My reference to Giuliana Bruno’s Surface in Part Two of this essay not only allows us to think through Alois’s salon-style frames – the text also provides us with a useful framework for drawing out aspects latent in the artist’s earlier work. By way of a conclusion, I would like to further explore this possibility in order to demonstrate the persistence with which Alois treats the surface as something mutable and in transformation.
I asserted at the end of Part Two that the artist’s wall-mounted frames may be understood as canvases, windows, and screens simultaneously, therefore enacting the surface tension that Bruno understands as reflective of our contemporary surroundings. I would here like to point out that the concept of surface tension – the dialogue between media that we witness through an examination of surfaces – adds a productive patina to the more conventional definition of tension demonstrated by Alois’s use of wool. It is tension – a pull in opposite directions – that keeps the wool in locking geometric shapes within the frames. I propose here that the tension manifest at the physical, material level (wool) might be understood as a reflection of the conceptual tension demonstrated by the interplay of screen, canvas, and architecture. If we visualize the surface as a material stretched to its breaking point by the forces of its various functions (screen, canvas, architecture), then the wool pulled taut by forces in opposite directions is an echo of this overarching tension.
We may apply such a reading to Alois’s earlier Repercussion series, which is composed of latex lines applied to paper that has been manipulated by the artist’s intervention (pinching, folding, etc.) (fig. 2). Though the work relates to cartography insofar as the paper resembles an aerial view of a three-dimensional landscape, the straight lines serving as references for changes in depth, a second reading is possible if we consider the contractive quality of latex. Within the context of the work, the gradual shrinkage of latex appears to be responsible for the physical distortion of the two-dimensional surface of the paper into a three-dimensional sculptural form, the paper crunching, bunching, and shrinking together as a result. The tension imparted by the latex lines (itself skirting a line between two- and three-dimensions) transforms the paper into a surface in flux – surface tension.
If we return to Alois’s spinning lattice from Part One, its gridded architecture manifesting and dissolving repeatedly, an application of Bruno’s text would allow us a shift in emphasis. Certainly the work itself recalls the optical experiments of Latin American pioneers like Jesús Rafael Soto and Carlos Cruz-Diez, both of whom the artist cites as important references. But through an application of the concept of surface tension, we can speak more of the materiality of the work by remarking on the structure’s fluctuation between solid architecture and its dissolution into color and light, forming something like a screen that captures light and renders it palpable and material. No longer seen as just a cube set in motion, the sculpture is simultaneously an architectural model and a screen upon which light and color play. Such a reading opens up the work to an expanded set of references. We can, for example, push the idea of the cinematic further by examining the rectangular module that caught my attention for its two-dimensionality. As the cube spins, this shape flickers in a linear movement across the cube as our eyes helplessly follow to catch up, perhaps like a film strip as it moves through a projector, allowing us to speak of the cube not only as animated in its mobility, but as an animation. My use of the word flicker here is not coincidental, as the sensation of viewing the cube in motion strongly evokes the “flicker” films of Paul Sharits. Rosalind Krauss has written that such films disclose how motion in cinema is manifest by exaggerating the tension between the component of the static film “still” [perhaps “module” is appropriate here too] and the illusion of uninterrupted movement created when the stills are set into a rapid sequence.[i] Krauss writes:
Consciousness is thus involved in a situation of paradox – a battle between experience and reason. Deep within the very grain of film is the same tension: between the sinuous flow of movement through time and the single frame whose potential for analysis is realized only by interrupting that flow. If one tries, in the flicker, to catch the ‘reality’ of each frame, one is left with the diagram of movement, the analysis of film’s components, the absence of kinesthesis. One is left, that is, with an abstraction and not with film. In Sharits’s work there is a dual experience of what it means to be film (in motion) and to analyze it (in stasis). The emotional impact of the flicker films, and their success as art, arises out of this evocation of the dual terms of consciousness.[ii]
The rectangular unit in Alois’s sculpture, insofar as it punctures in staccato the fluid movement of the spinning cube, functions precisely in this manner. If the flickering effect in a Sharits film points back to the module’s movement through the projector, so too is the flicker in Alois’s cube a disclosure of the basic module – also a rectangular frame – here utilized towards the end of engendering a spatial and temporal ambiguity. The motor that spins the cube is like a film projector, its activation causing a second movement in flickering rectilinear frames.
The concept of surface tension allows us to understand the cube as simultaneously architecture, a screen for light, and allusion to the flickering filmic membrane, presenting us with the foundation for a strong continuity with Alois’s recent salon-style frames. They are united in their exploration of the mutability and heterogeneity of surface.
[i] Krauss, Rosalind. “Paul Sharits.” In Paul Sharits: Dream Displacement and Other Projects. Buffalo: Albright-Knox Gallery, 1976. The version of the essay I consulted was reproduced in Film Culture, 1978. See (pg. 96). “A flicker effect, well below the threshold of perception, is intrinsically a part of the phenomenology of filmviewing. What the flicker film does is magnify this effect, raising it above the perceptual threshold, but maintaining nonetheless its rapid-fire impact. In this way, the optical information on the screen becomes the visual correlative of the mechanical gearing of lens and shutter.”
[ii] Ibid. (pg. 97).