Art Review of Alibis: Sigmar Polke. Retrospective

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Alibis: Sigmar Polke. RetrospectiveMuseum Ludwig, Köln (Cologne)

March 14 to July 5, 2015

Published at Hyperallergic as Sigmar Polke’s Dreamy, Trippy Art Went Deeper than Pop

hyperallergic.com/214765/sigmar-polkes-dreamy-trippy-art-went-deeper-than-pop/

Sigmar Polke was based in Köln (Cologne) for over thirty years before he died there in 2010

at age 69, and his Alibis: Retrospective brings his body of work home to rest. To be sure the

exhibition is a kind of laying to rest of Polke’s central concept: a process-based spontaneity

where art is more of an act of calculated conversion and less of an enduring artifact.

Regardless, this hometown hoopla bolsters Polke as a museum/market wunderkind (even as

it inters his central artistic premise) by cleanly displaying roughly 250 items he left behind,

generally segregating them by medium. Taken together, the works divulge, veil, dissemble

and entangle late-20th century overcooked pop imagery with gushy non-representational

abstract fluids in an apparent résistance to both conventional sense and artistic branding.

They at least beautifully illustrate Polke’s persistent penchant for deranged rigor and his

implacable commitment to meaningless charade.

An inescapable reference for me behind his work is the painter/poet Francis Picabia, as

clearly Polke’s is an open-minded post-conceptual art that is Dada in its playful

Duchampian sensitivity. From 1961 to 1967 Polke studied at the Arts Academy in

Düsseldorf, where Joseph Beuys was quite influential, under K.O. Götz and Gerhard

Hoehme. He attended the 1963 Fluxus festival in Düsseldorf Festum Fluxorum, Fluxus,

Musik und Antimusik, das Instrumentale Theater that was organized by George Maciunas at

the Staatliche Kunstakademie. A Neo-Dada Fluxus-like devotion to the instability of

process - tied to deranged humor - pervades his artistic delights.

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Polke integrated the photomechanical into his paintings as early as 1963, work that pointed

the way towards his penchant for image manipulation. Along with a tilt towards these

titanic paintings, early in there are simply wonderful dainty watercolor drawings from his

youthful notebooks. A cool wall of ghostly washy photographs, taken on the suffering old

Bowery, span an entire wall. Astonishing were the weird trolling photo-based prints like

“Untitled” (1975) and “Untitled (Quetta, Pakistant)” (1974-78) and a plethora of intensely

complex stencil paintings, like “Pill” (1976) and “Alice in Wonderland” (1972). There were

a few mediocre process potato sculptures like “Potato House” (1967) that struck me as

flat-footed, but some truly excellent looped films were tucked into dark niches.

The show stresses his paintings, but the films are the buried truffles. They are the key to

the oeuvre, as film exerts a pervasive influence on all his ethereal-evoking creations. The

semi-see-through translucent qualities of film - its chemical constitution - its assumption of

casting a wide but immaterial projection - pervades the work. This filmy assertion on my

part is backed up by the fact that Polke as a teenager apprenticed in a stained-glass studio:

the art of translucency par excellence.

“In Search of Bohr-mann Brazil and Its Consequences” (1975–76) still from 16mm film transferred to video (color,

sound), 37:21 min. Private collection. Photo: © The Estate of Sigmar Polke

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The membrane-like still frame from Polke’s 16mm film, “In Search of Bohr-mann Brazil and

Its Consequences” (1975–76), is a key indicator of his translucent tendency through out.

For example within the jocund stencil painting “Can you always believe your eyes?”

(1976). Here, as in most of his work, Polke blends and bends the aesthetic rules of

reproductive technology through Picabia-like simultaneous translucency. This imaginative

technique is typical of some of the strongest work in the exhibition. With it Polke proves

himself principally to be an enfant terrible of body/net consciousness, bringing to art a

suggestive high spirit and lively mirthfulness that is moderately relevant to our virtually

connected times - times that can seem to merge the physical and metaphysical.

“Can you always believe your eyes?” (1976) Gouache, enamel and acrylic paints, tobacco, zinc sulfide and cadmium

207 x 295 cm Sammlung Liebelt, Hamburg © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

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“Pill” (1976) Gouache, metallic, enamel, and acrylic paints on paper and canvas 207 x 295 cm Sammlung Liebelt,

Hamburg © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

With such esoteric filmy amalgamations as the limitless “Pill” (1976), Polke raises

awareness of a key contemporary dilemma: the quality of the interface between corpus

embodiment and diaphanous cyberspace, where form is adrift vis-a-vis how the figure was

once understood. The work’s translucent and filmy (virtual) quality, stemming from Polke’s

central idea of art as slippery process, gives “Pill” (and most of his work) an expansive

(almost ecstatic) capability that is shared with immaterial media distribution on the net.

Pointing towards this direction is his early media-based paintings such as “Girlfriends”

(1965/1966) where Polke incorporated the photo-reproductive material of raster dots that

were used in printed image reproduction. It is a work that also calls to mind Roy

Lichtenstein’s “Look Mickey” (1961) where he first employed the clamor of photo-process

Ben-Day dots. In this regard, Polke’s Euro pop photo-process-conceptualism well reflects

the German post-war society built on freedom of choice. However spectacular and

ultimately consumerist it may turn out to be.

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Installation view, Alibis: Sigmar Polke. Retrospective with “Girlfriends” (1965/1966) (central) © The Estate of

Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015 Foto: Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Köln, Alina Cürten

“Girlfriends” (1965/1966) Dispersion paint on canvas 150 x 190 cm. Froehlich Collection, Stuttgart Photo: ©

Froehlich Collection Archive © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

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“Untitled” (1986) Dispersionsfarbe Tweed auf Persianergewebe 300 x 500 cm Museum Ludwig Köln Photo: ©

Rheinisches Bildarchiv Köln © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

“Windows” (1994) Kunstharzlack, Stoff auf dem bedrucktem Polyestergewebe 300 x 500 cm. Museum Ludwig Köln

Photo: © Rheinisches Bildarchiv Köln © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

At the entrance of Alibis, after passing between two mammoth paintings - the goofy spill

piece “Untitled” (1986) and the cheeky translucent post-pop “Windows” (1994) - I was

met with a photograph of Polke holding up the Mothers of Invention’s 1970 album cover

Weasels Ripped My Flesh as part of his bio info. This record’s outstanding use of free jazzy

sonic experimentation, funny innovative or elaborate lyrical nonsense and incredible noise

music turns out to be another source indicator that Polke dropped along the way. It opens

up to contextualization his array of counterintuitive antiauthoritarian images - images that

seem to be frozen in a moment of décadent sliding and slipping around on the flimsy filmy

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picture plane. Although pop oriented, like Zappa, Polke’s alchemy and psychochemical

work is charged with cartoonish personal excitement in contact with the mystery and

chance of everyday life - the flow of life in its most relaxed nonrepresentational.

“Untitled” (1975) Gelatin silver print 88,6 x 81,7 cm The Museum of Modern Art, New York Gift of Jo Carole and

Ronald S. Lauder Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / John Wronn © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst

Bonn, 2015

“Untitled (Quetta, Pakistant)” (1974-78) Gelatin silver print with applied color 56,9 x 85,9 cm Glenstone

Photo: © Alex Jamison © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

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“Dr. Berlin” (1969–74) Dispersion paint, gouache, and spray paint on canvas 150 x 120 cm Private Collection

Photo: © Wolfgang Morell © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015

Silly, druggy distressed image-clusters, like within the out-to-lunch “Dr. Berlin” (1969–74),

give the sensation of sliding pop images washed back up from the curl of the last

technological wave. It mashes-up hallucinatory Henri Michaux-like mind-bending art with

Thomas Bayrle’s focus on technology gone wild. Translucent derangement permeates the

work, making it one of the funniest. Indeed, there is something of the sensual enjoyment of

getting high throughout this show that so pervaded the 70s and 80s cultural scene,

transmitted by intensely fulfilling moments of craft competence sliding into the openly

unfinished, as with “Police Pig” (1986) and the exceptionally pomo “Negro Sculpture”

(1968). Even though it was installed far too high up on the wall, the wobbly “Dr. Berlin”

amusingly decomposed and melted the more time I spent with it. Its translucency is

Dionysian semi-chaotic in spirit. But as well it is tongue-in-cheek aggressive in its

ethereality towards visual convention and with its caustic punk humor. In that respect it is

indeed a form of anti-pop (or post-pop) art, somewhat inspiring in our tedious times of

celebrity branded fame-pop-star/art-stars. In that sense it’s concept is the opposite of

Joseph Kosuth’s pop-like “One and Three Chairs” (1965) in that Kosuth’s artistic

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statement is all about what constitutes an evident sign that is there all at once and

immediately obvious to all. Rather, Polke constructs an imaginative translucent space of

non-accommodation.

Polke’s brilliant instinct for the deteriorating figurative images - such as when he barely

paints “Why Can't I Stop Smoking?” (1964) or loosely paints over tawdry pattern fabrics,

as with “Heron Painting I” (1968) - stand in for hallowed indications of something deeper

than pop. They demonstrate how visual concepts attain disappearance in the immateriality

of our media imagination. As such, he shows himself to be a sideways-in symbolist painter,

one alert to the stylistics of both pop (a badly formulated misunderstanding of the deeper

stakes in life) and lyrical abstraction – a combination with which he draws us irresistibly

into the potency of the flow of day-by-day existence.

Installation view, Alibis: Sigmar Polke. Retrospective with “The Spirits That Lend Strength Are Invisible II (Meteor

Extraterrestrial Material)” (1988) (left) © The Estate of Sigmar Polke / VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, 2015_Foto:

Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Köln, Alina Cürten

Polke’s use of flowing ethereal translucency is of course also evident in the filmy spill

paintings he made, such as the cosmic “The Spirits That Lend Strength Are Invisible II

(Meteor Extraterrestrial Material)” (1988). This delicious painting immediately reminded

me of the transcendent installation of four of Polke’s “Cloud Paintings” (1992–2009) now

on view in Paris as part of the second phase of the inaugural year of the Fondation Louis

Vuitton. These four large, nearly monochromatic golden paintings of identical size on semi-

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transparent silk fabric, transparently divulge the structure of the frames beneath. Their

washy breathy flaxen surfaces share the space with a 4-billion-year-old meteorite that was

found following a meteor shower in 1947, when Polke was six years old. These super subtle

paintings, so full of play between transparency, translucence and opacity, are some of

Polke’s best ever. It is a real pity that they were not included in his retrospective, just

hours away.

“Cloud Painting” (1992–2009) installation shot with 4 billion-year-old meteorite at Fondation Louis Vuitton,

Paris (authorized photo by the author)

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“Cloud Painting” (1992–2009) installation shot with 4 billion-year-old meteorite at Fondation Louis

Vuitton, Paris (authorized photo by the author)

“Cloud Painting” (1992–2009) at Fondation Louis Vuitton, Paris (authorized photo by the author)

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“Cloud Painting” (1992–2009) at Fondation Louis Vuitton, Paris (authorized photo by the author)

Happily, this cosmic paranormal side of Polke is full blown in the early, altogether deviant,

film “The Whole Body Feels Light and Wants to Fly…”. It is an audacious 1969

collaboration between the artist Christof Kohlhöfer and Polke depicting something of an

eccentric séance. It is a droll highly imaginative film about psychic manipulation that

knocked lightly on my inner world.

I watched minute snippets of it three times from its black corner installation within the

exhibition. But I wanted to hang around for the complete 33-minute projection on the large

cinema screen where its impudent trance powers were altogether revealed. This black+white

and color 16mm film (transferred to digital video) with sound overlay was altogether

amazing in its combination of stoned determination and riotous ambiguity. Kohlhöfer, who

spoke after the screening, shot the film as Polke played jester. The overlay soundtrack he

made includes some dreamy/stony Chet Baker and Brenda Lee songs, a nod to Kenneth

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Anger’s experimental short film “Scorpio Rising” (1963) with its use of 60s pop songs by

Ricky Nelson, The Angels, The Crystals, Bobby Vinton, Elvis Presley, and Ray Charles.

Polke’s mild antics often pitch his human body against invisible forces of nature that must

be displayed and withstood through stony sentiment. Along the way they free everyday

things from their function and endow them with magical qualities where the whole lot is

floating between inebriated filmy fantasy and grounded reality. The film feels like a private

ritual. One scene, that recalled Bruce Nauman’s body-based video work “In Stamping in the

Studio” (1968) where he filmed himself repeatedly stamping back and forth across his

studio floor, showed Polke furiously and repeatedly scratching himself over his clothes as

two Brenda Lee songs play over each other. There is no Debordian spectacular society

portrayed. Rather, Kohlhöfer traces the tension between a dreamy Polke and emotionless

trance. The flamboyant camera work by Kohlhöfer reinforces the paranormal fantasy

aspects of things by showing slow repetitive actions from very unusual perspectives. For

example, we see Polke undergo something of a tortuous encounter with the magic of a

pendulum. Reclining, his face is covered over by a white hood, showing only his nose and

mouth through a roughly cut hole. In his mouth he is holding and moving up and down a

rubber basting-ball. Amusingly, he jousts with the metal tip of the swinging pendulum,

creating a knightly defense against gravity-charged penetration through blind engagement. In

a voice over we hear a cackling Polke read a weird but poetic text that included bits from

The Secret of the Golden Flower: A Chinese Book of Life and The Seventh Book of Mosis.

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Christof Kohlhöfer and Sigmar Polke,The Whole Body Feels Light and Wants to Fly… / Der ganze Körper fühlt sich

leicht und möchte fliegen… 1969. Still from digital transfer of16mm film by Dieter Schleicher. Courtesy Christof

Kohlhöfer © Christof Kohlhöfer

Christof Kohlhöfer and Sigmar Polke, “The Whole Body Feels Light and Wants to Fly… / Der ganze Körper fühlt

sich leicht und möchte fliegen…” (1969) Still image by Dieter Schleicher from the 33 min color and

black&white 16mm sound film (transferred to digital video) courtesy of Christof Kohlhöfer © The Estate of Sigmar

Polke & Christof Kohlhöfer

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Christof Kohlhöfer and Sigmar Polke,The Whole Body Feels Light and Wants to Fly… / Der ganze Körper fühlt sich

leicht und möchte fliegen… 1969. Still from digital transfer of16mm film by Dieter Schleicher. Courtesy Christof

Kohlhöfer © Christof Kohlhöfer

The color film segment shows the weirdness of long cucumbers leisurely swimming and

cavorting around Polke’s feet as he stands in a tub of water. This is accompanied by one of

Brenda Lee’s most romantic and sappy songs, Someone To Love Me. That scene has an

intricate interplay of complexity between the natural erotic oddness of cucumbers and the

bland normality of Polke’s brown shoes. But the best bit of the film is without Polke: a

lengthy overhead shot of an overstuffed lackluster chair that, after receiving a water assault,

gains almost vibrate fairylike qualities from the rhythm of the swaying ceiling lamp in

conjunction with Kohlhöfer home made noise soundtrack. The machine-like sound was

achieved from Kohlhöfer plunking a metal knife on a tabletop and processing the resulting

tinny vibrating sound through six cassette tape players. It was brilliant, a first-rate example

of an art of noise as beautiful agitation, typical of the sort of informal post-

minimalism/post-conceptualism that turned towards the absurd so as to transcend the banal

world. I found it very astute.

“The Whole Body Feels Light and Wants to Fly…” movie early on makes evident that

intractable but filmy-translucent quality in Polke’s work that refuses inflexible control.

What we recognize in his cryptic paintings through this and other films is that by entering

into the gauzy repetitions of the high technology media machine, art encounters possibilities

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of disembodiment. With Polke, art can now be part of our technologically hallucinogenic

culture that functions along the lines of a dream, free from some of the classical strictures of

time and space; free from some of art’s traditional earthly limits which have been broken

down by the instantaneous nature of electronic communications. Modernist existential

concepts of the singular can be supplanted by the simultaneously translucent. In a way

liberating art from gravitational pull and linear time, vaporously placing it in the grip of a

technologically stored eternity (simulacrum-hyperreality). This quality of phantasmagorical

and perverse displacement has for some been a call for a tightening that formulates as a new

need for the “real” of the tactile. But for Polke, art existed as “real” when he could create it

through process-based technological apparatuses. Where he could dream himself into its

floating complex circuitry. I understand this aspect of Polke as an anti-materialist lurch

towards liberty in terms of self-transcendence of country, race and gender. It more than

anything displays and embodies the German aphorism that best sums up the work of

Sigmar Polke: Wir sind high und frei (We are high and free).

Joseph Nechvatal