 |
 |
 |
|||||
|
| ABOUT TRaC |
Visual Arts TRaC Fall 2004
Stefan's Room by Kutlug Ataman Before you are entirely sure what you are looking at in the dark gallery, before you can see the images projected on the five screens arranged in a circle, before you have come close enough to make out the meaning of the streams of words issuing forth from speakers stationed around the room, one thing becomes clear: you are no longer within your own realm. You are in "Stefan's Room". Kutlug Ataman's most recent exhibit does not ask you to come with your own thoughts and opinions; your ideas do not belong here. Ataman s in-depth look into the obsessive psyche of another man is captivating and enthralling. An unexpected breath of fresh air comes from being placed in a room that is not your creationÜyou can escape into the artwork in a way that allows the problems and worries etched across your own mind to fade away. Ataman strung up five screens from the ceiling at varying angles and heights -- all positioned so as to lure you into the space between them, where you become cocooned in. Looking around, you are accosted with different images of the Lepidoptera -- the butterfly -- alive or pinned and in various stages of its metamorphoses. The projected images are shaky close-ups that would feel more at home in a documentary to be yawned at than in a dark art gallery where they re the center of attention. Yet something about being surrounded by so many of the images at once turns them into a grotesquely fascinating display. The most predominant feature of the room is not the projected images, although that is all your eye is given to rest on. No, the main feature of the room is the accompanying voiceover: a soft, German-accented, tranquil voice of a man, Stefan, who has a slight cold, giving him a nasal twinge. In his painfully complacent voice he spills his wealth of knowledge concerning butterflies. Cocoons, the breaking out of cocoons, the dazzling patterns found on the wings of different butterflies: these are the things that concern Stefan. He rambles on in an uninterrupted monologue which you notice matches up with one of the five screens, the only one to hang perpendicular to the ground. Often he loses himself within his own descriptions, his voice declines in volume and tone as he retreats into himself. You look around you at the many images of butterflies and lose yourself along with him, staring at these images that compose his life: a planetarium of butterflies. These are his stars. Ataman's exhibit allows insight into the mind of a man with a singular obsession. The piece feels almost violating and too close to the heart of Stefan, yet you are mystically drawn into this invasiveness. "Stefan's Room" is made intriguing and memorable by the viewer's intense, full-on confrontation with someone else's psyche. As you leave the exhibition, Stefan's monologue continues on in your head, timid and haunting as only the voice of someone who've just been inside of can be.
|
|
