Artwork Balances Hope in the Midst of Upheaval
By Alyssa Goins
Kader Attia, La Mer Morte (The Dead Sea), 2015. Photo courtesy of Alyssa Goins.
Pastel artwork of families on couches, a haunting photograph of an Arizona dirt road, and a three-dimensional bed wrapped in rope. It can be difficult to place what these three things have in common, but maybe that’s the point. These pieces are part of a temporary exhibit at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston’s downtown Seaport District, titled When Home Won’t Let You Stay: Migration Through Contemporary Art. The exhibit, featuring the work of twenty artists, offers a perspective on the current migrant crisis that's not offered by news coverage. It provides a glimpse into the emotional impact of fleeing one’s home, as well as extraordinary hope against all odds.
Clothing scattered on the floor startles the observer when they find the exhibit’s third room. At first glance, the haphazard array of clothing looks no different than the floor of an average teenager’s room. But a second look reveals that nothing here is discarded; in fact, it is quite deliberately placed. Artist Kader Attia titled this 2015 work La Mer Morte (The Dead Sea). The title explains the clothing, most of which are shades of blue. The description also fits the clothing’s configuration, which is a desperate jumble of shirt arms and pant legs. The arms and legs of the shirts, pants, and dresses curl both inwards and outwards. The shapes formed by the clothing call to mind jumbled limbs that seem to plead for survival. The splayed clothing scattering the floor evokes desperation. The artwork is subtly disturbing, and impossible not to notice.
One particularly eye-catching piece of artwork on display was created by Aliza Nisenbaum in 2015. Las Talaveritas, composed of oil paint on linen canvas, features broad brush strokes with vibrant colors. The painting depicts three women, and is one of three of Nisenbaum’s works featured in the exhibit. Her work stands in noticeable contrast to the two muted photographs by Richard Misrach featured in the exhibit’s previous room. The title, Las Talaveritas, refers to Talavera pottery, which is traditionally Mexican and Spanish. Talavera pottery features intricate patterns and bright colors. The small Talavera tiles in the painting’s background may reference the fragmented nature of immigration, and the pieces of migrants’ lives that they carry to a new home. Two of the women depicted in Las Talaveritas lie on a sofa, linking arms in a comfortable friendliness. The third woman, younger than the other two, has seated herself upside down on the sofa, arms across her stomach. The artwork’s strength lies in the connection between the three women, and in the easy laziness in which they coexist in this rare quiet moment. In an exhibit that harnesses so much pain, Nisenbaum’s artwork stands in contrast. The artwork serves as a gentle reminder that migrant communities can thrive in spite of chaos and upheaval.
Near the exhibit’s end lies a library. Constructed with four walls and two openings for viewers to pass in and out, the four walls semi-enclose a room. Bookshelves, made from white-painted wood, are stacked five shelves high and filled with books made from brightly colored cloth. Many of the books’ spines are printed with the names of people who immigrated to America. The books represent immigrant stories. The artist, Yinka Shonibare, titled this 2018 work The American Library. In the center of the room sits a kiosk with iPads that viewers can use to learn about and engage with the exhibit. The iPads provide background information on both Shonibare and the artwork. Immediately, one understands the vast wealth of information, perspective and resources that America’s immigrant community has to offer. On one hand, the enormity of this large gallery can feel overwhelming. How can we ever appreciate all of this information, the size seems to say. What if stories have already been lost? But perhaps that is the purpose of the exhibit. If America does not actively listen to immigrant stories, we will never have access to this bank of information, perspective and culture. The artwork’s description explains its purpose “to be an instigator of discovery and debate.” The American Library, therefore, is a call to action to support migrants.
In the end, this exhibit offers a glimpse into the challenges migrants must grapple with every day. The media reminds us constantly of the numbers behind the current refugee crisis, with statistics ranging from the number of displaced persons to the number of refugees different cities are expected to absorb. In focusing on the facts, however, society as a whole tends to negate the web of emotion behind the migrant experience. When Home Won’t Let You Stay is not an exhibit full of gloomy art; it is a careful balance of the hopeless with the hopeful. It’s art rather than news — forcing viewers to look rather than read, and think, rather than assume.
When Home Won’t Let You Stay: Migration Through Contemporary Art can be seen at the Institute for Contemporary Art (25 Harbor Shore Drive, Boston, MA) through January 26, 2020.