Liza Grobler at João Ferreira
by Paul Edmunds
Not only is this show a bit mad, but it looks like it was produced by two mad people. Mind you, the show's title - 'I can't see the wood for the trees, so I'm taking a line for a very long walk' - should have given me some clues. Liza Grobler's first one-person show with João Ferreira is a rewarding but confusing affair.
On door duty, well above eye-level, hangs a large mischievous pom pom-like object (like all but one of the pieces, this is untitled). This bright red-orange woollen object houses a torch and brings to mind the monocular Mike from Monsters Inc., the recent animated movie. Peeking around the corner is a long, low pile of smooth, flattened river stones. Each has a crocheted cover and the colour segues from the ochre orange closest to the gallery window to a pink nearer the door. Equal parts Eva Hesse and Walter Oltmann, hairnet and gabion, this monument evokes humility and absurdity.
Ahead of the viewer lies a forest. Tall, beautifully described forms reaching to the ceiling have been crocheted from clear plastic. Grobler has captured beautifully the concaves and convexes of the muscular surfaces and she successfully hides any supportive infrastructure. A mysterious atmosphere pervades this small copse. Here, however, is where the second artist kicks in, although to be honest, there were hints of this in 'Mike'.
On the forest floor is an absurd nest-like structure. Atop a large leather off-cut, with blue plastic squeezing through its semi-regular perforations, is a crazy nest. Made from plastic bags and fabric in various shades of blue, the object appears to be of the wrong scale. At its apex is a small plastic bird-shaped whistle. In one fell swoop, Grobler moves from the lyrical and evocative to the pretty darned strange.
On the floor nearby is some more flotsam. Composed this time of leather (which appears to have been recovered from someone making disc-shaped keyrings), thin gauze and thread, each reads as a pool of foam spewed up by a seriously toxic sea. There is a modular aspect to each, and the gauze backing is so fine that one is inclined to believe that it is your own eyes imposing this curious range of hues upon the floor in front of you. Once again this is evocative and well controlled.
Grobler points out that the show's title is taken from a description of drawing by Paul Klee, to whom I'll always lend a sympathetic ear. I suppose it suggests that one should expect the unexpected (if that's possible), but nothing here suggests that the wall works on this show are part of the same 'walk' on which that line is taken. Made from recovered food packaging, thread, paint and pen, these were begun some years ago while Grobler was in Norway. I really battled to find merit in these pieces.
To my eye, they refuted the artist's firm but quirky grasp of shape, form and colour and read like adolescent diary entries, served up hastily in the hope of getting away with it in the name of self-expression. Perhaps though, I was trying to impose on this work what I found for myself in other pieces. I am reluctant to impose the 'art made from recovered material' label on Grobler, because although it does apply, there's something quirkier at work here too.
Before you leave you will surely have noticed some strange rustling and sighing sounds in the gallery. These come from The Big Pink who lives just on the other side of the small red wooden gate closing off the room at the back of the gallery. Covered by crocheted cloth and orange bags, this hog-sized creature-like lump appears to have taken up residence there and is shedding straw at an alarming rate. Munching sounds, exhalations and shuffling noises signal his contentment. Now, this kind of absurdity, I can get used to.
October 8 - November 1
