I wanted to see two exhibits in particular. The DIY: Photographers and Books show, and the balloon-filled glass box. The print-on-demand book show featured several local friends and colleagues. It was refreshing to inch along the long table, turning through pages and enjoying the rich diversity among the many books.
The balloon-filled glass box, Work no. 965: Half the Air in a Given Space by Martin Creed, turned out to be quite an exhilarating experience. Local readers, you must get to the [free] museum right away, and experience this [free] exhibit while it is still up.
From the Cleveland Museum of Art :
Work No. 965 (2008) comprises purple balloons, 11 inches in
diameter. The sculpture is installed, based on the artist’s
instructions, by putting half of a room's entire volume into air-filled
balloons, filling the room with those balloons, and letting viewers walk
in. Now in the collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art, the work
marks a passage in the history of this institution: it offers a stronger
link than any other object between the museum’s visual arts collection
and its performing arts programs. Half the air in a given space
debuts in the museum’s southeast corner gallery, a tall cubic room
enclosed in glass on three sides. This pivotal architectural moment
invites insight on the original 1916 museum building as it connects to
the new wing and atrium. Following a four-year-long display of figures
and busts by Auguste Rodin, Half the air in a given space replaces the sculptures with audience members in motion, in plain sight, mixing with the balloons.
The title points to space and air manifested as breath and
volume. “It is important to me,” says Creed, “that the situation is
normal, that, as usual, the space is full of air; it’s just that half of
it [is] inside the balloons.” With the balloons above and below the
viewer’s eye level, the mass is neither impenetrable nor heavy; rather,
it coexists with people.
I was the only person in the exhibit the morning that I visited. Three docents flanked the entry doors of the exhibit. They helped me to sign into a roster, provided me a bright yellow identification lanyard, and then they recorded my entry time. They made two cautionary inquiries: Did I have a latex allergy? Was I claustrophobic? No, and no -- I think. Then they asked me to press myself tight against the glass double doors to enter, my arms above my head and also flat against the glass. They would open the door–just slightly–and I would slide in, to not let any of the balloons escape.
My first few steps were surprising. I was buried entirely in balloons, crowded, but moving effortlessly and easily as the balloons traded space with me, sliding around my body as I proceeded further into the space. I decided to walk straight and directly to the glass outer wall of the exhibit, I would guess roughly 18 feet. I am walking towards glass, guided by the light of the sun in a beautiful sky just on the other side of the glass. Stepping one foot in front of the other until the balloons move less easily. Not only are they piled higher around the perimeter of the room, clinging to the glass, but they cannot move as easily away from me. They can only be pushed up, or come towards me.
I struggle, but ultimately my hand reaches the glass. I spread my palm flat against it. After a moment's pause and celebration of having made it all the way through the balloon-filled space, I turn to begin walking towards the doors. I am confident, exhilarated, and a few steps into my return walk when I realize that I am now walking away from the light, towards the center of the room, and darkness. I no longer have the soft but fixed guide of heralding light to motivate my movement. I wonder how straight my path really was through the balloons. If I keep going, will I really reach the doors directly. If I keep walking...
It is then that I pause still. Freezing my movement through the space, I suddenly felt the heaviness of being buried in the buoyant lightness.
I lose my breath momentarily, and consider with a wave of panic the seemingly forever amount of time that this small path has taken me to walk. Balloons surround my face, and all of my periphery vision is clouded with purple spheres, piled high on top of one another. Then calmly, still, my arms reach up and hold onto available air. I lower them, suspended perpendicular to my body, stretched out like a heavy horizon line. Breathe in, breathe out. So aware of my breath. Somewhat collected, I step forward again, reaching out with both arms in an instinctual sweeping and clearing motion, the noticed rhythm of walking and moving through space. The sound of balloons shifting and settling in constantly changing available space.
Again, I meet resistance, the balloons once more are less willing to slide out of my way–I am near the interior wall of the exhibit. My hand meets the glass door [
I have walked quite straight after all, I have maintained a shred of spatial perception!] and the docents instruct me to repeat my entrance position, to press my body flat against the glass in order to exit. I peel the balloons away, and maneuver myself into the frisk position
[I can only imagine what this looks like on their side of the glass doors] aware of my vulnerable and slightly humiliating movements only momentarily, as I am next flooded and overwhelmed with a pofound sense of victory. Of freedom, and accomplishment.
Of having made my way. I am exhilarated. 8 minutes and 10 seconds.
