Matthew Bliss, Red Wall with High Square Window, 2000, brass, copper, solder and sanded window glass, oil paint, 8 x 6 x 2 inches. Photographs by James Dee. All images courtesy of the artist.
“Take me back, take me way way way back …”
—Van Morrison
These miniature sculptures have the look of prehistoric plumbing devices, they’re so low technology. Assembled, welded, hammered, painted, cursed, dented and reworked over long periods of time, their colors become burnished and caked; the forms are found at the eleventh hour. Just like Pierre Bonnard, Matthew Bliss never lets go; he is unremitting. There’s no mistaking his artifacts for jewelry. And as in a Bonnard, a flash of preciousness gives way to a low level blast, a palpable discontent. Wrestling to hold their own, Bliss’s artifacts keep elbowing forward, accosting us like the Manchester soccer fans who like to head butt the rest of Europe. Tough-minded little guys. The meaning? Not much helps us here. There are no wall labels. Just the remains of what passed the test, that narrow glimpse of reality. Light and weight transformed by the visible traces of a hand at work. For an instant I’m considering the mind of another—struggling to put a form in space, my space. That’s all that’s here, and it’s dazzling.
Matthew Bliss, Homage to Wilmarth, 1999, brass, copper, solder and oil paint, 3¾ x 6 x 2 inches.
The Irish playwright on grief, adaptation, and the possibilities of form.
The artist talks about the genesis, composition, and execution of a recently completed work.
A New York- and Cairo-based artist unpacks her understanding of heritage and how it can operate in contemporary art.
Originally published in
Featuring interviews with Wendy Wasserstein, Wong Kar-Wai, Amos Gitai, Eduardo Galeano, Tobias Schneebaum, Micheal Goldberg, Samuel Mockbee, Andrea Zittel.
Let me tell you first about what it was like being a Black woman poet in the ‘60s, from jump. It meant being invisible. It meant being really invisible. It meant being doubly invisible as a Black feminist woman and it meant being triply indivisible as a Black lesbian and feminist.
Audre Lorde
