In John 20:24-9, we’re told that Thomas the Apostle refused to believe that Jesus has come back to life. For one of the
most miraculous events in Christianity, the story of the resurrection— an event that both tests and requires the strength of
faith over the world of perceptible truth— has built into it a moment of faithlessness. “Except I shall see in his hands the
print of the nails,” said the incredulous Thomas, “and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into his
side, I will not believe.” To preserve a faith stronger than logic, we have in him a surrogate for our doubting. In Thomas,
the gospel presents a figure that ratifies our own uncertainties of things normally impossible. More interesting than Thomas’ gall in doubting Jesus’ transcendence of the material world is his need to confirm the claim through experience. In other words, we only ever know something if we experience it— otherwise it remains in the realm of faith.
If knowledge is information acquired through experience, then for artists Lan Hungh (1976, Taipei) and Darri Lorenzen (1978, Reykjavik), the aesthetic experience, the physical apprehension of art, is a key consideration that spans their practices. What appears, at face value, to be two artists operating within different traditions, aesthetics and intentions, becomes blended at moments when the dominant role the viewer’s body is recognized in many of their pieces. Lorenzen’s Fiskur (2004), first presented at Klink & Bank in Reykjavik, seems to be an early example of how the viewer’s body in experiencing artwork ultimately becomes the work itself. As someone crouches down to see a series of Polaroids affixed to the base of a wall, themselves depicting people crouching by the same wall, a photographer takes a Polaroid photo of the crouching viewer, whose image is then placed with the others. Here, the viewing, the viewer, and the pieces are inextricable from each other, and one thinks of Hungh’s Please Wait Until Your Number is Called, a piece in which paying viewers go through different doors to enter a theatre. Some end up in the audience, some end up on stage, some others still, are led backstage, their inability to view the ‘action’ in the theatre reveals viewing and presence as the real subject of the work.
the gospel presents a figure that ratifies our own uncertainties of things normally impossible. More interesting than Thomas’ gall in doubting Jesus’ transcendence of the material world is his need to confirm the claim through experience. In other words, we only ever know something if we experience it— otherwise it remains in the realm of faith.
If knowledge is information acquired through experience, then for artists Lan Hungh (1976, Taipei) and Darri Lorenzen (1978, Reykjavik), the aesthetic experience, the physical apprehension of art, is a key consideration that spans their practices. What appears, at face value, to be two artists operating within different traditions, aesthetics and intentions, becomes blended at moments when the dominant role the viewer’s body is recognized in many of their pieces. Lorenzen’s Fiskur (2004), first presented at Klink & Bank in Reykjavik, seems to be an early example of how the viewer’s body in experiencing artwork ultimately becomes the work itself. As someone crouches down to see a series of Polaroids affixed to the base of a wall, themselves depicting people crouching by the same wall, a photographer takes a Polaroid photo of the crouching viewer, whose image is then placed with the others. Here, the viewing, the viewer, and the pieces are inextricable from each other, and one thinks of Hungh’s Please Wait Until Your Number is Called, a piece in which paying viewers go through different doors to enter a theatre. Some end up in the audience, some end up on stage, some others still, are led backstage, their inability to view the ‘action’ in the theatre reveals viewing and presence as the real subject of the work.
Often, where Lorenzen is keen to extract the directed forces of narration from his work, Hungh imposes himself as a
locus of meaning. In Lorenzen’s Converge (2008), spectators find themselves, temporarily, in a heightened state of self- awareness. Locked in a room for five minutes, a glowing light bulb dims during this time until the room is completely dark. Simultaneously, a faint sound in the room crescendos, gradually throwing the visitors’ grasp of their surroundings into urgent questioning. How long will we be locked in here for? What will happen next? Likewise, Hungh’s Demolished Sofa (2009) challenges exhibition visitors in a physically felt way.
Disguised as an old armchair in a gallery space, visitors sit upon it, knowingly or not, to discover the artist
beneath the surface of the upholstery, his naked body at times visible through strategically placed openings in the upholstery. The artist’s flesh and our direct surprising interaction with its warmth and movement implicate our own bodies as generators of meaning and consequence. The artist-as-armchair and the room that darkens itself are voiceless devices; their power lies not in their being, but in their potential to activate meaning, experience and ultimately knowledge within their audiences. Where for Thomas, experience made him a believer, Hungh and Lorenzen transforms us from passive viewers into witnesses and participants of artistic becoming.
Carson Chan
locus of meaning. In Lorenzen’s Converge (2008), spectators find themselves, temporarily, in a heightened state of self- awareness. Locked in a room for five minutes, a glowing light bulb dims during this time until the room is completely dark. Simultaneously, a faint sound in the room crescendos, gradually throwing the visitors’ grasp of their surroundings into urgent questioning. How long will we be locked in here for? What will happen next? Likewise, Hungh’s Demolished Sofa (2009) challenges exhibition visitors in a physically felt way.
Disguised as an old armchair in a gallery space, visitors sit upon it, knowingly or not, to discover the artist
beneath the surface of the upholstery, his naked body at times visible through strategically placed openings in the upholstery. The artist’s flesh and our direct surprising interaction with its warmth and movement implicate our own bodies as generators of meaning and consequence. The artist-as-armchair and the room that darkens itself are voiceless devices; their power lies not in their being, but in their potential to activate meaning, experience and ultimately knowledge within their audiences. Where for Thomas, experience made him a believer, Hungh and Lorenzen transforms us from passive viewers into witnesses and participants of artistic becoming.
Carson Chan
