We Cannot Climb by Night: Part 2

     I recently spent some time experiencing the paintings in Nikki Toyama's show called Edifice. Her show is about the interaction of light and architecture in an urban setting. The show starts out with a work called Into the Mission which I wrote about here. At the end of the show is another painting called Driving to Tabernacle. These are the biggest two paintings, and are arranged in a way that you can encounter them individually and then side by side. It was while I absorbed these two paintings simultaneously that I began to notice complementary contrasts between them which helped me to approach them each on their own again. These two paintings show the contrasting forces of light and architecture working with and against each other. They show how light, so ephemeral and transparent, can wield a power over the sturdy solidity of the buildings. Nikki shows this power by showing the movement of light. Movement that is simultaneously evanescent and lasting, powerful and delicate, blinding and illuminating.

        The road slopes away from the center of itself, the light that streams onto the road seems to function as motion lines. The upper surface has strong lines that follow the movement of the vehicles and tilts in such a way that we feel rapid movement through the tunnel. The vehicles move forward and are enveloped in the light, almost as if in just a few more moments they will disappear from sight. Interestingly, the painting is able to make the viewer part of the scene. There are two somewhat subtle vertical lines in the painting. One in the bottom left of the painting and the other on the right wall at the very end of the tunnel. These two lines parallel each other, but they are not completely vertical. The one on the right is part of the tunnel's structure, but the one in the bottom left is not obviously recognizable. It serves to help frame the picture in such a way that pulls the viewer forward and into the picture. The red of the taillights stand out against the black and white in one of the only colored parts of the picture. The only other colorful part of the painting is the warm yellow glow of the doors lining the street in the background. 

      The painting pulls the viewer in because of the vortex of bright white light. It simultaneously streams into the tunnel and pulls you out of it into the open. This painting is not static; it moves and moves the eye. Like Into the Mission, this painting has two components. Unlike Into the Mission, which had two separate fields and energies, both of the two components run together seamlessly. The first section is the actual tunnel. The tunnel is the feature that the artist uses to show the interaction of building and light. The tunnel takes up most of the painting; it dominates the foreground, and is the largest subject in the work. Large and dominating as it is, the tunnel gives way to the light. In fact the tunnel serves the light. The only function of the tunnel is to show the light. If there was no tunnel, the painting would be blinding, all that would be there was a piercing white light. However, with the tunnel the light is able to reveal itself without getting lost. The light and the building are dependent upon each other in this work. Without the light, you could not see the tunnel and without the tunnel you could not see the light. 

    This work is all about forward movement. The viewer is moving through a tunnel, the cars ahead are moving forward, the light draws the eye into an indiscernible distance. The fact that the doors are the only thing visible in the background seems to indicate movement also: one portal leading to another. What does this movement of light against the cold tunnel mean? The interplay could be making a metaphysical or existential statement, just think of how many metaphors a tunnel can be used for. This could represent death, or progress, or even time. Of course the painting could also be a capture of a moment in time, not to mention the possibility that it's both. The key to this lies in seeing this together with Into the Mission. The stillness of those two cars heading to the mission explodes into action here. They speed ahead; even the tunnel can't hold them for long. They now have the light they require to move, and move they do. 

We Cannot Climb by Night: Part 1

 

       I recently had the pleasure of experiencing Nikki Toyama's exhibit called Edifice. In the show are a series of paintings that explore the interaction of light and architecture. In her manifesto she says:

"Man's power is signified through the construction of the metropolis. Simultaneously, light continues to make its steady impression on man's work. The city, represented in these 'unshakable' forms made by man, dissipates underneath the natural forms of light."  

     She shows how light 'has its way' with the buildings by accentuating the contrast between the dark, static nature of the architecture and light's ability to create movement and life. In fact, it is the movement of light that gives it its power. The two largest of the paintings of the show were displayed in such a way that at the correct angle you could see them both side by side, though they were on different walls. I can't help but to assume this was intentional, and if it was, I thought this installation choice was successful. It gave me the chance to see both paintings individually, and then as I moved through the exhibit I saw them again, only this time side by side. Alone they spoke clearly, but together their voices spoke an even stronger message of the power of light.

     The very first painting that you come across in the show is called Into the Mission. This large painting (I don't have the exact measurements but approximately 4' x 5') is painted almost completely in gray scale. The picture is very straight; the lines, for the most part, are only vertical and horizontal. The buildings stand straight and tall contrasting with the low, flat underpass. The underpass hovers over a flat gray road, upon which is mounted three blank road signs. The three signs are in the middle of the painting with the biggest one being in the center. The signs are supported by a black railing that reaches from one end of the painting to the other. At the right  edge of the railing a lonely, somewhat wispy plant grows. Two cars, one white and one black, sit on the road facing the city. They are surrounded on four sides: the underpass on top, two thick walls on the sides, and the road underneath. Ahead, yet another underpass looms.

     This painting has two portions. The first is the sky. The sky is filled with movement, the vertical lines and faint shadows of other buildings in the background give the whole upper part of the painting a shimmering, almost radiant appeal. Even though the buildings are flat and square, from left to right they gradually lead up into an apex that fades into the light. The shape of the skyline, the shimmering light, and the faint glimpses of pointed roofs (steeples?) in the distance give the whole sky a near transcendental aura. The reason it seems transcendental is simply the fact that the movement all points upwards. The emphasis of the sky is not depth, but movement.

    Everything changes on the bottom half. There is plenty of depth, but no movement. Stillness. The two cars sit on the flat road with their lights off, the fact they aren't going anywhere seems exemplified by the ghost signs which are erased of any destination. The support railing for the road signs is in the shape of a fence, barring any progress. Even if the cars were to move forward, the only thing ahead of them on the road is just another underpass. The stillness of the road is defined by the darkness. In fact, the darkness is the reason for the stillness, below those road signs are only shadow and dimness. The darkness in the lower half of the painting chokes the life from it...shown by the lifeless, leafless shrub.

     The painting employs a rather prosaic scene, driving into the city, to reveal its truth. In reality, one might think that it would be the bottom half of the scene that would be the busy one. The road would be filled with moving cars, which would be filled with moving people. Each underpass would only be seen for a few moments (barring traffic) and the signs would confidently present your destination. The lights that would be the most obvious would be the lights of the car in front and beside you. The sky would be motionless. In fact, the high rise buildings would stand so tall and proud that the sky itself would be reduced to some kind of super sized wallpaper upon which the city skyline can present itself. The painting completely inverts this. The sky holds the force of movement and becomes the sole conduit of light, and the city below has no choice but to submit. The painting does not contradict the reality, but instead enhances it by showing the power, necessity, and beauty of the light.

     In Dante's Purgatorio*, all the souls have one task: to constantly move upwards in their purging journey towards God. Being in purgatory is no great joy and they all want to move through as quickly as possible, however, after nightfall everyone immediately stops moving. Curious,Virgil asks why this is, and the guide says, "We cannot climb by night." He explains that anyone of them could continue walking all night, but without the light which represents God's grace, it would be impossible to make progress. Because of the darkness they would lose their way and end up never taking even one step forward. Therefore, they must wait until morning to travel again. It is darkness alone that hinders Dante's travelers, and I think that it is darkness that hinders those two cars. Though their intentions are benevolent, as indicated by the painting's title; the shimmering, lively light in the sky must descend on the road for them to continue onto their work. One might speculate a little further and say that not only must they wait for the light, it is the light that gives their work purpose at all. 

*Canto VII lines 40-63