Solo Show for One: Joel Parsons at the Bentley Hotel, Mumbai
hand printed catalog available (includes
limited edition exhibition map and an introductory essay by
Joel Parsons, reprinted below, with a foreword by Tiffanie)
edition of one, one of one still available, printed 2007, ships from Mumbai
contact the artist's representative, Tiffanie for details
work on display
Other People's Memories
looped slide show of digital photos, soundtrack: Ricky Martin feat. Christina Aguilera, 'Nobody Wants to be Lonely'
2007
21 august 2007
gauche on paper
2007
Untitled
half slept hotel bed
2007
"how long has it been?"
audio recording of the artist's name spoken 1,000 times
2007
My Friend Turkey
artist's book
2007
12 september 2007
gauche and acrylic on paper
2007
not pictured:
So This is Who Comes to Art Things?
black acrylic on mirror
20007
Untitled
found sculpture, two intertwined strings in a wardrobe
2007
At first glance, Solo Show for One has all the sporadic, spastic, many-media-ed energy of a group show. Closer inspection reveals one common narrative, a singular perspective that unites each piece. It's the story of the search for the best way to be alone. Not a quest for partnership or a salve for loneliness, but a means of living with just oneself. A solo show for an audience of one about being alone is, perhaps, self indulgent - the ultimate vanity project - but it is also heartfelt, bittersweet, and revealing. Mounted in a stark, small hotel room (inhabited by one), the exhibition becomes especially relevant to its audience, literally meeting it where it lives, alone.
A slide show plays on loop to the sound of Nobody Wants to Be Lonely, the 2001 hit Ricky Martin/Christina Aguilera duet. Buried beneath the overwrought theatricality of the song is some small sliver sincerity, an pebble of honest sentiment cloaked in kitsch. As it fills the small hotel room it becomes a sort of theme song for the show, both heavy and buoyant. The slide show is composed of pictures of people (presumably tourists) taking pictures of other people in exotic locales. The images act as a subversion of the dread post vacation slide show. No landmarks or scenery are visible and every picture is shot from a distance, emphasizing the physical and psychological space between the photographer and his photographer subjects.
Two paintings on paper hang on the walls. Both touch on a private, unknowable narrative that perhaps involves moments of loneliness, or perhaps, in their vagueness, merely underscore the aloneness of the artist. More literal is the book of drawings that chart his alienation from and acceptance of the predominantly Muslim culture of Istanbul.
A step into the small bathroom reveals a message painted on the mirror in thick, black, glooping script:
So, this is who goes to art things?
The sentence is a quote from a friend of the artist, a Turkish/Kurdish trashpicker whom he took to an art opening. Innocently accusatory, it serves as evidence of both alienation and belonging.
The bed in the center of the room is a showcase for two pieces. Untitled, which makes art of the bed itself (one side clearly slept on, the other clearly not), and How Long Has it Been?, an audio piece which forces the viewer into close proximity with the bed - close enough to smell its now absent occupant. Two small speakers emerge from the pillow. If the viewer (or listener) stoops they can hear the artist repeating his name continuously until it sounds curiously as though it isn't a word at all, much less a name. The first piece is clearly a reference to the billboard project launched by Felix Gonzalez-Torres - a large-scale photograph made physical and intimate. The latter stems from the artist's realization that he couldn't remember the last time he had heard his name spoken aloud.
In the wardrobe by the bed hangs Untitled, two pieces of string on a rod, twisted together at the ends, that appear to dance with one another in the breeze from the ceiling fan. The artist says that he opened the door and found the strings hanging that way and left them there, together. It's a poetic moment, reason enough to believe that aloneness is not all there is, though it is sufficient for now.
A side note: the show was sparsely attended, but all of my favorite gallery snacks were there.
photos from the opening
edition of one, one of one still available, printed 2007, ships from Mumbai
contact the artist's representative, Tiffanie for details
work on display
Other People's Memories
looped slide show of digital photos, soundtrack: Ricky Martin feat. Christina Aguilera, 'Nobody Wants to be Lonely'
2007
21 august 2007
gauche on paper
2007
Untitled
half slept hotel bed
2007
"how long has it been?"
audio recording of the artist's name spoken 1,000 times
2007
My Friend Turkey
artist's book
2007
12 september 2007
gauche and acrylic on paper
2007
not pictured:
So This is Who Comes to Art Things?
black acrylic on mirror
20007
Untitled
found sculpture, two intertwined strings in a wardrobe
2007
At first glance, Solo Show for One has all the sporadic, spastic, many-media-ed energy of a group show. Closer inspection reveals one common narrative, a singular perspective that unites each piece. It's the story of the search for the best way to be alone. Not a quest for partnership or a salve for loneliness, but a means of living with just oneself. A solo show for an audience of one about being alone is, perhaps, self indulgent - the ultimate vanity project - but it is also heartfelt, bittersweet, and revealing. Mounted in a stark, small hotel room (inhabited by one), the exhibition becomes especially relevant to its audience, literally meeting it where it lives, alone.
A slide show plays on loop to the sound of Nobody Wants to Be Lonely, the 2001 hit Ricky Martin/Christina Aguilera duet. Buried beneath the overwrought theatricality of the song is some small sliver sincerity, an pebble of honest sentiment cloaked in kitsch. As it fills the small hotel room it becomes a sort of theme song for the show, both heavy and buoyant. The slide show is composed of pictures of people (presumably tourists) taking pictures of other people in exotic locales. The images act as a subversion of the dread post vacation slide show. No landmarks or scenery are visible and every picture is shot from a distance, emphasizing the physical and psychological space between the photographer and his photographer subjects.
Two paintings on paper hang on the walls. Both touch on a private, unknowable narrative that perhaps involves moments of loneliness, or perhaps, in their vagueness, merely underscore the aloneness of the artist. More literal is the book of drawings that chart his alienation from and acceptance of the predominantly Muslim culture of Istanbul.
A step into the small bathroom reveals a message painted on the mirror in thick, black, glooping script:
So, this is who goes to art things?
The sentence is a quote from a friend of the artist, a Turkish/Kurdish trashpicker whom he took to an art opening. Innocently accusatory, it serves as evidence of both alienation and belonging.
The bed in the center of the room is a showcase for two pieces. Untitled, which makes art of the bed itself (one side clearly slept on, the other clearly not), and How Long Has it Been?, an audio piece which forces the viewer into close proximity with the bed - close enough to smell its now absent occupant. Two small speakers emerge from the pillow. If the viewer (or listener) stoops they can hear the artist repeating his name continuously until it sounds curiously as though it isn't a word at all, much less a name. The first piece is clearly a reference to the billboard project launched by Felix Gonzalez-Torres - a large-scale photograph made physical and intimate. The latter stems from the artist's realization that he couldn't remember the last time he had heard his name spoken aloud.
In the wardrobe by the bed hangs Untitled, two pieces of string on a rod, twisted together at the ends, that appear to dance with one another in the breeze from the ceiling fan. The artist says that he opened the door and found the strings hanging that way and left them there, together. It's a poetic moment, reason enough to believe that aloneness is not all there is, though it is sufficient for now.
A side note: the show was sparsely attended, but all of my favorite gallery snacks were there.
photos from the opening
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