Hans Accola at Frederieke Taylor

Ever since Judd, artists have been leery of the word "sculpture"; Hans Accola refers to his new work, scruffy little plywood constructions that stand on the floor and are called "Logos Jigs," as a "series of objects invented while struggling with sculpture" (all works 2004). This from a press release that takes the form of an interview between the artist and a cat, in which it is revealed that Accola's usage of the term "logos" is borrowed from Heraclitus and signifies the common constituent in everything, as well as the integration of matter and space.

Or something like that; you can expect a cross-species dialogue to admit of a certain ambiguity, of vaulting ambition concealed by reckless disregard for dignity. And, of considerable charm. The same is true for the work itself, which seems casual only at the briefest first glance. Its humble materials, mainly salvaged scraps of cheap lumber, and diffident disposition are belied by the evident care given to the smallest details of process and composition. Peeling apart the laminates of standard plywood and ungluing veneers, Accola creates surfaces that are painstakingly rough, and then cuts, bends and carpenters the pieces together with a minimum of hardware into shapes that defy description. Looking vaguely Constructivist, they include geometric forms but are hardly reductive. Neither are they overbuilt; in fact, their structural redundancies, which abound, mostly involve adding thin layers of wood or supporting blocks and struts to the insides of various hollow forms--internal props and outgrowths (ingrowths?) that are distinctly metaphoric.

Moreover, most of these small objects (there were only half a dozen--Accola works slowly) hover around the boundaries of recognizable figures. Unmistakably, there is Dog, which for all its vigorous three-dimensionality seems sketched more than built; snout up and one ear cocked, its every contour is impatiently alive. Bird Suit is only slightly more ambiguous, with its pert tail feathers and tidily tucked-back wings. On the other hand, Soul Lifter can only be connected with figuration through considerable imaginative exertion. A stout but vulnerable little object, it heaves part of itself aloft in a way that leaves one footlike dowel hanging, tragicomically, a few inches off the ground.

Humble as they are (none over 44 inches tall), the "Logos Jigs" represent a step toward assertiveness for Accola. His previous work has verged on invisibility, whether by involving building supplies so common as to escape notice (the odd cinderblock or bucket lid), or by blending into the background with a vengeance (as when, in previous shows, he pulled baseboards away from one wall, and hoisted a section of another off the ground entirely). The new work, then, is a bold step toward something he'd rather not have us name, a (small) favor that his quixotic work has earned.

COPYRIGHT 2004 Brant Publications, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group