Female Figure

source: poison777tistory

아티스트 Jordan Wolfson 작품 인데 조금은 기괴한 마스크를 쓴 로봇으로 작품을 만들었는 조금 엽기 적인 느낌 까지 드네요

움직이는 조각 로봇인데 마녀 괴물 마스크를 착용 하고 춤추는 여자를 로봇을 안들었는데
처음에 저는 사람 인줄 알았습니다 뒷태가 꽤 그러나 보니 로봇 이더군요 팔도 보면
캘리포니아 특수 효과 스튜디오와 공동으로 만든 작품 인데 거울속에 춤을 추는 여성 뒤에서는 나름 곡선미가 느껴 지는 여성 같지안 거울속에 비추어진 모습은 다른 모습을 나타 내는 조금 인간의 양면성을 나타 낼려는지

섹시 하게 안느껴 지네요 갑자기 무서운 느낌에 생각에 거울 속에 비추고 있는 나의 모습은 어떨까 생각 해 봅니다

로봇의 더러운 느낌에 표현이 우리에 인간 모습이 지 않을까 라는 생각도 잠시
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source: wmagazine

The humanoid robot, a busty female figure engineered to swivel her hips, move her hands fluidly, and follow your eyes, is not quite herself on a sweltering day in August, just east of the Burbank movie studios near Los Angeles. Her grotesque brackish-green mask is missing, exposing a tiny camera loaded with motion-tracking software embedded in her forehead. Stripped of her skin and her white vinyl thigh-high boots, she looks like an anatomy dummy, with limbs made of cables instead of flesh and bones. But despite appearances, there’s no real cause for concern: The bizarrely lifelike sculpture, animated by 48 motors, is simply back in the workshop for a tune-up after her debut at the David Zwirner gallery in New York this past spring, where she was the hit of Jordan Wolfson’s solo show. And, in fact, she now needs to be cloned, as Zwirner sold out the edition of three to megacollectors, Eli Broad among them.
With her serious cleavage, direct gaze, and man’s voice, the gyrating hypersexual robot generated excitement not only in New York but also at Basel, where she traveled this past June as part of a performance art show curated by Klaus Biesenbach and Hans Ulrich Obrist, fueling Wolfson’s anointment as the Next Big Thing. “It’s gimmicky,” the artist Jack Pierson said of the work, “but also shockingly soulful.” In The New York Times, Holland Cotter summarized the hype, calling Wolfson “the latest in a line of young male artists to shoot to the top of the New York career heap with relatively little buildup.”
Not unlike his animatronic protégée, Wolfson, 34, seems to be in recovery when I visit his studio in Glendale. Wearing gray Nike sweatpants and a souvenir T-shirt from the recent Mike Kelley retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles (MOCA), he rises to greet me from a tatami-style mat in a front office. “I was just meditating,” he explains. The space is cluttered with stacks of towels and a large blue Ikea bag filled with new dishes. As it turns out, Wolfson has just broken up with his girlfriend, the photographer Gaea Woods, and is in the throes of moving from the house they shared to a rental in Los Feliz. This latest transition follows his big move, about a year ago, from New York to Los Angeles, where he relocated, in part, to be closer to Spectral Motion, the animatronics studio that engineered his robot.
“Jordan is good at pushing everyone’s buttons,” says Philippe Vergne, the director of MOCA.
Professionally, too, much is in flux. “You caught me at a low-frequency moment,” he mumbles. “I’m in between things. One big wave just came in, and another is coming.” That approaching swell is a show at the Serpentine Gallery in London, slated for the fall of 2015, which will feature a character he calls Huck Finn—“a kind of a trickster kid, a permission breaker, a boundary pusher, which I think is maybe what an artist should be.” Best known as a video artist, Wolfson plans to feature the freckled rebel in an animated piece, some large prints (based on Photoshop-style collages), and a series of moving—or “falling,” he suggests without elaborating, not wanting to commit yet to a plan—sculptures.
At around 4,300 square feet, Wolfson’s studio, though his largest to date, is modest by L.A. art star standards. He has a small mirrored room set up for his animatronics work, and an open area contains an ink-jet printer that can produce images as wide as 66 inches. He has only one assistant. But the artist does rely on outside collaborators, from the engineers at Spectral Motion to the assorted animators for his videos, which employ hand-drawn and computer-generated imagery (CGI) and sample an array of references, from Betty Boop to Caravaggio.
With its mash-up aesthetic, Wolfson’s work has been compared to that of the video artist Ryan Trecartin: Both capture the ADD mind-set of the YouTube generation. But Wolfson is more interested in the strange, persistent power of the images we consume and distribute than in the social tics and family dynamics that define us. His first major video, Con Leche, from 2009, consists of hand-drawn Diet Coke bottles filled with milk and marching through city streets—a surreal drama about commodities assuming a life beyond the grocery store shelves. Then came Animation, Masks, 2011, for which he took a stock Internet image of the “evil Jew” and brought the bearded, beak-nosed Shylock stereotype to life through CGI. “I had a playful and grandiose idea: to make for the first time a Pop art piece with a Jewish figure, without it being marinated in Holocaust guilt,” he said. His Jewish parents, understandably, were less than thrilled. “My father was concerned it would ruin my career.” Wolfson credits his aunt, Erica Jong, whose 1973 bestselling novel, Fear of Flying, famously read as a manual for sexual liberation, with encouraging him to go through with it. “I was able to affirm for him that you can’t follow what your family thinks is nice, or you’d never be an artist,” Jong recalls.
Irreverence runs through the jumpy story line of 2012’s Raspberry Poser, which features Wolfson dressed as a punk in a Paris park. There is also a boyish cartoon character who disembowels himself; a giant animated condom floating through Manhattan streets spilling red Valentine-style hearts; and a spiky red image of the human immunodeficiency virus that bounces through the movie. “I try to work in a nonjudgmental, associative way—where I don’t say, ‘That’s right’ or ‘That’s wrong,’ ” says Wolfson, as he pets his dog, Midnight, a black Lab mix he found in the middle of the road one night. “My attitude is to be a witness to the world.” He points to the springy animation of the virus as an example. “Some people will say I don’t have permission or license to use this image because I’m not HIV positive or gay. But all of this stuff exists within the world, and I’m witnessing it.” Says Philippe Vergne, the director of MOCA, “Jordan is good at pushing everyone’s buttons. He’s not a trickster but a court jester. His work is sweet and funny and mean and cruel and absolutely irreverent.”
Raised on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and in Connecticut by a psychoanalyst mother and an entrepreneur father, Wolfson had a comfortable childhood materially, but he struggled academically, due to ADD and dysgraphia (difficulty writing). Then, at 15, he was asked to create something symbolic in art class. He made a vivid Expressionistic painting of his grandfather, who was hospitalized at the time, and found he was “able to access a side of myself I couldn’t otherwise,” he says. He scrapped a vague notion of being a professional skateboarder—“I was not an athlete”—and before long headed off to the Rhode Island School of Design.
In 2002, while he was still in school, the Stockholm gallery Brändström & Stene exhibited his video work, then gave him a solo show after he graduated that featured a larger video installation. Another early break came with his inclusion in the 2006 Whitney Biennial, where he presented a short video that translates a Charlie Chaplin speech from the 1940 classic The Great Dictator into American Sign Language. In the Los Angeles Times, critic Christopher Knight dismissed the sign language piece as an example of “one-liners [that] pass as art.”
At the studio, finishing a green vitamin drink and reaching into the fridge for a hard-boiled egg, Wolfson shakes his head at the mention of Knight’s review. “Stuff like that fucked me up back then,” he says. “I was still a kid; I was not ready for it. I was 25, so I retreated and tried to make safe work. I was a dark person, jealous of other artists.” He describes himself at the time as “the most obnoxious, ambitious artist you can imagine.”
“I hate the idea of spectacle.”
He meditates regularly, and in 2010 he started seeing a New York psychoanalyst who used hypnosis to help him work through his anxiety and anger issues. But like much of his art, those issues seem far from resolved. This past spring, at the Boom Boom Room nightclub in New York, Wolfson got into a fight with an artist he has known since college. “I put my thumbs in his mouth and started spreading it open at the corners,” Wolfson says. “He pushed a button in me. It makes me feel sick to my stomach that I still have this anger.”
Some critics find an ugly sort of misogyny or, at least, unseemly gamer-style fantasy in his dolled-up and roughed-up female robot, whose rubbery body is dramatically smeared with dirt. That idea “came a little from Jeff Koons,” Wolfson says, referring to Koons’s quasi-pornographic “Made in Heaven” series. “I had this notion that she had escaped from something relatively unscathed, without cuts or bruises—just dirty.”
Strangely, the impetus for making the robot came from a visit to Walt Disney World’s Hall of Presidents with the artist Alex Israel in December 2012. “I saw an animatronic version of President Obama, and I was floored. He was moving his hands—and the physicality drove me crazy. I wanted that inside my work.”
Wolfson alternately identifies with the robot (“She is me”) and distances himself from his creation (“What comes out of me isn’t literal, isn’t my desires”). The sexy-scary robot both does and does not reflect his own vision of romantic intimacy. The bad-boy, attention-getting antics in his artworks are not, he says, intended to be transgressive: “I hate the idea of spectacle.” As for Koons, whom he mentions frequently, borrows from occasionally, and calls a genius, he denies any particular connection between the work of that master provocateur and his own, at one point declaring, “The only king in my castle is me.”
What’s interesting about these contradictions is just how little Wolfson seeks to resolve them—and how much he believes in art as a safe space for exploring them. “I’m not rewriting the textbooks that go into high schools,” he says. “I’m not telling anyone what to think. I don’t have that responsibility. I’m expressing myself. It’s as simple as that.”
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source: amusementnet

DESCRIPTION: Jordan Wolfson is accustomed to creating characters, many of his previous works are for instance digital animations. For his first exhibition at the David Zwirner gallery, Jordan Wolfson took things to the next level and created a tridimensional female character who can directly address the visitor. Looking like a stripper wearing a Wicked mask, the life-size doll is actually an animatronic sculpture developed in collaboration with Spectral Moments, a special effects studio based in Los Angeles. The visitor can meet the exotic dancer on a one-on-one basis in a mirrored room of the gallery. Attached to the wall by a metallic pole, the animatronic sculpture does her dance routine while occasionally talking to the visitor and looking at him in the eyes. The precision of her dance moves or even of her hands alone is incredible. Look at the video below to take a look at this very special piece or got to the David Zwirner Gallery in New York (533 W 19th St location) before April 19 to see it live. Make sure to call ahead to make a reservation for your “private dance”.

AMUSEMENT RATE: The stare of the animatronic sculpture is so intense, it would put anyone uncomfortable. The mask is probably there as a way to avoid creating a human face using animatronics but it also definitely adds to the creepiness of the overall look. The importance of the gaze is found throughout Wolfson’s work but it finds here a very special interpretation. He gives the ability to gaze to two different entities, a stripper and a robot, who are by definition never supposed to look up. The visitor is no longer in control of the situation, creating the awkwardness that is at the core of the work.
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source: teekleit

Quando immaginiamo dei robot certo non ci vengono in mente le belle ballerine di lap dance, figurarsi poi degli zombie alla Resident Evil. Eppure a New York l’artista Jordan Wolfson ha creato un insolito connubio tra zombie e sexy dancer con la sua animatronic sculpture, in mostra presso la galleria David Zwirner, nel cuore della Grande Mela.

Si tratta di una sinuosa donna androide seminuda, realizzata grazie alla collaborazione tra Wolfson e la casa di effetti speciali hollywoodiana Spectral Motion (meglio conosciuta per i film di Hellboy ), completamente ricoperta di sporcizia e con un’inquietante maschera da zombie, simil strega, impegnata in una provocante lap dance, di fronte ad uno specchio.

Una visione da far letteralmente accapponare la pelle.
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source: mibrujula

Obra realizada por el artista Jordan Wolfson con la ayuda de sus colegas Spectral Motion. La pieza se exhibe actualmente en la Galería David Zwirner de Nueva York. La figura incorpora tecnología de reconocimiento facial, lo que le permite centrarse y seguir a los visitantes en la exposición.
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source: haaretzcoil

ג’ורדן וולפסון, אחד האמנים הצעירים המשתתפים בתערוכה, מציג את “Female Figure” כאפילוג ל”14 חדרים”. בעבודה של וולפסון פסל אשה רובוטי בגודל טבעי, ובלבוש מזערי, עומד בגבו אל הצופה. האשה מרימה את מבטה ויוצרת אינטראקציה עם המבקר באמצעות מראה: הפסל פועל בעזרת תוכנה לזיהוי פנים. “היא מביטה במראה אל העיניים של הצופה, בעיניים שלה”, אומר וולפסון בשיחת טלפון מביתו בקליפורניה. “אני לא יודע מה התפקיד שלה. אני יכול רק לוודא שהיא מותקנת כמו שצריך”.
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source: khamphavn

Được thiết kế với mái tóc vàng, bàn tay chuyển động uyển chuyển, khuôn mặt thật như con người và những động tác di chuyển, vũ nữ robot này đang gây chú ý trên internet.

Đặc biệt, cô nàng người máy này cũng được trang bị bốt da trắng và váy ngắn hai dây để tăng thêm phần sexy.

Tuy nhiên, điều đáng chú ý nhất chính là khả năng nhận dạng con người. Theo đó, robot này có thể nhìn thẳng vào mắt bạn hoặc chuyển động theo bạn.

Một điều đáng tiếc đó là robot này được tạo ra không phải là để bán. Nó là sản phẩm của nghệ sĩ Jordan Wolfon với sự hỗ trợ hiệu ứng đặc biệt của công ty Spectral Motion.