ALISON GILL: TO SEE A WORLD - CMS, GENEVA, Dec 2013 - April 2014
The Compact Muon
Solenoid (CMS) is one of the four experiments on the outskirts of Geneva at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN*
in Geneva, where a scientific community of 6,000 work at the furthest
edge of sub-atomic knowledge. The sophisticated 27 kilometre, 4 metre
diameter tunnel in which protons are smashed together at close to the
speed of light is itself a stunning sight, well captured by Michael
Hoch’s cross-section photograph installed at life size in the entrance
hall behind the artist in the shot above, taken during the installation.
To See a World was in a hall directly above a tunnel
access point.
* from the Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire CATALOGUE TEXT BY PAUL CAREY-KENT
An exhibition on this site is bound to raise the question of
the differences between science and art. Alison Gill is a good choice in that
context: she trained as sculptor, teacher, has studied psychoanalysis, and has
taken a keen interest in scientific and mathematical matters – as illustrated
by the drawings of knots which she is showing alongside her sculptural
installation.
The way Gill operates bears comparison with the position
taken by the American philosopher Willard Van Orman Quine (1908-2000). He
came to prominence by opposing the well-established distinction between
analytic and synthetic truths. Previous orthodoxy held that the former, such as
‘2 +2 = 4’, are true by virtue of the meaning of their words and terms, and
remain true come what may; whereas the latter, such as ‘snow is white’, require
the evidence of extra-linguistic facts in the world. This might be
seen as paralleling the contrast between the logical investigations of a physicist
and the artist’s more instinctive pursuit of meaning. Quine held a holistic
view under which the truth of a particular statement depends on its position in
the surrounding discourse of statements, and in which statements might be
located on a continuous field. Imagine that field as a circle, with the
external world surrounding it: synthetic statements would be towards the edge,
readily affected by observation of the external world; whereas analytic
statements would be found towards the middle - it’s not that they can’t be
changed, but that a great deal needs to happen to produce an effect so far from
the periphery. To illustrate how that might work, Quine himself suggested that
as a result of all the developments in physics in the 20th century, there’s a
plausible case for replacing classical logic by quantum logic.
So, in Quine’s view, there aren’t the sharp divisions we
might expect between types of knowledge; and he claimed that it’s the whole
field of knowledge, not just single statements in isolation, which are to be verified.
All scientific statements are interconnected, and we should judge the truth of
the explanatory system to which they give rise. Contemporary art operates
similarly, in that almost anything can be presented within the framework of
art, and the effect and meaning of any one work often depends on its place in
the whole nexus of art’s history and current practice.
It makes sense, then, that Gill’s work brings together
interests in topology, the physical sciences, psychoanalysis, folklore and, of
course, art; yet does not treat those as different in kind, but as points of
equal interest on a continuum. That makes it appropriate to suggest an affinity
with Blake, who was writing at a time when poetry, philosophy and science felt
like part of one large project of enquiry. The discipline of
sculpture suits this approach, given that, as Gill herself says, ‘it is
dealing with matter and its absence, material both seen and unseen’; and that
leads her into what she calls ‘the dimension of not knowing’.
So how does the work which Gill has made for CMS at CERN fit in with this? In the six sculptures which make up Stranger Than Paradise, magnetised objects hang in steel frames with dimensions taken from Giacometti’s early Surrealist works. They operate in abstract terms, but also reference scientific modelling, and in doing so they alternate between micro and macro levels. Just what are those cratered balls with blind alleys, tunnels and holes? Atomic particles? Planets? Or people in relationships? Gill points to the potential narrative of those relations through the sub-titles of these pieces, all of which incorporate a fairy tale which can also be read as linking to one of the six particles which are quarks in the Standard Model: Sleeping Beauty (Beauty/Bottom); Rumpelstiltskin (Strange); Tom Thumb (Down); Rapunzel (Top); Frog Prince (Charm) and Magic Bean (Up).
The science of Stranger Than Paradise is too simple to deceive. Everyone understands magnetic force. Yet a residual air of mystery does remain whenever bodies act without visible cause. And if the objects do stand in for people, they put me in mind of how behaviour can appear to come from nowhere, even the extremes which are seen in those early Giacometti sculptures. Our speculation as to causes will be rooted in psychology rather than science. That might set us wondering, though, whether the former might eventually be reduced to the latter through an ultimate understanding of the chemistry and physics of the brain, just as the sculpture’s interactions can be explained by magnetic and gravitational laws.
What are the shapes, by the way? Gill explains that they all
began from either the sphere or a Russian doll, and that, too, provides an
appropriate combination of contrasts: they start from either perfect
rationalism, for which read science or maths; or from a sequential concatenation
of myth, from art or religion.
Detector (Kissing Gate) also uses the invisible force of magnetism, but to rather different effect – to influence the opening, closing and turning of a sculptural circle which becomes a portal. Here again the art and non-art references come together. This is a gate, a potential point of entry to alternative experiences, including, perhaps, the magnetic attractions of romance. It also looks like a bicycle wheel removed from its context, which summons Duchamp’s first readymade. The sculptural placement of string across a hole brings Barbara Hepworth to mind. But its pattern takes us back to Gill’s interest in topology: it’s a ‘Mystic Rose’ produced by linking equidistant points around a circle to each other.
Space Matter Problem
(50 x 40 x 20) completes Gill’s set of CERN pieces. It takes off from cast
forms of some banality: a carry-on suitcase designed to fit the stated maximum
measurements allowed by airlines, and a star-shaped perfume bottle. Those are subjected
to changes in the manner of a scientific experiment in form: the plaster casts
are folded, fragmented, have holes cut into then and have been thrown down
stairs. They’re covered in chemical indigo – the colour traditionally used for
night skies in illuminated manuscripts – and peppered with starry traces of
mica. The multi-form results are arranged according to scale on tables which are
actually the art-meets-maths-meets-academia surface of blackboards with chalk
grids.
There’s a fiercer energy implied here than in the magnetic
pieces, and the damaged suitcase may suggest that an on-plane explosion has
occurred. But that’s not out of place: there is an obvious violence to the
Hadron Collider’s extravagant electromagnetic enforcements. And the evolution
of the atom bomb will always lurk behind such experiments. Gill’s own thesis on
Giacometti's Surrealist work was called ‘The Poetics of Destruction’, and a quotation
from that picks up on the connection between destruction and desire, another
holistic aspect of reality: ‘Giacometti sought to understand reality and to
survive it. He worked in the hope of grasping the whole of his vision. This was
his desire. Bataille viewed 'destruction of what is there before the subject'
as the premise for 'the enactment of desire'. He wrote ' Art since it is
constantly art, proceeds in this by successive destructions. Thus in so far as
it liberates instincts, these are sadistic.'
Alison Gill shows us that, whether or not you can ‘hold
infinity in the palm of your hand’, you can pause in the course of momentous
scientific investigations to take in another perspective on the haunting unity
of what surrounds us.
See also: www.alisongill.com
PHOTOS: Michael Hoch
See also: www.alisongill.com
PHOTOS: Michael Hoch
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