Artist’s Notes on the Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs

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Artist’s Notes on the

Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs: Autonomy, Paradise and Oxygen

Prepared for David McChesney

by Todd Bartel

Summer 2000

Updated December 2006

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fig. 1.

Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs: Autonomy, 1989 Wood box, Italian letter (c.1880), twigs, thorns, cloth, lead, ball bearings (number of bearings correspond to age of owner of the “Trilogy”), casein, tempera, glass, sand and dirt (Kenya, New Mexico, Block Island).

13” X 9 3/4” X 3”

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fig. 2.

Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs: Paradise, 1989 Wood box, Italian letter (c. 1880), map pressed flowers, lead, glass slide mounts, dentals, clay marbles, casein, tempera.

13” X 9 3/4” X 3”

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fig. 3.

Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs: Oxygen, 1989 Wood box, Italian letter (c. 1880), vines, human teeth, lead, horse hair (tail), glass slide mounts, malachite, marble, toy wood blocks, casein, tempera.

13” X 9 3/4” X 3”

5 Portrait of America The boxed construction series entitled “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs”—figures 1, 2 and 3—were the first works I created that moved beyond personal content.1 I Conceived in 1988 and during the first weeks of 1989 it was my intention to create pieces that demonstrated I could make art from conceptual underpinnings and not only from intuitive, “Abstract Expressionist and Surreal”2 impetus. I also used these works to demonstrate my scholarship in the field of box making in order to apply to graduate school. These works would become a springboard for more than a decade of work on the subjects initially investigated, and which, continue to fuel current work: the interrelated histories of landscape, collage and democracy.

Conceived as a trilogy, not unlike an unfolding alter piece, “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” was created as a cultural portrait of America and it functions as a kind of landscape mirror, capable of forewarning or foreshadowing possible futures. Rather than depicting likenesses of specific people or specific places, the “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” symbolically references the contemporary problem of identity in a culture that dispenses with tradition, frowns upon ritual, rejects unity through common experiences and ignores the relationship between mankind and our environment.3 Given this cultural context, a decade before millennial change, the individual titles of the three works are meant to be considered in the order they were made as a kind of progressive epiphany, in three stages. The series begins with the recognition of self, the individual (“Autonomy”) in the first work.

Then, as recognition continues to develop; the inward gaze turns outward and identifies the self, surrounded by the environment (“Paradise”) in the second work. Finally, the third work results in a return to inward, and moreover, enlightened thought by balancing knowledge of self with knowledge of the environment. Put in a different way, the third work is a vehicle for contemplating one of the essential elements that supports existence, oxygen. In this sense, the three works together ask questions about the essential balance between individuals, the spaces they inhabit and their intricate places in the life cycle. The works underscore heightened global awareness, just prior to the turn of the second millennium of recorded history. In light of the recognition that as a species we need a much more holistic and humble understanding of how we interact with our planet, “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” explores the classic model of the “figure-ground relationship” in the context of millennial reflection. The over all work explores this relationship with not only art, but with mankind in general, during the last vestiges of this important century regarding the history of human development.

Autonomy “Autonomy” (fig. 1) is signified by the common bird—everyman4—in the form of a cutout. Behind the bird cutout are thorny vines with a remnant of fabric caught on one of the thorns; an apparent relic and evidence of an individual presence, and, their departure. The negative shape of the bird suggests 1

Bartel, Todd,” The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” MFA Thesis, Carnegie Mellon University, Hunt Library, Special collections, 1993, pg.22 2 Bill Van Siclen, an Art Critic, writes of my first post BFA exhibition—entitled “Emerging Artists,” at the Lenore Gray Gallery, Providence, RI—“Todd Bartel, whose series of torn-paper collages combine bits of Surrealistic imagery -- eels, boats bridges -- with traces of personal history. Like the Abstract Expressionists, Bartel is interested in finding visual equivalents for his emotional states; unlike them, however, he is less concerned with immediate experience than with the way memory filters experience. The result is a kind of emotional diary in which the artistʼs personal ups and downs are expressed in the collagesʼ improvised visual vocabulary.” This review appeared in the Providence Journal Bulletin, in Providence, RI, on July 11, 1986, in an article entitled, “The ʻEmergingʼ Work of Five Young Artists.”

3 Note: In art the subjects of portraiture and landscape are referred to as the relationship between the figure and the ground it occupies. Our culture—not necessarily its artists—tends to focus on the object or figure and neglect the ground or simply focus on the ground while forgetting the object; we focus on one or the other. Eastern cultures tend to see the figure in relationship to its ground and vise versa. As a culture, we in the West often relegate the landscape to being in the background, and therefore, it is of lesser importance than the objects that inhabit it.

4 Note: See the morality play, printed by John Skot entitled, Everyman, c. 1520.

6 loss. However, the negative space left by the place in which the bird once resided also leaves room to be filled by any, and all individuals who would view the void and invoke memories into the present.

In other words, the bird cutout transforms every time a new viewer looks into it and fills the cavity with their own particular history. Given this personalized hermetic content, “Autonomy” becomes a kind of non-reflective mirror in which the viewer must provide the power of personal reflection.

Given that this work is about the individual, symbolic references are made in the work to indicate existence. A hole drilled in the back of the box suggests a portal through which the soul may escape the “mortal coil.” Twenty-six small ball bearings were inserted through the hole to represent the age of the artist upon completion of the work. In this way, the work specifically refers to the artist; in as much as a self-portrait would. An additional three slightly larger bearings were inserted to represent the “Trilogy,” the “Trinity,” “body, mind and soul,”—or, individual, environment and community— as well as other metaphysical references. The work comes equipped with a small plastic case which houses one hundred of the smaller size bearings in anticipation of a would-be collector, in which case portraiture shifts to the owner of the work. A patron who acquires the trilogy follows instructions to insert a ball-bearing annually on his/her birthday after topping off, or removing the existing twentysix to equal his/or her own age. In this way, “Autonomy” is enhanced by the physical metaphor of interacting with the work. In the case of a non-patron viewer, their personal voyage is enhanced by their own understanding of the utilitarian purpose of the ball bearings, and of course, their own history from which their point of view emanates.5 Despite any wider audience that views the work, the piece represents the specific owner’s age via the passage of time, as demarcated by the increasing number of bearings. With the notion of a self-portrait in the mind of the viewer, owner or otherwise, the void is filled with personal memories of loss; those which constitute the idiosyncrasies, memories and personal tragedies of the specific viewer. Thus, “what is personal becomes universal.”6 As such, “Autonomy” raises questions about anything that results in self-sacrifice of individual autonomy or subsistence. “Autonomy” is appropriately self-referential and only gains wider significance when seen in conjunction with its two other constructed counterparts.

Paradise “Paradise,” conjures images of a world in which the human species cannot inhabit. The work was inspired by ideas of forbidden gardens, biblical “Genesis,” Thomas More’s “Utopia” and quotes such as Thomas Traherne’s: The world is a mirror of infinite beauty, yet no man sees it. It is a temple of majesty, yet no man regards it. It is a region of light and peace, did not men disquiet it.7 Designed as a romantic and sublime8 reverie, the image behind the cutout man is evocative of a secret garden. It also recalls the natural world and birthplace of life on earth: the sea. The body of man is opened up to reveal vestiges of land with flowers pressed under glass, over a map of the oceans— indicating the history of life and the evolution of the human species. It also suggests what separates us from other animals: consciousness, symbolic thinking and the capabilities to express these so others may also understand. This kind of awareness is symbolized through the juxtaposition of materials—glass, a synthesized and manmade material—which press flowers (memories) as both keep sakes and signs of earthly flora, and, an eroded letter (written communication) which covers a map (visualization of the earthly spaces in which we inhabit.) At once, the materials used to outfit the interior of the man cutout evoke man’s most distinguishing feature from all other animal species: the 5

Note: For further reading on how an audience embarks on a journey with a particular work of art see the “Intellectual and Spiritual Flight As Evoked By The Work of Art,” “The Gift: Creativity and the Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity” pp. 55-64.

6 Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and the Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” p. 64.

7 Timothy Ray Miller, “Discovering the Magic and Grandeur of Ordinary Existence,” Avon Books, 1996 8 Note: See the Hudson River Valley School of Painting.

7 ability to symbolize, as well as our unconscious and spatial capacity for deriving meaning from symbols. The “unconscious”9 is aptly depicted by such juxtapositions as water and land—visually fused in such a manner that neither are immediately ascertainable. Thus, the image of man in paradise is intrinsically tied to his self-conscience and autonomy and the spaces his imagination travels to—physically or otherwise.10 The language of the cutout body posture is suggestive. The open gesture of one hand suggests something being dropped while the other points to the ground.

Man’s head is in the clouds and his feet are floating, not grounded. In this instance, the cutout suggests removal or disconnection from the environment.11 The cutout out could also represent the capacity for man to achieve a vessel-like status in which a more integrated absorption of the surrounding world is made possible. This dual reading suggests choices for how to view our surroundings and how we perceive them. Thus, “Paradise” questions our own perceptions with regard to exactly how we inhabit our bodies as well as the physical landscape on which we exist and interact.

Oxygen “Oxygen” is the most incisive of the boxes as it points to the alarming possibility of planetary cataclysm: global warming. Overall, it is an image of holocaust. Horsehair lines the inner sides of the box recalling the German concentration camp practice of shaving hair prior to “cleansing.” This apocalyptic image frames the cutout shape of a toucan. Toucans in their natural settings are only found on two continents: Africa and South America. The cutting back of the rain forest is most prominent on these two continents. Through the toucan cutout the viewer notices tree limbs and jungle vines. The vines are painted and function like a decorated tribal mask, which symbolizes a particular animal’s spirit. In this case, what is symbolized is not an animal, but the habitat of the toucan; and, the ghost of the toucan’s colors seem to be imbued on the tree limbs as a reminder of its habitat. Four teeth are nailed to the vines—the number four references the four directions: North, South, East and West—which conjure holistic or global consciousness. Teeth are also a reference to a process of consumption; in this particular context, questions arise around whether or not our global consumption rate has been adequately questioned, or balanced by a wider understanding of the global ecosystem. Like the horse hair,12 the teeth are seen as a kind of warning and foreboding— similar to the kind of menacing feeling one gets if confronting a skeleton, a shrunken skull on a spear in a remote location, or, other martyred victims put out for a public to see. (In art as in life, viewing any actual bodily remain evokes uneasy feelings on the part of a would-be viewer.) In this instance the cutout reminds us of the thousands of animal species that are threatened today and the thousands that are now extinct. Studies have shown that the cutting back of the rain forests is having a severe impact upon Earth’s atmosphere its ecosystems and its biodiversity. Trees are machines for the creation of oxygen, which living beings require to maintain their subsistence. Living beings breath in oxygen and the byproduct of that process is of course carbon dioxide, which in turn, is consumed by earth’s flora. Today, the cutting back the rain-forest has decreased the amount of oxygen creating plant life, and, at the same time, the volume of opposing gasses is increasingly producing an all too apparent disequilibrium. The number of man-made machines, which produce and deploy opposing 9

Note: “A word or an image is symbolic when it implies something more than its obvious and immediate meaning. It has a wider ʻunconsciousʼ aspect that is never precisely defined or fully explained. Nor can one hope to define or explain it. As the mind explores the symbol, it is led to ideas that lie beyond the grasp of reason. The wheel may lead our thoughts toward the concept of a ʻdivineʼ being. When, with all our intellectual limitations, we call something ʻdivine,ʼ we have merely given it a name, which may be based on a creed, but never on factual evidence.” Jung, Carl, Man and His Symbols, Ferguson Publishing/Tonsa, San Sebastian, Spain 1964, p. 20 - 21.

10 Note: Cleverly, Thomas Mooreʼs term “utopia” is a contradiction that is about the idea of a perfect world that is nowhere at large.

11 Note: in the sixth definition of the word “nature” manʼs actions are seen as separate from natural forces and phenomenon: “Nature 6, A primitive state of existence, untouched and uninfluenced by civilization or artificiality.” American Heritage Dictionary, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, MA,1973.

12 Note: the choice to use horsehair is linked to the notion of a nightmare. The term refers to the visitation of a female incubus. The night horse or night mare visitation is considered a harbinger of ill fortune or death.

8 gasses such as carbon monoxide and fluorocarbons has increased which is a kind of pitting of natural and manmade mechanisms. The building up of large quantities of greenhouse gasses and simultaneously depletion of our landscape of oxygen giving forestation has created an unbalance of the planet’s overall ecosystem. One suspected result is the creation of holes in the ozone layer, which has in turn threatened global climate shifting, and thus, food chain disruptions and changes. Upon recognition of the elements and their earthly references within “Oxygen,” questions begin to arise: Has man created his own extinction machine?13 Is the planet a machine that should be tampered with without respect for its intricacies?

Cutout as Foreboding Imagery Our own martyrdom is brought into question when the three individual works “Autonomy,” “Paradise” and “Oxygen” are considered as a unit, a whole. Using a cutout as a vehicle to convey martyrdom is an attempt to visually communicate possible sacrifice of the subjects symbolized through the use of a negative shape. Martyrdom often concludes with the ghastly creation of reliquaries to prove an apparent sacrifice; yet in “The Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs,” the reliquaries are empty of such definitive proof of the claim of the work; the torn cloth, the pressed flowers and the teeth are not actual relics of the suggested martyrdom, but rather symbolic points of departure for contemplation. The viewer must supply the martyred remains—but hopefully in concept and not in an actual physical sense. Thus, the apparent claim of such sacrifices are pointed toward and suggested. Negative forms, or cutouts, house clues and hints, which point to the threat of possible martyrdom. This tactic is chosen to provoke thought. As I stated in my graduate thesis, “objects, entities and ideas in absentia are invoked by the apparent [lack] of their presence.”14 We are living in a time when we have unprecedented technological advances and societal infrastructures to live in harmony with each other and the natural world around us; and yet, as a global culture we still often sacrifice our goals, our morals our autonomy in favor of pleasing others or making personal gains. We often hold paradise as a place other than here and we regrettably treat our surroundings as expendable. We are often unaware of the impact of our actions upon each other and upon this planet. Now, more than ever before, planetary unbalance is threatened to such an extent, many individuals and many organizations are asking difficult questions about how to live in greater harmony with our surroundings. In light of this, “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” initiates a dialog about the possible existence of our own mass-extinction machine.

Lures, Wormwood and Politic Worms15 Much of my work in general is about transformation and metaphysical transcendence. My interests in mythologies, comparative religion, anthropology, psychology, science, mathematics, history, personal history and loss, and my empirical experience with these often inspire my work. These subjects often yield politically charged content although my work can deceivingly appear to be devoid of political content due to its apparent formalism. While a particular work may be of a darker content than another, the outlook of the work is intensely positive. A certain level of beauty is sought in the work as a ploy to captivate a viewer and evoke strong feelings in spite of the darkness of a work. Confronted by art containing difficult ideas, tension erupts due to the use of particular materials and the saturation of surfaces, colors and the juxtapositions and symbolism that these suggest when considered all together. Placing a cloak of beauty over mysterious or dark circumstances is a strategy of the work. I employ this kind of tension to provoke the notion of 13

Note: Extinction Machine is the title of an installation piece and a box construction that explore the relationship between Richard Leakeyʼs assault on elephant poachers in the ivory trade in 1990 and John Brownʼs assault on pro-slavery men at the Swamp of the Swan, Kansas, 1956. Both the notions of civil war (a nation cleaved in two by its own opposing moralities) and the brutal slaying of others in support of a “higher cause” presents the extent to which we as nations of peoples are willing to get what we want at any cost. For further reading on “Extinction Machine,” see Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” pg. 73 14 Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” pg. 111 15 Shakespear: Hamlet: “wormwood,” Act III, Scene II, Line 81; “politic worms” Act IV, Scene III, Line 20

9 transformation on the part of the viewer. As an artist, I keep working on a given piece until I achieve balance between ideas, and visual appearances that does not seem to be too heavy in one direction or another but yields a balance between form and content. Abstraction16 is a process of editing out information. A work, which is strong in abstract ways, tends to captivate its audience, particularly if there are ideas, connections and symbols to be discovered along the way. Thus, cloaking content with a patina of beauty lures in the viewer, where upon juxtapositions can take hold of the mind and conjure comparisons and thought and that of course requires the viewer to deconstruct what they are viewing; and what may start out as being primarily abstract, transforms and becomes lucid thought, wider understanding, personal epiphany, or intellectual flight: a personal voyage of thought and experience. Concepts travel through interconnecting tunnels of thoughts, ideas and memories and once a process of questioning is initiated, it is inevitable that the inner workings of the mind will find new understanding.

Material Metaphors As stated above, since the completion of “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” I have incorporated the specific use of materials as a strategy for embedding my work with greater content. I often use materials as much for their conceptual value as for esthetic purposes. This is not always possible; but when esthetic concerns overlap conceptual concerns, the work tends to increase in depth and vitality.

The subject of transformation is confronted and evoked in the work through the careful selection of materials. Using lead as a material conjures connections to the associations generally linked with this material. For example, “lead [plays a] protective role in medical procedures such as x-rays”17 and since all three works in “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” share this common element, the notion of lead as a protective material is an appropriate association. However, lead also has toxic properties. The duality of its qualities [is] symbolically appropriate. “Lead’s toxicity acts as a metaphor for the consequences of lost autonomy...Lead also has a historical connection with alchemy in which it represents transformation (lead to gold)...Lead is thus symbolic of the promise of spiritual change or growth [and must be handled respectfully].”18 Materials, such as lead, teeth, dirt, horsehair etc. are thus examples of embedding the work with heightened meaning.

Homage to Cornell The bottom portion of each of the three components of “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” pays homage to the father of box sculpture, Joseph Cornell. Until 1989 I had only seen a few Cornell boxes. The first was at Rhode Island School of Design’s Fine Art Museum in 1983. Oddly enough, I wrote a paper about this piece—one of his Sand Fountain works—in an art history class. This occurred well before I ever became interested in Cornell. I also saw an exhibition in Boston of Cornell’s boxes in 1988.

However, I cannot recall the title of the show nor the name of the Gallery. Even though I had access to Cornell’s work prior to making the “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs,” it was not Cornell that inspired me to follow in his lineage, but rather my professor Alfred DeCredico. DeCredico was making boxes during the time I was in undergraduate school (1981-1985). Upon seeing DeCredico’s boxes and collages I knew I was a collage and assemblage artist.19 In the winter of 1989 I traveled to Chicago interested in a Graduate School program there and saw the Bergman Collection of Cornell boxes at The Art Institute of Chicago. It wasn’t until then that I connected with the work of Cornell and began 16

Note: In the “Tontine” catalog, Roger Dell states my boxed constructions read “strongly as abstract sculptures.” Roger Dell, “Tontine,” Hermen Goode Gallery, Brooklyn, NY exhibition catalog, 2000. In his clam, Dell has uncovered one of my aspirations as an artist: to create works that utilize pattern, emotions, association, memory, ideation, contextual awareness, symbolism, and abstraction. Put in another way, I want to use the powers of my brain through an artistic communication: Reptilian brain (patterns and belief systems), Mammalian brain (emotions, relative and connective intrapersonal skills) and the Neo-cortex (left and right hemispheres—linear and spatial thought respectively). An excellent book on this subject is “The Three Faces of Mind,” Elaine De Beauport, Quest Books, Wheaton, IL, 1996.

17 Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” pg. 84 18 Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” pg. 86 19 Bartel, “The Gift: Creativity and The Emergence of Individual and Cultural Identity,” pp. 18 - 28

10 to realize I was working in his lineage. With that realization, I decided to pay homage to his work by referencing his boxes within my own. Directly after that trip I resolved the first of the two boxes within “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” by fabricating their lower sections. The third was completed shortly afterwards. Prior to this trip I was unsure of exactly what was going to go into the bottom portions of the boxes. I made a connection between Cornell’s Dovecote series and my interest in the orb as a metaphysical symbol. Thus, the balls that move freely in compartments in each of individual works within “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” is a poetic referral to Cornell’s “Dovecote” series, fig. 4.

fig. 4.

Joseph Cornell, Dovecote (Colombier), 1950 Mixed media, 17 3/8” x 11 7/8” x 13 15/16” The Lindy and Edwin Bergman Collection, The Art Institute of Chicago

Orbs in Context The word “orb” is a late Middle English term denoting a circle and it comes from the Latin word “orbis” meaning ‘ring.’20 The significance of a ring form implies wedding, and the final phrase in a wedding ceremony is of course, “until death do us part” is an appropriate connection for anyone following an affinity of associations with these materials. Like Cornell’s aviary series, bird imagery is significant in as much as it is a widely accepted symbol of the spirit. But more importantly, in Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs, the orbs are symbolic references to man in several ways. The materials of the orbs themselves are all unearthed materials: metal, clay and rock, in various forms and each has its own set of symbolic inferences. In “Autonomy,” the metal ball bearings reside in dirt—metal being a mined and synthesized material that resides in the same location from whence it/we comes and ultimately to where it returns. In “Paradise” the clay orbs reside among dentals from a house pediment—clay being a material from which “Adam” was born out of, and which, within “Paradise,” 20

Etymology from The Oxford English Dictionary.

11 resides in the symbolic location of an architectural structure, within which nearly all of mankind dwells. And in “Oxygen,” the malachite orbs reside in mausoleum-like cubicles—malachite is mined in Africa, which is another reference to the location of rainforest deforestation.

I have used marbles and bearings in my box construction work since the first one I ever completed in 1985. I do not only reference Cornell when I choose to use these materials and there are many times when my choice to employ an orb is not intended for homage. In the case of Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs, the compartmentalization of Cornell’s “Dovecotes” is what I specifically was interested in referencing and my the use of the orb is meant to symbolize the individual and the soul—the sum total of an individual which governs all their decision making. The associations and juxtapositions between the orbs and their particular backgrounds in each work conjures different meanings for each piece in the “Trilogy.” “Autonomy” is linked to ideas about life cycles as each bearing resides in dirt—collected from various locations I have traveled, such as Kenya, New Mexico, Block Island etc.—and reminds us we eventually lay to rest in the ground and return to whence we came. In “Paradise” the orbs move constrictedly among small wooden objects—they push and compress each other—suggestive of the relationship between the object/figure and the space it inhabits. In other words, man and the environment are intrinsically tied to one another and thus they are in constant movement—an ever-changing, figure-ground relationship. The objects that move along with the marbles are architectural detailing called dentals21 and are usually found lining the bottom portion of a pediment. Here, the use of an architectural reference suggests a possible reason why we are disconnected from land: we continually bite into and consume the land to erect dwellings and harvest raw materials, with which we surround ourselves with so many, that we often block our view and thus forget about the scape from which they came. Finally, the dark and somber lower chambers of “Oxygen” indicate a kind of mausoleum and having been denied access to soil, suggests death without the possibility of entering another life cycle. In the first box, “Autonomy’s” cycle occurs in the ground, which can reanimate dead tissue through natural processes. In the second box, we seem to travel with what we make in life as we move in various manmade structured cycles. In the third box, “Oxygen’s” fin de siècle occurs in the harsh manmade, synthetic, and industrialized hermetic container—the ultimate box we may find ourselves in.

Landscape Into Life’s Work “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” is decidedly a didactic and political22 work, but it also investigates and presents many questions. It is a major work for me and while I knew of its importance when I created it, I did not realize to what extent it would set the pace for future work. Including it in the exhibition “Tontine” (2000) made clear its relevance to my current work by establishing a decade of inquiry on subjects relating to landscape. My current work in boxed construction—which began in 1995—stems from the following artist’s statement: 21

Note; the choice to use dentals in “Paradise” is a kind of foreshadowing of the third work in the series; a word pun with regard to the use of teeth in “Oxygen.”

22 Note: The following excerpt is what I refer to when I say my work has a political content: “Art does not organize parties, nor is it the servant or colleague of power (as it is, for example, in Mao Tse-tungʼs political aesthetic where “work in literature and art…is subordinated to the revolutionary tasks set by the party...”). Rather, the work of art becomes a political force simply through the faithful representation of the spirit. It is a political act to create an image of the self or of the collective. It has no logos power, but the law and the legislatures will say they thought it up when it comes to term. In an early letter Whitman writes that “under and behind the bosh of the regular politicians, there burns…the divine fire which…during all ages, has only wanted a chance to leap forth and confound the calculations of tyrants, hunkers, and all their tribe.” The work of the political artist creates a body for this fire. So long as the artist speaks the truth, he will, whenever the government is lying or has betrayed the people, become a political force whether he intends to or not, as witnessed by American artists during the 1930ʼs or during the Vietnam war, Spanish artists during their civil war, South Korean poets in recent years, all Russian artists since the Revolution, Bertolt Brecht as Hitler rose to power...” Hyde, Lewis, The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property, Vintage Books & Random House, New York, NY, 1979, p.

198.

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TERRA REVERENTIA If the superior man loves the countryside, why is this so? Hills and gardens will always be the haunts of him who seeks to cultivate his original nature; fountains and rocks are a constant joy to him who wanders whistling among them.

Kuo Hsi I know of no sculpture, painting or music that exceeds the compelling spiritual command of the soaring shape of granite cliff and dome, of patina of light on rock and forest, of the thunder and whispering of the falling, flowing waters.

Ansel Adams nature 6. The primitive state of existence, untouched and uninfluenced by civilization or artificiality.

American Heritage Dictionary

Paradise is forgotten, discarded or disbelieved by some. Some gardens are lost forever.

There is widespread irreverence for nature, or at the very least, we are bulldozing land at a frighteningly unprecedented rate. Even in our definition of nature, we separate ourselves from it: nature is that which is “untouched and uninfluenced by civilization or artificiality.” Global ecology is, on the other hand, widely discussed, written about and advocated for. The work in the “Terra Reverentia,” “Garden Study” and the “Salvage” series are not directly about the alarming rate of rain forest cut back, the pollutants we pour into our world, the manner in which we abuse natural resources or the dismal future of our planet some have attested to; although, these are in the back of my mind as I create. I am however, much more optimistic in my conception. I endeavor to create work that is about awe for nature while questioning its relevance in contemporary culture, and I choose images of landscapes to work with.

Because the term landscape—a word introduced as a technical term of painters (OED)— has evolved to mean land panorama and not only refer to cultivated land and paintings of land, the root of the word intrigued me: lendh2- open land, heath, prairie; skep- to cut, scrape, to hack, form, creation (<“cutting”): shape. Aspects of this root definition deal with nature, creativity, change and alteration—“creation,” “shape,” “form” etc.— but not with the simple act of viewing or encountering natural vista and scenery. The emphasis in this root definition is on the action of making, arranging or rearranging land—as in a painting or the construction of a dam. Furthermore, some of the words that define landscape’s root can also be destructive in meaning; all of which confound rather than support the current definition’s reference to scenic countryside. One can read into the terms “form,” “creation,” “cutting” and “shape” to mean genesis or “primitive state of existence,” but scenic panorama is also a separate subject. This seems a subtle distinction to make, but warranted at present, given the everdeteriorating condition of the planet. Since it is apparent that landscapes are always touched and influenced by “civilization and artificiality” rather than being about astonishment for what is untouched, I sought a word for a depicted land image that did not conjure up any reference to human land rearrangement. Moreover, I wanted the definition to also be about reverence for land. There was no such single word in our language. And since my conscience would not allow reverie for a term that could evoke negative connotations of “hacking,” I sought entomological alternatives. A new word evolved: landview. “View” seemed to be an appropriate suffix because the root of the word vision is wied- (to see, to look after, guard, ascribe to, wise, wisdom).

Articulating a distinction between a landscape and a landview spurred the aforementioned series of works which are made up of borrowed images of Medieval, Asian, Hudson River School landscapes, as well as found anonymous and folk art

13 landscape paintings in the formats of drawing, painting and boxed construction. Specific images of painted land were referenced or appropriated for the purposes of symbolizing landscapes as vehicles for contemplation, transcendentalism, personal revelation and cultural reformation. However, they are all veiled, altered, marginalized, or “shaped” in some way. The notion of veiling, of obscuring and of longing for these views was, like Ansel Adams, the source of my own compelling spiritual command: the thing lost, missing or obscured is invoked by its apparent mitigation or absence.

My recent drawings and boxed constructions—figures 5 - 16—exhibited in the “Tontine” show emerge from the groundwork laid by “Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs.” The work continues to investigate how land becomes symbolic of metaphysical inquiry, global awareness, hybrid culture and reverie for the splendor of nature and the human condition. Above all, the work indicates the importance of the apparent need for global detransfiguration to coincide with personal transformation in order for transcendence to find manifestation in our respective cultures at large.

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fig. 5.

Medicine Mirage, 1991 Tempera on constructed wood box, twigs, wax, wood, antique cast iron toy horse, antique jacks, velvet, Plaka on linoleum, glass.

15” x 12” x 5 1/2”

15

fig. 6.

fig. 7.

(door & window closed)

(door & window open)

Portrait of John F. Rosen MD: A Healer’s Voice, 1994 Tempera on constructed wood box, gold leaf on lead, pressed flowers, Plaka on glass, velvet, brass fixtures, ink on wood stretchers, oil on linen, letter written by Margaret Hiatt and ribbon.

12” X 17” X 5 1/2”

16

fig. 8.

Terra Reverentia: Invocation, 1995 Tempera on constructed wood box, velvet, oil on linen, casein on vines and twigs, rock, glass, mustard seeds.

18 3/4” x 18 3/4” x 3 1/2”

17

fig. 9.

Terra Reverentia: Walking The Garden, 1995 Tempera and clay on constructed wood box, velvet, oil on wood, gold leaf, vines, steel spikes, glass, and mustard seeds.

18 1/2” x 15 1/2” x 4 1/4”

18

fig. 10.

Terra Reverentia: Recrudesce, 1995 Tempera on constructed wood box, velvet, vines, oil on wood, gold leaf, branches, glass, mustard seeds.

15 1/2” x 15 1/2” x 3 1/2”

19

fig. 11.

Abulic Terrain: Affecting Currents (Salvage Series), 2000 Tempera and casein on constructed wood box, old paint-chipped wood, anonymous painting c. 1900, found in Maine antique shop, cobalt glass eyewash cup, casein on wood form, root (harvested at a dried up reservoir near Stamford, CT, the day before the artist’s wife, Talin Megherian’s water broke and four days before she went into labor with their son Noah), mustard seeds, India ink on snake skin given to the artist by Olivia Tow (a 2nd grade student at the Mead School, of Stamford, CT, who serendipitously brought a snake skin to school on the day the artist had requested one from Olivia’s science teacher) and Museum Glass.

23 3/8” x 24 1/4” x 5 1/2”

20

fig. 12.

Garden Study (Eden), 1998 Blood, ink, gesso and watercolor on two pages from Ovid’s “Metamorphosis.”

7 1/4” x 5 3/4”

21

fig. 13.

Cycle Study (Early Maps), 1999 Ink, gesso, watercolor and negative sticker remnants on two pages from Ovid’s “Metamorphosis.”

7 1/4” x 5 3/4”

22

fig. 14.

Garden Study (Frontier), 2000 Ink, gesso, negative sticker remnants, carbon transfer, acrylic, and water color on two pages from Ovid’s Metamorphosis.”

7 1/4” x 5 3/4”

23

fig. 15.

Garden Study (Mirage), 2000 Ink, gesso, shoe polish, acrylic, pencil and water color on two pages from Ovid’s Metamorphosis.”

5 3/4” x 7 1/4”

24

fig. 16.

Garden Study (Continental Divide), 2000 Ink, gesso, shoe polish, tempera, acrylic, and water color on two pages from Ovid’s Metamorphosis.”

7 1/4” x 5 3/4”

25

“Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” Exhibition History: 5/00

Hermen Goode Gallery, Brooklyn, NY "Tontine," Group Exhibition

1/00

Visions Gallery, Troy, NY "Saints and Martyrs: Holy Fools and Perfect Rejects," Group Exhibition

9/90

Reynolds Gallery, Pittsburgh, PA Solo Exhibition

5/89

Juliani Gallery, Massachusetts Bay Community College, Wellesley, MA "Todd Bartel Selected Work," Solo Exhibition

4/89

Brockton Art Museum, Brockton, MA "Common Roots, Diverse Objectives, RISD Alumni in Boston," Juried, Group Exhibition

“Trilogy of Unknown Martyrs” Reviews: 4/00

“Tontine,” pictured, exhibition catalog, essay by Roger Dell, Hermen Goode Gallery, Brooklyn, NY

7/89

“RISD Grads Who Settled In Boston,” The Providence Journal Bulletin, Providence, RI