New Work

Clare Kim (essay by Andrew Paul Wood)

Korean-born Clare Kim’s minutely detailed drawings are a kind of concrete poetry, calligrams or carmina figurata; figurative or abstract images created from tiny lines of carefully selected text. Multiple layers of information, textual and visual, are encoded in the same image. As drawings they are the product of precise concentration, attention to detail and a lyrical sensibility. Philosophically Kim’s work is an example of recursion – the process of describing a process in such a way that it invokes the process itself in a different variation. Within finite constrains the drawings hint at mathematical and cosmological infinity, and how human cognition perhaps emerges from hidden mechanisms that co-ordinate a coherent mind from individual neurons.

In Kim’s hands words and phrases re-form into exquisite fingerprints of loop, line and whorl that cumulatively build up into strikingly beautiful images, sometimes highly illusionistic. Often Kim’s chosen texts explore spiritual and cultural narratives through moral, religious and mythological texts, and the transcendental nature of text in that context as a nostalgic counterpoint to information and media saturated environment of contemporary life. Kim’s work provides a calm, contemplative haven against this superabundant background noise of increasingly disposable data. Text is re-enchanted and re-sanctified by being hidden in plain sight to be discovered – a Gnostic or even Kabalic process of revelation that initiates the viewer into higher mysteries.

At the same time, despite their conceptual complexity, Kim’s meticulous drawings are full of straightforward aesthetic appeal, graceful form and subtle use of colour. It is only on closer investigation that the underlying complexities of line and text reveal themselves, distinguishing the work from ordinary drawings much like the hidden microprinting used on paper currency and bank cheques to discourage counterfeiting are secreted away in pictures and decorative patterns. It is work of great conceptual density: messages within messages within messages; codes within codes. As with the optical illusions of a Necker cube, or the duck/rabbit and face/vase puzzles of Gestalt psychological theory, point of view flips back and forth. Kim’s drawings operate like the Gestalt model of the mind favoured by the Berlin School’s founding psychologist Kurt Koffka – the sum is other than the total of its parts.

The iconic example of the artist planting a code in their work is the anamorphic skull hidden in Holbein’s painting The Ambassadors (1533), but Kim’s work echoes many art-historical references from the unorthodox layouts of Apollinaire’s poems to Colin McCahon’s compositional and expressive use of text in his paintings. Kim’s act of artistic creation is likewise a transformative one, changing the information contained by the text by changing its context and form, giving greater depth to both image and text. The drawings impress with their delicacy, complexity, difficulty, and with the dexterous skill required for their making. They hint at the existence of a code and syntax we can never fully grasp, despite the obvious reading of the text and image. It is art that rewards a patient and concentrated focus.

Alan Ibell (essay by Lydia Baxendell)

Searching for answers in a nonsensical world, Alan Ibell's elusive narratives simulate the logic at work in dreams. His paintings examine the time-old discourse between spirituality, religion and superstition, while challenging the viewer’s preconceived perceptions of reality.

It could be said that Ibell’s paintings evoke the strange and sinister air of the New Zealand gothic genre and nod to artists such as Tony de Lautour, Tony Fomison and Jason Greig. Additionally there is an awareness of Surrealist artists and the Surrealist film genre (René Margritte’s The Man In The Bowler Hat, 1965, comes to mind), as well as an interest in the style and narrative of early Renaissance art. Literature has also played a role with writers such as Franz Kafka, Edgar Allen Poe, Albert Camus and those associated with the Theatre of the Absurd influencing the artist.

Ibell constantly draws, keeping a sketchbook of idea imagery to refer to. Working in series, he begins by exploring a narrative which he develops over a group of paintings. To achieve a grey fog-like surface and depth, he begins by blocking in details in thick layers of acrylic and slowly working over these with thin washes. Sometimes figures are painted out, leaving only a trace-like apparition. This layering effect allows Ibell to push or pull details, achieving the vaporous atmosphere he seeks.

In this fantastical dream world, things are out of whack (and a little bit disturbing). The spacious background and simple uniformity of the suited protagonists enable the artist to create a sense of timelessness as well as anonymity – they become unindividuated characters. Faceless, emotionless and sometimes limbless, Ibell's cast placidly watch carcasses, dead dogs and dead people, burning trees and burning buildings. They wait, emotionless and in vain, stuck in limbo for something to happen or someone to arrive.

A key feature of Ibell's work is this recurring dark, absurd and a tad humorous narrative. His interest in film noir and theatre is evident in his static compositions which are akin to cinematic stills or stage sets. Like dreams, there are parts missing from the expected narrative and composition. The absence of facial expression forces us to pay closer attention to body language, props and storyline. The Departure (Death of a Wild Dog) for instance, plays out like a bizarre crime scene. Two faceless businessmen stand close to a dead dog. They seem to be walking toward it, shoulders tilted, ankle deep in a misty fog which also envelops the sparse forest in the distance. These vulnerable husks of men remain emotionally ambiguous; going about their actions in a mundane 'just another day at the office' mode incongruous with the scene.

Ibell’s paintings offer a paradoxical game with no resolution. When the mind tries to recall details of memories and dreams, it’s often a faded, partial, distorted or even an illogical vision. This is the realm Ibell adeptly examines. Building on uncertainty and unease, his works construct a psychological dialogue, where the viewer is forced to connect with faceless figures inhabiting the silent, still, grey and ghostly no-mans-land of the mind.