Collage may be the most relevant medium for contemporary culture.
The cutting up and repurposing of discarded and obsolete print media is
the artist’s version of recycling and sustainability. It reflects
thriftiness, a clever way to pinch pennies in a time of job instability
and tightened belts. But collage also is a distillation of the way we
consume information in pieces and without much context. From playlists
to video clips to “news” websites that cater to demographics,
information is as modular and customizable as any other possession.
That said, due to its dependence on paper, collage might also be one of
the least relevant mediums. Now that the iPad is finally out, I don’t
think it will be long before print media is viewed as hopelessly static
and, from an environmental standpoint, deeply unethical. Some people
will hang on to books as a sort of novelty (“books have a warmer
voice”), but most anything with pages will be out on the curb. When this
happens, don’t be surprised if you see Lance Letscher out there pawing
through your stuff.
Letscher is a collage artist and, as one might expect, a major component
of his practice is the collecting of raw material. Stories abound about
favorite Austin, Texas, dumpsters into which he dives. He is a one-man
salvage yard, rescuing the things that can’t even be donated in order to
use them for parts. From the look of his works, his collection is
extensive.
In a strange act of symmetry, Letscher puts out print media of his own.
His solo exhibition, The Perfect Machine, coincides
with the release of Letscher’s book of the same name.
On view at Eight Modern are the original works that were created to
accompany the story he wrote about a boy who sets out to make the
eponymous contraption.
The publication is billed as a children’s book, but the imagery, which
ranges from abstract to wildly abstract, may prove difficult to
interpret. It requires a good imagination, to say the least, to
reconcile what is depicted with what the story claims is depicted.
Hopefully, kids will be drawn to Letscher’s kinetic style, which
resembles nothing so much as the limitless permutations of Legos. I say
hopefully because the story presents some complex ideas very simply.
Really, The Perfect Machine is a celebration of the artistic impulse and
the creative mind.
Letscher’s work is exemplary for its lack of cohesion. When I think of
collage, it is typically an attempt to produce something new, something
whole, from disparate parts. A lot of its power comes from unexpected
juxtapositions and combinations of elements. Its use of existing and
recognizable forms translates well to political satire or critique.
Connotations are almost unavoidable. Yet, Letscher’s works are disj
ointed enough that they are not always readable as images. They
appear, very matter-of-factly, as piles of cut paper and cardboard.
Often they are suggestive of architecture but, for the most part, they
look like little more than scattered parts, like someone sneezed on a
jigsaw puzzle. Even the frantic use of typography is emptied of meaning,
relegated to pattern and texture.
Even so, the works have a sense of depth that is impressive and fairly
complex, mixing perspectival elements, such as vanishing points, and
patterns that serve as backdrops, highlighting the figure-ground
relationship. Formally, the work owes as much to abstract painting as it
does to other collage. Letscher prefers lines and shapes of solid color
to pictures, patching together his own forms that veer and wobble like
an old barn.
In one image is a scrap from an old instruction manual for Tinker Toys.
This is fitting, as it nicely sums up Letscher's process; his use of
simple parts and imaginative play are childishly brilliant.
The Perfect Machine
Through May 15
Eight Modern
231 Delgado St.
505-995-0231
Santa Fe Reporter