Arts

The Art of Touch

PRINCETON, New Jersey — In Carolee Schneemann’s 1964 movie “Meat Joy,” female and male our bodies spontaneously writhe towards one another on a seashore in communal ecstasy as uncooked fish and chickens flop on their naked pores and skin. “Lollipop” (1958) by the Chordettes performs within the background, earlier than being intercepted by a hazy voiceover in French and English. 

The earthy eroticism of the six-minute movie provokes fascination and disgust, and even led to an assassination attempt on the artist when it first debuted at a efficiency pageant in Paris. (She survived.) Today, the 16mm movie glints on a wall at Art on Hulfish, Princeton University’s gallery and exercise area, as half of the exhibition Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here?

The exhibition, named after a verse in a single of Ocean Vuong’s poems, facilities the myriad methods contact shapes the human expertise, starting from the possessive love of a mom holding her little one to the violent and coercive contact that typically takes place between strangers. Across movie, pictures, and mixed-media artworks, 13 artists depict the heat, sensuality, and power of contact, exploring its relationship with nonhuman objects like clay and crops in addition to its resonance in forging intimate bonds and triggering emotions of attachment, abandonment, and affection. 

In a piece from Lisa Sorgini’s sequence Mother (2016–22), splashes of mild dapple the floor of {a photograph} that depicts a girl sitting atop a mattress with a unadorned toddler pressed towards her lap, the kid’s small hand digging into the tender flesh of her thigh. The inkjet print’s sepia-gold hue remembers the primal nostalgia of childhood, particularly the all-enveloping caress of a mom, a kind of contact that’s wanted to outlive.

In Patrick Pound’s assortment of snapshots, a magician pulls a white-feathered duck out of a hat, a person wrestles a bear, and a tiny platypus rests within the palm of a hand. “Man becomes aware of himself returning the look [of animals],” John Berger wrote within the essay, “Why Look at Animals?” (1980). What, then, may be stated about touching animals, whether or not vis-à-vis the management of domesticated pets or the facility wrestle with wildlife? Pound doesn’t provide any obvious solutions, leaving the viewer to evaluate the sweetness and vulnerability of bodily contact between people and creatures whose language we can’t perceive. 

In comparability, Phoebe Cummings’s sequence of monochromatic movies, Towards a Flower (2023), captures her tactile experiments with inanimate objects like paint and clay. In a sensuous, virtually enjoyable movement, Cummings strokes massive swabs of white paint on the within of her arm, after which makes as if to pluck a wilted flower of the identical colour, suggesting that the physique, too, may be molded, damaged, and manipulated. 

As the exhibition makes clear, contact is essential to constructing relationships and discovering a way of group, a actuality that got here to the fore with the spatial distance necessities on the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. In Clifford Prince King’s “Safe Space” (2019), a person sporting a beanie twists his pal’s hair into braids whereas one other mendacity on the mattress raises a joint to the primary man’s lips. While their identities as queer Black males are deeply politicized, inside this room, there’s a resonance of calm stillness, an island away from the world.

The sensual intimacy of friendship likewise seems in Melissa Schriek’s brief video sequence Ode (2022), that includes two feminine mates interlocked in gymnastics-like poses, embracing at turns, suggesting that contact neutralizes loneliness and isolation, and deepens the bonds that maintain life. This ethos brings the exhibition’s title full circle — in all its mediations, contact certainly reveals us that we’re nonetheless right here. 

Clifford Prince King, “Safe Space” (2019), inkjet print, 48 x 32 inches (© Clifford Prince King; courtesy the artist and STARS, Los Angeles)

Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? continues at Art on Hulfish (11 Hulfish Street, Princeton, New Jersey) by August 4. The exhibition was organized by Susannah Baker-Smith and Susan Bright. 

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