Deborah Aschheim
Reconsider
Laumeier Sculpture Park
Through May 11
RAC Blogger: Debra Kokorudz

Because I work a second job slinging hash (that’s waiting tables to you) on Friday nights, I often have to miss the opening parties for new exhibits. (I am dedicated to the world of the arts in St. Louis, but I am also dedicated to my love of shopping for shoes and purses.) So I was thrilled that Laumeier Sculpture Park was opening its new exhibition by Deborah Aschheim, Reconsider, on a Saturday night when we actually had relatively good weather! Round about sunset, we headed west for an early evening reception that welcomed everyone from pre-schoolers to baby boomers. They were even serving mojitos!

When her aunt developed aphasia, Ashheim began to be “worried about losing my words.” Thus she began to explore memory, the act of remembering, and her fear of losing her own memory. She creates sculptures called “Earworms”, which employ light, sound and video. Additionally, the exhibition contains drawn and painted diagrams of thoughts and words, connected and contained in little neuron-like pods, which analyze a memory the way you might have diagramed a sentence in English class. See Christine (detail), 2006 at right.

When we arrived, someone was standing inside the middle of the sculpture Neural Architecture, 2003-2005, (pictured at right) and I thought “how rude, how uncouth!” but this is exactly what it is designed for. Constructed of plastic tubing, it features pods hanging from the ceiling like a futuristic chandelier. Some pods contain lights that go on and off unexpectedly (but not in a blinky way) others contain baby monitors whose microphones are transmitting sounds from other rooms in the exhibit – watch your language! – and still others contain small video monitors. In one half the video monitors are playing images on a loop. In the other half, you see yourself in the monitors, from various angles. This is really fascinating because the work changes with each person and with each person’s features. The camera will capture each person differently according to height, etc. Thus, it becomes a living piece.

Earworm (Node), 2008, (pictured at right) is a great, blue, curving collection of tubes and “horns”. The shape is incredibly whimsical, and instantly reminded my friend and I of some fantastical instrument from Dr. Seuss. The horns periodically blast out original music, composed by Lisa Mezzacappa, based on words the artist wanted to remember. Music from this sculpture is loud enough to be heard in several of the galleries and serves as a connecting thread, bringing you back to your own memory of the piece.

Not only has she created works that represent our neural networks both on paper and in sculpture, her “practice is also enriched and informed through collaborations with scientists.” She works with neuroscience researchers at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine, and will be collaborating with Washington University’s Dynamic Cognition Laboratory here in St. Louis. She has even begun a 10-year experiment/project called The Forgetting Curve, where she is prompted randomly by a beeper and records in words and photos what she is doing at that particular moment.


In contemporary art, background information on the artist, their motivation, their technique, what inspires them, who they collaborate with, almost becomes part of the exhibition itself. And as I said in my last entry, in the contemporary art world, we don’t necessarily have the comfort of context to fall back on when we are viewing. But the information about Ashheim’s process just got me thinking, do we, as viewers, need to know ALL of this? Who is this information really for? Does it enrich the creative process? Does it enhance my experience of the art? Or does it merely attempt to validate the artist? And I know that Leonardo da Vinci studied anatomy and used that knowledge in his works, but did he go around telling everyone about it in such a grandiose fashion? Why does the explanation come before the representation?

Personally, I would have enjoyed this exhibit just as much without knowing about the artist’s scientific research, and all of the detail about collaborations or specific words. I think it’s okay for some things to be left to the viewer’s imagination. To take their own experience away and not be told what the interpretation should be. Isn’t that the best thing about art? That each person sees something different, and has a unique, personal connection?

Aside from all of its “heady” qualities, this exhibition is pure fun. So rarely do we get to see art that we can interact with using so many of our senses. So, stick your head between the speakers, yell into the baby monitors and startle people in the other room, and look at yourself from all angles inside the chandelier. I’m sure you’ll have a memorable experience.