Experience, or lack of it, influences a viewer’s understanding of art far more extensively than most people realise. I’m not a parent or a paediatrician so I had no idea that infant immobilisers were even a thing, which is why I was shocked and appalled when I saw one in the opening room. I assumed it was the artist’s invention to imply concepts of torture and restraint. After a few days of reflection it’s clear that’s exactly what the artist intended by it’s presence, alongside a well endowed mannequin in a jock strap and the display box for a funerary flag.
The installation brings to mind Rousseau’s famous statement “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” but its not clear if Anderson is simply visualising a common generality or if he has his target set on something more specific. Capitalism, perhaps? Collectively they create a ‘cycle of life’ allusion but I’m embarrassed to admit that my biased and ignorant reactions to the items caused me to miss that completely when I was in the gallery. Most viewers might not even get that far in their analysis because installations like this are often easier to mock than they are to understand. That’s the problem with conceptual art. It can be both blindingly obvious and incredibly obtuse.
On that note I was ironically reminded of another aphorism, “be careful what you wish for”, when I entered the back gallery, filled with giant collages made from vintage gay porn playing cards. Kitschy and frequently explicit, these works quite literally left nothing to the imagination. Once again I let bias take over and assumed there were no games being played by the artist other than pure titillation. I was mostly right, but my lack of interest in rampant genitalia meant I left the room before noticing one of the four works wasn’t vintage at all but a set of cards depicting images of Luigi Mangione, currently the primary suspect in the December 2024 killing of the CEO of United Healthcare.
Despite the absence of visual subtlety the two ground floor installations are filled with nuance that requires active engagement, or at least wide general knowledge, on behalf of the participants. Yes that’s the correct term, because conceptual art makes you a participant whether you want to be or not. For those who prefer to just passively view, Anderson has got you covered with two more floors of work upstairs.
Seven large panels depict sections of punctured and mangled chain link fence. They make for compelling visual abstracts, with subtle colours that can be seen through the layers of black encaustic into which the outline of the fence has been etched. They are incredibly enticing to look at, and their use of widely understood imagery ensures any viewer interpretations are specifically focussed without being explicitly given any answers. Unlike the ground floor installations, these panels are like discussion prompts for a creative brainstorm session.
They define the boundaries, but the playing field is vast.
Sharing the space with the panels are two one-off pieces that land squarely in the polarising category of ready-mades that frustrates even seasoned art viewers. The less said about them the better, and it’s hard not to argue that as the rooms and works became less esoteric the experience was significantly improved. Or, at least at the time, easier to understand and visually appreciate. But that was then.
Two days later I’ve barely thought about the chain link panels, despite them landing visually in the category of work I personally collect. What I am still actively thinking about, and which prompted this review, are the conceptual works that I initially dismissed. At the time of viewing them they inspired only internal sarcasm. Ever since I left their vague intent has been clashing with and creating many frustrations in my head. Does this mean the works are any good? That depends on what you want to get out of art, and how much thought you want to have to put into it.
***
