Friedman & Vallois will present for the first time in New York a solo exhibition of Irish sculptor Patrick O’Reilly. The exhibition will open Thursday, June 13 and will run through September 28, 2013. The exhibition «New Works in Bronze» will highlight a broad over- view of his artistic creativity through twenty-eight bronze sculptures all made between 2009 and 2013.
 
Born in 1957, Patrick O’Reilly, has exhibited in Dublin, Berlin, Lon- don, Paris, Athens, Brussels and even in China and enjoys a strong international reputation. He reveals himself as a multidisciplinary artist: street artist, performer, dj, assemblagist and sculptor for whom monumental scale does not frighten.
 
His work draws from both classical and Mannerist influences as well as from the imagery of contemporary comic and pop art.
 
The universe he constructs evokes reverie, poetry and especially childhood themes through its iconic animal, the teddy bear which O’Reilly brings back to life with his own sensiblility, humor and playfulness as portrayed in «Ballet Bear» and «Drummer».
 
«Cernunnos» half man half stag and god of prosperity and seasons, father of the Gauls, and archaic divinity, as well as «Flight» or «Bull» belong to the bestiary of O’Reilly’s canon of imagery in which Celtic mythology still holds a strong influence for may Irish.
 
The human-animal hybridization of «Anvil Man» a playful crossbreeding, recalls the singular ability of particular to Ireland in marring marry humor and seriousness, reason and imagination.

Signing, sealing, swallowing, flogging, revealing, casting, unsealing, regurgitating, healing, releasing. Reflection, nested in opposites, is betrayal—this has to be the axiom that marks our starting point, even if we have always already started, always already find ourselves halfway down the road to perdition. Perdition is grace. We have cast our inconsolable eyes on the heavens. We’ve call this Genesis as a way to absolve ourselves. To look up then, this is what eyes are for—eyes in the universal absence of consolation. And this is why the wise, as the Assyrians remind us in their sand-blasted books, sometimes gouged them out with sharpened flint and fed them to the hogs. To see in blindness the blindness of seeing. The binary falters and fails. It fails us. It fails at the moment that the demons are cast out. Masterfully cast out. Dark castings. To cast is to release, to pull from a mold, to make a figure by filling negative space. The opposite of—not the reflection of. From the cast of the godly, then, something ungodly. Legion is not the name(s) of the problem. Only its prompting, the road—a road that bifurcates from the one that leads to graceful perdition—to unsealing the location of the always open but hidden Secret Text, spread out like the firmament itself, that is, the very theological substrate, that reveals that the One is not reflected in the Other, that Good is not the counterpart of Evil. Sealing and unsealing, swallowing and regurgitating, flogging and healing, casting and releasing. Evil and Evil are Two—both released from the same godly mold, but neither, as the shape of its negative hollow, congruent with it. This, then, will be about bearing witness, but not from a margin, not even the margin of seeing. The witnessing of the released. So it will be about failure instead, insofar as “being about” can still sustain itself at the cliff’s edge of incomprehension. Bearing witness in the unwitnessing opened up by the plunge of the witness into the void. The witnessing of the dead witness, the witness without perception. This will be about witnessing and about theology as bearing witness: attestation, testimony, testament. The voiceless testament. The binary falters and fails. The leaping over the side of the cliff can “bear witness” to a theology. It can promise it, it can be a response to it, as to a testamentary promise. Indeed it must, it cannot not, do so. But it is an unworded promise. It’s very unwording is the promise. It can so not do so. And in doing so, it reinforces the very commitment that safeguards it as a testamentary promise. But not with the idea of applying a previously existing form of theology, or of referring to one as to a charter written somewhere else, or of obeying its laws like a transcendent authority, but rather by itself promising, in the act of its event, which is also the act of its debasement insofar as suicide is the graceful disgracing, the foundation of a theology. Of an a-theology. An other theology. A theology of filth. A theology with no believer. Always witnesses, always multiple. But not a theology of the pack, either. Not wolves, not rats. Despicable shit-eaters, never gorging the fecal pies in unison. A theology, an a-theology, of grovelers, of mud-inhabitants. A theology that is no cast, no model, no laws, just pure release. It would be a matter, then, of the suicided witness constituting, through its decision, collective always but never of a collectivity as such, its own theology, a-theology, an un-atheist a-theology that must also, through its generality, become, invent, institute, offer for reading, in an exemplary way, signing it, at the same time sealing it and unsealing it, the possibility of this a-theology, of this bearing witness through death. In the singular. In this instance only. For it can only happen once—this unveiling of the good Evil, of what the good or the godly releases without this release being like itself. Inscribed with the hoof of the suicided in protest, in an effort to illustrate. But this is the space of the un-illustrational. The binary fails here again. The a-theology comes, emerges, consolidates, in the event itself, in the double-event of the suicide and the witnessing of the suicide, false of mirror or no mirror but a witness of the double-event of the Christ’s casting out and casting in the demonic. It is the mastery of casting in, of possessing the living with the demonic, guiding this event. This double-event is its singularity (suicide as witnessing), even as it imperfectly doubles, while un-doubling it, another singularity (Christ jamming the demonic in the bodies of the innocent). It’s its repeatable—insofar as it is theology—unrepeatability. At a particular date, on the day that the Christ cast the demons across the species-boundary, in an absolute violation, a violation of not any law in particular, by a violation as itself, as such, as Event, abominable enough to instill mortal fear in the villagers, at the both unique and repeatable—that is, unrepeatable repeatable—date of a signature, of a signed abominable act of exorcism and possession, the negation of itself already nested in the act, canceling it out, making it the historical negative act par excellence, the Evil Event, something—or rather a nothing—that could be answered, that could be attested to, that could be witnessed, and, at the same time, flogging the binary one more time, witnessed only by an act of negation equally radical, radically enough to establish a counter-theology, an outside to theology—the leaping of the hogs over the side of the cliff. The immaculate assumption of the impossible task.The generation of a reminder, a trace that vanishes with the life of the suicide, outside of the Two—of the evil of the demonic and of the evil of the Christ. The jump, in other words, is the inscription of evil in the world, not the evil of the leapers, the porcine evil, but the very evil that is at the heart of the figure of the Christ, the evil that marks the release—the figure—constituted in the hollow of the godly cast. The swine are the lambs that unmask the Lamb as Goat, that establish the undeniability of the Two. The leap carries reference beyond itself, beyond reference, to where evil establishes a different kind of world, clocked in the veils of theology, of ungodly Son birthed by the God-Father, the Cast of Perfection, establishing the universal absence of consolation. The swine is inedible because it belongs to a world we can’t measure up to.

An interior earth sculpture.
250 cubic yards of earth (197 cubic meters)
3,600 square feet of floor space (335 square meters)
22 inch depth of material (56 centimeters)
Total weight of sculpture: 280,000 lbs. (127,300 kilos)
 
The New York Earth Room, 1977, is the third Earth Room sculpture executed by the artist, the first being in Munich, Germany in 1968. The second was installed at the Hessisches Landesmuseum in Darmstadt, Germany in 1974. The first two works no longer exist.
 
The New York Earth Room has been on long-term view to the public since 1980. This work was commissioned and is maintained by Dia Art Foundation.

The Broken Kilometer, 1979, located at 393 West Broadway in New York City, is composed of 500 highly polished, round, solid brass rods, each measuring two meters in length and five centimeters (two inches) in diameter. The 500 rods are placed in five parallel rows of 100 rods each. The sculpture weighs 18 3/4 tons and would measure 3,280 feet if all the elements were laid end-to-end. Each rod is placed such that the spaces between the rods increase by 5mm with each consecutive space, from front to back; the first two rods of each row are placed 80mm apart, the last two rods are placed 580 mm apart. Metal halide stadium lights illuminate the work which is 45 feet wide and 125 feet long.
 
This work is the companion piece to De Maria's 1977 Vertical Earth Kilometer at Kassel, Germany. In that permanently installed earth sculpture, a brass rod of the same diameter, total weight and total length has been inserted 1,000 meters into the ground.
 
The Broken Kilometer has been on long-term view to the public since 1979. This work was commissioned and is maintained by Dia Art Foundation.

African Photography from The Walther Collection
 
Distance and Desire:
Encounters with the African Archive
 
June 9, 2013 – May 17, 2015
 
The Walther Collection
Reichenauerstrasse 21
Neu-Ulm, Burlafingen 89233
Germany
info@walthercollection.com
www.walthercollection.com
 
The Walther Collection is pleased to present “Distance and Desire: Encounters with the African Archive,” the third exhibition devoted to African photography and video art. This exhibition, curated by Tamar Garb, brings together late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century portraits, cartes de visite, postcards, album pages, and books from Southern and Eastern Africa, set in dialogue with recent photography and video by contemporary artists who have engaged with photographic archives. “Distance and Desire” offers new perspectives on the legacy of anthropological and ethnographic visions of Africans, reimagining the poetic and political dimension of the archive, its diverse histories, and its changing meanings. The culmination of a three-part exhibition series at The Walther Collection Project Space in New York, and the international symposium “Encounters with the African Archive,” co-organized by The Walther Collection, New York University, and University College London, the exhibition is accompanied by a major scholarly catalogue edited by Tamar Garb.
 
“Distance and Desire” unfolds in three thematic sections:
 
“Santu Mofokeng and A.M. Duggan-Cronin”
A juxtaposition of A. M. Duggan-Cronin’s “The Bantu Tribes of South Africa” and Santu Mofokeng’s “The Black Photo Album / Look at Me: 1890–1950” introduces the concept of the photographic archive as both a repository of documents and an assemblage of representations. Duggan-Cronin, an Irish South African who lived in the mining town of Kimberley, set out to depict what he considered the disappearing indigenous populations of South Africa. His monumental study, entitled “The Bantu Tribes of South Africa,” published between 1928-1954, includes photographs, descriptive captions, and anthropological essays. In addition to presenting all eleven Bantu Tribes books, a complete sequence of photogravure plates from “The Nguni: Baca, Hlubi, Xesibe” (1954) will be on view, alongside a selection of vintage gelatin-silver prints by Duggan-Cronin, which had previously circulated as individual objects.
 
In contrast to Duggan-Cronin’s renowned and contested ethnographic vision of African heritage, “The Black Photo Album / Look at Me: 1890-1950” portrays the modern self-representation of African subjects. In the early 1990s, the artist Santu Mofokeng collected family studio portraits from late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century South Africa and transformed the images into a slide show, complete with narratives about the sitters. He also produced a series of gelatin-silver print reproductions of the portraits, which are on view together with a selection of the project’s original vintage prints and Mofokeng’s research notes. Envisioned as a “counter-archive,” The Black Photo Album challenges fixed ideas most often associated with images of Africans.
 
“Poetics and Politics”
The cornerstone of Distance and Desire is a presentation of previously un-exhibited vintage portraits, cartes de visite, postcards, and album pages, produced from the 1860s to the early twentieth century. Extraordinary in range and style, these images make visible both the ideological frameworks that prevailed during the colonial period in Africa and the exceptional skill of photographers working in the studio and landscape. “Poetics and Politics” offers a remarkable opportunity to view the narratives that emerge from this African photographic archive, describing in particular the experience of the studio: the curiosity between photographer and subject, the emergence and circulation of types, the range of portraiture, the negotiations of costume and pose, and the will for self-assertion.
 
The presentation investigates typical European depictions of Africans, from scenes in nature, to sexualized images of semi-nude models, to modern sitters posing in elaborate studios, critically addressing the politics of colonialism and the complex issues of gender, race, and identity. Original album pages of landscapes and ethnographic imagery are displayed alongside a series of carte de visite portraits of Africans, circulated in the 1870s from the Diamond Fields of Kimberley and popular “ethnic” post-cards from the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. The exhibition also features several double-sided displays of album pages, showing striking combinations of personal and stock images, and the juxtapositions of prominent figures in both African and Western contexts. Among over 150 images, the exhibition includes some of the finest examples of works by Samuel Baylis Barnard and the Lawrence Brothers of Cape Town, George T. Ferneyhough and the Caney Brothers in Natal, Barnett & Co from Johannesburg, W. Rausch from Bulawayo, and G. F. Williams from Port Elizabeth, as well as images by unidentified and unattributed photographers.
 
“Contemporary Reconfigurations”
Centering on contemporary photography and video by African and African-American artists who have engaged with photographic archives, “Contemporary Reconfigurations” shows how a stereotype or ethnographic vision in one era provides material for an irreverent reworking, satirical performance, or elegiac reenactment in another. Carrie Mae Weems, in her powerful series “From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried,” appropriates mid-nineteenth-century anthropometric photographs of African-Americans, overlaying the images with poetic texts. Sammy Baloji, Candice Breitz, and Sue Williamson rework historic or ethnographic photographs onto collages. Samuel Fosso, Philip Kwame Apagya, and Kudzanai Chiurai create exuberantly staged studio portraiture, using backdrops and sets to critique stereotypes and identities. Zwelethu Mthethwa and Zanele Muholi examine sexuality, costume, and ritual, while David Goldblatt’s and Jo Ractliffe’s black-and-white portraits portray mineworkers and former military personnel as they chose to been seen in “traditional” clothing.
 
Sabelo Mlangeni’s photo essay “Iimbali” documents the reed dances of KwaZulu-Natal, showing the display of virgins vying to be chosen as brides. His series “Country Girls,” in contrast to the multiple visions of women posed “in nature” throughout the ethnographic archive, chronicles small-town transvestites who self-consciously perform their adopted identities for the camera. Pieter Hugo’s series “There’s a Place in Hell for Me & My Friends” examines ethnicity and skin tones through mug shots and Guy Tillim makes a typology of child soldiers training near Beni, in the eastern Congo. Jodi Bieber, in a reversal of previous voyeuristic visions of the black female body, presents women self-consciously posing in settings where they are in control of their own images. Working in video, Berni Searle performs as a statuesque deity engaged in domestic labor in “Snow White,” and Andrew Putter gives an indigenous voice to the effigy of Maria de la Quellerie, wife of the first Dutch settler in the area known today as Cape Town, in “Secretly I Will Love You More.” Together, through their work with the African archive, these artists pose compelling questions about identity and memory, leading to new readings of the exhibition’s vintage photographs.