SUBSTANCE IN CONTEXT
Essay by Ruedi Baur, internationally well-known Paris-based designer,
theorist, author and Professor of the Academy of Visual Arts HGB, Leipzig
published in the book Mayo Bucher OPEN SIGN 2002
It is best to be clear from the start: the author of this text is no art historian. As a designer with a preference for geometric art, minimal painting of the constructivist or conceptual kind, the avant-garde at the start of the last century, I have been fortunate enough to have had several opportunities to devise and produce catalogues for artists working along similar lines. I would like to approach the work of Mayo Bucher through a consideration of the problems involved in the reproduction of works of art.
Traditionally, and still today in most cases, the figurative or abstract picture is turned into an image when it appears in an art book or catalogue. Originally it is a flat object, yet still three-dimensional, and consists of a canvas pulled over a stretcher or similar support, surrounded by a more or less imposing frame: in these works, we have the appearance of a simple iconographic surface contained by a perfect square or rectangle. The white area around the reproduction becomes a kind of edge which takes away the perception of the frame as well as the volume. The outer edges of the work as well as the transition between painting and non-painting are withdrawn from our view, privileging the subject on the canvas. This withdrawal might only have a minimal effect on how we view the work when the picture is figurative, or is expressed by intense colour variations. It is a different matter altogether with the picture/object, where paint does not only form a part of the surface but in a way is its defining quality.
The total absence of subject matter, with fewer motifs needing to conform to the geometry of the picture, brings up concerns about the frame again. The simpler this frame is and the more minimal the picture, the stronger its influence. At the beginning of the twentieth century we would hardly have imagined doing without this object round the edge. Kazimir Malevich’s Suprematist compositions as well as the three monochromes Alexander Rodchenko made in 1921 were conceived as painted surfaces to be framed. Then probably only El Lissitzky saw the picture as something to be taken charge of in its totality, a flat sculpture. In a slightly ironic way, we could state that during the twentieth century non-figurative artists made a concerted effort to design this object around their work, or to determine its outer edges. As they wanted the frame to be more and more simple and as far as possible a part of the support, in the end they realised that the picture alone, if we can still refer to it as such, had to fulfill this function. Therefore frames gradually disappeared as the support came to prominence either because of its physical quality or its chosen thickness. This finding is particularly evident in the works of Mayo Bucher. However substantial the frame would need to be to balance the support, it generally follows the line of the picture: thus allowing a distinction to be made between the ground itself and any added elements. In Bucher’s case we can say categorically that one section of the body of the work becomes the essential part. More generally, we could suggest that the more minimal a canvas is, the closer it gets to this perfect geometry, this pure form, the more important becomes the outer edge. The flat tint of a monochrome can be read via this very boundary. This development raises the question of how to reproduce this kind of work. In the case of near-perfect monochromes, it is not a question of taking a squared-up reproduction, as one could easily do without detracting too much from figurative works. In order to appreciate the work fully we need to reproduce its surroundings or the wall it is hung on. The solution however is hardly satisfactory because we need to see the picture fully from the front and at the same time be aware of its surroundings. The image on its own is sometimes not enough. Three prerequisite steps would need to be taken: That which takes in the whole space and relates the work to its surroundings, specifically the perception of the edge; that section which defines the object and its motif in its entirety, and finally that which enables the reading of the physical quality of both any detail or full-size reproduction of any one part of the picture.
Faced with a similar problem with a catalogue for the artist Susanna Fritscher, who was working on white installations deliberately rendered almost invisible against the white background of the gallery walls, I tried to simulate the route the visitor might take when confronted with this work. I did this through creating multiple viewpoints and almost breaking down all movement. But in practice it is still near-impossible to reconstruct what the visitor would see in reality in such a space. We now know that the eye permanently transmits to the brain data based on three sorts of double receptors with a variety of focal lengths. By receiving and memorising data, we can simultaneously take in the context, the object and its detail, which is to say the space surrounding the work, the picture and its relationship to the wall, and finally, the physical quality of the work, its detail and texture. Our bodies move through space. Thus the eye adds to and completes this impressive data bank which makes up our perception of the work. Of course, information lodged in our memories about events which have taken place before seeing the work may well overlap with that perception.
Nowadays also, due to the fascinating developments in neurological research we know that perception of form precedes that of colour. In the first instance we fix on volumes which subsequently become a kind of colour. This therefore confirms that the more reduced the two dimensional element of the work is, the greater the importance of the outline volume is to a full appreciation of the artist’s work. Taking Yves Klein’s monochromes as a case in point, we realise that the intensity of these objects, which are mostly blue, depends on the contrast between the overall use of this colour in its almost pure form and the irregularities of the picture surface and its porous material.
When it comes to the reproduction of this kind of work, it is only too obvious that these slight irregularities themselves become the defining characteristics. It is impossible to reproduce the appearance of the work by any simple, uniformly blue rectangle.
In Mayo Bucher’s work, monochromatic preoccupations have long been superseded. Yet a constant factor overall is still the question of the minimal surface, «imperfect» due to its backing, which gives it its unique quality. The tension comes from the contrast between the simple, geometric structures dividing the picture/object, and the physical qualities which seem uniform from a distance but become increasingly complex depending on how close one gets to them. The different levels of perception of the eye have to take in complementary, even disparate information: the context, with one section assuming prominence as we read it, the simple geometric structure of the object which has been remembered, and finally the odd physical quality lurking behind the monochromatic appearance. Equally, there is the contrast between different parts of the picture referring to the object and followed through in a section, and those which relate to the loose or geometric traces registered purely on the surface of the picture. Clearly, apart from making more images, the two-dimensional reproduction of this work remains difficult, if not impossible.
With this in mind, two standpoints seem possible. Either the sacrifice of thickness in order to favour, as perfectly as possible, the reproduction of the surface to the detriment of the perception of the object; or permanently to forget this notion of reproduction in order to find oneself instead in what I would call, a certain representation of the work. This more liberal approach allows us to draw near to the work by a succession of partial and complementary information. The total of which brings the reader/viewer to a global perception, necessarily imperfect but much richer than that based on any impossible restoration of “reality”. The present catalogue/art book follows this approach. It allows us to understand and to perceive the different facets of Mayo Bucher’s work without having to dwell on questions regarding the correct reproduction of each one. For example, the question of density is introduced by the design of the front cover. Rather than supporting the reproduction of an existing work, it becomes the subject of the conception of a “made to measure” pictorial object. We could note that this act of adapting the image to the format still leads to the suppression of a frame, this time of the graphic frame surrounding the reproduction. But most important in this notion of ‘made to measure’, it seems to me, is the fact that relevant to the design, the artist’s free attitude to creativity is once again reasserted.
We know that this is far from being Mayo Bucher’s first attempt at a cover. A reputed graphic designer, we do not however recognise him in the group of artists developing alternative careers as designers, and even less so in that of graphic designers simply forgetting their professional worries and painting. This is about inter-disciplinarity. This word, unfortunately over-used today, does manage to suggest, however, the capacity of Mayo Bucher to develop a work widely exceeding the frame of the single pictorial discipline: indeed, to reunite different creative attitudes, depending on the context. Moving with ease from the single object presented in a gallery, to the packaging of objects, from the illustration of newspaper articles, to monumental interventions in an architectural framework, he succeeds in maintaining the coherence of the ensemble. Very often, he will use the potential which one activity offers him to finalise research started in another.
For example, even the previously developed comments on the subject of the depth of the picture or the “made to measure” nature of the cover of this book, or other packaging, could be taken into account to talk of a domain to which Mayo Bucher is particularly drawn: intervention in the architectural arena. Once again, we find this approach consisting of suppressing the frame, by fully capturing the space available and constructing the motif according to it. By taking possession of the whole of the wall, indeed the whole volume, Mayo Bucher fully integrates his work with the architectural. Making the surface vibrate without any hint of placing himself in opposition to the larger spatial volumes, he introduces a major graphic element whilst remaining strongly minimal, and as such fruitfully contradicts, for example, the outmoded dogmas of Adolf Loos.
To sum up, Mayo Bucher works on angles, densities, light, structure and colour. He constructs his works in appropriate relation to context, developing the “made to measure” approach and adapting superbly to each type of support. An artist of many means, he passes with ease from art to design. The works of Mayo Bucher do not reproduce themselves, they represent themselves.