A new exhibition at the Current in Stowe, “A Place of Memory,” has a serious mission. In their works, the five artists “reclaim their own ancestral stories, asking the viewer to rethink how we present history and, therefore, our values,” according to the gallery’s introduction.
Needing to “reclaim,” of course, implies that something was taken away or never acknowledged in the first place. That’s a polite way to say that dominant-culture perspectives have been standard in art spaces for eons; the art and artifacts of nondominant cultures have been regarded as anthropological curiosities, if they are present at all.
These are creations that show you something new each time you look.
But in recent years, museums and galleries have begun to reckon with their racial and cultural biases in collections, exhibitions and valuations. Rachel Moore, executive director and director of exhibitions at the Current, was ahead of that curve. She has long sought out contemporary artists from the U.S. and beyond whose work addresses issues of our time.
In that fraught context, visitors might expect “A Place of Memory” to be kind of a downer. They’d be wrong. Though not ha-ha funny, the artworks are thoroughly engaging, both aesthetically and conceptually. That’s particularly true of the wildly inventive assemblages of Nyugen E. Smith and vanessa german. These are creations that show you something new each time you look.
Based in Jersey City, N.J., Smith is a Caribbean American artistic polyglot: He works in performance, found-object sculpture, drawing, painting, photography, video and writing to explore historical and present-day conditions in the Black African diaspora. On view at the Current are four pieces from his “Bundlehouse” series that explore the migrant experience and the environment.
“He thinks a lot about migration and the ancestral history of colonization,” Moore said during a gallery visit, “what you carry with you and how that informs where you are now.”
Smith’s “Bundlehouse: Migrant Magic” is a 58-by-64-by-13-inch wall-hung, nonlinear assemblage on wood, canvas and paper that employs acrylic paint, oil pastel, graphite and pencil along with objects such as rope, bottle caps, a cowbell, cork, sequins and nails.
Words can scarcely do justice to this or any of Smith’s works, but here’s an attempt: A likeness of a beanie-capped young man, presumably the artist, pokes his head, one arm and legs from behind an alcove- or altar-shaped construction painted with symbolic figures and populated with an African-inspired head, bits of found wood, a small life buoy and other miscellaneous objects. The man holds a staff on which sits a rooster. Fluffy clouds float behind it. To the left is a portrait of an older man — an ancestor? — with palm trees in the background suggesting a tropical locale.
It may be impossible for a white Vermont gallerygoer to read this work accurately, but it’s easy to feel it. This story is as emotional as it is complex.
German’s four remarkable sculptural assemblages present controlled chaos. Like Smith, she works across multiple mediums. Calling herself a “self-taught citizen artist,” Milwaukee-born german builds “power figures” inspired by Congolese nkisi sculptures that are embellished with all manner of materials.
“A Love Poem to Nia Wilson #2,” for example, is essentially a female with regal hair sitting on a large molded goose. The woman’s “body” consists of multiple small bundles of fabric, porcelain birds and other items secured with twine. Most of this is ghostly white. A large ceramic arrangement of colored flowers perches, crown-like, atop her head; turned wood pieces serve as her legs, set into a pair of tan lace-up shoes. She is ready to go, or to rule.
The artwork’s namesake, Nia Wilson, was stabbed to death in 2018 at age 18 in Oakland, Calif., while returning home from a family gathering. German’s memorial to her is profoundly moving.
The work of Alaska-based Nicholas Galanin is far more austere and minimal, both drawing on and continuing the tradition of Tlingit art. His 30-foot border-wall steel sculpture spelling out the word “LAND,” sited at Brooklyn Bridge Park, has garnered recent publicity and praise. The Current hosts more modest pieces. Six color prints, collectively called “Intellectual Property,” depict small objects that represent Native connection to the land.
“The work functions as a warning of what remains without Indigenous knowledge,” Galanin writes in an artist statement, “and as a celebration of Indigenous creativity without commodification.”
The artist conveys another kind of power in “Eagle,” a mask made of wood and horsehair. Galanin first chopped up a commercially produced mask “made by Indonesians for predominantly non-Indigenous markets,” according to his statement, then reassembled and glued together the chips to form a face-like mask. Long dark hair is attached on either side. Though Galanin is “reclaiming agency” in the piece, the triumph seems a bit playful, too.
Large-scale works outside the gallery stand in for the Current’s annual “Exposed” show of outdoor sculpture this year.
Miami-born, California-based Woody De Othello is primarily known for his ceramic installations, featuring pieces that resemble everyday household items. Sometimes anthropomorphized, the work also references such African American crafts as face jugs.
For the Stowe exhibit, Othello shipped across the country a gigantic cast bronze piece titled “Some Time Moves Fast Some Time Moves Slow.” Standing six feet tall, the weighty work combines figurative elements — human hands, feet, a very large ear — with a clock/head whose hands droop down, à la Salvador Dalí’s melting timepieces.
Deborah Kass shares the lawn with Othello. Her work “OY/YO” spells out either of those words, depending on the viewer’s position. Made of acrylic polyurethane aluminum, the 37-by-73-by-19.5-inch letters are bright yellow and sit on a stainless-steel base. Kass, who lives in Brooklyn, is known for her word art, often in neon, usually in primary colors. She has made other iterations of “OY/YO” in different sizes.
The abbreviated, staccato terms “oy” and “yo” are themselves expressions of nondominant cultures that have been adopted by broader groups. We think of “oy” as a Yiddish expression of exasperation. But fans of the TV series “Ted Lasso” will recognize Roy Kent’s gruff “oi,” grunted in lieu of a friendlier greeting. (The term was also adopted by an aggressive punk movement in the 1970s and ’80s.) And who among us does not mutter “oy vey” as occasion demands?
As for “yo,” aside from being the Spanish word for “I,” it’s been traced to 14th-century Middle English, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Various groups of Americans have used it as an interjection, from Italian immigrants in the 1940s to rap artists today. If language is a Bunsen burner for the so-called melting pot, Kass’ dual-sided sculpture is a deceptively simple evocation of cultural integration in America.
“OY/YO” is also a strikingly urban piece of work, a semantic semaphore on a lawn in northern Vermont. In “A Place of Memory,” the Current presents visitors with ancestral legacies and cultural perspectives to take home and ponder.
“A Place of Memory,” on view through October 21 at the Current in Stowe. thecurrentnow.org
The original print version of this article was headlined “Past Due | Artists reclaim diverse identities in a dynamic show at the Current”
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This article appears in Jul 12-18, 2023.
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