The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, October 1, 2019 — 5
It feels inaccurate somehow to call Félicia
Atkinson a polymath, even though she has
established herself fairly equally as a sculptor, poet
and electronic musician. Her several disciplines
feel less like different worlds that she enters and
more like parts of a continuous whole, the working-
out of a single rhizomic idea. I’m interested in how
polymaths think: They are less beholden to the
expectations of any single art form, and can think
laterally and even pack up and walk out of the
frame if need be.
I notice that Atkinson’s music has the quality of
her art, and, vice versa, a generative dreaminess both
domestic and oceanic. Her art is generally large-
scale, atmospheric and somewhat unsettling while
using familiar referents and materials. She works
a lot with colorful fabric and with arrangements
of household objects (vases, books, old televisions,
crystals, fruit) on gallery floors. There’s a playful
quality to it that is counterbalanced with a sense
of restraint and focus. In artist statements, she
seeks unconventional analogies that make a kind
of intuitive sense, often conceptually linking the
body to her sculptural and sonic materials. One
documented piece on her website is described as “a
feminist hymn composed as a pyramidal structure,
referring in the same time to the A-frame houses,
the yoga position of the triangle, the first letter of
the roman alphabet and the feminine sex.” Her
music has a similar quality of ghostly serendipity,
of something deep within the subconscious
suddenly being brought to the surface. Even by
the standards of ambient music, Atkinson’s work
is unusually enveloping, almost claustrophobic.
Her 2018 album “The Flower And The Vessel” is
a lovely assemblage of Rhodes, resonant metal
sounds, indeterminately placed field recordings
and Atkinson’s own voice, often whispering or
quietly murmuring fragments of text — she has
saidshe uses whispering in her music because
“whispering is a way to get inside your ear.”
She is, to a lesser extent, a writer whose work
with language lives in a similarly beguiling
space. A friend recently got a copy of her 2014
book
“Improvising
Sculpture
As
Delayed
Fictions,” which I assumed to be a theory-heavy
international-art-English book about her sculpture
but turned out to be something enticing, decidedly
literary and difficult to compare to anything.
The first thing you might notice about this
book is how self-contained of an object it is. The
unadorned, aggressively green cover gives almost
no information about the book, and there is no
author bio or explanation of purpose to be found
anywhere. Even the opening few pages lack the
usual copyright and publisher information (which
is at the end), instead immediately immersing the
reader in its strange textual world.
The book could be
called poetry by default,
but it varies so much that
any genre designation
could be partially correct
but would be leaving
something crucial out.
There
are
moments
where the text, which
is splayed all over the
page in a semi-Concrete
fashion,
resembles
a
collage-like
collection
of appropriated texts.
One page simply has nouns scattered all over the
page: “The Book / The Painting / The Concept /
The Secret Desire / The Freedom.” There are also
more cohesive segments that describe a scene or
a character, or tell self-contained, surreal fables:
A rich, spoiled girl is “wrecking her twenties in a
desperate dance,” a piece of scribbled-on paper
is turned into a ready-made and displayed in the
apartment of a wealthy woman, whose daughter
unwittingly brings home the boy who scribbles
on it years later. Characters occasionally recur,
occasional development seems to begin happening
before it’s cut off abruptly like a closed browser
window. The most consistently recurring mode in
“Improvising Sculpture” is Atkinson’s whimsical
narration of the thoughts objects might have,
interspersed with often nonspecific dialogue
between humans.
More frequently, though, the text of the book
takes on an amorphous character, like something
overheard, fragments from the middle of
something. We are not let in on the joke here, but
everything is halfway recognizable. “A painting
of a tree. / How can one be a tree… / Can you feel
the tree? / How can a painting be. How can such a
thing be? I don’t understand the material process
of art. How something from one’s mind can be
transferred to paint and then to an idea? Do you
believe in ghosts?” The language comes close
to theorizing or describing and then dissolves
into refusal. Words are occasionally in different
typefaces seemingly without explanation, the
arrangement of words on the page is either in
bracing blocks of continuous language or in
pointillistic fragments. All this is also interspersed
with black-and-white photographs of Atkinson’s
art, and it’s tempting to think that this work
simply resembles that awkward younger brother
of literature and criticism, the Art Book, a kind of
writing peripheral to both art and literature. But
because these black-and-white photographs are so
unrelated to the body text, and because it’s too hard
to tell what one is looking at most of the time, they
begin to resemble visual analogues to the beguiling
work. There’s an analogy to be made between the
oddly indeterminate text and the images that are
shorn of their usual mechanism for conveying
something, especially considering that Atkinson’s
art is so reliant on the nuances of color and texture.
To that end, the language Atkinson uses isn’t
exactly poetic, not quite beautiful or even really
very stylish. Her sentences are short, declarative,
signage-like. She frequently sounds like she is
speaking only because she is fed up. At one point
in the text she apologizes for her many typos by
saying she isn’t a native speaker, but these mistakes
feel deliberate to me. Her incorrect grammar
gives the language of “Improvising Sculpture” a
dreamlike quality. “First comes the dreams and
later the words.” “She is in her early thirties, feels
younger than what? Older than some other things,
too.” She intersperses the text frequently with
imperatively gentle statements: “lay down,” “roll
roll roll for me,” “please.” There’s a tense balance,
familiar to me from her music, between hard,
impenetrable texture and affectionate sensuality,
and especially in her more descriptive moments.
“It’s June all of a sudden, it’s warm and / and
spring feels from here like a shy little sister in the
woods… It’s hard to concentrate because she is also
listening to William’s conversation with Paul and
Maria, low level words melting in the saturated
music.” Moments like this remind me of other
writers pushing against the narrative necessities of
prose — William Carlos Williams, Olga Tokarczuk,
Jenny Offill, Mary Ruefle.
Her interest in writing these sections seems to
be similar to some of those writers, in that her aim
is essentially to document the texture of her life,
the patterns of thought an artist as brilliant and
active as Atkinson goes through in juxtaposition
with life. “Improvising Sculpture” feels like a
dreamy cousin to fiction, almost. What emerges
after reading the book is a feeling of being placed
inside of an experience, being placed inside of a life.
Emily Yang: Lost in the
world of Félicia Atkinson
EMILY YANG
Daily Literature Columnist
Welcome. Everything is fine. I wish I could say
that with any sort of confidence, but those four words
inevitably mean our favorite characters are embarking
on another insane and unworldly adventure. At the same
time, it also means we only have twelve episodes left
of creator Michael Schur’s dystopian afterlife comedy,
“The Good Place,” that has defied sitcom traditions by
reinventing itself over the course of its three-year run.
Although I was late to discover this innovative and
outlandish comedy — I only discovered the show as I
was in dire need of something to download for my plane
ride last winter break — I am truly blessed to step on The
Trans-Eternal Railway for one final experiment.
The premiere episode of the fourth and final season
opens up similarly to each of its predecessors with all of
the characters facing an uncertain future and delaying
their entry to The Bad Place. Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen
Bell, “Veronica Mars”), the former dirtbag from Arizona,
begins her improbable quest advocating for more
reasonable standards for acceptance into The Good
Place with the argument that it is possible for humans
to change after their lives on Earth end, just as she has
done. This time around, however, Eleanor will have to
do it without the help of her soulmate, Chidi Anagonye
(William Jackson Harper, “Jack Ryan”).
When Judge Jen (Maya Rudoplh, “Big Mouth”) agrees
to allow the original architect Michael (Ted Danson,
“Curb Your Enthusiasm”) to conduct this experiment,
the catch is that the new test humans will be chosen by
The Bad Place. One of the test humans, the neuroscientist
Simone (Kirby Howell-Baptiste, “Into the Dark”), is
a former love interest of Chidi. With the future of the
human after-life on the line, Chidi gets his memory wiped
out of fear that he will ruin the experiment through
his interactions with Simone. Much of this episode is
about the emotional toll felt by Eleanor, who is acting
as the architect and thus is not able to achieve eternal
happiness in a place where everyone else gets just that.
After Simone struggles to adjust to the afterlife, as she
believes she is in a coma and disrupts the neighborhood,
Michael suggests they “activate” Chidi. Eleanor is quick
to deny this plan out of fear that Chidi and Simone may
light a spark but eventually agrees. Afterall, the fate of
the human afterlife hangs in the balance of Eleanor.
For the previous two seasons, fans were treated to
hour-long double-episode premieres which helped
to establish the season’s new plot. Whether due to
programming conflicts or some other circumstance that
I am unaware of, we are only treated to one 30-minute
program block. The end of the episode leaves us with a
cliffhanger, which is directly connected to my point that
this episode was missing something … another part! The
episode next week is titled “Part 2,” which means there
is more set-up to be done before Eleanor and her gang
establish what the tone of this final season will be. This
is the problem with serialized comedies on network
television: With only 22 minutes of programming time to
work with, what is the balance between telling us enough
information to stay excited and curious and get us to
watch again next week, while also satisfying our needs
for plot development?
Although the premiere is successful and I am thrilled
to watch this show again on a week-to-week basis,
the delay in airing “Part 2” makes the experience less
fulfilling compared to previous season premieres. This is
probably due to the complex nature of the show. The only
times we hear Tahani (Jameela Jamil, “How to Build a
Girl”) speak are when she is name-dropping a celebrity
she knew on Earth, and Jason (Manny Jacinto, “Bad
Times at El Royale”) seems to only be focused on his
kinda-relationship with Janet (D’Arcy Carden, “Barry”).
For those who are on the edge of committing to watch the
season, this episode neither raises nor answers enough
questions. All this being said, I am sure next week will
feature these missing elements.
‘The Good Place’ returns
strong, but notably short
JUSTIN POLLACK
For the Daily
TV REVIEW
The thing about shows that run for over five seasons is
that the cast and crew are oftentimes tied to that project
for that duration of their life. Kids become adults, adults get
older and people change tremendously. “Modern Family”
is no exception. It’s been a decade since it first aired, and if
you can imagine how much your own life has changed in
this time, then you can certainly imagine how this portrait
of three families in modern day has adapted to how times
have changed.
Although I was nine years old when “Modern Family”
first started, I picked it up at a random time some years later
and haven’t been able to leave it since. The show follows
three diverse families as they learn how to navigate in the
cruel world that is modern society. The variety of personality
in each episode makes it easy to find at least one character to
relate to and one you’d rather be. Unless you have the luxury
of time, don’t binge it from the very beginning; instead, opt
for a few seasons before the finale. You’ll be able to catch up
quickly and share the same bittersweet feeling that devoted
viewers will inevitably feel when the show comes to its end.
The first episode of the final season picks up right where
the last season left off, with the birth of Haley’s (Sarah
Hyland, “The Wedding Year”) twins. The infants won’t
stop crying, and the instant chaos is both familiar, hilarious
and soothing. Our favorite families are back, and with the
witty quips it’s easy to tell that 11 seasons in, production
and cast know exactly what they are doing. The episode is
particularly heart-warming, as we get to see the duality of
Haley’s irresponsible nature merge with her new experience
as a mother. Toward the end, she accidentally locks herself
out of the house and ends up climbing the roof and into the
window with swiftness, like she used to do as a teenager
when she had to sneak back into the house late at night.
Simultaneously, Cam (Eric Stonestreet, “The Secret
Life of Pets 2”) and Mitchell (Jesse Tyler Ferguson, “Pete
the Cat”) are back at their house holding a meeting with
the at-risk kids at Cam’s high school, where he’s the vice
principal. Cam accuses the kids of stealing his tacky clown
statue, and boy, are the jokes fresh. In a world where it’s easy
to get canceled for risky jokes (albeit, sometimes rightfully
so), the show pushes the edge and maintains its comedy
skillfully. He makes quick hits at the kids’ “at-risk” status,
and in “Modern Family” fashion, they never linger too long
on a joke. Spoiler alert: It was all a ploy enacted by Cam to get
Mitchell to confess to throwing the clown statue away.
Even with around 11 main cast members to follow
throughout the seasons, and with only half an hour to tell
a story, the show never feels rushed. And while it’s a real
shame that network television is losing a gem like this, I
can’t help but feel happy in this bittersweet beginning that
the show is quitting on their own terms and not because
of the dreaded sitcom downward spiral. With 117 awards,
there’s no doubt that the show has had a successful run up
to this point, and it’s understandable that they want to end
on a good note. Despite each episode’s chaos, everything is
running like a well-oiled machine and there’s no doubt that
the show will continue and end with dignity and warmth.
‘Modern Family’ grows up
SOPHIA YOON
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
NBC
FÉLICIA ATKINSON
LITERATURE COLUMN
The Good Place
Season 4 Premiere
NBC
Thursdays @ 9 p.m.
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
Modern Family
Season 11 Premiere
ABC
Wednesdays @ 9 p.m.
In artist statements,
she seeks
unconventional
analogies that
make a kind of
intuitive sense,
often conceptually
linking the body to
her sculptural and
sonic materials