A Ghost In Our Home

Weeks ago, artist Michelle Provenzano sent along news of her show at Kunstfort bij Vijhuizen in the Netherlands. Admittedly, I got sidetracked. According to the Kunstfort page, the show ended 8 July, but I may be wrong as my Dutch is so weak we might say I have none at all. Despite this terrible character flaw on my part, some exciting things may be deciphered.

Kunstfort has its own YouTube Channel, where some text is in English.

You can have a fantastic look at the exhibit space -

- and a chicken.

Miss Michelle is working in shadows - on kites and in space.




We find ourselves at an interesting moment in art history, which I am wholly unqualified to describe. Pretend I'm stuttering. I probably am: there is the artwork itself, sometimes with a performance aspect, maybe repeatable but maybe not. This is two things. I am almost saying what I mean about it.

One step away may be video or photography of these objects and events, but this is documentation and not necessarily art. It is suspect as historical record. No, really. The images we see of Miss Michelle's work are not art - unless they are.

A very modern step further is the internet art show. The online gallery may change its exhibits but, as everyone knows, the internet is essentially forever. Depending on the medium or media in which an artist works, a show may be said have no end now, regardless of what happens to individual items on Google Images. Don't anyone say appropriation!

Thus, if Miss Michelle has a show near you, you must go see it for yourself and refuse to rely on anyone else's eyes, even mine.

Exciting stuff: the artist, the shadow kite, the drawing on the walls, floor and ceiling; a language barrier defeated by objects. I like the feeling of weightlessness and traveling over surfaces. Your mileage may vary.

As a footnote: when I see this, I want to quit my job and go back to art. I long for the studio, the ideas, the shows, the frantic creative drive, study and purpose. The possibilities of interactive media excite me. It's like living on the edge of starvation, isn't it?