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One end of the gallery is occupied by a form suspended from the ceiling. At
first it deconstructs as many layers of fringed plastic curtains hung in
cascading concentric circles. Upon closer inspection one appreciates the
intricate structure of the metal frame and wire grid used to suspend the
curtains, and one suspects more is afoot.
With due inquiry, one learns the myth that the work embodies. The artist
sees it as an inversion of a mesa structure, and seeks to connect her work
to nature. There is, according to this myth, a hidden passage to the center
of the mesa.
This recalls myths about journeys to the center of the earth, and to the
diligent art viewer, behold, a passage way appears, and entry is possible
through a narrow slit, as the curtains part around you. Above are more
layers of fringe, not visible from without. I begin to contemplate the
intricate structure from within, but suddenly the earth moves.
The earthquake is purely mechanical in origin. From without you would see a
motor driven wheel connected to the curtain structure by a piston. The
rotary motion of the motor is thus converted to the reciprocal motion of
the earthquake. From without, from the safe distance of a gallery
spectator, you would see the structure shimmy, and the purpose of the
fringe as an expressive medium would be vividly set into motion.
But from within the structure, the movement of the earth was something
else. I felt an urgent need to dance. It was a physical need to syncopate
with the swaying structure I found myself in: A survival instinct, like
learning that the fastest way across a crowded dance floor is to sway with
the beat. As often as I may have observed reciprocal motion before, I never
had the sensation of being within it, as I did in this installation.
Would this experience be any help in surviving an earthquake? As I
contemplated the pulverizing frequencies of real quakes, I realized the
pity of it is, we can't dance as fast as mother Nature's tremors, nor as
slowly as Her plate tectonics.
There were yet other layers of meaning the artist had in mind, other layers
of mechanical metaphor. But the piece revealed its changes at the glacial
speed of nature, and I couldn't spend more time at the gallery. Yet even
from this brief glimpse, from the rendering of the topology of the mesa
into a mechanical structure, to the simulation of plate tectonics, it was
obvious that this artist was deeply involved in art-science collaboration.
This was further confirmed when she spoke about the difficulty of working
with engineers, of having to learn the terminology of motor torque and
lighting controls.
Herritt claimed never to have heard of ASCI. She seemed driven by the
common concerns which bring so many artists to the art-sci frontier: the
realization that science can provide artists both with a philosophical
basis for viewing the world, and a rich palette for expressing their visions.
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