THEFIRSTTIMEYOUSAWME
My first real encounter with Herman van Ingelgem's work was different
from what I had expected. What I saw at first seemed to have nothing
to do with the large scale, architectural sculptures that I had
noticed before, and actually were the reason for meeting up to talk
about a possible collaboration.
It took a minor mental shift to get adjusted to Van Ingelgem's new
modus operandi - in fact it wasn't all that new, the next day I
encountered a small elastic hairband (Karate Kid, 2010, collection
S.M.A.K.), which had still some hairs attached to it, at the
collection presentation of museum for contemporary art in Ghent consisting of works that stand out in their being extremely
inconspicuous. Or rather: awkward.
REMOVE/DISPLACE (Annie Gentils Gallery, Antwerp, 2010) at first sight
seemed to be a rather random combination of uninteresting objects,
oddly arranged across the gallery space. One room was filled with a
gathering of cheap looking, used tables, making it almost impossible
to enter. Yet the title of the work (Please Stay!) modestly invited
me to take my time and actually make myself comfortable. Another
piece (X-ray Moment) was nothing more than a suitcase that had been
stripped bare of its upholstery and thereby presented itself as being
a mere structure; a seemingly simple adjustment to a found object
that had become rich in meaning on many different levels. Surely that
of sculpture, considering volume, the in-between space and suggestion
of movement. Surely also that of the readymade (either adjusted or
not) that is presented to become something other than itself.
Obviously some aesthetic decisions had been made as well: a careful
consideration of what should remain and what was taken away. And it
could also be perceived as some kind of metaphor; a comment on how
privacy is sacrificed to accommodate our so-called freedom & security
on a everyday basis. Having said that (and not dismissing any of it)
one of the most interesting aspects of Van Ingelgem's work for me
lies in what I would call his transgressive attitude towards the
real. As was rightfully remarked in the press release for the
exhibition: " " My work makes clear that we are not merely active
participants in our own particular reality, but also active
spectators. Experience and representation occur virtually
simultaneously and enter into a permanent mutually influencing
interaction. " As a consequence what we see becomes more real and
more present in the mind's eye. It is not so much the thoughtenriched nudity of the ready-made or altered objet trouvée but
something that is as purposefully innocent, as revealing and naked as
amateur porn.
Van Ingelgem's objects are strangely performative and animated,
acting on their own account and yet willingly inviting you as a
spectator. Things are rubbing and grinding against each other,
against the space that they occupy, touching or even penetrating it.
At P/////AKT this notion was more openly addressed. Shuffle (2011)
focused on the possibility of products and objects to commute between
one reality and another. Especially those that are generally
perceived as banal or in themselves rather unattractive,
uninteresting, imperfect or worn out, turned out to be surprisingly
flexible and adventurous about their status and meaning when
introduced to another context. For example a slice of cheese
reclining against the wall like an inexperienced wannabe diva,
slightly exhausted and sweaty (which, I have to admit, was my fault
completely; it was supposed to be replaced on time). But this is now
bordering on some kind of fetishism, which is -perhaps not
altogether- the opposite of how I perceive the work. Van Ingelgem's
practice on the one hand seems to be dealing with the (familiar)
shift in status: from insignificant object into an artwork with
certain formal and conceptual qualities. But there is more to
consider. Van Ingelgem expects more from his objects than simply to
be present as ready-mades. Or rather, it is precisely our supposed
familiarity with these things that he wishes to address: "These
objects are unpretentious. They have made themselves utterly known in
the course of time and their relation to us seems pure and
straightforward. This creates an opening to generate meaning in an
alternative way. By shifting from one reality into another they are
able to make certain themes sensible."
And this is where the connection between his current and previous
practice takes place: it's still about architecture, but rather than
an architecture dealing with structures and space it's an
architecture of the things that surround us, the stuff that our daily
lives is made of, that has as much to do with our physical relation
to the world as with its economies and strategies and that we are
only marginally aware of. If architecture is related to the body, the
objects that Van Ingelgem uses as architecture are even more so, in a
casual, slight of hand manner. They are our co -inhibitors, the
things we see, touch and use without giving them much thought: a
table, a rubber boot, a string of sausages. They're specifically
designed and produced, to perform a market-driven function, and
therefore easily become extensions of our selves. Or at least things
to be used or consumed, easily discarded. Noteworthy in this aspect
is a recurring piece consisting of one centimetre of the artist's
sparse hair that has been cut off (One Centimetre, different
locations, 2011) and displayed in conjunction with a broom that was
purchased in a one pound shop. It's referring to production and
product, a continuous process of growth, result and waste, as well as
something that is very private and vulnerable. As is the work of art
in general; subject to personal interpretation, (historical, economic
or aesthetic) evaluation and its capacity to "communicate". So yes, a
potato has the potential to become a Henry Moore. And vice versa
(Henry is a… ANDOR, 2011).
What Van Ingelgem gives us is a reintroduction to these objects; a
form of hyperrealism that shows them as they are, yet more themselves
than we usually perceive them, or more independently so. The
seemingly simple gesture of putting a standard-size plate of mdf on
its side, supported by a bicycle support makes us look at the reality
of a plate of wood in a whole new way, but also transforms it into a
quintessential door and thereby evokes thoughts on what a door
actually is on a physical and metaphorical level (Wait, Annie Gentils
Gallery, 2010).
Can it be this easy? The overarch do-it-yourself quality of it all is
actually suggestive of the idea that it can. And it takes commitment,
surrender and a will to be exposed like that. Van Ingelgem's objects
are skimpy… and they don't mind. He has made slight alterations, put
them in a spotlight where they become excessively real and therefore
quite beautiful. They are looking back at you, not to be idealized,
but to be themselves at their best and worst: overexposed in their
radically awkward reality.
At the beginning of this year Van Ingelgem had his most recent solo
exhibition until now, again at his Antwerp gallery. What seemed to be
the leading lady of the show, with a space all to herself, was an
unsightly, dirty and obviously cheap white plastic plant stand (Some
Moments Never Sleep, Annie Gentils Gallery, 2014). She had managed to
position herself in a strategically central position, against a
backdrop of black and white posters of various similar objects (such
as a stationary holder and a parasol stand), all beautifully
photographed in the same stance. Different from Walter Benjamin's
famous theory, these cheap objects actually add to their aura through
this process of reproduction. The fact that they have been thus
photographed is making them more desirable and potentially valuable.
The white plant stand is only waiting for her moment to arrive.In
amateur porn everybody is a star.
Nienke Vijlbrief
May 2014