Support Hyperallergic’s independent arts journalism.
Moving through Caroline Cox’s immersive installations at the Clocktower, the venerable exhibition space on the 13th floor of a city-owned building in Lower Manhattan, is like peeling free from gravity.
Although you don’t literally leave the ground, the sculptures’ pulsing aureoles do their best to convince you otherwise. One moment you’re in the institutional-white hallway of a neglected municipal building and the next you’re among star clusters and jellyfish, crepuscular clouds and aggregating amoebae.
Cox melds a sculptor’s sense of materials, solids and voids with a stage designer’s gift for lighting and space. In her work, which consists of synthetic netting, mirrors, lenses and clear acrylic balls, abstraction is less a distillation of form than an analogy for the textures of life.
She has transformed the two rooms of her Clocktower residency into contrasting domains, one glowing with unearthly pinks and blues, the other a netherworld of stark black and white. The door between them isn’t a demarcation sealing off opposites as much as a portal between complementary presences. Here, both light and darkness shimmer.
In a smaller installation set inside a deep and wide wall display, she has hung mirrors, lenses and netting on monofilaments above a floor dotted with concave, convex and flat circular mirrors. It is a small-scale version of an ongoing project that can expand to a height of 30 feet.
At once biomorphic and industrial, austere and eye-filling, the installation’s myriad reflective parts seem to dissolve the boundary between liquid and solid as they evoke architecture of the visionary sort and the psychedelia of long-ago rock’n’roll. Its title is “‘Scuse Me While I Kiss the Sky.”
In a cityscape where One World Trade Center has just eked past the Empire State Building to claim the prize as the tallest skyscraper in New York, the 13th floor isn’t all that high. But who needs to rise above 1,250 feet when you can float free of gravity?
Caroline Cox, Spin continues at the Clocktower (108 Leonard Street, Financial District, Manhattan) through May 7.
Editor’s Note: This endorsement is part of a special edition that Hyperallergic published on the ongoing legal case to return the photos of Renty and Delia Taylor to their descendants. * * * Your Honour — On April 11, 2018, The New York Times published a report on the differential outcomes for maternal and infant…
he ownership of images has a long and nuanced legal history, which has evolved dramatically in recent years as cultural standards and photographic technologies have rapidly advanced
The show, which honors the 50th anniversary of an exhibition history once ignored, continues a series of projects documenting Wilmington’s contemporary art scene.
Renty and his daughter Delia. Renty was an enslaved African, kidnapped from the Congo, sold and forced into slave labor on the South Carolina plantation of B.F. Taylor
What is the relation between possessing a person, possessing their image, and dispossessing their progeny
As a scholar of African American history and photography whose work has focused on the status of violent images in museums and archives, I fully support the validity of Ms. Tamara Lanier’s claim and the amicus brief.
Two K-12 art teachers will each receive a $1,000 cash gift and an additional $500 to put toward classroom art supplies. Nominations are due October 31.
The daguerreotypes of Renty Taylor, Delia, Drana, Alfred, Jack, George Fassena, and Jem remained in an unused storage cabinet until 1975, when it was discovered by an employee of the Peabody Museum.
I am writing in support of the amicus curiae brief submitted by Professor Ariella Aïsha Azoulay of Brown University for the full restitution of the daguerreotypes of Renty Taylor and his daughter Delia, currently held by Harvard University, to their familial descendant, Tamara Lanier.
We cannot be indifferent to the long-lasting effects of photography. The photographs at the center of Lanier v. Harvard are relentless in making Renty and Delia Taylor work and perform as slaves. The pain inflicted on them has not ceased. Photography has the capacity to propagate harm, and we have the moral obligation to interrupt…