| Wolfgang Tillmans Museum of Contemporary Art 220 E. Chicago Avenue, Chicago, IL. 312-280-2660 Through August 13. |
This is the first retrospective of German-born
photographer Wolfgang Tillmans in the
United States. Co-organized by the Hammer
Museum in L.A. and the Museum of
Contemporary Art, Chicago, it offers a
sprawling plethora of mostly unframed
images, tacked by Tillmans himself to the
museum walls. There are no labels or text
panels to interrupt the viewer’s visual
pilgrimage through the rooms of the
installation.
photographer Wolfgang Tillmans in the
United States. Co-organized by the Hammer
Museum in L.A. and the Museum of
Contemporary Art, Chicago, it offers a
sprawling plethora of mostly unframed
images, tacked by Tillmans himself to the
museum walls. There are no labels or text
panels to interrupt the viewer’s visual
pilgrimage through the rooms of the
installation.
| Installation view. Photograph by Michael Green. Copyright Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago. |
It’s an interesting journey, more accurately, a progression where the viewer begins with some amount of
confusion and annoyance by the sheer number and informality of the seemingly unrelated images, but is
slowly and steadily resigned to the “Tillmans method."
confusion and annoyance by the sheer number and informality of the seemingly unrelated images, but is
slowly and steadily resigned to the “Tillmans method."
Wolfgang Tillmans was 34 years old when in 2000 he
became the first photographer to ever win the coveted
Turner Prize awarded by the Tate Modern in London. As a
young, gay, German artist living in England, Tillmans
brought a kind of off-the-cuff randomness to his images.
He dispensed with the ideas of formal perfection, polished
presentation and linear narrative. Instead, he seemed to
take pictures of anything in his path: cute boys,
landscapes, found still-lifes, snippets of this and that.
Essentially, whatever caught his eye. In most hands, this
wouldn’t add up to a Turner Prize. So what’s the deal?
You need to be a bit patient to find out. Each room offers an
assortment of images, some snapshot sized, some huge,
openly arranged from nearly floor to ceiling. One’s first
impulse is to unlock the mystery of each room by seeking
some unifying order to the images. Why did he put a
picture of a swimming pool above a funky young couple
smiling at the camera? A fall landscape scene, snapshots
of friends, still-lives of crumpled articles of clothing. Our
instinctive desire to find order in chaos ultimately fails with
Tillmans’s work. There are simply no logical, overt
relationships between images. Once you give up and
begin to let the installation lead you visually is when the
pictures start to resonate in wonderful ways.
By the time I finally made my way through the whole show, I
was begging for more. What Tillmans successfully gives
us is a sense of discovery and a less trod path for finding
meaning in images. What happens in the show is that the
images begin to work because of their relationships and
juxtapositions as well as the fact that the traditional genres
became the first photographer to ever win the coveted
Turner Prize awarded by the Tate Modern in London. As a
young, gay, German artist living in England, Tillmans
brought a kind of off-the-cuff randomness to his images.
He dispensed with the ideas of formal perfection, polished
presentation and linear narrative. Instead, he seemed to
take pictures of anything in his path: cute boys,
landscapes, found still-lifes, snippets of this and that.
Essentially, whatever caught his eye. In most hands, this
wouldn’t add up to a Turner Prize. So what’s the deal?
You need to be a bit patient to find out. Each room offers an
assortment of images, some snapshot sized, some huge,
openly arranged from nearly floor to ceiling. One’s first
impulse is to unlock the mystery of each room by seeking
some unifying order to the images. Why did he put a
picture of a swimming pool above a funky young couple
smiling at the camera? A fall landscape scene, snapshots
of friends, still-lives of crumpled articles of clothing. Our
instinctive desire to find order in chaos ultimately fails with
Tillmans’s work. There are simply no logical, overt
relationships between images. Once you give up and
begin to let the installation lead you visually is when the
pictures start to resonate in wonderful ways.
By the time I finally made my way through the whole show, I
was begging for more. What Tillmans successfully gives
us is a sense of discovery and a less trod path for finding
meaning in images. What happens in the show is that the
images begin to work because of their relationships and
juxtapositions as well as the fact that the traditional genres
| Wolfgang Tillmans, Adam, vest & cat, 1991. Courtesy of Andrea Rosen Gallery, New York and Regan Projects, Los Angeles. |
| Wolfgang Tillmans, Jeans on White, 1991. Courtesy of Andrea Rosen Gallery, New York and Regan Projects, Los Angeles. |
| Copyright Art History Chicks, 2006. Contact Us |
he works within: still life, landscape, portraiture, and recently, abstraction, begin to form verbs and nouns in the
overall disjointed scheme of things. A new language of seeing evolves that doesn’t depend on the singular
"masterpiece," but on a whole community of ideas that gravitates more toward the hesitant and insecure than
the macho and confident.
For example, in the beginning of the show (if you enter to the left), the first two rooms seem quite lackluster,
perhaps carefully arranged by Tillmans so one image doesn’t out-weigh another, but then you round a corner
and there’s this large dumb print of a house. It’s steps are completely covered with snow with its two rickety
iron hand railings contrasting sharply with the white and dominating the composition. It’s so beautiful and
funny that it stops you dead in your tracks. Tillmans does this throughout the installation and by about half-way
through, frustration gives way to amusement and a "what is he going to throw at us next" sense of discovery.
The artist is amazingly sensitive to not only the language of image making, but to the nuances of how images
interact, balance, and contrast with one another. The overall project becomes the singular work of art, not the
series of independent images that normally constitute a "retrospective."
Perhaps my favorite "surprise" was rounding a corner and being confronted with a huge, disgusting image of
a young man peeing on a chair. Rude, graphic and immature in attitude, yet sparkling in its immediacy and
color, the image is stunning and despicable at the same time. Then, just a few yards over is an equally large,
horizontally oriented, photograph of a fall landscape. Essentially, Tillmans puts a portrait (of sorts) and a
landscape in a juxtaposition that underscores the commonness of both approaches, speaks of tradition and
history, and gives both a feeling of reinvigoration. He’s working simultaneously within and outside of traditions
with his sophisticated awareness of the viewer as part of the equation.
overall disjointed scheme of things. A new language of seeing evolves that doesn’t depend on the singular
"masterpiece," but on a whole community of ideas that gravitates more toward the hesitant and insecure than
the macho and confident.
For example, in the beginning of the show (if you enter to the left), the first two rooms seem quite lackluster,
perhaps carefully arranged by Tillmans so one image doesn’t out-weigh another, but then you round a corner
and there’s this large dumb print of a house. It’s steps are completely covered with snow with its two rickety
iron hand railings contrasting sharply with the white and dominating the composition. It’s so beautiful and
funny that it stops you dead in your tracks. Tillmans does this throughout the installation and by about half-way
through, frustration gives way to amusement and a "what is he going to throw at us next" sense of discovery.
The artist is amazingly sensitive to not only the language of image making, but to the nuances of how images
interact, balance, and contrast with one another. The overall project becomes the singular work of art, not the
series of independent images that normally constitute a "retrospective."
Perhaps my favorite "surprise" was rounding a corner and being confronted with a huge, disgusting image of
a young man peeing on a chair. Rude, graphic and immature in attitude, yet sparkling in its immediacy and
color, the image is stunning and despicable at the same time. Then, just a few yards over is an equally large,
horizontally oriented, photograph of a fall landscape. Essentially, Tillmans puts a portrait (of sorts) and a
landscape in a juxtaposition that underscores the commonness of both approaches, speaks of tradition and
history, and gives both a feeling of reinvigoration. He’s working simultaneously within and outside of traditions
with his sophisticated awareness of the viewer as part of the equation.
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As brilliant as all of this is (and it is), I found
myself undermining Tillmans’ desire to
"democratize" or take away the hierarchy of
individual images. Every image, from
snapshot to huge manipulated abstraction,
is equally important to Tillmans. He wants us
to read relationships rather than solitary
"works of art" but I couldn’t help but gravitate
toward his still-lifes of clothes. In both small
scale, such as "pink shirt" or large scale
"white shirt," these elegant close-ups of the
sculptural properties of jeans and t-shirts are
so alive and beautiful and full of a strange,
marred humanity that, in the end, we leave
the show ultimately wowed by Tillmans’
ability to make a good photo. And I don’t think
that’s what he wanted.
- Debra Brehmer
myself undermining Tillmans’ desire to
"democratize" or take away the hierarchy of
individual images. Every image, from
snapshot to huge manipulated abstraction,
is equally important to Tillmans. He wants us
to read relationships rather than solitary
"works of art" but I couldn’t help but gravitate
toward his still-lifes of clothes. In both small
scale, such as "pink shirt" or large scale
"white shirt," these elegant close-ups of the
sculptural properties of jeans and t-shirts are
so alive and beautiful and full of a strange,
marred humanity that, in the end, we leave
the show ultimately wowed by Tillmans’
ability to make a good photo. And I don’t think
that’s what he wanted.
- Debra Brehmer
Debra Brehmer is co-publisher of Susceptible to Images.
Email dbrehmer@susceptibletoimages.com
Email dbrehmer@susceptibletoimages.com