This post is about artist Martin Creed, the nature of art, a landscape piece that I made in January 2011, and artist Richard Tuttle. It is not even remotely comprehensive about any of these things.

I’ve had this book of Martin Creed’s work for a couple months now, and keep going back to it.

He makes some really interesting stuff. He makes some really banal stuff. He makes a lot of stuff. It’s stuff that insists on its own existence, despite all the other questions that may arise.

Like the piece that is a piece of paper torn up. I find I don’t care about asking those questions. I’m just curious about the person who did it.

Work No. 309 / A sheet of paper torn up / 2003 / US letter paper, lid, plinth / Lid 11 x 8.5 in / 27.9 x 21.6 cm; plinth height variable. Image from Martin Creed’s website. (I also love that his frontpage just consists of a list of works, sequentially. Why do we all insist on this mad organization? And that his website is neither under construction nor complete.)

Which makes me question why it works. Is it because it’s in a book, and part of a collection of hundreds of works? Because the other works give context to the individual, give it a way to make sense? I can now never know how I’d react to seeing a torn up piece of paper, on a pedestal, under a vitrine, in a gallery. I don’t know, nor do I need to, but it’s an interesting question.

In an interview, he talks about art as a backdrop for other activities. Though contrary to the art-school training in which we view art critically and as individual things, it’s good to remember that art doesn’t only live on a pedestal or in a museum (though it might). It becomes something else when lived with. There’s a fundamental shift between what is it? and how does it function? that I’m really, really into right now.

In January I made a piece, lived with it for a couple weeks, then brought it into a clean white box. It didn’t work as well: context is part of the piece. I had some conversations about it, took some criticism, and later took the piece home, where it continues to exist in a way that is beyond all question.

Landscape piece. 2011. 36″ wide. Yes, it’s a hard photograph. Still, it describes something about the piece.

Somehow, context matters more for this thing than for other things. Perhaps because it’s so quiet, perhaps because it’s so close to nothing. Like a Richard Tuttle piece, it could survive being in a book (especially with a decent photograph, which this is not). This piece can survive being on some walls. The Richard Tuttle pieces I’ve seen (only a couple) survive their walls. A combination of its scale and what it shares the space with. Quiet, but insistently in existence.

Richard Tuttle at the Art Institute of Chicago. My photo.

The photo is a totally different thing than the piece; this photo is itself a piece. For a better (and more comprehensive) look at his work, I recommend a really nice book that I’ve had for… at least four months now. The university library is a beautiful thing.