Somewhere
Kathryn Mockler and David Poolman
The idea of home both as a theme and as physical monument has played a significant role in contemporary art practice for the last forty years. We have seen Gordon Matta-Clark split a house in two, Rachel Whiteread encase a house in plaster, and Kelly Mark animate the windows of abandoned houses with light cast from television sets. In Somewhere, Noguchi and Pak extract three seconds of footage from Victor Fleming’s 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz. The footage is a black and white single shot of Dorothy’s house spinning through space, caught in the throws of a tornado.
The idea of home is the central metaphor in the film. Before the tornado touches down, Dorothy runs away from home to escape her problems—namely a wicked old neighbour threatening to kill her dog. But over the course of the film, Dorothy realizes that home is the place she would rather be than anywhere else.
The title for Noguchi and Pak’s piece, Somewhere, references Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the theme song of The Wizard of Oz. And, in turn, this song speaks to the idea wanting something that you think you can’t have.
Just before the house is carried away by the tornado, a fortune-teller reveals to Dorothy that her Aunt Emma is ill. Regretting leaving her family, Dorothy races back to the farm only to find no one there. A windowpane hits her on the head, knocking her out, and it is at this point she is swept up with the house in the eye of the storm.
For their installation, Noguchi and Pak have stacked five large monitors to animate the house’s epic fall. The toy-like farmhouse descends from monitor to monitor, in a continuous loop, never touching the ground. It exits the last monitor, only to appear once again at the top. The physical stacking functions much like the twisting column of the tornado it references. We are dwarfed by its presence and subjected to its repetitive and anxious orchestral soundtrack.
But what are we to make of this house suspended in dizzying free fall?
A common theme running through both Noguchi and Pak’s work has been a focus on issues of representation, history, and culture. We have seen Noguchi tackle ideas related to the Hunter (Three Dreams of Blood, 1981-82), Murderer (Compilation Portraits 1995-1997), and Cowboy (Study/Sketch, 2001). In each of these works, Noguchi takes on a persona that is not her own. She photographs or video tapes herself performing the identities of various characters in order to investigate themes of violence, struggle, and ambivalence. But in Somewhere, Noguchi is nowhere to be found. Perhaps the house is a stand-in for the artist—a hapless character in a state of limbo, trapped in an unending fall.
June Pak often employs her own image as the focus of her work. In Dear June (2007-in progress) and in Double (2002), Pak alludes to issues of difference, of being trapped between two cultures (Korean and Canadian), and of the instability and fracturing of identity. Like Noguchi, Pak remains outside of the frame in Somewhere. But could the house serve as a stand-in for Pak as well? After all, it’s the house that is uprooted, it’s the house that is being displaced, and it’s the house that is now without a home. And it’s this problem of being without a home that gives this piece resonance outside of the gallery space.
In 2005, Hurricane Katrina rampaged the Gulf coast. It was one of the most devastating storms in US history. When the levees were breached, 80 percent of New Orleans was submerged; 1577 Louisiana inhabitants died; and in the days leading up to and following the hurricane, over a million people from Alabama and Louisiana fled on foot, in vehicles, or by boat. Three-and-a-half years later much of the city remains in disrepair. Thousands of people are still displaced. Houses, damaged by floodwaters and sewage, are left to crumble. It’s hard not to think of Katrina watching this house as it tumbles and plummets through the sky.
And it’s hard not to think of the current sub-prime mortgage crisis. Recent statistics suggest that there were more than 3.1 million foreclosures filed last year in the United States. Houses purged of their owners are now toxic assets to the banks that brokered their original sales. This mortgage situation has led to the worst downturn in world markets, pension plans, and job losses since the Great Depression.
These crises are analogous to Noguchi and Pak’s house falling as it never bottoms out, and it never returns to its original state.
originally written for the occasion of exhibition "somewhere" at YYZ
Bios
Kathryn Mockler is a writer and filmmaker. Her writing been published most recently in Geist, Sub-Terrain, and Carousel. She teaches writing at the Ontario College of Art and Design.
David Poolman was born in Wallaceburg, Ontario. Working in video, print media, and installation, Poolman has exhibited in art galleries and screened in festivals both nationally and internationally. Poolman is a professor of Drawing at Sheridan College.
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Kathryn Mockler and David Poolman
The idea of home both as a theme and as physical monument has played a significant role in contemporary art practice for the last forty years. We have seen Gordon Matta-Clark split a house in two, Rachel Whiteread encase a house in plaster, and Kelly Mark animate the windows of abandoned houses with light cast from television sets. In Somewhere, Noguchi and Pak extract three seconds of footage from Victor Fleming’s 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz. The footage is a black and white single shot of Dorothy’s house spinning through space, caught in the throws of a tornado.
The idea of home is the central metaphor in the film. Before the tornado touches down, Dorothy runs away from home to escape her problems—namely a wicked old neighbour threatening to kill her dog. But over the course of the film, Dorothy realizes that home is the place she would rather be than anywhere else.
The title for Noguchi and Pak’s piece, Somewhere, references Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the theme song of The Wizard of Oz. And, in turn, this song speaks to the idea wanting something that you think you can’t have.
Just before the house is carried away by the tornado, a fortune-teller reveals to Dorothy that her Aunt Emma is ill. Regretting leaving her family, Dorothy races back to the farm only to find no one there. A windowpane hits her on the head, knocking her out, and it is at this point she is swept up with the house in the eye of the storm.
For their installation, Noguchi and Pak have stacked five large monitors to animate the house’s epic fall. The toy-like farmhouse descends from monitor to monitor, in a continuous loop, never touching the ground. It exits the last monitor, only to appear once again at the top. The physical stacking functions much like the twisting column of the tornado it references. We are dwarfed by its presence and subjected to its repetitive and anxious orchestral soundtrack.
But what are we to make of this house suspended in dizzying free fall?
A common theme running through both Noguchi and Pak’s work has been a focus on issues of representation, history, and culture. We have seen Noguchi tackle ideas related to the Hunter (Three Dreams of Blood, 1981-82), Murderer (Compilation Portraits 1995-1997), and Cowboy (Study/Sketch, 2001). In each of these works, Noguchi takes on a persona that is not her own. She photographs or video tapes herself performing the identities of various characters in order to investigate themes of violence, struggle, and ambivalence. But in Somewhere, Noguchi is nowhere to be found. Perhaps the house is a stand-in for the artist—a hapless character in a state of limbo, trapped in an unending fall.
June Pak often employs her own image as the focus of her work. In Dear June (2007-in progress) and in Double (2002), Pak alludes to issues of difference, of being trapped between two cultures (Korean and Canadian), and of the instability and fracturing of identity. Like Noguchi, Pak remains outside of the frame in Somewhere. But could the house serve as a stand-in for Pak as well? After all, it’s the house that is uprooted, it’s the house that is being displaced, and it’s the house that is now without a home. And it’s this problem of being without a home that gives this piece resonance outside of the gallery space.
In 2005, Hurricane Katrina rampaged the Gulf coast. It was one of the most devastating storms in US history. When the levees were breached, 80 percent of New Orleans was submerged; 1577 Louisiana inhabitants died; and in the days leading up to and following the hurricane, over a million people from Alabama and Louisiana fled on foot, in vehicles, or by boat. Three-and-a-half years later much of the city remains in disrepair. Thousands of people are still displaced. Houses, damaged by floodwaters and sewage, are left to crumble. It’s hard not to think of Katrina watching this house as it tumbles and plummets through the sky.
And it’s hard not to think of the current sub-prime mortgage crisis. Recent statistics suggest that there were more than 3.1 million foreclosures filed last year in the United States. Houses purged of their owners are now toxic assets to the banks that brokered their original sales. This mortgage situation has led to the worst downturn in world markets, pension plans, and job losses since the Great Depression.
These crises are analogous to Noguchi and Pak’s house falling as it never bottoms out, and it never returns to its original state.
originally written for the occasion of exhibition "somewhere" at YYZ
Bios
Kathryn Mockler is a writer and filmmaker. Her writing been published most recently in Geist, Sub-Terrain, and Carousel. She teaches writing at the Ontario College of Art and Design.
David Poolman was born in Wallaceburg, Ontario. Working in video, print media, and installation, Poolman has exhibited in art galleries and screened in festivals both nationally and internationally. Poolman is a professor of Drawing at Sheridan College.
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