superHUMAN

superHUMANCentral Utah Art Center (CUAC)

June 8 - August 3, 2012

Aljira, a Center for Contemporary ArtsSeptember 6 - December 22, 2012

Blanka Amezkua | Edgar Arceneaux | Kevin Darmanie | Kurt Forman | Chitra Ganesh | Fay Ku | Shaun El C. Leonardo | Kerry James Marshall | Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz | Dulce Pinzón | William Pope.L | Robert Pruitt |

Xaviera Simmons | Saya Woolfalk

Jorge Rojas, CuratorDavid Hawkins, Co-Curator

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There is no debating the popularity of superheroes for the American public. Every summer brings with it some new blockbuster, its hero caped or clad in shimmery spandex, muscles rippling—and audiences predictably become transfixed, dazed by the spectacle. Of course, we recognize these figures for what they are; these champions of commercialism are created precisely because they generate billions in profit worldwide, not just at the box office, but in fast food chains and bookshops and obscenely large department stores where fans snatch up logoed t-shirts and plastic lunchboxes and other branded baubles.

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Kerry James Marshall’s innovative “Rythm Mastr” series draws on comic book elements as well as African art to highlight issues of race, culture, and technology.

Kerry James Marshall, Dailies 2 and 3 from the “Rythm Mastr” series (detail), 2010, silk screen prints on paper, 9 x 12 1/4 in. each. Courtesy of the artist and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York

But surely this trend isn’t merely a passing diversion, the latest amusement for an audi-ence greedy for distraction. There is a hidden potency in the superhuman meme, one that begs to be explored. To trace out the full measure of its import we need to turn to history and acknowledge cultural networks that extend far beyond the modern movie industry; these include myths and comic books, fables and sci-fi—and, most importantly, art. Indeed,

the current batch of Hollywood idols is only the most visible surface of a very old tradi-tion, and like the everyman alter-egos many heroes call upon to hide their true identities, the popularity of today’s superhumans encompasses some deeper meaning, concealing it in plain view. Beneath the pumped up pecs, the colorful monikers and the costumes, there lies a more profound message. The contemporary superhero is a conspicuously Americanized phenomenon—larger than life, equal parts bravado and fantastic brawn. In his most

In William Pope L.’s The Great White Way, the artist invokes the figure of America’s first well-known comic superhero to probe matters of race and racial inequality.

William Pope.L, The Great White Way, 22 miles, 9 years, 1 street (Whitney version #2), 2001, video, edition of 5 plus 1 AP, 6:35 minutes. Courtesy of the artist and Mitchell-Innes & Nash, New York

Photo: Lydia Grey

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perfect modern expression he is Superman, his Anglicized features and hypertrophic physique carved from a single piece of stone and meant to project an unerring sense of moral good. But like any archetype, these figures also have a long and complex family tree, from tall tales (Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill) to folklore (Robin Hood and King Arthur) to classic Greek and Roman myths. In every tradition, people, and language from each corner of the globe since the Epic of Gilgamesh (and very likely before), these characters have been delighting us with tales of their superhuman exploits. In at least one way, these characters evince the persevering whimsy of human imagination—decked out in primary colors or like flamboyant undertakers (think The Dark Knight or The Punisher), their super powers only equaled by their improbable origins. The playful quality ex-hibited by superhero stories may be why—outside of children and Comic-Con attendees—few of us choose a one-piece spandex suit and cape as our everyday garb. Those affectations are best

left behind in childhood; and we know that were we to show up in the office tomorrow don-ning nothing more than knee-high boots, a chest monogram and a cod piece, we’d encounter at least a few puzzled looks. To a certain extent, the colorful storylines reflect our modern entertainment culture. As Los Angeles artists Edgar Arceneaux and Kurt Forman illustrate in their filmic mash-up, Hulk Alter You!, even when Hollywood invokes weightier subjects (including evolution and genetic

Edgar Arceneaux’s collaboration with Kurt Forman, Hulk Alter You!, is a filmic mashup of three films that explores the pop culture treatment of genetic science.

Dulce Pinzón’s portraits, featuring immigrant laborers costumed as popular American comic book idols, challenge the negative public perception of Hispanic immigration.

Dulce PinzónNOE REYES from the State of Puebla works as a delivery boy in Brooklyn New York. He sends 500 dollars a week, 2004, C-print on sintra, mounted on aluminum, 20 x 24 in., collection of the artist (above)

MINERVA VALENCIA from Puebla works as a nanny in New York. She sends 400 dollars a week, 2004, C-Print on sintra, mounted on aluminum, 20 x 24 in., collection of the artist (right)

Edgar Arcenaux and Kurt Forman, Hulk Alter You! (video still), 2012, video, variable length

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science), it is only to transform them into entertainment for mass consumption. However, that doesn’t mean we should ignore the serious message that this brand of character has for us. Nietzsche’s complicated idealization, the Übermensch (which should be translated Overman rather than Superman) is also an exaggeration—but the German clearly meant it as a serious one, intended to highlight or probe our real human promise. In part, these characters have endured because of their capacity to magnify our own strengths and frail-ties. Whatever their super power, and from wherever their extraordinary gifts are derived (divine ordination or alien race or genetic mutation), the qualities that make them admi-rable and most endear them to us are their courage, temerity, and unshakable faith and hu-man compassion. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. claims “fiction often contributes to cognition by

Blending fantastic elements from Greek myth, comic books, and classic Hindu and Buddhist folklore, Chitra Ganesh explores issues ranging from transformation and fragmentation to native rituals.

Chitra GaneshHidden Trails 2 (Triptych), 2007, C-print, 24 x 25 in. (above left)

Rabbithole (animation still), 2010, animation, 3:00 minutes (right).

Courtesy of the artist and Thomas Erben Gallery, New York

Xaviera Simmons’ fabulist photographs call to mind folktales in which the heroine—armed with little more than her feminine ingenuity in an untamed wild—must face a mysterious and frightening creature.

Xaviera Simmons, Untitled (Pink), 2009. color photograph, 30 x 40 in., edition of 5. Courtesy of the artist and David Castillo Gallery, Miami

providing models that highlight the nature of things precisely by their failure to coincide with received ideas of reality.” Though Gates Jr.’s remarks pertain specifically to ideas of race in science fiction, we might also hear the echo of Emerson, “fiction reveals truth that reality obscures”—a truism that suggests a central function of imagi-native narratives and themes is to unearth important social truth. More than human—superhu-man—these figures reflect back our own potentials like a funhouse mirror, amplifying them by a factor of ten.

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Storytellers began to embrace the pos-sibilities of these superhuman characters long ago, perhaps even before critics or au-diences recognized the power they held to examine complex political, social and cul-tural issues. Sîn-lēqi-unninni, commonly credited as author of the Epic of Gilgamesh, may have intended only to entertain his readers; but in the story of the hero and his companion Enkidu he captured some trace of our own anxieties. When Gil-gamesh weeps over the death of his friend, “bitterly mourning like a woman mourn-

ing,” it is his vulnerabilities that are most pronounced, profound. And when he cries out, “How can I rest…? What my brother is now, that I shall be when I am dead,” clearly he is speaking for us. The Epic is, as translator N.K. Sandars points out, the first known literary attempt to explore our own fears about mortality and the limits of knowledge. And since that moment some three millennia ago, on the east bank of the Euphrates when the temple

scribe began to collect and set down the story of the great king of Uruk, writers and other art-ists have used these fabulous tales to plumb the depths of human experience. Of course, Gilgamesh is only the first super human with inter-millennial appeal—a Herculean figure based on an actual Mesopotamian king, transformed into the “child of the gods” hero of the Epic. The characters that have followed have branched out of earlier examples like his, without really breaking from the family tree. Among these are Achilles, Jason, and Diana the huntress, figures that western readers are likely to recognize; but we

Taiwanese-born artist Fay Ku weaves together elements from Chinese folktales and myths in her stunning work, provoking questions about childhood, transformation, and assimilation.

Fay Ku, Sea Change, 2009, single-color lithography on German Etching paper, 30 x 42 in., in collaboration with the Tamarind Institute/Master Printer Bill Lagattuta

The figures in Shaun El C. Leonardo’s sculptures and paintings draw from the muscular physiques of superheroes and professional wrestlers, highlighting topics ranging from masculinity and role models, to stereotypes and identity.

Shaun El C. LeonardoSelf-portrait Azua (The Fall 2), 2010, sign enamel on MDF cutout, 96 x 96 x 3/4 in.

Self-portrait Icon (sculpture), 2007, marble, edition of 2, 10 x 4 x 10 in. (right)

Courtesy of the artist and Praxis International Art, New York

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could just as easily include the Pandava, the “Wonder Child” of Bantu stories, or any number of other regional or even ethnically specific figures that blend myths and fairy-tales, fantasy and sci-fi. For the uninitiated, the variety in this motley new band may feel somewhat disorganized, chaotic. But it is also clear that each of these characters

possess a shared DNA, an element embedded in their makeup that evinces a deep and abid-ing family relation. This hints at another important facet of the super human phenomenon: It may be only our perception that has changed, but the wide-ranging pantheon of superhuman characters today seems to coincide rather neatly with the expanding awareness we have of our own diversity and dispersion. In fiction, artwork, and film, these figures seem more varied than ever before, and this makes them more complicated creatures, susceptible to even the most

ordinary human concerns. Just like us, they wrestle with how best to handle relationships, children, and careers, they struggle to say and do the right things, and they are plagued by an ever-growing list of doubts. To put it another way, for all the glamour and bravado they are fundamentally—even painfully—normal, and as the years pass it is their humanity that becomes more pronounced. Though they still posses qualities that make them extraordi-nary, beneath the surface their stories are essentially our own. We can understand then why audiences are so attracted to these characters. Our fasci-nation with these fantastic storylines says something (perhaps a great deal) about who we are—or at least who we think we are and wish we could be. To a degree, the way we think

Robert Pruitt, Be of our Space World, 2010, Conté charcoal on Kraft paper, 50 x 38 in. Courtesy of the artist and Hooks-Epstein Galleries, Inc., Houston

Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz, from “Wepa Woman, Exile” series, 2009, india ink, acrylic on mat board, 32 x 40 in. each

The seated figure in Robert Pruitt’s Be of our Space World (left) reflects the cosmos, a nod to the comics character Eternity, the sentient consciousness of the Marvel Comics universe.

In Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz’s graphic novel-in-spired “Wepa Woman, Exile” series (pictured right), the Puerto Rican heroine faces sexual violence and its aftermath.

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13about ourselves is shaped by our awareness and understanding of the world we live in. And as world events spiral out of our control—eco systems collapse, political systems fail, old divisions throw regions into chaos—we are reminded of our own frailties. In other words, our interest in heroes today, each more marvelous and dogged than the last, is also an interest in being saved. In a time of such worldwide political unrest, such racial tension and economic instability, a moment when we are most aware of threats to our safety, our freedom and environment, is it really any wonder that we turn our attention to these characters and their stories?

To be sure, there’s a sort of sympathetic magic at work here, too—a way in which these char-acters serve as vessels or proxies for us. Even when tensions flare far away from us in Da-mascus or Tahrir square, or poverty conspires with natural disaster in Port-au-Prince, we are more likely to feel it viscerally. Separated by thousands of miles, by different geographies, and cultures, and languages we still feel it; and

when we do, these characters redeem us by responding in ways we keenly wish we could.

The intensity of our interest, on the other hand, may best reflect only a contemporary disenchantment. Although the superhuman trend represents an essentially age-old phenom-enon, the fact that we’re more likely to feel global tragedies on a personal level seems one more symptom of our modern condition—our techno interconnectedness. The paradox of our new wired world is a profound and terrifying isolation, not only separating us from history and culture, but from each other. At a moment when media smugly trumpets the triumph of technology and communication, when we are in some ways knit more closely together than ever before—and when everywhere we look shimmering networks seem to

Kevin Darmanie, Public Pool, 2009, ink and watercolor on paper, 40 x 19 in.

Blanka Amezkua, Calypso, 2012, reproduction of intervened and enlarged comic book cover on art photographic paper; nail polish, 22 x 24 in.

Both Kevin Darmanie (left) and Blanka Amezkua (right) infuse their comic-inspired images with visual elements from culturally and ethnically specific iconography. The results are stunning artworks that stretch the comic medium in subtle and sometimes unexpected ways.

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appear, as if rising magically from the dark, uncertain waters of human relationship to affirm our con-nection—many of us feel more alone and confused.

What other reason better explains our current need for these characters, these scions of the ancient Gilgamesh? A sense of isolation certainly isn’t new ground for art, but the approach taken by many of the works in superHUMAN do at times feel novel. This may have something to do with the way the artists re-imagine themselves and us, drawing from mythology and sci-fi and comic books to raise questions about what it means to be human. Artist Robert Pruitt uses

the comic medium to probe matters of race and economic inequality, while Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz targets sexual violence and the struggles faced by those living in the inner-city. Others, including Blanka Amezkua and Kevin Darmanie blend comic styles with a culturally-specific perspective, stretching the medium in ways earlier artists may have never imagined. Indeed, a great deal of the

critical appreciation these works now enjoy is due directly to the artists who have incorpo-rated superhuman themes in their work—and to the sincerity and complexity they bring to their subjects. Difficult and thought-provoking social issues are woven into every corner of the show; even matters as thorny as race, miscegenation, religion, and gentrification end up invoked in these works. (It’s important to remember that the demigods, themselves the product of illicit unions between gods and mortals, struggled with similar issues.) Though the show abounds with engaging and provocative art, clearly the work in superHUMAN isn’t meant merely to entertain. Like all good art, these works seek to draw attention to vital issues, including racial anxieties, social injustice, and mixed identities, that artificially divide us. In fact, the artists featured in this show, like their superhuman subjects, appear most interested in joining

Saya Woolfalk, Empathetic Plant Alchemy (video still), 2012, video, 8:05 minutes

In Saya Woolfalk’s Epathetic Plant Alchemy, a species of creature called Empaths (a genetic amalgam of plant and human DNA) inhabits the invented realm of “No Place.”

Saya Woolfalk, Galaxy, 2012, from the “Hybrid Cosmology” series, gouache and watercolor on paper, 11 x 14 in.

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Lenders to the Exhibit

Blanka Amezkua | Edgar Arceneaux | Kevin Darmanie | Kurt Forman |

Chitra Ganesh and Thomas Erben Gallery, New York | Fay Ku |

Shaun El C. Leonardo and Praxis International Art, New York |

Kerry James Marshall and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York |

Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz | Dulce Pinzón |

William Pope.L and Mitchell-Innes & Nash, New York |

Robert Pruitt and Hooks-Epstein Galleries, Inc., Houston |

Xaviera Simmons and David Castillo Gallery, Miami | Saya Woolfalk

these separate elements, melding disparate forces together (past and future, isolation and community, strength and frailty), transforming them into something new. Perhaps this best explains why in photographs, paintings and sculptures, short films and other forms, bodies are transformed, amplified, and mutated. Like the peculiar cross-species creatures of Saya Woolfalk’s kaliedescopic video, Empathetic Plant Alchemy, they are as much remnants of the past as harbingers of whatever comes next. They shoulder both our limitations as well as the human power we posses to overcome our weaknesses—and like Woolfalk’s bright, unyieldingly colorful Empaths, they may highlight the strange and wonderful possibilities that lay in store for us. After all, these super figures are in many ways the inheritors of ancient ideals, and like the pantheon of gods they replace—the villains, tricksters, and saviors of antiquity—they must carry the best and worst of humankind. Each work in the superHUMAN show is remarkable and compelling for the way it maintains tropes that date back many millen-nia while infusing them with a 21st century temperament and world view. But it is their compassion and deep heart that is most unmistakable; even if speculative narratives can feel somewhat detached at times, the art in this exhibition is unambiguously human. And while the appearance of superheroes and their iconography can be found in nearly every corner of the superHUMAN show, many of the works here demonstrate a remarkable vulnerability. Just as these characters stitch together elements from myths and fairytales and other sources, one clear objective of these projects is to draw us closer together at a moment when human communities are perhaps most susceptible to dissolution. Rather than repudiating the need for human connection, these works call out for it—and in the final tally, this may be their greatest strength as well as their best chance to save us.

—David Hawkins, Co-curator