norwegian
I'm
Sorry, yes I am
Text:
Tor Børresen
An
artist's ego is expressed in a rather succinct and effective
way in Ludvig Eikaas' painting "jeg" ("I")
from 1970, which must be regarded as a modern classic in Norwegian
art history. His manic-depressively scratched letters j-e-g
express all too well the substantial need of an artist to be
"seen" and find his rightful place in Culture. An
image of one's ego for all to see. In Ingwill Gjelsvik's "I'm
Sorry", the title piece of this exhibition, the gaze is
not turned inward, at a person's vain need of a centre of the
ego, but outwards, at the conscience and potential for empathy
of the human individual.
As
a child, I often travelled with my family to the West of Norway
to visit my grandparents. After the warm welcome on the front
porch, we were welcomed into the best living room for lemonade
and cookies. Everything here was a little bit different from
where I grew up, in the East. The settee was upholstered in
wine red velour, tables and armoires were in dark wood, bric-a-brac
everywhere, and in a corner of the room the pedal organ resided,
a highly polished, black jewel. On top of the organ, chandeliers
stood on a lace table-cloth. The whole house had a feeling of
something irresistible, something snug, safe and good, with
a whiff of strange smells and colours that made its impression
on my senses. Almost as if it belonged to another world.
Back
to the lace table-cloth. My Grandmother had made it (tied, knit,
or whatever it's called?). She always had a project involving
thread going. Whatever part of the house she was in, she had
a bobbin of white thread and a patch that mystically grew every
second. I was fascinated to sit an watch her fingers run, As
a witch, she commanded the movement of the thread until it took
on the most intricate shapes and patterns of knots and loops.
Returning
from a visit to the studio of Ingwill Gjelsvik, I find myself
in a similar condition of fascination and amazement. Although
not of the safe and comfortable kind. A torrent of black and
grey patterns, landscapes, shapes and beings pour from these
filigree works of myriad detail set on paper. Like an illusionist,
she conjures forth, through ink and grey pencil, intricate picture
surfaces that hide more information than they divulge at first
glance. Like an angler digging through compost to find worms
for bait, Ingwill seems to dig into the subconscious looking
for mankind's darker history as subject for her images. In macro
perspective, she invites us to stick our nose down into slimy,
putrescent dungs of compost, where corruption,
death and decay serve as nutrition for new life. A horror cabinet
of the evil deeds and pathetic stupidity of mankind. Innocent
victims lie at lit de parade, for all to see. Just as bacterial
cultures grow in laboratory petri dishes, beautiful patters
emerge. But the patterns mutate and become grotesque, moody,
and dangerous.
Her
drawings where she conjures up her dystopias remind me of the
montage theories of Sergei Eisentein from film's early days.
Eisenstein developed the modern cutting technique by demonstrating
how our brain has the ability through perception to be guided
in certain directions by catching different moods and meanings
through combinations of images without any immediate logical
relationship or previous context.
By
appropriating known motifs from history and then weaving together
signs, symbols, and ornament, she open up a space for interpretation
in her pictures, connotations seemingly guided wilfully by the
artist's references. By juxtaposing a quaint, little dog and
the sickle and hammer banner of the Soviet Union, associations
are made to the early Soviet space program, and the laboratory
dog Laika's never-ending mission in its space capsule. Legend
has it the poor creature is out there to this day, 50 years
after the launch! In other words, knowing one's recent history
helps if one is to take on the decoding and interpretation of
the pictorial puzzles and their underlying narratives.
Information
of and reference to our modern western culture and the darker
sides of civilisation are weaved together in cacophonic compositions
of texts, landscapes, animals and plants. It is a long time
since Charles Darwin made his studies and subsequent discoveries
on the Galapagos Islands. The discovery of hitherto unknown
animals and species, uncorrupted by human presence, put him
on the trail to the origin of the species, wherein the theories
of evolution and sexual selection was presented.
Mankind
has advanced far towards its goal of reaching the very roots
of the tree of knowledge since Darwin's days. But according
to the artist Ingwill Gjelsvik, nothing comes for free. Suffering
and death, hell on Earth, is mankind's self-inflicted swan song.
Gjelsvik offers us an insight into this through minute, time-consuming
and almost equilibristic drawings. Art that testifies how Nature
in every instance is sacrificed on the altar of science, to
enable us to go to the moon, cure cancer, or shampoo our hair.
Walt
Disney gave us Mickey Mouse, a funny little creature. A rather
wild, happy and manically enthusiastic mouse whose infinite
courage puts him in the most bizarre situations. With human
behaviour and a stoic belief in himself and his own abilities,
he ignores convention and engages life with incredible appetite.
That in itself should probably infer more responsibility than
he usually displays (which he usually doesn't). Consideration,
empathy, a communal spirit, and suchlike, are not among the
mouse's priorities, nor on his agenda. In the Wizard's apprentice
(Fantasia, 1940) he manipulates the elements of nature with
the virtuosity of a Leopold Sokowski, with the intention of
avoiding strenuous work. The result is chaos and deluge. A wizard,
in the shape of a human being, must assist him in order to re-establish
harmony in the Universe. So is disharmony created by animals
and not by us then? We project properties onto nature and animals
as exponents of our own inadequacies. We surround ourselves
with cats and dogs, goldfish, hamster, rabbits, horses, and
other pets. We create environments and exhibitions, award rosettes,
medals, and cups for these coiffeured poodles. As a matter of
course, our furry friends are included in the part of us that
we can tame and subordinate, to stem the chaos that would otherwise
rule the World.
She
has a message, Ingwill Gjelsvik. A message so intrusive (irritating....)
that I feel somewhat shamed. Shamed, because I don't adequately
consider my choices as a consumer. Shamed, because I don't stand
up enough for the weak and suffering, shamed because shame becomes
a present psychological condition that demands relief. Relief
must come through significant change of conduct. Change that
requires a type of action for which I am not very motivated.
I am an animal and a predator, regarding myself a representative
of the ultimate link in a food chain, and as such I take liberties
with nature's assets.
As a fly fisher I constantly hunt the Salmo Trutta, the trout.
I love the excitement and the sport. Exploring and challenging
nature's secrets is particularly satisfying of an urbanite who
trundles through the asphalt jungle the year round. The challenge
of discovering the trout's daily menu and imitate it, outsmart
the fish, "catch" (as it is called), tame the animal,
then knock it on the head with something hard, is comparable
almost to sex! A short hour later, it's in the frying pan along
with some butter. I eat flesh and fish with great appetite as
a matter of course. Vegetables are for garnish only. And, I
use products that have been tested on animals. I smear a substance
packed in the finest plastic cylinders under my arms; the better
to attract the opposite sex (the smell of sweat is after all
no advantage when you're out hunting). Once a predator, always
a predator…
However,
to each his own frame of reference regarding one's relation
to Nature. Reality presses itself forward in some way or other,
regardless of one's existing or anticipated preferences. To
cite the same Ludvik Eikaas once more; "One need not go
outside to go in for something". Gjelsvik's way of relating
to the realities of Nature in art is emotional, yet she also
demonstrates a pragmatic and moral-ethical point of view to
every degree. All life rates the same respect independent of
its place in the food chain, and reflecting on one's own habits
of consumption and conduct should be as natural for us as breathing.
And breathing is of course something everything does, be it
bush or broad…
When
the pathetically mutated creatures of Gjelsvik's animal drawings
meet our gaze with their wet platter eyes, an uncomfortable
sensation arises of looking straight into the historic mirror
of eternity. The mirror where all is reflected and strikes back.
As a reminder of all we have done, and that nothing goes away
or can be undone, or cancelled by one press on the "delete"
button.