There is, at the local Chrysler Museum, in Norfolk, a sculptural homage to Hamlet. It's eleven and a half feet tall, and is made up of thirteen old-fashioned-looking video screens that show fraction-of-a-second, silent, clips of filmed productions of the play (some from the movies, some from stageplays) that have been shuffled and randomized by computer, interspersed with photos of "Hamlet's Castle" in Denmark (It's not really. But it's still medieval and spooky, and it's nice to claim so, for the tourists).
Here is a photo of the piece (though, as you can imagine, a still photo doesn't do it justice).
It's featured in one of those between-the-shows fillers during the hours of children's programming on my local PBS station, that speculates on what he gets up to after the museum closes ("Does he call his friends on the telephone? Does he order a pizza?"), and talking about the allure of watching all those changing screens and falling into a hypnotic trance. And to break the spell, you must blink your eyes three times, and say: "I am!"
I was looking forward to being entranced by it, when I went to the museum as a birthday treat, back in January (there's a friends-locked post about it, January 24th), but I never really got the chance. First, there was my aide's discomfort around modern art, rising off her like a sort of invisible steam, that was pressuring me to hurry up. Second, was the museum's own arrangement of the art. Poor Hamlet Robot was crowded together with many, many other pieces, and the only unifying theme among them was that they were "modern." The other pieces don't show in the photo; either they deliberately cleared the walls before the photo was taken, or the photo was taken before the other pieces were acquired.
The galleries dedicated to 19th Century, and earlier, art are given a lot more space; the galleries dedicated to glass are given the entire first floor. That is what you get, I suppose, when a museum's collection is founded on the tastes of one or two influencial and wealthy people.
Maybe I'll get another chance to hang out with Hamlet with some friends who are a combination of technology/computer geeks and Shakespeare geeks, and modern art geeks.
Anyway:
Here is the museum's own webpage dedicated to the sculpture: Hamlet Robot: 1996.
I don't so much mind their discussion of the artist's ongoing themes, his biography, and how this one piece fits in with all his other pieces. But I feel my hackles rise when they describe how "the viewer" reacts to the piece, as if all people who stand before it are exactly the same. I mean -- really! Doesn't that kind of go against the whole point of art?!
Here is a photo of the piece (though, as you can imagine, a still photo doesn't do it justice).
It's featured in one of those between-the-shows fillers during the hours of children's programming on my local PBS station, that speculates on what he gets up to after the museum closes ("Does he call his friends on the telephone? Does he order a pizza?"), and talking about the allure of watching all those changing screens and falling into a hypnotic trance. And to break the spell, you must blink your eyes three times, and say: "I am!"
I was looking forward to being entranced by it, when I went to the museum as a birthday treat, back in January (there's a friends-locked post about it, January 24th), but I never really got the chance. First, there was my aide's discomfort around modern art, rising off her like a sort of invisible steam, that was pressuring me to hurry up. Second, was the museum's own arrangement of the art. Poor Hamlet Robot was crowded together with many, many other pieces, and the only unifying theme among them was that they were "modern." The other pieces don't show in the photo; either they deliberately cleared the walls before the photo was taken, or the photo was taken before the other pieces were acquired.
The galleries dedicated to 19th Century, and earlier, art are given a lot more space; the galleries dedicated to glass are given the entire first floor. That is what you get, I suppose, when a museum's collection is founded on the tastes of one or two influencial and wealthy people.
Maybe I'll get another chance to hang out with Hamlet with some friends who are a combination of technology/computer geeks and Shakespeare geeks, and modern art geeks.
Anyway:
Here is the museum's own webpage dedicated to the sculpture: Hamlet Robot: 1996.
I don't so much mind their discussion of the artist's ongoing themes, his biography, and how this one piece fits in with all his other pieces. But I feel my hackles rise when they describe how "the viewer" reacts to the piece, as if all people who stand before it are exactly the same. I mean -- really! Doesn't that kind of go against the whole point of art?!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-09 07:58 pm (UTC)I feel my hackles rise when they describe how "the viewer" reacts to the piece, as if all people who stand before it are exactly the same. I mean -- really! Doesn't that kind of go against the whole point of art?!
I told someone this only yesterday. :-)
no subject
Date: 2008-05-09 08:06 pm (UTC)I think it may be because of the recent 60th anniversary of Lawrence Olivier's Hamlet movie. ...Lot of powerful ghosts, around that.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-10 12:08 am (UTC)And completely agree about the 'the viewer reaction' thing. SKldfsldkf. Boooooooo.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-10 12:43 am (UTC)I think Hamlet Robot's flashy screens reminds me a bit of the TARDIS, yes.