Hibernation vs. Exhibition
On the Reconstitution of Installation Art (Part I)

Stephanie Cristello

Studio mates Annie Heckman and Elise Goldstein talk about the difference between having their works installed/de-installed, as well as the dormant aspects of their individual installation practices.

Recently, I had a chance to chat with performance and installation artist Elise Goldstein in preparation for a larger series on installation art that I’ve been working on for the past couple months. The installation medium often brings up the difference between having a work installed, and having it stored away or in the studio –a conversation of dormancy that is not always necessarily present in most forms of two-dimensional artwork. In keeping with the series, this article will cover the elements of reconstitution inlaid within the realm of installation art.

Hibernation vs. Exhibition

A question that I’ve been struggling with when talking about installation art, in particular, is the sense of activation. Obviously, there is a difference between having the piece up in a space, or having it hang around your studio. However, when I was talking with Goldstein, I took a particular interest in how she described her work when I asked about the difference between being around a piece when it is installed/de-installed: “When you offer a person a situation that is deeply aestheticized, it gives them permission to sort of delight in the materials, delight in the beauty of it,” says Goldstein, “I really think that all my work is striving to create a kind of circumstance.”

The hibernation of a piece therefore does not allow an installation to carry this same sense of “system” or “circumstance” that Goldstein touches upon; perhaps this may be because that along with the framework of a space, comes a certain sense of significance to its placement. And although neither Goldstein nor Heckman’s work loses any amount of its significance when stored away, the hibernation of their pieces insinuate the installations’ potential more so than its actual goal. The sum parts of an installation’s experience, for the viewer especially, is in this “hibernation” format more concentrated as an archive; it carries the essence of a collection. While this collection can be viewed as a piece in its own right, as Goldstein points out, it seems that most installation artists identify with the information quite differently when it is not on display.

“There is something different about my installation work when it spends such a great deal of time broken down and stored, as opposed to one of my drawings which I can hang on the wall any time, or the animations which can be rescreened or shared digitally in a very flexible way,” says Heckman, who unlike Goldstein works in two-dimensional veins, which offers different, and often easier facilitated, modes of presentation, “I like being able to experience the projects in all these different formats, and the installation definitely takes on a different type of activation when it’s on view as opposed to the time when it hibernates for a while in between exhibits.”

The Viewer as Temporary Witness

The main element that seems to define this “charge,” which both Heckman and Goldstein describe as an element of their work, largely has to do with the presence of an audience; the “charge” is the product of a reaction, or at least the acknowledgement from another party that an experience is both being processed, and reciprocated.

While Goldstein’s performance art background informs her expectations of a present audience in her installations, in order to understand her work, we must be aware of our role as a participant, “I started working in theater, so I guess that’s where my approach to performance comes from,” says Goldstein “where things feel really immersive no matter what. My goal for my sculptures was to create a ‘set’ where people can exist as other characters.”

Heckman’s work similarly deals with this idea of theatricality, especially in regards to her animation work, which is often incorporated into the surroundings of her installations. In Airline to Heaven Part I, part of Heckman’s earlier work (as well as a part of her ongoing practice), the animation becomes a pivotal point in the viewer’s experience of their environment. Projected against a wall among the sculptural forms within the space, the piece urges the audience to become comfortable with their surroundings. Which is especially refreshing in conjunction to the drawing exhibit she hosted in the adjacent room of the gallery; where as the hanging drawings conform to the conventions of the gallery’s white walls, the installation gives us the sense of belonging, a feeling that we wish we could hold onto for just a little bit longer.

This is perhaps where our roles as audience members come into play for both artists’ practices. In approaching Goldstein’s work, we are automatically placed in a scenario that dictates our behavior – but above all, there is an overwhelming sense of quiet. The aesthetic qualities of her installations are so specific in their other-worldliness that we cannot help but wait in silence for our next move. Drawing from personal history, Goldstein’s most recent performative installations A.) The Purger, B.) The Confessor, C.) The Keeper, D.) The Collector, force the audience to feel an immense sense of importance; much of that feeling comes from the presence of Goldstein herself. We leave with the sense of having helped her, and with her having helped us. Help with what exactly? Well, that depends on the piece, although there is a commonality across her work, which states no matter what, the both of us are needed.

The experience of both Goldstein and Heckman’s installations oscillate between the viewer and the performer. And although we may often find ourselves to be confused as to which is which, it doesn’t really matter, because no audience member is above the artist, nor does the artist coach the viewer’s experience. This is equal territory; the whole sport of it is extremely vulnerable.

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