Hamish Wright – 'Send Them to Space'
North Gallery, 7th September–9th October 2010
Glentunnel-based artist Hamish Wright’s exploration of the ‘role of visual art in Soviet and post-Soviet society’ is a theme clearly evident in his last two shows at CoCA, Soyouz Pop (2009), and a more recent joint exhibition with Michael Armstrong (summer 2009-10). Wright is well-qualified for such an undertaking, having spent a year travelling extensively throughout the Ukraine in 1998-99, returning to live in Kiev during 2003-04, whilst completing a series of large-scale corporate commissions.
Send Them To Space! reflects Wright’s continuing fascination with the state-sponsored iconography and propaganda of the Soviet era – in particular, the commemorative badges, posters and other memorabilia of the dawning Space Age. It is, perhaps, difficult to recall, or even imagine, the excitement and trepidation that followed the launch of Sputnik I in October 1957, and which intensified following Yuri Gagarin’s orbital adventure in April 1961. At a time when Soviet nuclear capability was (contrary to faulty Western intelligence) much exceeded by the United States, these space firsts not only reified the powerbase of the post-Stalinist USSR, they also provided the American military with a sobering reminder of the global reach of Soviet ICBMs.
Wright’s work, with its bold use of colour, well defined forms, high level of surface finish and employment of Cyrillic text, immediately invites comparisons with Pop art – even Dada, if one considers his propensity for disposing illustrations as glossy badges on found items like old wooden chairs, casks, etc. At the same time, Wright disturbs this art historical legacy in at least two important ways. Firstly, his work appropriates the socialist, state sponsored art of the Eastern block rather than the visual miscellany of Western capitalism. Secondly, his subjects (unlike those of 1960s Pop artists) are not contemporary, but lie up to half a century in the past. There may very well be an ironic dimension to Wright’s creations (in keeping with the tenor of 1960s Pop or 1980s Postmodernism) – but his work also exudes an undeniable air of nostalgia, even affection, for the visual detritus of a now-vanished time.
It may seem curious that the iconography of a totalitarian state could inspire such sentiments, or provide source material for art that is so visually appealing and full of fun. Yet, Wright’s work reminds us that, for all its forbidding aspect, the Iron Curtain masked human faces, dreams, foibles and fallibilities. Moreover, Wright’s temporal lens can operate in two directions, potentially illuminating the late capitalist, global moment we presently inhabit, and providing, perhaps, a way for us to reconnect with the human thread in our own depersonalising world of labyrinthine information networks and omnipresent multinationals.
David Khan