於11月3日至6日舉行的東京藝術周將邀請世界各地的訪客體驗東京充滿活力的當代藝術景況

Payal Uttam

東京藝術周為日本文化首都掀起序幕

<a href="https://parisplus.artbasel.com/catalog/gallery/2906/Galerie-Pietro-Spart%C3%A0">Pietro Spartà藝廊</a>是一個有趣的異類。藝廊的空間位於距離巴黎2小時車程的勃艮第郊野，周圍是葡萄園，被運河一分為二。此外，藝廊空間「極具象徵性地」脫離了藝術版圖，因為他們沒有任何的線上展示形式。同名創始人Spartà並不需要任何的修飾來吸引藝術家和收藏家。 Pietro Spartà是一個任性的實驗家，他了解自己所選擇的價值觀，是基於直覺、激情和社群的。

Spartà在法國沙尼（Chagny）的工人階級環境中成長，但他發現圍繞他成長的那些典型職業 &mdash;&mdash; 例如農業和工廠職業 &mdash;&mdash; 並不適合他。「我希望能有一些改變 &mdash;&mdash; 徹底的改變。雖然我愛我的家人，但我不想和他們一樣。」他說道。可是他也不想離開這裡。這位藝廊主的家鄉沒有文化氛圍 &mdash;&mdash; 他坦然承認這一切 &mdash;&mdash; 除了一家米其林星級餐廳。 Spartà自學成才，他通過書籍發現了藝術，並對彼特蒙德里安（Piet Mondrian）和<a href="https://www.artbasel.com/catalog/artist/7524/Kazimir-Malevich">卡濟米爾馬列維奇</a>（Kazimir Malevich）產生了特別的興趣。在書中，他瞭解到貧窮藝術（Arte Povera）、極簡主義（Minimalism）和觀念藝術家，並希望有朝一日可以與書中所記載的令人讚歎的藝術家們見面。他說：「我一定要在他們離世前見到他們。」他覺得自己的這種迫切期望很好笑。但對此的堅持卻十分真誠。「我想知道他們做了什麼，他們如何生活 &mdash;&mdash; 作為一名藝術家是什麼樣子。」

Gingrich’s work embodies those elements essential to art: wholeness of form, a harmony of elements, and a radiance you cannot quite define. Her carvings’ primary lines – smooth, simple, and pleasing in their minimalism – remove us from the arena of mere representation, while the surfaces, which bear the marks of the carving tool and recall the artist’s hand, remind us of the work required to bring any vision into material reality. There are fox, seal, crane, and berry masks like Natchuq (Seal) (2011), their dark, hollow eyes suggestive of a boundless interior space. There are carvings of the headless bodies of butchered salmon, arranged in groups and positioned vertically, their tails up. Her color palette – dominated by warm grays, whites, blues, and reds – is invitational, and draws the viewer into a comfortable intimacy with the work. There is also a palpable sense of weight, or mass, adding to the visceral experience of her carvings. Gingrich’s art exists in a dreamlike space between day-to-day life and whatever reality it is that we sense just beyond this one.For many non-Natives, the temptation with Gingrich’s art (as with that of many contemporary Native artists) will be to see the work as mere replication of traditional images, or as influenced by tradition but not of tradition. Her view is different: ‘Representations of these animals existed a long, long time ago. My ancestors honored them and made what they saw and represented their reality. I’m just continuing that process.’ When I ask her what the difference is between her masks and those made by the Athabascans and Inupiaq who came before her, Gingrich’s response reveals part of her philosophy: ‘I like to think of [the masks] as what my ancestors would have gotten to do if they had been allowed to continue and adapt their art forms and progress.’ An unusual response for the world of Native art, where often a static view of tradition is espoused, but she explains that ‘adaptation was our most sacred tradition.’

Two of the most striking elements of her work are ones she adds to the lineage: the berry masks and the beads. Beads are often strung through the masks’ eye holes and attached to the sides, in long lengths hanging slack below the mask, and sometimes running from one mask to another. In her fish works, the beads stream down from the body’s headless end. I tell her it is impossible for me to not see the beads as representative of blood or berry juice. She says that is only partly true. ‘They also represent connection,’ she explains.I am continually drawn back to the round berry masks, particularly Asiaq (Blueberry) (2014), with its dark, mottled-blue surface defined by deep, carved grooves. Gingrich has spent time with museum collections and viewed the masks in archaeological, ancestral belongings. The animals, birds, and fish that make up the bulk of her work have been depicted since time immemorial. The berry, however, has not. Because she could not find historical representations of the berry from which to draw inspiration, she had to find her own way. She notes that the berry masks are ‘not as naturalistic as the other masks.’ They also bear traditional Inupiaq tattoo forms, and a curved opening at the bottom of the mask representing the indentation on berries near the stem, which recalls a human mouth. As a result, the berry masks invoke a particular kind of Indigenous face. They are remarkable and, with the beads and the tattoos, they take on that non-reducible, symbolic quality associated only with the highest forms of art. The origins of the berry masks are simple and close to home. Gingrich represents berries because she picked them with her grandmother, and continues to do so with her family. ‘Berries are also the only source of fruit [native to] Alaska,’ she says. As with many Indigenous traditions, when you look with the right kind of eyes, you find two things – family, and the land.

Discussing the future of Gingrich’s work leads back to the resources Native people of the place we now call Alaska have always relied upon. She wants to spend more time on the land during subsistence season – which runs late June through the end of August – where her proximity to the natural world’s realities gives her ideas for new projects. The more time she has spent harvesting and cutting up fish, the better her fish carvings have become. Her salmon now look more like salmon than they used to. She wants to expand the range of her work to represent more resources. ‘Subsistence reality is that your face and hands end up purple if you’ve been in a berry patch all day,’ she says, ‘and if you’re working with salmon, you’ll end up slimy and bloody.’ She wants her work to move further toward this visceral reality.Given that Gingrich’s art is suddenly being viewed through a much larger aperture by a much broader audience, I ask what success might look like for her, being that the standard path laid out for rural artists in America involves moving to the city for money, attention, and the scene. She mentions one of her teachers, Kathleen Carlo-Kendall, who is known for being unavailable for half the year. No phone, no email, nothing. During this time, she’s out on the land. Gingrich thinks this is brilliant, and she is not alone among Indigenous artists when she expresses her desire for a life that allows for both art and community. ‘For me,’ she says, ‘success is being able to go to Nome and pick berries with my elders. It’s going back to fish camp and getting the harvest every summer and having fish for the winter – all while being able to make art.’

Erin Ggaadimits Ivalu Gingrich is represented by <a href="https://www.artbasel.com/catalog/gallery/31505/K-Art">K Art Gallery</a>, Buffalo, New York. Her work will be presented in the Nova sector of the upcoming edition of Art Basel Miami Beach, from December 1 – 3, 2022.Sterling HolyWhiteMountain grew up on the Blackfeet Reservation in the US State of Montana. His work has appeared in Montana Quarterly, The Atlantic, The Paris Review, and The New Yorker. He’s currently a Jones lecturer at Stanford University and is at work on a novel. He is an unrecognized citizen of the Blackfeet Nation.All photos and videos by Brian Adams for Art Basel.

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