鲁道夫斯廷格尔

Palazzo Grassi

source: artribune
Arte e psiche. Sigmund Freud e Rudolf Stingel (Merano, 1965). Venezia e Oriente. Uniamo tutti questi ingredienti nel frullatore, tritiamo con cura, et voilà: la nuova mostra di Palazzo Grassi.
Ma veniamo subito al punto: per la prima volta la totalità degli spazi di Palazzo Grassi sono stati allestiti da un unico artista. E siccome parliamo di 5mila mq, l’impresa non è certo facile né alla portata di tutti. La domanda sorge spontanea: ma quanta roba ci sarà da vedere? Risposta: pochissimo. Una trentina di quadri, più o meno. Tutto qui? Adesso arriva il bello: ogni centimetro quadrato del museo (pareti comprese) è ricoperto da un tappeto. 7.500 mq totalmente rivestiti da un’unica trama in stile persiano.
La firma è di Rudolf Stingel, nome non nuovo agli ambienti di Palazzo Grassi. Ecco: il museo visto da Stingel non è contenitore ma opera d’arte. L’artista ha lavorato sulla percezione sensoriale dello spazio, del connubio artistico che poteva venir fuori dall’unione di due culture (e gusti) così lontani, eppure così vicini: la Serenissima e l’Oriente. Diversamente da certe aiuole, qui l’opera verrà calpestata, usurata dai passi, sformata dai vari corpi che vi si accasceranno sopra. Il tappeto è al centro della poetica di Stingel: non è solo un abbellimento, ma può essere anche fonte di ispirazione, di meditazione. Pensate, ad esempio, ai tappeti che ricoprono lo studiolo di Sigmund Freud. Ed esiste anche la tappetologia, ma questa è un’altra storia.
Non poteva che essere Venezia, con la sua millenaria storia di intrecci e contaminazioni con l’Oriente, il laboratorio per questo esperimento (ben riuscito) di Stingel. Lo spazio diventa luogo di meditazione, la sensazione avvolgente, l’esperienza sensoriale, il museo che si trasforma in labirinto; per perdersi nelle stanze, con il solo interesse di seguire le trame del tappeto per vedere dove porta. Lasciatevi trasportare. Anche i quadri – disseminati nei due piani superiori – sono di piccola taglia (a esclusione dell’omaggio all’amico Franz West): è un invito ad avvicinarsi, a guardare le cose da vicino. E poi anche il contrasto tra il rosso immenso del tappeto e il piccolo grigio della tela fa la sua parte. Magari sedetevi, se vi pare. O camminate tenendo il dito contro il muro.
I tappeti rendono subito l’idea di accoglienza e comodità: se ci aggiungete il silenzio e la quiete del museo, non farete fatica a capire cosa l’artista ha voluto suscitare nel fruitore. Introspezione. Questa è la chiave di volta del secondo piano, dove i quadri raffigurano sculture lignee antiche (creati con la tecnica del foto-realismo). Alla vista e al tatto il museo vi sembrerà un grande bazar o una moschea. Arte e contemplazione, due binari destinati a viaggiare paralleli senza mai incrociarsi. O forse sì. Ma solo dentro di noi.
Paolo Marella
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source: moussemagazineit
The exhibition Rudolf Stingel unfolds over the atrium and both upper floors of Palazzo Grassi, a space of over 5,000 square meters. For the first time, Palazzo Grassi is devoting the entirety of its space to the work of a single artist. It includes a site-specific installation as well as recent creations and previously unseen paintings. This is Stingel’s largest ever monographic presentation in Europe.
The groundbreaking project, conceived by the artist expressly for Palazzo Grassi, spreads over all the rooms of the building, where carpeting based on an oriental rug covers the entire surface of the walls and floors. The installation is part of Stingel’s artistic research, which has always analysed the relationship between exhibition space and artistic intervention: for the artist, the carpet is a medium through which painting relates to its architectural context. Interested in the redefinition of the meaning of painting and of its perception, Stingel places the carpet at the core of his poetics. It bears witness to the passage of time and people and is also a source of inspiration, with its variety of typologies and textures, for successive series of paintings. The exhibition presents a selection of over thirty paintings from collections around the world, including the artist’s collection and that of François Pinault. Many of these works were created in the studios of Merano and New York specifically for this project.
The first floor hosts a group of abstract paintings that offer an interpretation of the historical, architectural and artistic context of Venice. The reference to Middle-European culture, significant in Stingel’s own upbringing, is also a tribute to his friend Franz West, whose magnificent portrait features in this show. The pattern of the carpet, while bringing to mind the city’s past, also evokes a unique environment: Sigmund Freud’s study in Vienna, which was characterized by different oriental carpets laid on floors, walls, sofa and table. The artist’s reference to the office of the father of psychoanalysis offers a key to interpret the installation: the feeling of containment and the sensory experience that we discover when entering this labyrinth guide us into the Ego, with its repressions and illusions, where each painting contributes to forming a topography of the unconscious. The architectural space becomes a meditation place, a silent and enveloping site of introjection and projection. The use of the wall-to-wall carpet turns the exhibition’s path into one single environment while suggesting a new, rarefied and suspended atmosphere in which the silver, black and white of the paintings stand out, opening onto a new dimension.
In this sense, the exhibition turns into an inner journey the visitor is invited to experience freely: from the artist’s self-portrait partly hidden between the columns in the atrium to the silver glow of the abstract paintings on the first floor; from the rooms where the carpet becomes a painting to the black and white “portraits of sculptures” on the second floor. Centered on the relationship between abstraction and figuration, the exhibition displays the constant fluidity between these two polarities, and how they characterize the artist’s poetics. It also invites visitors to ponder the idea of portrait itself and the concept of appropriation of images. The upper floor hosts a selection of paintings that represent ancient wooden sculptures taken from black and white photographs and illustrations, and painted photo-realistically.
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source: nytimes
VENICE — François Pinault, the French megacollector and mogul, was smart to give the painter Rudolf Stingel the run of his regal Venetian exhibition space, the Palazzo Grassi, along with an elastic budget. Still, it was a risk. Quantities of money and space can bring out the worst in artists, including Mr. Stingel. But this time, the resources were well used.
The visually explosive, historically charged transformation of the palazzo’s interior is one of the signal achievements of Mr. Stingel’s fascinating career and just about the best contemporary art in Venice outside of “The Encyclopedic Palace,” the exceptional centerpiece of this year’s Biennale.
At a moment when art is swamped with big-ticket, high-tech spectacles that overwhelm, Mr. Stingel’s effort is the exception that proves the rule. It engulfs but also backs off, giving the viewer plenty to look at and think about, and plenty of room for doing so, often with a weird, unexpected one-to-one intimacy.
Mr. Stingel has achieved this rarity by lining most of the palazzo’s public spaces — the vast atrium and the two floors of enfiladed galleries overlooking it — with synthetic carpet printed with an enlarged, repeating digital facsimile of a predominantly red Ottoman carpet. He then countered the blazing color with noncolor: grisaille oil paintings hung sparingly throughout the palazzo, usually one, and occasionally two, canvases in each gallery. Abstract paintings dot the second floor; the third has loosely Photo Realist paintings of carved-wood medieval saints and madonnas, some quite small, copied from old art history books.
The result of this makeover is a three-dimensional interplay of two-dimensional mediums (painting, textiles and photography) that carefully layers abstraction and representation; original and reproduction; East and West; art and craft; and personal, local and world history, all into an encompassing environment of exhilarating complexity.
Mr. Stingel is among the great anti-painting painters of our age, a descendant of Warhol but much more involved with painting’s conventions and processes, which he alternately spurns, embraces, parodies or exaggerates. His art asks what are paintings, who makes them, and how?
Among much else, he has made paintings by walking on thick slabs of white plastic foam in shoes dipped in corrosive acid, creating the one-liner effect of footsteps in snow. He has made painting kits (canvas, paint, spray paint, instructions and a bit of ballet tulle to use as a stencil), whose purchasers can attempt their own Stingel abstractions, simpler versions of those on view here.
He has also installed silver foil-covered insulation foam that the public is allowed to mar and write on; he subsequently divides these “ready-made” surfaces into paintings. And in the past decade, Mr. Stingel has revisited his early training in representation with Photo Realist works: morose self-portraits, and portraits of people important to him, like his longtime dealer, Paula Cooper. These works signal the autobiographical subtext to his seemingly distanced approach.
Throughout his career, Mr. Stingel’s installation pieces have expanded painting’s physical borders in starkly efficient ways, including the unfurling of great expanses of carpet on either wall or floor and the claiming of them, often convincingly, as paintings.
The Grassi carpet painting is his biggest ever, the first to cover both walls and floors at once, and unusually freighted with history. It is from the early 18th century (the palazzo is mid-18th-century) and just the kind of exotic luxury item that regularly passed through Venice when it was a major gateway to the Middle East.
Such carpets sometimes ended up depicted in Renaissance paintings, with the result that certain patterns are forever linked to the artists who used them and are, for example, referred to as Lotto, Memling, Holbein or Crivelli.
At first sight, Mr. Stingel’s pictorial wonderland is mesmerizing; you seem to float like a fish in an aquarium or fall, like Alice, into some unusually lavish rabbit hole. The white cube is obliterated, absorbed completely into an encompassing, unending visual fact. Appropriately, the Persian word for “carpet” means to spread.
The mind is pulled in, too, figuring it all out: the carpet has a large central medallion on a tight field surrounded by an ornate border; its pattern is greatly enlarged (roughly eight times the original); it is the same throughout the building. Above all, it just keeps going: up the walls and the stairs, into the elevator. Always it softens sound (and comforts the feet). This built-in sense of “hushed awe” enhances the privacy of the experience.
Upstairs, space folds and unfolds, as patterned walls and floors seem to meld into continuous planes. You become aware of the care taken with piecing the carpet to fit the rooms. In the smallest, it seems magnified. In the larger salons, the giant motifs seem closer to human scale, chiefly because the carpet borders sometimes reiterate the architecture, implying wide molding around doors or wainscoting along walls. This makes sense: such carpets often had architectural inspiration in Islamic buildings, monuments and gardens.
As for the “normal” paintings: On the second floor, their loose, abstract gestures contrast with the considered craft of the rug. Some paintings with hints of brocade and signs of the stenciled tulle echo carpet’s foliate motifs and evoke the tiny grid of carpet weaving.
In a stately second-floor salon, overlooking the Grand Canal, a large portrait of the Austrian artist Franz West — a close friend of Mr. Stingel’s, who died a year ago — startles. West’s youthful image is flecked with paint and coffee cup stains, as if it had sat around his (or Mr. Stingel’s) studio for years. (One of Mr. Stingel’s darker self-portraits, based on a similarly damaged photograph, hangs in a corner of the ground floor, as if intended as a signature.)
The paintings of carved saints on the third floor set up an especially lively dialogue, contrasting Christian imagery with Islamic semiabstraction, European with Middle Eastern, opulence and love of nature with colorless deprivation and martyrdom. Moving in to examine the small paintings of St. Elizabeth, St. Barbara or John the Baptist brings you up against the Op-Art blurriness of the printed carpet, and also contrasts modern pixilation with one of its ancient precursors: hand-tied carpets.
In a sense, Mr. Stingel has merged two forms of local architecture, turning a formerly residential palazzo into a setting for religious art after purifying it with the high, sometimes religious, art of another culture. It is by far the best exhibition seen at the Palazzo Grassi since Mr. Pinault bought it from the city of Venice in 2004 as a showplace for his often tone-deaf, inordinately blue-chip collection. Maybe its run should be extended.
In a city full of centuries-old churches, whose in situ artworks never move, why not leave an aggressively contemporary site-specific one in place? Maybe the Dia Foundation could take it over; it has just as much startling displacement as Walter De Maria’s famed “New York Earth Room,” yet it is also profoundly at home.
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source: casavogueglobo
A paixão pelas obras de Rudolf Stingel levou o empresário e colecionador francês François Pinault a dedicar inteiramente uma de suas propriedades, o Palazzo Grassi, para expor apenas as obras do aclamado artista norteamericano. A exposição ocupa todas as salas do prédio, que tem cerca de 5 mil m², e tem como pano de fundo tapetes orientais que recobrem todos os pisos e paredes.
A tapeçaria é um componente muito importante nas obras de Stingel desde os anos 1990. É através dela, como moldura, que a arte é incorporada na arquitetura. Dessa forma, os tapetes passam a ser o centro de sua construção poética, redefinindo o sentido da pintura. Para o artista, eles são objetos que vêem a passagem do tempo e o efeito dele nas pessoas, além de serem inspiradores – por sua enorme variedade de texturas e estilos.
Com mais de trinta pinturas a mostra também conta com obras de outros colecionadores ao redor do mundo. Elas foram divididas, no primeiro andar, em abstratas e com predominância da cor prata e, no segundo piso, em retratos de esculturas em preto e branco. Essa contraposição entre abstrato e figurativo caracteriza o estilo amplo de Rudolf Stingel.
Ainda no segundo andar há uma seleção de outras pinturas, feitas com técnicas de fotorealismo, e que demonstram a insatisfação do artista em relação às esculturas religiosas em madeira. O retrato faz parte da exposição como um convite aos visitantes a ponderarem sobre o conceito de apropriação de imagens.
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source: lejddfr
Envahi, le Palazzo Grassi! Du sol aux murs, sur les escaliers comme dans l’ascenseur, on a moquetté l’intégralité du palais vénitien de François Pinault. Un motif de tapis oriental, façon kilim d’Azerbaïdjan, dont l’omniprésence baroque interpelle le visiteur. C’est là l’œuvre attendue du plasticien italien Rudolf Stingel, poids lourd de l’art et de son marché, qui offre à Venise le plus grand show européen de sa carrière. Un spectacle total, où s’accrochent sur les murs tapissés une trentaine de toiles tout en gris austères.
Pas moins de 5.000 m2 dévolus à un seul artiste : c’est plus que Dali au Centre Pompidou. Folie des grandeurs? Rudolf Stingel, pourtant, n’aime rien tant que se faire tout petit. Sa hantise : les interviews. Ses apparitions : plus que furtives. On ne s’étonnera pas qu’entre l’artiste et son hôte, le tout aussi taiseux François Pinault, les affinités soient franches. Au vernissage d’avant-hier, on n’a aperçu Stingel que quelques minutes, murmurant une ou deux salutations, puis s’éclipsant aussitôt. “Mes œuvres parlent pour moi”, voilà son credo, comme nous l’énonce Elena Geuna, commissaire de l’exposition. Mais alors que disent-elles?
Elles parlent de l’espace et de la manière de le coloniser. Stingel est coutumier des moquettes envahissantes : à New York, où il s’est installé dans les années 1980, sa première exposition consistait en un tapissage orange vif de la galerie Daniel Newburg. Treize ans plus tard, c’est le sol de la gare Grand Central qui subit le même sort. Des tapis king size qui subvertissent l’architecture en lui donnant un tour absurde. Même étrangeté au Palazzo Grassi : l’œuvre, avec ses motifs grossis, pixelisés, brouille les échelles et défie les proportions. Pourtant, elle semble à l’aise, comme posée là naturellement dans cette Sérénissime qui en a longtemps pincé pour l’Orient et ses arts décoratifs. Toute la culture de Stingel est teintée de Mitteleuropa. Un Italien, oui, mais du Sud-Tyrol, comme le trahit son patronyme. Parmi ses meilleurs amis, un Autrichien, le sculpteur Franz West, décédé en juillet dernier. Et c’est un bel hommage que lui rend Stingel, dans la salle la plus majestueuse du Palazzo, avec un tableau portrait noir et blanc moucheté de gouttes de peinture.
Car non, Stingel ne fait pas seulement tapisserie. C’est un peintre hors pair, dont les toiles rigoureuses exaltent la puissance hallucinogène du show vénitien. Il y a d’abord au rez-de-chaussée cet autoportrait, presque caché, qui respire la mélancolie. Au premier étage, des toiles inédites de 2012, tout en abstraction, où surnagent des textures cartonnées, des reflets de lagunes, des motifs tapissiers – encore – presque effacés. Mais c’est au dernier étage que l’exposition, en tous sens, culmine : l’artiste y accroche des huiles aux motifs religieux, saints et madones ultraréalistes. Certains sont si petits qu’ils forcent à s’approcher. S’opère alors un choc visuel entre toiles et tapis : précision contre flou, noir et blanc contre chatoiements, austérité contre exubérance.
En filigrane, l’artiste pose des questions abyssales sur la peinture : les figures religieuses prennent modèle sur la sculpture d’église, mais l’artiste les peint à partir de recueils photographiques. Télescopage de tous les médiums, mise en abyme de tous les arts. C’est là la force de Stingel : mêler expériences sensorielles et vertiges conceptuels. Le Palazzo Grassi a décidément bien fait de lui dérouler le tapis rouge.
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source: welovead
鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）特别为格拉西宫美术馆打造的开创性的艺术项目蔓延到了美术馆的所有房间里——以一种东方元素为基础的地毯盖满了美术馆的所有墙面和地板。它属于鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）的艺术研究的一部分，而这位艺术家的研究调查则总是分析了展览空间与艺术性的干预之间的关系：对鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）来说，这里的地毯是一种媒介，绘画作品通过它与美术馆的建筑环境产生了关系。鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）对重新定义绘画的意义及其感知很感兴趣，他将地毯置于了自己的诗意的核心。它见证了时间的流逝与人的经过，同时凭借其类型和纹理的多样性而成为了系列绘画的灵感来源。
展览还展出了鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）30多幅收藏在世界各地的绘画作品。一层展厅展出了一组抽象画作，它们为威尼斯的历史、建筑和艺术环境提供了一次阐释。对中欧文化的涉及是鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）在向他的朋友 弗朗茨·魏斯特 （Franz West）表示致敬（另外中欧文化在艺术家本人的成长中也非常重要），另外展览还展出了自己为弗朗茨·魏斯特（Franz West）绘制的肖像画。地毯的花纹在使人联想到这个城市的过去的同时也促进了一种独特的环境的产生：西格蒙德·弗洛伊德在维也纳的研究正是以盖在地板、墙面、沙发和桌子上的不同的东方地毯为特色的。鲁道夫·斯汀格尔（Rudolf Stingel）对弗洛伊德的提及提供了一把理解这一装置的钥匙：当我们走进如迷宫一样的房间时，我们所发现的牵制感和感官体验会引导我们走进“自我”中。建筑空间演变了一个进行沉思的地方，一个安静且被包裹起来的融合和投映的场所。铺满房间的地毯将美术馆打造成了一个整体环境，同时又暗示了一种全新、纯净、暂停的氛围；在其中，银、黑、白色的绘画无比突出，通向一个新的维度。
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source: roomednl
Palazzo Grassi in Venetië, Italië presenteert de tentoonstelling Rudolf Stingel, samengesteld door de kunstenaar zelf, in samenwerking met curator Elena Geuna. Het project, dat speciaal voor het Palazzo Grassi is bedacht, ontvouwt zich boven het atrium en de beide bovenste verdiepingen, een oppervlakte van meer dan 5.000 vierkante meter. Voor de eerste keer wijdt het museum de hele tentoonstellingsruimte aan het werk van een enkele artist. De tentoonstelling presenteert een selectie van meer dan dertig schilderijen van Stingel uit collecties van over de hele wereld. Veel van deze werken werden speciaal voor dit project gemaakt in de studio’s van Merano en New York. De tentoonstelling die zich uitstrekt over alle kamers van het Palazzo Grassi, heeft Oosterse tapijten over het gehele oppervlak van de muren en vloeren. Een bijzondere gewaarwording. De tentoonstelling loopt tot het einde van dit jaar.