A monolithic cube looms in the center of
Feature's north room. Chest high, Jim
Isermann's Cubeweave sits alone, pushing at
the intimate space it occupies. The minimal
shape echoes Tony Smith's famous Die, a
six-foot-square cube of rusted steel, but
Cubeweave, at a slightly less imposing five
feet two, is made of cushiony foam rubber
and is upholstered on all sides, including
the bottom, with carefully seamed, colorful
handloomed cotton, meticulously woven by
the artist himself.
Untitled (1995), a smaller related piece
covered in plaid, was included in Feature's
"Ab Fab" show last spring. Rising just a
few inches above the floor, too high to be
a rug, too low to be a bench, and too
angular to flounce on, it could only be
enjoyed from an awkward crouch and seemed
perfectly designed to trip over. Untitled's
minor aggravation escalates in Cubeweave to
full-scale aggression, as if all the
customary furniture, tired of being useful,
decided to join together in one rebellious
clump and kick the human beings out of
their room. At the opening, people gathered
at the gallery entrance to greet the artist
and periodically circled the sculpture
as if it were an alien presence.
Such a belligerent presence is at odds with
Cubeweave's cheerful cloth covering. In an
unsettling combination of imposing bulk and
cushiony comfort, Isermann has elevated a
textile motif often used for dishtowels
into a hefty symphony of color, as formally
rigorous and optically active as an Ad
Reinhardt painting. The entire pattern
flickers as different threads mingle in
sweet and sour hues, and square patterns
shift from side to side in changing groups
of rectangles. With delirious absurdity,
Cubeweave brings together Minimal
sculpture, geometric abstraction and the
Pop art ready-made, yet the purity of its
woven surface somehow transcends them all.
Absorbed in the rainbows of squares that
stretch out over the top like endless plots
of flowers, I had to wonder: if something
is so beautiful, does it really matter if
it's art?
Jim Isermann at Feature, Oct. 18-Nov. 23,
1996, 76 Greene, New York, NY 10012.
ELISABETH KLEY is a New York artist who
writes on art.
