Small acts of resistance.
Small is scary.
The illusion that big things come from big thoughts.
Our cities are decorated with gigantic sculptures. Feet that come out of the ceiling, children as big as cyclops, statues twice as tall as a human being that appear around corners and in the narrowest of alleys. Benches as big as shuttles deposited by Martians in peaceful and quiet places, anonymous hands supporting ancient buildings, overshadowing them with their presence.
Oversize is the new beauty.
Works that scream their presence in the surrounding space and involve the observer with an imposing charge of amazement.
The canvases of contemporary artists can easily be measured in square meters, the walls of those who collect them are stadium-sized surfaces. They scream from one side of the painting to the other to communicate.
The human being becomes a small spectator who enters the work of art. Space is as much the protagonist as the work, even more so.
The spectacularization of art attracts admirers from all over the globe: all with cell phones in hand to photograph Instagrammable views around the monumental works of art that go viral on social networks, creating events with a wow effect.
Then there is the cyclopean aspect of the artists’ ability to handle abundant materials and gigantic sizes with technical teams that carry out the final work.
No longer workshops but industries 2.0 where engineering is experimented with more than art.
Museums and galleries now offer vast spaces similar to hangars where the work is part of the show: people take photos, ballets and performances are staged. Concerts are held around art, yoga is practised, meditation is done.
It’s the new art form, baby!
Actually no, the concept of large scale had already entered the public imagination some time ago with Land Art.
Richard Serra, Christo and Anish Kapoor play on people’s perception, combining aesthetic, conceptual and practical values.
Wrapping a building means presenting it to us in a different guise, from a new point of view. It has an impact on our consciousness and in space. It dominates us.
Anselm Kiefer‘s monumental and material canvases speak to us of war, death and destruction. Their grandeur makes us absorb the horror that penetrates us. These are works that do not reassure us, but disturb us in their stratification.
Like the enormous spiders by Louise Bourgeois that speak to us of fear and suffering. They disturb and worry us. The monumentality amplifies our feelings of unease.
The large format enhances the experience and somehow invites us to enter into the artist’s thoughts.
So it’s not a phenomenon of recent days but has been going on for some decades.
The artists mentioned, the first that come to mind, play on the feelings of being overwhelmed and immersed that a much smaller spectator can experience.
Not to mention the immersive exhibitions that are all the rage today, which play on the narcissism of the spectator, who transforms the work itself into an experience that exists only on the basis of who is experiencing it.
In a nutshell, instead of studying the work of art in front of you, you become the protagonist of the exhibition.
Interactive installations play on this, on making you feel an integral part of the work.
The public is the artwork.
With the risk that the work becomes an Instagrammable backdrop and not a subject for reflection.
Does it enrich us? Or does it feed our desire to be the center of attention?
Large format is a good vehicle for these needs. But it is no longer an enhancement of thought, but rather an emotional and involving consumption.
If cyclopean art puts the spectator at the center, it risks becoming a confirmation of the self and not a stirring of the conscience.
In short, instead of making us look outside ourselves, they make us look inside ourselves in a way that is more aesthetic and emotional than anything else.
The sensory experience is immediate and easily consumable.
And I would add that if art adapts to the tastes of the public and plays on marketing, it ends up becoming pure visual entertainment.
Thinking is more tiring and less exciting: it’s less popular to make people think than to involve them in a pleasurable way.
Large format and immersion can change into decoration, entertainment and confirmation of what we are and what we like.
Fast consumption, installations that amaze, captivating colors, lull us, reassuring us and entertaining us.
Let’s now try to think small.
Let’s think about Marcel Duchamp and his “Boîte-en-valise” (Art in a Suitcase).
Well, Duchamp said, “Everything that I have done that is important could fit into a small suitcase”.
Duchamp thinks the opposite way, he tells us that the small format gives us incredible control over what we look at and encourages us to observe more carefully. A small museum to study, detaching ourselves from time and space. In this case, it is not just looking but seeing, appropriating the carefully arranged details which, on a small scale, feed the curiosity to understand what we have in front of us.
And how can we not think of the small Banksy stencils scattered throughout the city, small details to discover that illuminate urban spaces that may have been forgotten. There is no need for enormity, but rather for placement and small dimensions, almost like a treasure hunt.
Have you heard of Joseph Cornell and his “The World in a Box”?
Well, this surrealist artist was a pioneer of assemblage, enclosing objects found in cities in wooden boxes.
Postcards, books, magazines, prints, mechanisms, records, old films, all kinds of objects. Inside wooden boxes closed by glass, like archives of memory. All these objects sealed in small spaces become powerful and surrealist stories.
The small format is a concentration of details, it is a study conceived and constructed to make one think in terms of size reduction.
Of course it’s old-fashioned, and of course it doesn’t make colossal profits. It certainly breaks down the greed of long lines of spectators and the fifteen seconds each person has to look at a work of art (it has been established that we have 15 seconds of attention in front of a work of art, and this is not a random number).
Shall we try to ask an art gallery to host my project? I know perfectly well that it will be a waste of time, but what is an artist if not someone who tries the absurd?
Let’s challenge the obsession with the monumental and also challenge the concept that covering a wall is more impactful than a miniature that takes up less space.
The small format is an act of resistance to spectacular gigantism and the voracious and insatiable consumption of the image.
Today it’s easier to be swallowed by a whale in an oceanic gallery!
But what happens if we are forced to look more closely? How embarrassed are we by this forgotten intimacy? And how upset are we by slowing down, getting closer, focusing? And how can we get around the cell phone that can’t capture the whole experience of our eye?
Are we willing to do without millions of people dazed by the din of halls like hangars? Are we willing to change our audience, looking for those who need a different experience, more intimate, more reflective, focusing on detail, precision, the power of the idea?
Size isn’t everything and in this case, it’s the size that dictates everything, but against the current. In a small space, ideas are condensed, exploding the mental space of the observer.
Are we willing to find collectors of a new, more accessible market? More democratic? Small formats are easy to collect, easy to transport, to ship and sell, and they are affordable for everyone.
Here I am, dreaming of a gallery that will accept my challenge and help to give space to an art that makes you think big but with small dimensions.
Here are some titles I thought of:
- The illusion of the small
- Side effects of pocket-sized thoughts
- The limit of the perimeter, the limitlessness of thought
- Small and powerful, small is powerful
- Details of revolutions
- Small is the new big
- The fear of the small
I don’t believe there is any curator who would be willing to create such an exhibition with me. If they managed not to distort my idea, they would certainly confront me with: it doesn’t attract an audience, it doesn’t sell, it’s not done anywhere because we would have to start it, there is no longer a space for this kind of exhibition, it’s not a good idea, there is no theme (oh yes, they would find the themes, I have at least a couple in mind that obviously I won’t mention here), there are no sponsors etc. etc.
The great leaps in art have always been made following apparently absurd ideas.
Today we no longer dare, we do market research first and see if it’s worth it.
And believe me, it shows.
