A paint brush and two rollers dipped in emulsion and left in a paint tray, presented in a museum grade vitrine made of mahogany and glass.
Having recognized white emulsion paint as the background canvas – the theatre backdrop of contemporary art – the Artist then put his mind to the tool that is used to apply the paint. This first piece was a wooden museum vitrine made in 1995 called ‘Paint, Two Rollers and a Brush’. This was a homage to the cultural significance or archeological importance of the gallery decorator and his tools. Displayed in the cabinet were several used objects straight out of the recently repainted gallery exactly as their title suggests. They are fresh and curious in their isolation. Looking at them through the imaginary eyes of an alien they appear angular and precise. Specialised tools for a specialized job.
The most angular and specialized of all is the paint roller. A bent and twisted mark-making tool that covers a wall in white faster than you can blink. Cast in bronze – the traditional material of ‘Great Sculpture’ – the tool then becomes heavy and significant, instead of light and useful, allowing the viewer to study the detail of the everyday object: the tufts of the sheepskin roller, the ingeniously designed bent handle.
Exhibitions
Essays
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Museum Vitrines - Martine Rouleau
SHOW
Museum Vitrines - Martine Rouleau
“Do not touch” must be one the first thing anyone learns inside a museum. So much so that the museum is where one is likely to first get acquainted with the fact that there are some things in this world that are meant to be looked at but that can not be engaged with in any other way. It's a favorite pastime of mine to see how long it takes for someone to run up to me or yelp as soon as I extend a hand towards anything that hangs on a wall or sits on a plinth. I never aim to damage anything of course and I rarely actually do touch a piece, but I just want to determine how aggressively touch is evacuated out of the experience of the museum as I believe it is indicative of the degree of seriousness with which a culture defends its boundaries. In certain Italian and Greek museums, I've been known to lay a furtive yet respectful hand on a marble foot or a copper head for long uninterrupted minutes. In Britain and America, I have yet to touch as much as a velvet rope without dire consequences. Regardless of my location