For most folks, Sarasota's John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art is synonymous with Old Master style: ginormous Rubens tapestries, Italian canvases in dramatic chiaroscuro, twisting Baroque columns. In comparison, the Ringling's current exhibit of modern art from the mid- to late-20th century seems decidedly
less retro, despite its cheeky title. A second, contemporary exhibit also on view feels downright fresh.
Ringling Retro, which plays out in two rooms at the museum's recently built Searing Wing for special exhibitions, takes the bigger gamble. Advertise that works by John Chamberlain, Robert Rauschenberg, Frank Stella and Barbara Kruger will be displayed, and expectations soar.
For months I'd heard the buzz: The Ringling will unveil its collection of — gasp — modern art this spring. For anyone who expected the Sarasota museum to morph into MoMA overnight, Retro will be a disappointment; for others, the exhibit offers a novel opportunity to ponder a smidge of Op Art or Minimalist works sans a Jet Blue flight to the Big Apple.
On the bright side, Retro boasts a handsome Chamberlain: a macho-poetic assemblage of crunched metal that any hedge fund manager would be happy to hang in his loft. Paintings by Stella (a yellow and black exercise in geometric abstraction) and Philip Pearlstein (a strikingly realistic female nude) wouldn't number among either artist's best works, but they're good enough — and instantly recognizable, which must spark a feeling of pride in the Ringling's regular visitors and patrons.
Female artists are nicely represented in form of a colorful, abstract canvas by Grace Hartigan; a small, black resin sculpture by Louise Nevelson (made to look like one of her famous box-like assemblages); and the dramatic Kruger piece, which offers the ominous query, "Who will write the history of tears?" transposed in Futura Bold Italic on a photograph of a an infant nursing from a bottle.
The one thing I found troubling about Ringling Retro (aside from a vertigo-inducing Richard Anuszkiewicz painting from 1977, which plunges the viewer into a wonderfully disorienting grid of red, green and purple squares) was that a couple of the artworks seemed a little worse for the wear. Wallpaper-like layers applied to the Stella painting appeared to peel back slightly from the canvas (perhaps a consequence of the artist's enthusiasm for unconventional materials), and the top edge of Kruger's piece looked as though it had been scraped or rubbed on a rough surface. In any case, the exhibit is worth seeing despite whatever minor imperfections may afflict it.
Phantasmagoria — a showcase of contemporary installations, videos and interactive artworks — also in the Searing Wing, offers an easier kind of satisfaction. Based on a form of macabre theater popular in Paris in the late 18th century, the exhibit features works by 12 contemporary artists who aim to create experiences of otherworldly presence in both high and low-tech forms. The show comes to Sarasota on loan from Independent Curators International but reflects a desire on the part of the museum to respond to visitors' interest in contemporary art, says Alexandra Libby, the Ringling's assistant curator of European art.
Despite a ghoulish premise, Phantasmagoria will surprise most visitors with its embrace of interactivity and playfulness. Although some of the artworks require a delicate balance between touching and not touching — including one piece you may breathe on but shouldn't put fingers to — the exhibit is generally kid-friendly. (Older children with the patience not to grab and the sophistication to understand layered concepts will truly enjoy the show.)
Especially memorable offerings include Jeppe Hein's "Smoking Bench," an unassuming, leather-topped cube that seems like a standard-issue museum bench until sitting on it triggers the release of a huge plume of smoke. (Let's just hope nobody has a heart attack while trying to take a load off on this thing.) Fanciful wall drawings by Julie Nord turn shadow puppets into the stuff of creepy fairytales as a blank screen nearby invites visitors to create their own projections. And Rafael Lozano-Hemmer's installation of incandescent light bulbs reacts to the movements of visitors, while a row of antique portraits printed on mirrors by Oscar Muñoz comes to life only when someone breathes on them at close proximity.
On the somber side, a video by Laurent Grasso transports viewers to the streets of Paris as they are consumed by a giant wave of smoke or ash — a simultaneously unsettling and cheesy special effect with powerful post-9/11 resonance. And "Aire," by Teresa Margolles, puts visitors uncomfortably close to the experience of death in a room made slightly damp by humidifiers filled with water used to wash corpses in Mexico.
Sometimes life isn't the only thing art imitates.
This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2008.