One of the more important and beautiful pieces in the Art Institute of Chicago’s permanent collection of contemporary art is an impermanent work by American perceptual artist James Turrell.
Called “Rayna,” the 1979 piece was shown at the museum only once, in the “74th American Exhibition” of 1982. It then was disassembled and stored until recently, when Gallery 400, at the University of Illinois at Chicago, borrowed it as the focal point of a small exhibition preceding the creation of “Skyspace,” a permanent Turrell scheduled for completion on the campus in November.
A masterpiece thus is visible for the first time in more than 20 years, which should be a cause for celebration but is not because the reinstallation proves so flawed that it’s not representative of the artist’s work.
“Rayna” is one of 10 “Space-Division Pieces,” which, as the title suggests, divide rooms into two compartments, one for spectators, the other for a particular quality of light they sense. The space is divided by a wall containing a large rectangular aperture. Light from the space for spectators spills into the sensing space where it creates a wholly different effect.
At the institute in 1982, I entered a long narrow room in near darkness. On the wall at the end was a horizontal rectangle in a brownish-gray color. The color vibrated, as if strokes of paint applied in many directions were reflecting the little available light. No matter how close I got, the flat plane remained. And even with eyes inches away from the plane, the vibration persisted. Upon extending a finger to touch the surface, however, there was only a hole. Light that had been sucked from the viewer’s space was trapped and given the illusion of movement beyond the open rectangle.
Little of this happens at Gallery 400. It doesn’t happen because of the way “Rayna” was reconstructed.
According to an institute representative, the piece, when dismantled, consisted of a milled hardwood frame that formed the aperture. That frame and a loan agreement along with a sheaf of instructions from Turrell went to UIC. The institute also tried on behalf of UIC to get in touch with the artist and was unsuccessful. (I also was unsuccessful in reaching him.)
Among the instructions are several drawings of “Rayna,” overall and in detail. One of them has a note regarding the sensing space: “Ceiling, floor, & all walls (including south wall of existing gallery in this area) to be covered with 1/2 inch sheet rock.” This is important enough to be repeated in abbreviated form on a second, rougher drawing. The surfaces would then be prepared and painted in a highly saturated white (different from the white in the viewers’ space) that would make the ambient light visible as a fog of color.
“We received from the Art Institute the frame and instructions, dimensions and specifications,” said Melissa Holbert, assistant to Lorelei Stewart, director of Gallery 400. “A team that had done other projects for UIC [but not Turrell] constructed the piece. We also received advice by phone and e-mail from one of Turrell’s assistants. The artist is supposed to visit only after the building of his `Skyspace’ [a chamber for viewing the interplay of sky, light and atmosphere]. He seems to be very `here’s-what-I-direct-and-you’ll-make-it-happen.’ “
But they didn’t make “Rayna” happen. The ceiling of the sensing space was not covered with sheet rock before being painted. So viewers instantly see objects in the space such as air conditioning grilles, and they prevent the illusion of a flat plane of color from being realized.
Stewart told me in an e-mail that the construction team prepared the ceiling “to the extent that the university’s office of capital programs would allow us — moving vents was not possible. However, in the wake of seeing the completed piece the gallery is currently figuring out a way to conceal the vent as it is so intrusive. Also the light levels may yet change.”
Still, the artist’s instructions were not followed precisely. And the effect is as Turrell specialist Craig Adcock has written: “The slightest mark on any of the interior walls would allow the lens systems of the viewers’ eyes to accommodate to the position of the wall and allow the two eyes working in tandem to converge on the location of the blemish. If viewers can focus on the walls, they can see the room, and the Ganzfeld [total visual field] collapses.”
Pretty basic, one would think. Yet there we are, and it’s at a gallery associated with an educational institution. What can students of contemporary art learn? That reinstallations making special demands on perception perhaps require that someone in command had previously seen them to judge what they entail? Or that any piece is fair game when it doesn’t belong to you and can be used to announce one that will?
The lesson should be obvious: An exhibition that shows half of a portfolio of secondary works — at Gallery 400, they are prints — and diminishes a major work by more than half is a poor announcement that should not have been made at all.
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“James Turrell: In Light” continues at the University of Illinois at Chicago, Gallery 400, 1250 W. Harrison St., through Oct. 30. 312-996-6114.
