Allora & Calzadilla, Fault Lines, 2013. Ten metamorphic and igneous rocks; performance by Daniel Voigt and Dante Soriano, from The American Boychoir School. Dimensions variable. Installation view: Gladstone Gallery, New York Photo: David Regen
There are many ways that we can define sculpture. Most people, if asked, would probably say it is made of marble, mimics the human form and stands on a pedestal. If from a time in antiquity, the sculpture might be missing an appendage, or if of the male persuasion, a penis. Throughout centuries, cultures and trends, sculpture survives and flourishes even as its form and tradition has changed. The art duo Allora & Calzadilla continue this spatial inquiry and often incorporate a person (or, in this case, two) walking the tightrope between sculpture and performance. For Fault Lines at Gladstone Gallery in New York, two young boys sing with an operatic vibrato. Recruited from the American Boychoir School and The Transfiguration Boys Choir, they perform every hour from midday until closing.
The air in the gallery was still as eyes locked on the ten stone sculptures spread throughout three rooms, expectant, when a soprano voice pierced the near silence. A crowd gathered in the front room of the gallery, watching intently as two boys, estimated to be between the ages of ten to twelve, commenced upon what could be very loosely read as a rap battle, unleashing the result of the artists’ immersive archaeological dive into historical taunts and provocations ranging from Shakespeare to contemporary political combatants.
Allora & Calzadilla, Fault Lines, 2013. Ten metamorphic and igneous rocks; performance by Evan Corn and Douglas Butler, from The American Boychoir School. Dimensions variable. Installation view: Gladstone Gallery, New York Photo: David Regen
Allora & Calzadilla have chosen and appropriated texts and used fragments to form a choreographed non-dialogue. The boys exchange glances as if in conversation, but their words are difficult to comprehend and the experience almost resembles listening to a composition in a foreign language. At times, a word breaks through into barrier of cognition, only to fade away again in a flutter of exchanged sound. The boys’ gravitas draws more attention, through their body language, occasional eye contact with a viewer and highly professional—if almost robotic—demeanors. Overall, twenty boys will take turns in the conceptual interaction, consequently broadening the possibilities of the experience and the aftereffect.
On the eve of the visit, Fault Lines featured two boys of opposite physical appearance: a pale waif with light eyes against a young boy with caramel complexion and dark wavy hair. The title of the exhibition comes not necessarily from the boys themselves, but a series of ten stone sculptures that function as “choral risers” and are cut in an angular fashion. Throughout the duration of this performative sculptural event, the boys were moving as sword fighters without their weapons, naturally creating space for the visitors to follow. The audience’s fluid journey from room to room as they follow boys is, in itself, a performative gesture: not unlike a wave beating against a sandy shore, the boys approached and receded, pulling the crowd with them. Likewise, sifting through the acerbic clues—which proved more tonally congenial than argumentative—resulted in nothing beyond “you must be the reason for contraception”. Weaving together the almost unintelligible dialogue and sculptural gestures through the boys’ proximity, Fault Line excels in the shear joy of spectatorship.
Text by Katy Diamond Hamer
Allora & Calzadilla’s “Fault Lines” is on until October 11th 2014 at the Gladstone Gallery, New York