i visited the wolfgang laib exhibit at the henry art gallery today. i was hoping to find inspiration, i had heard that the work was transcendant as temples, religious as rain. it was interesting, no doubt. consisting of tiny piles of pollen extracted carefully by hand from flowers and trees, long grained basmati rice, plates of spun brass and vault like constructions of beeswax and wood. The work smelled wonderful, exotic, of baking and bees. no matter where you went in the museum, the smell pervaded, you could not shake this exhibit simply because you couldn't see it any longer. and now i can't see it or smell it, but it is still sticking with me. persistant.
Laib seemed to work based in funerary practice. pictures of graveyards in italy, burma, and india, were framed and hung on the walls of the stairwell leading out of the exhibit, showing the influences for the work, urging the viewer towards that "ah-ha!" moment. "This is a graveyard!" they are supposd to think, and then all becomes clear. But it isn't as clear cut as all that. the work took little graveyard shapes, tombstones almost, but more... monumentlike, standing in exacting rows like those big stone heads on easter island. but instead of existing to mark passage by honoring the end of life, they celebrated the everyday of life, rice for sustenance, pollen for growth and reproduction, wax for building, making things of yourself. they were more like homestones, placeholders for living souls. little contemplations like zen gardens, designed to make you take notice, and remember all the life around you. all that remains, not all that is gone.