested areas are being harvested, invaded, or controlled. Chihuahua, Tethered hints at a physical constriction, yet the actual object or a person withholding the dog is not visible to the viewer. The secured end of the rope dissolves into a gloomy shadow and it is the animal’s offering of its killer instincts that becomes dominant instead. Agamben refers to this division by twisting the roles into what he cites as a monstrous anthropomorphization of the animal and animalization of man. This is not a role reversal, rather a kind of a ‘trying on’ of traits and instinctively exercising the ability of being both, a creature and an autonomous being. Domesticated animals become wild in Isaac’s domestic scenes. Their individualities are being unleashed by Isaacs, who portrays the animals as sophisticated rather than focusing on their cute demeanors. The cats are not indifferent as they clearly return our gaze through a window, lurk in courtyards at nighttime and witness the unseen to us nightlife of a parking lot, or turn their heads to face the camera as they leisurely proceed inside a house. Treachery portrays the artist’s cat ironically glancing at the secondary figure from the comforts of a chair. What is it that she knows that the figure seems to be oblivious to? Do they share similarities in their way of thinking as they listen to their basic needs? Agamben muses the distance between animal and man by suggesting the existence of concealment and unconcealment. The unknown about the exact difference between our species is clearly there, and knowing about it brings us closer to the open, to being free. Just like Cat in a Bed, the open is there and it is not. The Open is an attempt to uncover the element of the symbolic and the magical in the menacingly candid relationships, which stylistically combine the staged aesthetic and perfect timing. Karuna investigates photography’s concern with time as he visually borrows that moment from a particular time and place for subsequent contemplation. Today we can wonder if the tree that casts its own silhouette on the ground in Shadow Over Red Hill Valley is still there, despite the major restructuring of that area. And if in fact the tree remains in its place, is it the land that has changed its appearance? How can progress and improvement be so closely partnered with negligence and destruction? Agamben questions the undone projection of the human world onto the animal, evoking the issues surrounding accountability for the restricting need of mastery and dominance. As seen in Storm Light, even shadows are not free of bias and constriction, as they do not choose their objects of mimicry. Karuna captures a rectangular shape, most likely cast by a billboard and hovering over a row of trees, framing the lower portions of their leaves with an unnaturally rectangular shadow. This site, most likely occurring on daily basis, is finally brought forth to our conscious eye. Is this a glimpse into that special passageway leading towards the understanding of the open? Perhaps a more literal version of this exit and enter point is illustrated by the fascinatingly suspended walkway in Dream Home Sidewalk, where a path ends abruptly or starts unexpectedly in the focal point of the image, leaving us confronted with this sudden invitation to abandon our course or to resume a new direction of thought. But where does the path lead us? It sits among the houses, such as Stranded House, Guelph, Ontario which bears the association with a stranded animal, looking forward to the return of its owner. The house from the photograph does appear to be out of place and even lost. Karuna’s swift ability to visually assign an immaterial quality to a man-made structure reveals the potential relationships formed in nature, indirectly fulfilling Agamben’s theory of tensions which arise from interconnectedness between all things. The formal relationships between the photographs in this exhibition are obvious. What is more relevant and uniting the way in which Isaacs and Karuna see, is their eagerness to capture an ‘unexperience’, a glimpse into the mystical uncertainty and a remaining unknown about animals adopted for centuries as pets and the undisclosed moments in our own backyards. Is the domesticity that is exercised upon an animal essentially a banal construct since the animal is not aware of its manifestation? How relevant is the distance between animal and man? Such questions should be a reflection on our own state of being, a personal reality about our place in the world and an assumed responsibility as conscious beings. Just like Agamben’s investigative style of writing in which he explores various positions and offered views on the idea of animal captivation and human superiority, the prints in the exhibition also capture a dualistic approach to image-taking demonstrated by both artists. Gestures, instincts and the right timing allow for the perspective where candid elements of a location, animal or even more vaguely, of any given form and formation emerge. Every print is a proof of the undeniable intensity of formal relationships, the mysterious quality found in the ominous façade of a house or the reticent nature of its four-legged subject. - Ola Wlusek, 2010
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Designed by: Emily Brown |
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