Renowned American artist Tara Donovan (born 1969) creates sculptural objects of enigmatic beauty by utilizing and experimenting with simple, everyday objects such as Scotch tape, drinking straws, paper plates, needles, plastic rods, toothpicks, mylar and buttons. At first these abstract objects resemble enlarged cellular structures, or living organisms from the depths of the ocean. "What I'm striving for is to be an alchemist and transcend the material," Donovan says. "It's more of a mimicking of the way of nature, the way things actually grow." Her method is also allied to an American Minimalist sculptural tradition that includes artists such as Sol LeWitt, Robert Irwin and James Turrell. This volume, with its handsome mirror-paper cover and debossing, presents eight works made between 2004 and 2012, as installed at the Arp Museum in Germany and the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Denmark.
|Publisher:||The Monacelli Press|
|Product dimensions:||9.00(w) x 11.70(h) x 0.80(d)|
About the Author
Nicholas Baume is chief curator at the ICA, Boston. He has organized exhibitions on the work of Kai Althoff, Kader Attia, Carol Bove, Thomas Hirschhorn, Lucy McKenzie, and Anish Kapoor.
Jen Mergel is associate curator at the ICA, Boston.
Lawrence Weschler, a staff writer at the New Yorker for over twenty years, is director of the New York Institute for the Humanities at New York University and artistic director of the Chicago Humanities Festival. His books include Seeing Is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees, Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonder, and the forthcoming True to Life, which encompasses twenty-five years of conversation with David Hockney.
Read an Excerpt
From: "Animal, Mineral, Vegetable: The Material Coming to Life"
A Conversation between Lawrence Weschler and Tara Donovan
Tara Donovan: So the first toothpick cube I made was about a foot by a foot. It was kind of slumpy and bad, but I realized that if I made it big, it would be heavier and it would work better. Because it wasn't yet dense enough.
Lawrence Weschler: What were you doing in terms of your fantasy of yourself at this point? Were you a waitress who had a hobby of filling balloons with sand and boxes with toothpicks with the idea that some day you'd be discovered for the great artist you were, or were you just some kind of nut?
D: Well, when you put it that way . . .
W: What did your friends think you were?
D: I think my friends did think I was a nut but appreciated my commitment to it. I think, honestly, the only thing I really aspired to at that time was to have just a regional art career. I wasn't trying to be an art star or anything. It was more like, Wouldn't it be neat if I could, you know, get into some shows? That was really my only goal.
W: Anyway, with regard to those toothpicks, you're beginning to figure out that the more of them you get, the more likely the piece will be to work.
D: And I finally got enough, eventually. Because a case of toothpicks isn't that cheap when you're on a waitress's salary.
W: Meanwhile, though, this is fascinating as an early instance of this thing with you where it turns out that x may not be enough, you figure out that you are going to need at least 5x—in other words, that scale makes all the difference. I mean literally, physically: there's something about friction that kicks in. Actually, do you understand what is going on scientifically, why the toothpicks finally do stick together?
D: Truly scientifically? No. But I think friction and gravity and just the sheer density of small interlocking parts is really all it is. I mean, with that piece, when it reaches the thirty-six-inch-square range, it's strong enough even for me to be able to stand on top of it.
W: How long after you started doing the toothpicks did you get it to that thirty-six-inch size?
D: I don't know. I think it took me like a month. Something like that. And then both those pieces—the toothpicks and the sand-filled-balloon wall—were in a regional group show, which was one of my first shows, at Maryland Art Place in Baltimore. I sent in slides and I got included. You're going to love this story because, I'm sure I have it somewhere, but there was a review where my contribution got referred to as “a wall of eggs and a bale of hay.”
No one got it. At all. No one. It was like: aye. So I really felt that I had failed, you know? It was the first time I had ever had occasion to read about myself in the paper, and I really believed that I had failed. I was also kind of pissed off and felt like if someone was reading it incorrectly, then I hadn't done my job. It was my first lesson about context.
So it wasn't until much later that I remade the toothpick piece and showed it on its own, in all its glory. Because that piece on its own in a huge room is—it's really something.