One of the most prominent features of art from the late eighteenth century onwards, particularly after World War II, is artists’ tendency to evolve traditional artmaking methods outside the studio’s boundaries. This exhibition will examine the ways in which contemporary artists enacted new ideas formed by the social and historical contexts of their time and pushed the boundaries of artmaking and materials as a result.     

"By Way Of" offers a suite of works from the museum’s permanent collection inspired by the D.Daskalopoulos Collection Gift. Major artists from the Arte Povera movement of the 1960s and 1970s, like Jannis Kounellis and Mario Merz will share the galleries with artists working today, such as Rashid Johnson, Mona Hatoum, and Senga Nengudi. 

"By Way Of: Material and Motion in the Guggenheim Collection" is organized by Naomi Beckwith, Deputy Director and Jennifer and David Stockman Chief Curator.

In this digital guide, receive an introduction to the exhibition from curator Naomi Beckwith and explore slow-looking exercises of select works on view.

Exhibition Website

By Way Of: Material and Motion in the Guggenheim Collection

Curator Naomi Beckwith shares insights on the exhibition and its themes.

Transcript
Naomi Beckwith: I am Naomi Beckwith, Deputy Director and Jennifer and David Stockman Chief Curator here at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum and Foundation. I’m thrilled to present "By Way Of: Material and Motion in the Guggenheim Collection," a show that features a small fraction of our holdings but which demonstrates the ways in which artists have made radical departures from the traditional definitions of art-making. 

This exhibition asks, Why would an artist like David Hammons, for instance, use food coloring instead of paint to make his own portrait? How do upcycled clothes—the way the artists Shinique Smith or Joseph Beuys utilizes them—represent the body? How can trash and discards—the way Abraham Cruzvillegas collects and reworks them—come to represent a notion of home? How can home be considered not just a place of nurture but actually a place of threat and danger? 

Art in "By Way Of" spans from the early 1960s to art made just a few years ago. This way of working—finding odd objects, finding unusual objects, and transforming them into artworks—is one that really finds its root in particular, in a movement coined by the Italian curator Germano Celant as Arte Povera. Arte Povera literally translates in English as “poor art.” Celant, the artists he championed, such as Piero Manzoni, or Pier Calzolari, Jannis Kounellis, or Mario Merz—all in view here in this exhibition—all believe that the value of art came from its idea and the way in which it was a reflection of the world around it. So, instead of using traditional materials such as wood, or marble, or bronze, or paint, they used the stuff they saw around them every day. Things like salt, or a natural material like ice, or clothing, even a motorcycle. All of these objects began to paint a picture of a society in Italy that was changing, that was moving from agricultural to industrial. 

That idea continues to animate so many artists working even today, especially working in the Global South, and African American artists in the United States. You see that especially in works by David Hammons, Abraham Cruzvillegas, Senga Nengudi, Rashid Johnson, Shinique Smith, and Mark Bradford.  

If artists can go into the world and collect trash, discards, and found objects to make them into artworks that we then value for their ideas and even for their beauty, then these artists pose an ethical question: What else, and who else, is in the world that we also need to hold in higher value?

Introduction to the Exhibition

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Narrator: This chromogenic print from 2012 by artist Xaviera Simmons is titled "Index Two Composition Three." The vertically oriented photograph is just over 4 feet high by 3 feet wide and centers an accumulation of layered objects. The items are attached together haphazardly with clothespins and other materials and cover a vertical cylindrical structure.

The objects include a braid of light brown hair, a green palm frond, a tin can hanging from twine, and a ceramic jug hanging from a knot of red pantyhose. Vintage postcards and drawings hang from clothespins at various angles alongside cutout photographs and an image of singer and fashion icon Grace Jones. At the bottom center of the print hangs a slightly crumpled white square of paper reading “The Far West” in silver capital letters. The precariously layered items appear to have personal significance. In photograph form, the colorful objects appear flattened and abstract, like a collage on paper.

Upon closer study, one might notice that the structure is in fact a person from the waist down, though the body is so entirely covered in objects, it is difficult to decipher the person underneath. The only visible body part is a knee and calf wearing yellow tights near the lower left of the photograph, almost unrecognizable, peeking out from behind the attached items.

The body seems to be wearing a long skirt, which the wearer has lifted up to reveal the collection of objects attached to and covering their waist and legs underneath. The skirt flares upward from the waist in a funnel shape, filling the upper right of the photograph and concealing the wearer’s upper body and face. The objects, once hidden under the skirt, seem like they could be a pleated or ruffled underskirt.

It is as if this person has lifted their skirt to perhaps anonymously reveal their story or unveil their history. In displaying these objects, what has this person revealed to us? We may question, Why do they move across the world as a carrier of these historical and cultural accumulations?

By Way Of

Description of Index Two Composition Three, 2012

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Narrator: "Oh! Les Beaux Jours" is a work by Maro Michalakakos from 2012. The installation is composed of two huge mounds that rise to a height of over 12 feet, created entirely from pinkish-purple polyester fiber. Upon close inspection, the fiber resembles wispy felt pieces, like collected dryer lint or pulled cotton balls, material with an individual lightness but an accumulated weight and density.

The color appears to change depending on our vantage point, and the individual pieces range in tone from lighter to darker burgundy. Each conical mound widens to a base of around 10 feet in diameter. The two mountains sit about 5 feet apart from one another as if in conversation. Their bases are rounded against the floor, the polyester fiber neatly touching it. At the top, a more organic edge encircles a gallery column that pierces vertically through each sculpture’s middle. It’s as if the mounds are living plants spreading up around the columns.

Near the mounds, about five small heaps of the material, up to about a foot in any direction, are tucked into crevices at the base of surrounding gallery walls, and a small pile builds up in a corner, as if they have escaped the large mounds. Above the work, in a small alcove housing a ceiling light, a line of fibrous material gathers like dust along a rafter or a wispy cloud hovering above us.

At this large scale, the installation forms an imposing yet soft presence. The calming hue and fluffy texture appear inviting, as if one could sink into it like a leaf pile. Alternatively, the mounds could be interpreted as piles of debris and dust, as if someone has just finished sweeping the floors, piles that we wouldn’t want to disturb.

This contradiction is echoed in the artwork title. "Oh! Les Beaux Jours," or “happy days,” is adopted from the work of Samuel Beckett, whose play by the same name was first performed in 1961. 

A woman is trapped up to her waist within an earthen mound. She continues to attempt her daily routines, such as brushing her teeth and reviewing the contents of her bag, while speaking with her husband who is nearby. By the second act, she is buried up to her neck within the mound yet continues to repeat “Oh, this is a happy day.” Like Beckett’s couple, these two mounds remain close yet never touch, leaving us with questions about their relationship.

Did these mounds once touch and now exist separately? Are they in conversation with each other? Do they evoke growth or deterioration?

Description of Oh! Happy Days (Oh! Les Beaux Jours), 2012

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Narrator: "Strange Fruit (Pair 1)" is a site-specific installation created in 2015 by Kevin Beasley. A variety of everyday objects are bound together, hanging vertically from the ceiling. The main body of the sculpture is about 6 feet long, elevated about 3 feet off the floor. It hangs about 12 feet below the ceiling, with a diameter up to 2 feet wide.

At first glance it could remind us of low-hanging fruit from a tree, like a tangle of bananas bunched together. However, the artwork title, materials, and construction allude to a deeper meaning. At the heart of "Strange Fruit (Pair 1)" is a pair of Nike Air Jordan sneakers, barely identifiable as they are covered in dark resin and wrapped among parts of speakers and amplifiers. These elements are bound together with rope, power cables, and audio jack cords. Beasley uses this highly commercialized shoe brand in a manner reminiscent of shoes flung over power lines in urban settings, tied together with and hanging by their laces.

The installation is constructed using several feet of climbing rope and thick electrical cords hanging from the ceiling. The rope and cords lead down to a knotted jumble of materials gathered towards the center, with a single shoe hanging down at the bottom. In this precarious arrangement, the sneakers and amplifiers look like they are barely supported within the tangle of cords and could fall off at any time. Beasley expresses underlying tension and violence in the way these objects dangle limply and broken like a body. The speakers are pulled apart, with just the front cone remaining. Electrical equipment is tucked into tube socks, and resin-covered socks and shoes appear partially burned and dirty, as if a soiled plastic bag was melted on top. Referencing Abel Meeropol’s 1937 song of the same title which protests the lynching of Black Americans, Beasley’s installation acknowledges a legacy of racism and classism still affecting Black Americans.

Beasley’s creation is specifically reflective of the Guggenheim’s unique architecture and sonic experience within the museum space. A microphone and speaker are connected to each shoe. Small blue and green lights on the electronic equipment signal they are receiving power, giving this work a sense that it is “alive” as it captures and projects the ambient sound of the gallery space. If we listen closely at certain angles, we detect a faint hum or hiss like the sound of electromagnetic interference. The intake and outtake, reflection and absorption of sound is both expansive and intimate at the same time, similar to how sound varies depending on your location along the ramps or galleries, and distance from the artwork or each other. 

How does the incorporation of sound into this installation affect our perspective of the artwork?

Description of Strange Fruit (Pair 1), 2015

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Narrator: These two artworks by David Hammons are part of his "Body Prints" series from 1975. Both share the same name, "Untitled," and same dimensions, around 2 feet wide by 2 1/2 feet tall. They are vertically oriented and aesthetically similar, sharing the same colors and application of pigments.

Hammons uses his own body to create these visceral artworks. Covering his hands with a transparent grease, he applies them onto the cream-colored paper, palms facedown, fingers splayed. He repeatedly presses his hands onto the paper, smearing and smudging the grease. The flurry of movement doesn’t become visible until he applies colored pigment powder onto the greased surface, revealing the printed forms. The pigments are laid in three vertical columns, one each of cobalt blue, light brown, and green, a few inches wide. They have no distinct lines of separation and blend softly together at each transition point.

After the pigment is applied, Hammons greases his face, pressing it to the center of the paper. This lifts the colored pigment, revealing the creamy color beneath. He leaves a ghostly impression, subtle yet incredibly detailed, like memories of a dream. He precisely prints his nose, thick mustache, and full lips. Two pairs of short horizontal lines above the nose evoke eyelids, as if his eyes are closed or squinting at us, and seem to be made by dragging his fingertips on the surface. The face is almost lost among the soft colors, as one’s attention is immediately drawn to the swirling pigments and movement on the paper before noticing this absence of color in its shape.

When these two artworks are viewed side by side, subtle differences between them create the impression of a “before-and-after” moment. On the left, Hammons has carefully applied his handprints, the palms and fingers distinct, layered with occasional smearing. The vertical columns of pigments from left to right are cobalt blue, light brown, and a dark aquamarine color. His face, with closed lips, is pressed into the brown pigment at the center.

On the right artwork, his palms and fingers are barely distinguishable. Swirls of pigment are visible, as if he smeared and dragged his hands across the paper multiple times. This softens the colors, creating a hazy effect. Moving from left to right, the vertical columns of pigments are light brown, cobalt blue, and a forest-green color. In the center of this artwork, the face print is against the cobalt-blue color. His lips are puckered and open, forming an “O” shape, as if surprised or dismayed. An additional application of grease on the side of his hands along his pinky fingers has lifted the pigment, creating a ghostly impression that he is grasping his face, and cupping his cheeks.

The markings of Hammons’s palms and fingers near the eyes might make us consider how an artist sees with their hands. How does our experience of this work change, knowing that Hammons physically used his own body to create this artwork?

Description of Untitled, 1975

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Narrator: Mona Hatoum has set the table for us with this artwork, "Deep Throat," from 1996. The installation includes a table, roughly 3 feet square and just over 4 feet high, covered in a tablecloth with a single place setting and wooden chair in front of it. The chair faces away from us, pulled out slightly from the table, as if we’ve been invited to sit facing the gallery wall at a slight angle.  Despite having enough room for four people around the table, this is a setting for one.

The armless chair is a light brown color with a solid wood seat. Its thin legs support an arched rung connecting the front and back legs beneath the seat. The chair back has three thin, arched rails stacked from its base about an inch apart, topped by a thicker backrest.

The table is covered with a square white tablecloth patterned with white leaves in its weave, which hangs down each side, leaving only the bottom of the light brown table legs exposed. If we were to sit at this table, our knees would brush against the tablecloth as we pulled in our chair.

A topper linen or large cloth napkin of the same fabric is laid over the tablecloth at an angle, forming a diamond shape against the square of the table. It has been unfolded, with clear crease lines still visible. At this angle it doesn’t quite cover the entire table surface, creating a small triangle at each corner exposing the underlying tablecloth. This triangle shape is echoed in the corners of this smaller cloth, which hang a few inches off the center of each edge of the table.

The simple table setting includes one round white dinner plate with a silver four-pronged fork placed to its left and a silver knife on its right, its blade facing inward toward the plate. A tall empty drinking glass is positioned on the table at the upper right of the plate.

Upon closer inspection, not quite noticeable until looking down on the table, a color video projection is centered on the plate. It fills the circular bottom, perfectly round, leaving about an inch around the rim of the plate where it flares slightly upward, as if we’ve just been served soup with the edges of the plate wiped clean.

The video playing on a 5-minute loop depicts the full journey through an upper gastrointestinal tract, from the point of view of our food. Like footage from an endoscopy, the camera slowly squeezes through the esophagus, the tissue lining bright and slick with delicate veining. The video continues on repeat, over and over, tunneling deeply through this throat, the entire digestive system, and back up. The pristine formal table arrangement inviting us to dine on food as a familiar comfort is a stark contrast to the graphic animalistic reminder of how it will pass through our body.

The artwork’s title, "Deep Throat," in addition to referencing the physicality of the work and the video footage, also references the mysterious informer from the Watergate scandal and a pornographic movie starring Linda Lovelace. Both phenomena brought to public attention things generally meant to be kept secret or private.

Why is there discomfort in watching a typically private and hidden bodily process made public against the backdrop of a table setting—especially when this process is so common to the human experience? Perhaps Hatoum has left us with other questions too. Why not include a spoon, the easiest utensil to shovel food down our throats? Why is the table set for one?

Description of Deep Throat, 1996

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Narrator: Senga Nengudi blurs the lines between sculpture and installation in her 1970 work "Water Composition I," re-created in 2019. This liminality is perhaps echoed in its location, hung about 5 feet high against the gallery wall with portions of the sculpture hanging onto the floor and extending out around 6 feet. It’s a form that’s organic while also geometric, as if someone was slumped against the wall, their limbs splayed out around them, or a spider whose body is flattened into the corner where the wall and floor meet. 

The work is created using three long, tubelike, clear vinyl bags partially filled with water with food coloring in glowing, gemlike tones. The central portion of each bag is hanging from above, emptying its center as the water pools to both ends. The water is contained by heat-sealed seams around each bag’s edges—one end tapers to a thin point, creating a conical shape, while the other is a squared end like a pillow.  

The bags are hung over a thick natural rope, which causes the lift at their centers. This rope is attached to the gallery wall at two horizontal points about 5 feet high from the ground and 3 feet apart. Each point is a support around which the rope is knotted. The rope droops down between the point about two-thirds of the way down to the floor, and the vinyl bags hang across this center drape. The ends of the rope hang down on either side of the support knots. The overall effect of the rope is an “M” shape with the water sculpture pooling down from the center, as if it has melted onto the floor.

The conical ends of the bags rest along the floor and point away from the wall, spaced several feet apart and fanning out like the colored rays of a star. The three conical shapes are filled with clear, pink, and yellow-orange water. The three square ends of the bags sit beneath and behind the conical forms in a pile near the wall, filled with red, orange, and clear water. In some of the water sculptures tiny bubbles are visible, like effervescence in a carbonated beverage.

Structured yet ephemeral, the sculpture maintains a shape that could easily change when manipulated, the water seemingly light and flexible in the transparent vinyl bags. Yet the bags also evoke heaviness, dragging down the length of rope that supports them.  

Inspired by Japanese avant-garde, Nengudi focuses on interaction with materials. How would this feel if we could touch it, manipulate the bags, and move them?

Description of Water Composition I, 1970/2019

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Narrator: Anthony Akinbola’s "Jubilee," created in 2021, greets viewers with a variety of pastels in pale and bright yellows, pinks, and orangy-tans, like lemon and orange sherbet. Measuring 8 feet wide by 9 feet high and 3 inches deep, its size, composition, and structure give it the feel of a large-scale painting, despite being created from fabric and acrylic on a wooden panel. 

The fabric has a shiny quality, like satin or silk, and is cut into various shapes and sizes that are sewn together, making four large panels that are arranged in an imperfect rectangular grid. On the upper left and lower right are square panels, while on the lower left and upper right are rectangular panels. Assembled together, the seams between the panels are barely visible and it appears as one large canvas. 

The title, "Jubilee," is not only reflective of the bright and celebratory colors in the artwork. It relates to an important period in African American history, the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Another celebration of Black culture referenced in the artwork is not immediately obvious upon first observation: the fabric assembled is from a collection of durags, tight-fitting scarves or caps that cover the head with a portion of the fabric, the “tails,” hanging down along the neck. This protective hair covering is an identifier in Black culture. 

Most of the durags are cut into strips a few inches thick and range between one to several feet long. The strips are positioned vertically and arranged side by side horizontally like lines of lowercase “L”s.  Four rows of these many vertical stripes are stacked, one above the other, across the canvas. The stripes or rows, alternate colors, a lighter shade against a darker shade or a smooth yellow fabric against a textured yellow fabric, and the left side of the panel features brighter yellows, transitioning to oranges and pinky-tans toward the right side, creating a subtle gradient. 

This painterly effect is enhanced by the way Akinbola attaches the fabric pieces. The edges of adjacent pieces are pulled together and sewn with about a half-inch seam allowance, the measure of excess fabric from the stitch to its raw edge. Typically on the inside of a garment, here the seams are visible and the dark thread creates outlines around the pieces. Shadows are also visible, and if we could touch the panels, our fingers would skip across each line where the seam protrudes slightly off the surface. 

In other areas, portions of the fabric are pulled taut and wrinkle or pucker. Some billow loosely where the rims of the durags aren’t attached flush to the panel, giving an effect of deflated balloons. The stripes or rows along the top and bottom edges contain around forty individual fabric pieces. The two rows in the center are divided in half by the central horizontal seam between the panels. The vertical strips starting at the left edge merge into larger portions of fabric on the right side that are square-like shapes. Here, the fabric either puckers tightly or hangs loosely. 

In the center of the artwork and at the bottom-left corner are small strips of fabric, attached to the panel by a seam a few inches wide. Like loose ribbons, they hang vertically off the panel, several feet long.

Made from textiles meant to protect the body, do we feel strength or tenuousness in this work?

Description of Jubilee, 2021

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This work by Mark Bradford from 2001 is titled "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." Mixed media on canvas, the work is 6 feet tall by 7 feet wide.  

The canvas surface is covered with small rectangles of tissue-like paper, each about 3 by 4 inches. The papers are endpapers, translucent tissue papers used in the hair salon. Each rectangular endpaper has darkened edges, appearing burnt. While some papers are white, others are yellow; each is dyed with a slightly different saturation. Because these papers are translucent, the layering of them accumulates color, creating white sections and light yellow sections which transition into more concentrated sunny-yellow sections. With their burnt edges, each form evokes a rectangle with a thin, dark outline.  

The rectangular papers are layered like roof tiles: slightly overlapping to form long rows and columns across the entire work. The rows and columns aren’t precise, though; they sometimes stretch or tighten, their burned edges forming an imperfect, allover grid. In some areas, the rectangular form gathers as if stamped repeatedly. Some endpapers are further accentuated with white or yellow paint on top of them. This creates an overall effect of a patterned, lyrical artwork.   

The transparent endpapers reveal collaged elements beneath or on top. This work also includes "décollage"; the leftovers of paper in blues and pinks that have been ripped off the canvas. We also see evidence of printed or stamped numbers. A vertical word in faded gray reads “Business.” 

Bradford salvages most of his materials from public sites and small businesses in South Central Los Angeles. Using these as tools for art-making, his works also hold the physical remnants of the public, cultural, and commercial life of South Central L.A.’s African American communities. From a young age, Bradford worked in his mother’s salon. Bradford’s early work often incorporated the tools of his trade, including these singed permanent-wave endpapers, cellophane hair color, and human hair.

The delicate colors create a sense of intimacy and even nostalgia. However, this large-scale work’s burnt materials and compulsive, labor-intensive process also hold the violence of culturally mandated beauty regimes. Though the composition is abstract, the materials evoke elements of Bradford’s personal narrative as well as the social and political significance of hairstyling—especially hair straightening—in the Black community.

The endpapers covering this canvas surface remind us of their material fragility as well as their ability to protect hair. How do the other paper remnants covering this surface suggest fragility and impermanence as well as strength and power?

Description of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, 2001

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Narrator: This installation from 1991 by Mike Kelley is titled "Riddle of the Sphinx" and composed of yarn, stainless-steel bowls, and an offset photolithograph.  

A knitted yarn blanket is placed on the floor like a huge rug. It is shaped in a rectangle roughly 26 feet long by 13 feet wide. The shorter edge of the blanket is placed a few inches from the gallery wall while the other three sides are open to the gallery. The blanket is knitted with a chevron pattern, giving the two shorter edges opposite each other a precise zigzag border while the long perpendicular edges are straight. The side farthest from the gallery wall is primarily deep blue and purple. The strands closer to the wall have sections of lighter tones, primarily yellow mixed with blues, purple, orange, and green, repeating in neat zigzag stripes. About midway down the blanket’s length, the sharp transition between the light and dark sides follows the zigzagging chevron pattern. 

Placed beneath the blanket are stainless-steel bowls. We can’t see their surface but only clearly defined humps. In the yellow section, four bowls form the corner points of a square. In the middle of the blanket, along the transition from light to dark, two bowls are placed apart from one another. In the deep-blue part of the blanket, three bowls underneath form the points of a triangle.   

Hanging on the wall, centered above the edge of the blanket, is an offset photolithograph print, a foot and a half tall by 2 feet wide. It’s an image that is visually reminiscent of the bowls beneath the colored blanket. It’s a deep blue mountain poking up through lavender clouds, sitting beneath a pink, orange, and yellow sunset sky. In fact, it’s an image of Mount Fuji—but the print’s size, a small fraction of the size of the great blanket, reduces the image of the mountain to a size similar to the dimensions of the bowls. The colors of the print mirror the hues present in the blanket beneath.  

In "Riddle of the Sphinx," Kelley refers to the question posed to Oedipus in Sophocles’s drama: What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening? The metal bowls are placed under the blanket in corresponding numbers and the passage of the metaphorical day is echoed in the hues of the afghan, ranging from pale-yellow tones of dawn to the deep tones of dusk. Oedipus conquers the Sphinx and secures his own tragic fate by solving the riddle with the answer, “Man.”

Description of Riddle of the Sphinx, 1991

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Narrator: Artist Gilberto Zorio lifts our gaze with his suspended sculpture "Macchia II," from 1968. As we approach, the installation feels hidden in the room, hanging in a corner from the ceiling and extending about 15 feet in diameter above us. The materials, created from terracotta-colored plasticized PVC and beige-gray rope, suspend lightly from the ceiling, despite the work’s imposing size.

The bulk of the installation is created from a sheet of plasticized PVC less than an inch thick, flattened and stretched about 3 feet in diameter into a somewhat circular, organic shape, like an ink blot. From a distance the entire installation resembles a large spider web, a reference enhanced by eight thin strands of rope extending from the PVC center, stretching outward and parallel to the ceiling. The ropes are evenly spaced and the distance between them begins to widen as they extend farther from the center. They are knotted onto hooks that anchor them to the ceiling. The end of each rope is cut and frayed, hanging directly down from the knot about a foot, like a tassel.

From beneath the installation, the work appears more like a parachute in how the rubber splat is held where the ropes meet. The ropes fan out from a central circular ring smaller than a bracelet; its form is visible beneath the center of the rubber body. Each rope is attached to this ring, visually dividing the underside of the rubber splat into eight triangular sections as they expand outward.

Is this installation imposing or protecting? Perhaps it depends on our perspective.

Description of Stain II (Macchia II), 1968

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Narrator: This work by Mario Merz is titled "ACCELERATION = DREAM, FIBONACCI NUMBERS IN NEON AND MOTORCYCLE PHANTOM." Made in 1972 and refabricated in 1989, the work features a motorcycle installed high up on the gallery wall with neon numbers trailing behind it.

The motorcycle is a red Honda Dominator. It is installed sideways, or at a right angle to the gallery wall; the tires touch the wall as if driving full speed along it, defying gravity. Everything about the motorcycle is expected except for one thing: enormous ankole horns are placed over the motorcycle’s handlebars. The yellowish-white curving horns extend about 4 feet on both sides of the motorcycle, twisting and curving to sharp point. This swap of the handlebar machinery with the ankole horns blends the visual associations with a speeding machine and a charging animal.

Trailing behind the motorcycle, along the upper gallery wall, are light blue neon numbers. These numbers are written as if scrawled in cursive, with trailing tails in front of or behind them that create long spaces between each. The spaces lengthen between each number as they become farther from the motorcycle and increase in value: one...one...two....three.....five......eight.......thirteen........twenty-one.........thirty-four..........fifty-five...........eighty-nine............one hundred and forty-four.............two hundred and thirty-three..............three hundred and seventy-seven...............and ending with six hundred and ten.

The length of the neon numbers extends along the upper portions of four gallery walls. Their precise placement in a line behind the motorcycle’s tires gives an initial impression of tire marks, or a marked pathway, behind the bike’s path. These numbers begin the Fibonacci sequence, a series of numbers formed by adding the two previous numbers together. The sequence relates to systems of generation, found in nature’s spiraling forms. What does this work express about patterns, generation, and time? What is the modern motorcycle’s relationship to ancient patterns of nature?

Description of Acceleration=Dream, Fibonacci Numbers in Neon and Motorcycle Phantom, 1972

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Narrator: Rashid Johnson’s "Cosmic Slop “Bitter,”" from 2015, features a solid black surface just over 6 feet high by 8 feet wide, marked by deep cuts and grooves. If we were to touch this surface, our fingers would dance and skip over cracks and crevices, like peaks and valleys in a barren post-volcanic landscape, newly created after a lava flow.

We might also be surprised at its waxy feeling in contrast to the rough appearance of the surface. Johnson uses black soap and wax, which he melts and then manipulates through cutting and digging, etching deep slashes and scratches before it fully hardens. More than simply mark-making, Johnson relates his process to a performance, transforming and layering meaning to this everyday household material.

Black soap itself is said to have transformative and healing properties, particularly in West Africa. It cleanses us on the surface but tastes bitter, a contradiction noted in the artwork’s title, "Cosmic Slop “Bitter.”" The color and title also reference a 1973 song by Parliament Funkadelic and allude to the pain Black bodies have endured, scars both visible and beneath the surface.

What contradictory emotions might we encounter with this work?

Description of Cosmic Slop "Bitter", 2021

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Narrator: Shinique Smith uses reclaimed clothing, ribbon, and yarn in this installation from 2021. It stretches vertically from ceiling to floor, just over 10 feet tall, and varying in width between a few inches along most of the piece to a section in the middle about 2 feet in diameter. There is an element of storytelling in the title, "She Waited Secretly, Between Shadow and Soul," that invites us to observe closely. 

The bulk of this fabric sculpture dangles in the center about 6 feet above the gallery floor, hanging from the ceiling by a thin stretch of cord and ribbon, which seems to tenuously support its weight. Another stretch of thin ribbon hangs below the bulky center and supports a smaller mass of fabric at the bottom, resting delicately on the gallery floor. The central piece is about 2 feet in diameter while the smaller bottom piece is just over several inches wide. What appears to be a single ribbon supporting both ends of this artwork is in fact several smaller pieces tied or braided together to create a continuous line. This gives it the illusion of a thread that is actively being pulled apart and starting to fray along the edges—as if at any moment it could snap or tear.

The bulky fabric sections at the center and bottom of the installation are constructed similarly, made from clothing from personal and intimate sources. From afar, it appears to be composed of black and orange fabric, tightly compacted and bound together into a bulbous mass. Upon closer look, it’s evident that all the fabric is the same: a black color that has been bleached in places, creating drips and splotches of orange tones scattered throughout. The bulbous orange-and-black mass is contained by thin black and gold ribbons, cords, and threads unevenly wrapped several times around the mass, so what would have been a circular shape is now a series of lumps and bulges, like flesh spilling over a tightened belt.
 
The relation of these two bulky sections resembles a pendulum clock, with a larger central timepiece and a smaller pendulum that might dangle and swing like a counterweight. It leaves us wondering about the relationship between them and their reference to cross-cultural traditions, including swaddling babies, wrapping gifts, body binding, and tying into devotional objects. How might Smith’s use of worn clothing—personal and intimate—transform the material into a symbol of care for bodies and the ecological environment?

Description of she waited secretly, between shadow and soul, 2021

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Transcript
Narrator: This work by Danh Vo from 2013 is titled "Lot 20. Two Kennedy Administration Cabinet Room Chairs." The sculptural work hangs vertically on the gallery wall and initially appears like a single enormous piece of leather, extending around 6 feet long and about 3 feet at its widest point. It is draped in folds like a curtain. The surface that would have covered the chair seats and backs is dark black with a glossy sheen, reflecting the light at various angles while remaining shadowed within the deep folds. On the reverse side, the leather is a light tan color with a softer texture, like unfinished suede. The majority of the visible surface is black, with just a few sections at the top revealing the tan underbelly when the leather is folded over.

From a distance the black leather surface looks smooth and unblemished. Upon closer inspection, small circular indentations are visible along the edges where metal rivets would have secured it to a chair frame. Some of the corners are aged and cracked while others are torn and ragged. Remnants of white stuffing where the leather was ripped from the chair are still visible in a small oval shape on the suede underside.

This allusion to the violence of skinning a slaughtered animal and hanging it like a trophy is also reflected in the political history of the period and Vo’s family history of fleeing violence during the Vietnam War.

How do objects bear witness to history? How does the way these former chairs are presented affect our perception of the past?

Description of Lot 20. Two Kennedy Administration Cabinet Room Chairs, 2013

Access a slow-looking exercise of this work. 

Transcript
Narrator: "Untitled (Black & Black)" is a work by Pier Paolo Calzolari from 1986. The full installation measures nearly 8 feet high by 8 feet wide and extends 2 feet from the gallery wall. The dimensions of each component are varied within that frame. The piece is composed of two sections, one hanging vertically on the wall about two feet above the other, which runs horizontally along the gallery floor. A single copper pipe stretches down from the section on the wall to reach the ground section, the only connector between them.

The wall section includes a jet-black panel hanging vertically, about 8 feet high by 2 feet wide. A thin gray sheet of lead is attached to each edge of the panel where it protrudes out from the wall; they are wrinkled, demonstrating their malleability. Along the left edge of the panel, not one but many layers of lead sheets are stacked together, tightly packed like gills. They are difficult to identify because they are thickly covered with layers of brilliant white frost, sparkling and glittering as it catches the gallery light. At the base of this left side of the panel a pipe extends down to a small refrigeration unit humming on the gallery floor below the work. 

The ground section of this work is about 8 feet long by 2 feet wide made of long lead sheets laid horizontally along the floor against the gallery wall. A chalky white powder is scattered along its dark gray surface in shapes that appear to have formed organically, as if saltwater pools had collected and then evaporated. A small motor sits on the far-left edge of the lead sheet, adjacent to a black compressor with a rounded top and a cooling structure contained within a rectangular metal box. This is surrounded by copper evaporator and condenser coils, which are attached to the lower-left corner of the wall panel and cause the freezing process. The whole unit is about 2 feet square, as if a refrigerator’s inner workings were removed and repurposed for use here. Calzolari’s interest in organic materials and chemical and physical transformation is evident in this artwork and reflective of Arte Povera, an Italian art movement of which he was a member. 

The contradictory nature of salt, necessary for life and yet deadly in large doses, is mirrored in the polar opposites of black and white, and absence and presence of color throughout the artwork. Both refrigeration and salt are intended to preserve things but through very different processes. Salt is a natural preservative, while refrigeration works through a chemical process of transforming a liquid into a gas, and this evaporation cools the surrounding area. 

While made of unique materials, this work evokes a minimal vertical painting in deep black with a vibrant strip of white along its left side. Calzolari was drawn to frost as a luminous material. In his own words, “I saw how this sort of absolute, unparalleled whiteness had the capacity to constantly renew itself... and be something that was not just white, but rather a sort of pulsation.” Why might Calzolari have titled this artwork "Untitled (Black & Black)" when the color white is so essentially present in the frost and evoked through Calzolari’s use of salt before being burned black?

Description of Untitled (Black & Black), 2021

Listen to audio about exhibitions and artworks at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York City. Frank Lloyd Wright's landmark building is home to a collection of modern and contemporary masterpieces.