Haris Purnomo: Visual Poetry

Artist's Reception, Tuesday, October 13 6 - 9 pm
CoCA Ballard, 6413 Seaview Ave NW, Seattle, WA 98107
On View Weekdays 10 am - 5 pm, September 13 - November 14, 2009
AND
CoCA Belltown, 2721 First Ave. (at Clay), Seattle, WA 98121

On View 24 hours every day, September 14 - November 14, 2008

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I met Harris Purnomo in Miami last December during the Basel/Miami fairs.

The shear volume of art that decorated the town was overwhelming. It was like the patchwork of brightly colored houses on the outskirts of Havana last century when Cubans could afford paint. There were lots of sparkly things, too, like one might find on Rodeo Drive. Yet much of the work on display did little to distinguish itself from banal decoration. But as I walked through Art Asia exhibits, Haris Prumono’s “bayonet babies” arrested me.

I was totally unprepared for what I saw. I had neither the benefit nor curse of context[1]. A series of life size babies floating like cocoons in a spider web if viewed from afar; more like sublime spirits viewed at closer range. Hung from the ceiling by almost invisible wire, each plump baby was cast in pure white resin. Leaving only their heads exposed, all were wrapped in a white cloth (part of the resin cast) that bound and covered their bodies, wrapping to an auger below their feet. Each head was shaved; each face was serene, totally unconcerned and knowing, like a child monk. It was unclear and unimportant whether these were boys or girls. The serene beauty mesmerized me.

But I was astonished by the shiny steel bayonet trained on the ground below, menacingly protruding from each baby’s blanket. If the wires that tethered them to the ceiling were cut, the babies would plummet, led by razor sharp steel blades. They would impale hapless viewers or penetrate a wooden floor. The effect was jarring. Were these child warriors? Were they infant suicide bombers? Were they instruments of someone else’s war? Were the babies being sacrificed by their parents or even by their ancestors to avenge an ancient feud?

Looking closer, I am fascinated by marks that adorn –or scar- each baby’s face. The marks imply tattoos not dissimilar to those adorning babies bodies in Purmono paintings. Yet the casts are pure white with no color variations between the baby’s body and the blanket in which it is wrapped, and with no pigments applied to surface areas to highlight any aspect of the work. Topography is only discernable by shadows. In this context, implying a tattoo presents a problem. Devoid of color a tattoo would be lost.

With laser precision -perhaps even using a laser- Purmono solves this problem by excising those portions of the baby’s tender skin on which a tattoo would be inked. Tattoos appear as shadows created by the incisions, or negative space, with which they are “drawn”. The incisions are deep and take the idea of tattoo beyond references to ink pigments that superficially brand bodies of those declaring allegiance to something big –like love, a country at war or a crime gang.

Do Purmono’s tattoo incisions reference tribal ritual or some kind of original sin? Do they reference the practice of young people cutting themselves to gain perverse pleasure, or to cry: “please, notice me!” Do the tattoos contain letters, words or symbols that have meaning just beyond my grasp? Do I need an interpreter of language, culture -or of some gang?

Regardless, the marks are beautiful -and beautifully violent.

This is visual poetry. I am not sure that Purmono intended to insert his work in the visual poetry tradition, or that tattoo artists generally intend that, but it clearly fits. As Harry Polkinhorn notes: “Visual poetry occupies a genuine “inter-media” space between linear poetry… and the visual arts. Visual Poetry comes in a variety of forms each of which features a treatment or treatments of language emphasizing so-called negative space, frequently activating as well the substrate upon which it is printed, drawn or painted.”[2]

The substrate here is not canvas; shockingly, it is baby skin, or the implication of it. While visual poetry generally employs the implication of negative space, Purmono literally uses negative space by excising portions of tender skin. Not only is this visual poetry, it is kinetic. Not unlike a baby, these floating sculptures are always moving more or less depending on temper or wind.

I don’t know whether I should be afraid of or in love with Haris Purmono’s work -and I am afraid to ask; but I do, over and over again. Purmono’s work is beautifully haunting and strangely timeless.

Joseph C. Roberts | Curator

Center on Contemporary Art

Seattle, May 2009

1. Although I was not yet familiar with them, Purmono’s paintings and large installations have been well commented on in Indonesia and elsewhere. With great enthusiasm, Fanny Pratjijo and Andyan Rahardja, Purnomo’s dealer and agent, told me of Purmono’s paintings, although none were present in Miami. Regrettably, they were stuck in US Customs (or perhaps lost in translation). Especially juxtaposed to other over-stuffed art booths at the show, the FP (Fanny Pratjojo ) Gallery space was bare except for the bayonet babies. So, as Fanny quickly brought Purmono images up on the Internet, Purmono himself got to work drawing freehand on the booth walls, soon converting a sterile trade show prop into an art installation. He didn’t miss a beat.

2. Visible Language, Vol. 27, No. 4, autumn 1993, Harry Polkinhorn, guest editor.

This show consists of paintings at CoCA Ballard, and a sculpture installation at CoCA Belltown.