Ann Messner:
An exhibition of two works:
Oracle, 2003 and Ghost, 2004
at Ezra and Cecile Zilkha Gallery,
Wesleyan University Saturday,
April 17 - Sunday, May 23, 2004

An installation of photographs in the Main Gallery
A sculptural installation in the North Gallery

Images found in the archives of Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X are the originating source of Messner's large scale black-and-white photographs. As they wrap around the gallery, enveloping the viewer, they speak to the collective memory of three charismatic orators who were assassinated — silenced abruptly. Using the camera as an extension of the eye, the artist has created haunting images, the cumulative effect of which is a poetic narrative on silence. The accompanying sculptural installation in North Gallery, ghost, speaks further to the materiality of silence.

Nina Felshin, curator

Gallery Hours: Tuesday - Sunday, 12 - 4
For more information, call (860) 685-3355
www.wesleyan.edu/CFA


here and there 2003
text branded into surface of entrance mats
4 x 30 feet


detail of here and there 2003

oracle 2002-3
pages from book

oracle by Ann Messner (New York 2003 $25 paper) is a sequence of 57 full-pageblack and white photographic images - rephotographed from the historical archives of Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, creating a visual narrative on silence. This is a meditation on non-violence, on the gesture of civil disobedience, on the power of the public voice, on what is not heard, and what is heard, spoken and non spoken, and what is silenced. Using magnified soft focus with sharp contrasts of black and white, the pages are a personal meditation place for each reader. This is a powerful statement or better yet, it is a catalyst for personal silence and public outrage.

Umbrella vol.26, no.2 September 2003

Ann Messner

I do not know what it is like. I imagine I do as a matter of conscience. I have never felt the exact and cutting reality as I am being barred entrance, as I am being denied permission to leave. I do not know what it is like to have a dog ripping at my leg or a bullet passing through my flesh. I do not know what it is like to be told my son has been killed in a war I will never be able to understand. I do not know what it is like to put one's life on the line. I do not know what it is like. Still I continue to imagine I do as a matter of conscience.
January 2004

HERE AND THERE:
A WORK IN PROGRESS 2003
(TEXT BRANDED INTO CARPETS AND AUTHORS)

THIS LINE AT WHICH WE MUST STAND UNTIL WE ARE ALLOWED TO WALK ACROSS AND GIVE OUR PAPERS TO BE EXAMINED BY AN OFFICER WHO IS ENTITLED TO ASK US MORE OR LESS ANYTHING AT THE FRONTIER OUR LIBERTY IS STRIPPED AWAY WE HOPE TEMPORARILY AND WE ENTER THE UNIVERSE OF CONTROL EVEN THE FREEST OF SOCIETIES ARE UN FREE AT THE EDGE WHERE THINGS AND PEOPLE GO OUT AND OTHER THINGS AND PEOPLE COME IN WHERE ONLY THE RIGHT THINGS AND PEOPLE MUST GO IN AND OUT HERE AT THE EDGE WE SUBMIT TO SCRUTINY TO INSPECTION TO JUDGMENT THESE PEOPLE GUARDING THESE LINES MUST TELL US WHO WE ARE WE MUST BE PASSIVE DOCILE TO BE OTHERWISE IS TO BE SUSPECT AND AT THE FRONTIER TO COME UNDER SUSPICION IS THE WORST OF ALL POSSIBLE CRIMES WE STAND AT THE DANGEROUS EDGE OF THINGS THIS IS WHERE WE MUST PRESENT OURSELVES AS SIMPLE AS OBVIOUS I AM COMING HOME I AM ON A BUSINESS TRIP I AM VISITING MY GIRLFRIEND IN EACH CASE WHAT WE MEAN WHEN WE REDUCE OURSELVES TO THESE SIMPLE STATEMENTS IS I AM NOT ANYTHING YOU NEED TO BOTHER ABOUT REALLY I AM NOT NOT THE FELLOW WHO VOTED AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT NOR THE WOMAN WHO IS LOOKING FORWARD TO SMOKING A LITTLE DOPE WITH HER FRIENDS TONIGHT NOT THE PERSON YOU FEAR WHOSE SHOE MAY BE ABOUT TO EXPLODE I AM ONE DIMENSIONAL TRULY I AM SIMPLE LET ME PASS

THE WALL THAT SEPARATES THE TWO TERRITORIES SNAKING OVER THE CRESTS OF HILLS RUNNING AWAY INTO THE DISTANCE AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE PART GREAT WALL PART GULAG THERE IS A KIND OF BRUTAL BEAUTY HERE THE BEAUTY OF STARKNESS AT INTERVALS ALONG THE WALL THERE ARE WATCHTOWERS THESE TOWERS ARE MANNED BY ARMED MEN WE SEE THE TINY SILHOUETTED FIGURE OF A RUNNING MAN BEING CHASED BY OTHER MEN IN CARS THE STRANGE THING IS THAT ALTHOUGH THE MAN IS CLEARLY ON THIS SIDE OF THE WALL HE IS RUNNING BACK NOT AWAY HE HAS BEEN SPOTTED AND IS MORE AFRAID OF THOSE BEARING DOWN ON HIM THAN OF THE IMPOVERISHED LIFE HE THOUGHT HE HAD LEFT BEHIND HE IS TRYING TO GET BACK TO UNDO HIS BID FOR FREEDOM

SALMAN RUSHDIE

EVERY DIRECT ROUTE TO THE INTERIOR AND CONSEQUENTLY THE INTERIOR ITSELF IS EITHER BLOCKED OR PREEMPTED THE MOST YOU CAN HOPE FOR IS TO FIND MARGINS NORMALLY NEGLECTED SURFACES AND RELATIVELY ISOLATED IRREGULARLY PLACED SPOTS ON WHICH TO PUT YOURSELF YOU CAN ONLY DO SO THROUGH MUCH PERSEVERANCE AND REPETITION SO MANY HAVE ALREADY DONE THIS AHEAD OF YOU AND IN THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THEIR DISTINCTION MAY WELL APPEAR AT THE END AND AFTER MUCH EFFORT AS A SMALL NICK A BARELY PERCEPTIBLE VARIATION A SMALL JOLT IRONY AN IMPOSITION ODD DECORUM

THE STRUCTURE OF YOUR SITUATION IS SUCH THAT BEING INSIDE IS A PRIVILEGE THAT IS AN INFLICTION LIKE FEELING HEMMED IN BY THE HOUSE YOU OWN YES AN OPEN DOOR IS NECESSARY FOR PASSING BETWEEN INSIDE AND OUTSIDE BUT IT IS ALSO AN AVENUE USED BY OTHERS TO ENTER EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE INSIDE YOUR WORLD THERE IS NO PREVENTING OTHERS FROM GETTING IN OVERHEARING YOU DECODING YOUR PRIVATE MESSAGES VIOLATING YOUR PRIVACY

WHAT DO YOU DO THEN YOU TRY TO GET USED TO LIVING ALONG SIDE OUTSIDERS AND ENDLESSLY ATTEMPTING TO DEFINE WHAT IS YOURS ON THE INSIDE WE ARE A PEOPLE OF MESSAGES AND SIGNALS OF ALLUSIONS AND INDIRECT EXPRESSION WE SEEK EACH OTHER OUT BUT BECAUSE OUR INTERIOR IS ALWAYS TO SOME EXTENT OCCUPIED AND INTERRUPTED BY OTHERS WE HAVE DEVELOPED A TECHNIQUE OF SPEAKING THROUGH THE GIVEN EXPRESSING THINGS OBLIQUELY AND SO MYSTERIOUSLY AS TO PUZZLE EVEN OURSELVES

WE SEEM UNSETTLED POISED FOR DEPARTURE NOW WHAT NOW WHERE IT IS OUR TRANSIENCE AND IMPERMANENCE THAT OUR VISIBILITY EXPRESSES FOR WE CAN BE SEEN AS FIGURES FORCED TO PUSH ON TO ANOTHER HOUSE VILLAGE OR REGION JUST AS WE ONCE WERE TAKEN FROM ONE HABITAT TO A NEW ONE WE CAN BE MOVED AGAIN

EDWARD SAID

I AM FORTY FIVE YEARS OLD AND I CANNOT LEAVE MY PLACE OF RESIDENCE WITHOUT PERMISSION I DO NOT CARRY KEYS SOMETIMES THERE ARE BAD PATCHES DURING ONE BAD PATCH I SLEPT IN THIRTEEN DIFFERENT BEDS IN TWENTY NIGHTS AT SUCH TIMES A GREAT WILD JANGLE FILLS YOUR BODY AT SUCH TIMES YOU BEGIN TO COME UNSTUCK FROM YOUR SELF I HAVE LEARNED TO LET THINGS GO THE ANGER THE BITTERNESS THEY WILL COME BACK LATER I KNOW WHEN THINGS ARE BETTER ILL DEAL WITH THEM THEN RIGHT NOW MY VICTORY LIES IN NOT BEING BROKEN IN NOT LOSING MY SELF I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING AS HARD AS I CAN TO LIVE LIKE THIS IS TO FEEL DEMEANED EVERY DAY TO FEEL LITTLE TWISTS OF HUMILIATION ACCUMULATING AROUND YOUR HEART

TO LEAVE AND BE AN HOUR LATER IN A NORMAL CITY TO GET INTO A TAXI AT THE AIRPORT TO RIDE IN TRAFFIC REGULATED BY TRAFFIC SIGNALS ALONG STREETS LINED WITH BUILDINGS THAT HAVE INTACT ROOFS UNSHELLED WALLS GLASS IN THE WINDOWS TO FLIP ON THE LIGHT SWITCH IN YOUR HOTEL ROOM TO USE A TOILET AND FLUSH IT AFTERWARD TO RUN THE BATH YOU HAVE NOT HAD A BATH IN SEVERAL WEEKS AND HAVE WATER HOT WATER COME OUT OF THE TAP TO TAKE A STROLL AND SEE SHOPS AND PEOPLE WALKING LIKE YOU AT A NORMAL PACE TO BUY SOMETHING IN A SMALL GROCERY STORE WITH FULLY STOCKED SHELVES TO ENTER A RESTAURANT AND BE GIVEN A MENU ALL THIS SEEMS SO BIZARRE AND UPSETTING THAT FOR AT LEAST FORTY EIGHT HOURS YOU FEEL DISORIENTED AND VERY ANGRY TO SPEAK WITH PEOPLE WHO DONŐT WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU KNOW DONŐT WANT YOU TO TALK ABOUT THE SUFFERINGS BEWILDERMENT TERROR AND HUMILIATION OF THE INHABITANTS OF THE CITY YOU HAVE JUST LEFT AND EVEN WORSE WHEN YOU RETURN TO YOUR OWN NORMAL CITY AND YOUR FRIENDS SAY OH YOU ARE BACK I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU TO REALIZE THAT THEY DO NOT WANT TO KNOW EITHER TO UNDERSTAND THAT YOU CAN NEVER REALLY EXPLAIN TO THEM NEITHER HOW TERRIBLE IT IS THERE NOR HOW BAD YOU FEEL BEING BACK HERE THAT THE WORLD WILL BE FOREVER DIVIDED BETWEEN THERE AND HERE

SALMAN RUSHDIE
AND SUSAN SONTAG

 

notes on oracle

The sound was amplified to fill the space of the crowd. The physical sensation of the loud distorted cackle in the ear. The voice as if submerged within a sea. In the picture of the past sound is portrayed as an absence.
We depend on the picture as proof even if vague of events that have transpired, that have come to pass... in effect they have become our mirror. In them we see a reflection of ourselves. As such, if one listens, they haunt, not simply because of what they are pictures of, but because of what they tell us of ourselves. In them we are faced with the image that is our own. What they tell us they tell us in their silence.
The act of violence, of transgression, the ripping of one moment out of the flow of others. The vestige of violence lurks in the image, in the click of the shutter. The click of the shutter. The pull of the trigger. The sharp incision of the inconceivable. Violence, propelled by hate. We are shocked but not surprised. Within the archives the space of trauma lingers... silently. Within the archives the question of presence bears down, hovers palpable in the space. Not just in the silence but in the smell. The spectacle that is the image of history overwhelms all the senses if one lingers.
Within the archives one image replaces another, each becomes replaceable. Perhaps this is the tragedy: the weightlessness of a replaceable past. What will sustain the story, unless in capturing our interest, it is told and told again. Told and retold, it must be in order to continue to exist.
The click of the shutter...the pull of the trigger, the flash and the burn of light...
January 2003