Jessica Halonen’s show of recent work at the UTSA Satellite Space comes from within the long tradition of art about the body (think Chris Burden’s early 70s performances or Wim Delvoye’s Cloaca).
Like the memorable pieces of Felix Gonzalez-Torres and the General Idea collaborative about AIDS, Halonen’s new work relates to a specific physical state, in this case the artist having diabetes type 1. A recent graduate of the Core Program at Houston’s Glassell School, Halonen moved to San Antonio this past year to join the faculty of the Trinity University Art Department. The work in her solo show titled Picnic is a continuation of many of the studio interests she developed while still a Core Fellow, including a personal color coding system which she uses to symbolize her physical and emotional states in relation to her blood glucose level. Using medical data relating to her condition as her starting point, Halonen has been known for installations of geometric shapes that she cast out of sugar and for her sculptures and paintings that are abstracted from the formal language of medical bar graphs.
New works in Picnic start with the premise of the romantic outdoor meal. The central space of the gallery sets the scene with ten to twelve handmade picnic baskets spread out randomly over the floor (some are stacked, some open, some closed). The colors of the woven baskets range from bright summer-like pinks, oranges, and greens to more muted creams and browns. There is an eerie sense of abandonment with all of these baskets — they are potentially goodie-filled, but no one is around to consume them. My own instincts were to peek under the lids, looking for leftovers. What one finds, though, is not your standard picnic fare. Clear vinyl tubes poking out of the sides of the baskets connect to small pumps inside that send colored water out to the other baskets, creating sort of a basket "system" of liquid exchange.
Leaning against the wall beyond the baskets are four vertical canvases approximately 60 x 12 inches each. Their monochromatic cross-stripes recall the pattern of a gingham check tablecloth. Taken as a whole the four paintings read as a bar graph, though it is not immediately clear what sort of data the colors or levels refer to. Small zippers sewn into the surface of each canvas (some open suggesting a receptive orifice; some closed suggesting concealed contents) reference, like the vinyl tubing in the baskets, passageways or connections to a separate, yet visceral, body.
The third and most conceptually revealing set of works in the show are small stainless steel shelves hung at various levels on the wall left of the paintings. Each shelf holds a group of tiny bottles that turn out to be insulin vials cast in chocolate. The heights of the shelves and colors of the bottles mirror the stripes in the paintings, which Halonen describes as a personal code system for the highs and lows of her condition. Further conversation with the artist reveals even more hidden, didactic information about the works, ranging from empirical formulas, carbohydrate conversion, and cellular reception.
The quandary of encountering the work cold is, of course, how to draw one’s own conclusions in light of the more specific intentions of the artist. It is not an unfamiliar situation, with artists increasingly developing projects based on complex, idiosyncratic personal systems and mythologies. The greater the study, the greater the knowledge and appreciation of this type of work; however, it can be frustrating to try and decode the master narrative from work that seems formally non-ambitious and conceptually foggy (which was my experience recently viewing a project by Andreas Fischer at the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art). But sometimes, highly personal works of art are compelling as much as for their deep well of personal mythos as they are for the formal exquisiteness of their execution.
Halonen’s work is accessible in terms of both form and function. Her carefully considered objects have an imposing presence at once ominous and humorous. Her materials both seduce and repel. The work’s didacticism is counter-balanced by quirkiness in her display, and the overall installation suggests an otherworldly space where medical practices and leisure activities are one in the same.
Images courtesy the artist and the UTSA Satellite Space.
Michael Velliquette is an artist living in San Antonio, TX where he is Co-Director of the living / project space The Bower.