The Nature of the Universe

"The Nature of the Universe"

by John Yau

for Gemini Catalogue 1999 Weight, Mass, Movement, and Spin

The intersection of the present with the past is never predictable. In the early part of the 20th century, for example, Pablo Picasso went into the caves at Altamira. The caves were only a few miles from Guernica, site of the first bombing of a civilian population by planes. Henry Breuil was already in the caves, carefully copying the images lining the walls. Years later, while working on Guernica, Picasso would remember the drawings he saw on the walls. His familiarity with these archaic images enabled him to address the unleashing of mankind’s latest mechanized terror.

The recovery of the archaic is a central trope of modernism. For many of the innovative artists and writers we associate with modernism’s beginnings the deepest impulse was towards discovering what immutable laws governed human existence. It is a theme running through Picasso’s work, as well as through the writings of James Joyce. One of the formal innovations that is contiguous with both Joyce’s and Picasso’s attempt to recover the archaic, is the deliberate loosening of the figure/ground relationship. They realized that the world had become unhinged in more ways than one.

Whereas the figure was once just that, a figure placed in a carefully delineated landscape, in the Cubist paintings of Picasso and in the dense verbal punning of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, the figure keeps becoming part of the ground, and vice versa. Artist and writer make clear something we have come to take for granted, that the world is a fluid, constantly changing and changeable place. Kaleidoscopic and fractured, both infinitely vast and infinitely small, reality somehow all does fit together. Thus, despite seeming to do the opposite, both Picasso and Joyce brought us closer to reality.

Ever since Charles Darwin sailed on The Beagle (1832-36), and subsequently published On The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (1859), human beings have had to ponder the role chance plays in their development. We are left contemplating the possibility that the fate of mankind has not been carefully worked out in advance. In fact, everything we have thus far learned from geology and paleontology tells us that human beings are not necessarily a central part of a larger design, which has our best interests, whatever they may be, in mind. Chance and randomness seem to have played the leading roles. Despite our current predominance, mankind seems to have started out as a chance development, and, over the ages, become, at best, a lucky bystander.

Darwin’s work is both scientific and philosophical; it comes from direct observation. Such close looking, and the sensitivity that this kind of attention requires, is one of the links between Darwin and Picasso. The other is their interest in origins, in wondering from whence we came. For despite one being a naturalist and the other an artist, both men were concerned with questions that extended far beyond their respective disciplines.

Through their work, they touched upon questions thought to be integral to philosophy and religion. They wanted to understand what was a priori, what rules had governed existence long before they came into this world. Their interest in origins, as well as boundless curiosity, are things that we shouldn’t forget. Certainly, it is this broadness of thinking, as well as this indomitable quest for knowledge, that connects Dorothea Rockburne to figures as disparate as Picasso and Darwin.

In an interview, Dorothea Rockburne stated: "astrophysicists say that we are made of old stars from the time of the Big Bang. When I look at my hand, I know that I am made of old stars, and that I am a very tiny part of a vast universe." Rockburne’s statement conveys her understanding of reality as a continuum in which human beings embody aspects of space’s vast, largely uncharted immensity, as well as contain the still mysterious realm of subatomic particles. For her, reality is full of evidence of the universe’s origins and thus the beginning of time. This is how she understands what is a priori.

Knowing that this reality exists, however, is one thing; seeing it is quite another. How does one see that which thus far cannot be seen, can, in fact, only be hypothesized about? If we place Rockburne’s project within the perspective of art history, we must ask: How does one make visible aspects of the a priori when the proof of its existence cannot be discovered in the drawings our ancestors did on cave walls, anywhere, for that matter? This in a nutshell is the issue, at once formal and speculative, that Rockburne continually faces in her work.

In her struggle to make visible that which cannot possibly seen by the human eye, and which can only be understood as models for what constitutes the universe, its constantly changing state, Rockburne, by the very nature of her accomplishment, brings together two seemingly divergent traditions, the visionary who discovers evidence of what cannot be seen, as well as the hard-nosed pragmatist who proposes that art’s primary task is to register, in all its intricacies, the nature of seeing.

In Rockburne’s paintings, wall painting, site-specific murals, drawings, and prints, we see an accomplishment that both extends and synthesizes the various researches initiated by artists as fundamentally different as Hilma Af Klint and Paul Cézanne. Where spirit and matter meet has been very much on Rockburne’s mind, not in a didactic way, but in a way that is both bracing and empowering. At the same time, and this is what makes her art unique, the work is not only provocative visually, but also intellectually, touching as it does on the cutting edge of our scientific thinking about the origins of the universe.

In the seven lithographs that Rockburne made for Gemini G.E.L., all in 1999, she focused her attention on two distinct phenomena. Because these phenomena have not been witnessed close-up, but rather are theoretical models which scientists use to speculate upon the nature of reality, both in the largest and smallest sense, they are known by their scientific appellations, "WIMP" (weakly interactive massive particle) and "singularity" a point of infinite density that should theoretically exist at the center of a black hole, and "angular momentum," the way both black holes (and the fields of energy they embody) and subatomic particles move through space. "Angular momentum" might be described as the way certain bodies are thought to move when they are neither influenced by the gravity of another body nor able to achieve pure unimpeded acceleration, and thus move in an uninterrupted straight line.

Although no one has been able to prove beyond a doubt the concrete existence of either a WIMP or a singularity, the viability of these models has enabled scientists to hypothesize upon, as well as explain, why the universe behaves the way it does. Connecting these two very different aspects of reality together is angular momentum, the way they move through space.

Here, it should be pointed out that WIMPs exist at a subatomic level, while a singularity occupies a vastness we associate with mathematics. Thus, by choosing these two very different, complex realities, Rockburne directs attention towards commonplace phenomena which exist at the farthest edge of human comprehension. Their existence is not simply something we cannot see. Rather, they occupy a world we don’t generally think about in our daily lives. Clearly, Rockburne is not only trying to shift them from the theoretical to the visual realm, from the mind to the body, but she is also suggesting that we try to understand the world on a level that goes far beyond both the social and the daily. For an artist who has, in her earlier work, alluded to the writings of Pascal, the notion of the infinite is not alien but necessary.

At the same time, by focusing on realities which, in terms of large and small, exist at the extreme ends in any sequence of measurement, she has challenged herself to come up with a work of art that convincingly transforms these different realities, one subatomic and the other immensely vast, into human-scaled, visual evidence. And, of course, embedded within this challenge are numerous other challenges. How do they move, for example?

In Singularity and Singularity, State, we see aspects we associate with both solidity and liquidity, opacity and transparency. The airiness is flooded with dense layering of particles. The greenish-yellows, violets, blues, and reds are chemical and harsh, rather than naturalistic and seductive. In both the sulphurous reality of Singularity and Singularity, State, an invisible force is swallowing different bits and pieces of matter and energy, as well as dispersing, transforming, and dissolving them. A centrifugal gravity, an animated absence capable of pulling in all kinds of matter, dominates the "Singularity" prints.

If the two swirling, dispersing shapes around which the teardrop particles are circling reminds us of a spiral, we might recall that the spiral is one of the earliest abstract, possibly astronomical signs made by mankind. Typically, the spiral both extends and contracts toward an ever-receding point associated with the infinite. It is the most economical sign mankind has invented to register a state of constant change, as well as unending expansion and contraction. A spiral is a line both moving through and shaping space.

However, it is immediately apparent that there are a number of visual incidents which distinguish the artistÕs swirling shape from that of a spiral. First, Rockburne never suggests a center point towards which one end of the shape is collapsing. Rather, through the layering of elliptical and teardrop particles, some solid and others transparent, as well as the stretching of these teardrop particles into streaks that begin coalescing around a curving streak, she is able to evoke a deep space which our eyes can neither locate nor penetrate.

Second, a spiral is a linear, two dimensional sign, while Rockburne’s singularity evokes a tremendous centrifugal force whose gravitational pull cannot be overcome, causing all matter within its purview to shift, disintegrate, and transform. The layered, inward flow of the particles transforms the two dimensionality of the surface into two curving, deeply angled spaces whose centers seem multiple. Our eyes can neither rest nor find a point of release. Rather, we are pulled into a state of fascination and curiosity in which we see a world full of particulars, a world in which matter succumbs to an invisible force. Before long, we recognize that such a state of being is one we associate with ecstasy.

Third, a spiral is stable sign, while the various elongations and streaks, which are the result of the singularityÕs gravitational pull, convey a reality in which matter is moving at rapid speed both through and across vast distances; it is a world under extreme compression. In this regard, Rockburne’s work is the opposite of gestural abstraction. Given that Jackson Pollock’s poured paintings establish a pictorial model for a state of constant change, RockburneÕs "Singularities" are notable in part because they do not incorporate gestural abstraction, which has become this century’s visual model for change. Also, in stark contrast to Pollock’s gestural paintings, where the skeins and trails of paint push against the composition’s edges, Rockburne’s marks move inward. And, in doing so, the print becomes what the artist envisions, a singularity.

Believing that the early universe was a laboratory for particle physics, a place where invisible bits of matter floated about, scientists recognize the possibility of inferring something about the nature of the subatomic world from astronomical observations. In drawing a connection between the early universe and subatomic matter, scientists have grouped the kinds of particles they believe were created by the high energies of the early universe, particularly after the Big Bang, under the rubric, WIMPs (weakly interacting massive particles).

In the four WIMP lithographs, Rockburne addresses her belief that each of us is made of "old stars from the time of the Big Bang." Scientists postulate that "cold dark matter" emerged after the Big Bang. These invisible particles helped form the first galaxies. At the same time, it is also believed that cold dark matter particles, if they do exist, rarely interact with ordinary matter, the stuff which makes up our immediate reality. And yet, like neutrinos, whose existence scientists postulated long before proving their existence, millions of cold dark matter particles may pass through our bodies every second.

In WIMP #2 a nine color lithograph/screenprint, Rockburne uses at least five semi-transparent circular, planar forms to articulate a dense overlay of different entities. Through her attention to color (the way one interacts with another), and through her delineation of each circular, spinning form, Rockburne is able to have one form both inhabit another, while remaining a distinct entity. Are they passing through each other? The viewer recognizes not only that something is occurring, but that something else is about to occur. Instead of expanding out to the edge, as Pollock did, Rockburne leads us to the edge where seeing and narrative are seamlessly integrated: we want to know what happens next, even as we realize that we are one outcome of the story.

As with the "Singularity" prints, our eyes found no place to rest. This is a reality which is constantly active in ways that defy simple definitions. What, for example, is that eruption, which is white tinged red? Is it exploding or imploding or both? One is struck by both the seeming simplicity of Rockburne’s images and their ability to successfully resist description. This is very much in keeping with the scientistsÕs definitions of both cosmic and subatomic reality. One senses that understanding is both immediate and elusive, that these events challenge all conventional notions of reality.

With its violets, pinks, grays, and hints of red, WIMP #2 exudes a dense coldness. The planes do not feel as if they are made of earthly matter. Even in WIMP #1, with its reds, greens, and yellows, the result does not convey either earthly warmth or human feelings. And yet, while Rockburne is trying to articulate a model for a theoretical reality, I feel compelled to caution the viewer against weighing too heavily in favor of the theoretical. Initially, Rockburne’s ambition might sound ponderous. But these lithographs counter any apprehensions we might have; there is a playfulness and a mastery at work throughout, an innovative awareness of how color and light pass through each other.

If anything, Rockburne’s ambition is to learn if any invisible though commonplace reality can be made visible. How exactly does cold dark matter behave? How do particles of cold dark matter interact with each other? If the particles are different, as scientists postulate that they are, what do they look like? These are the questions Rockburne tries to answer in the four "WIMP" lithographs.

How do things move in a post-Newtonian, post-Einsteinian universe? It is a question that has perplexed astrophysicists for generations. In Angular Momentum, Rockburne addresses the issue of movement. The print seamlessly combines a densely layered field of lines and particles. Some of the particles and lines stay the same silvery color no matter where they are. Others are green or yellow, depending on where they are located. The central area of Angular Momentum contains yellow lines and particles, while the band surrounding it contains green lines and particles. Some of the particles are intersected by lines, while others float free. Throughout the composition are silver lines and particles. Do the particles and lines, their colors, shift because they are further away from some central point? Or has their material nature changed because of the particular zone they inhabit? What about the silver lines and particles, which seem to be made of both matter and light? Is this true? And, if so, is it true for the others? Finally, in Angular Momentum, questions about the relationship between figure and ground seem beside the point. In contrast to Pollock, whose poured lines convey his body’s rhythms as it moved through space, Rockburne’s lines seem purposeful without evoking either the handÕs movement or the bodyÕs gestures. Taken together, her lines, webs, particles, and shifts in color, suggest a whirlpool in which things manage to stay suspended, rather than sink. If there is gravity here, then it is of a kind we have never experienced. This is because the forces within seem differentiated on a minute scale, that each line and particle is self-sustaining. Our attention is continually shifting, moving in and about and through the layered space Rockburne has carefully defined. Her visual conundrums are convincing. The viewers feel as if they are glimpsing something about the world are once familiar and unfamiliar. And it is the faint feeling of familiarity that makes me wonder if Rockburne is capable of intuiting something about the nature of universe because she is attuned to those bits of old stars moving about within her.

At a time when our thinking about the universe and its nature are constantly changing, Rockburne has thrown herself into the thick of the discourse. The Greeks, we might remember, believed astronomy to be the most royal of all the sciences. They recognized that the contemplation of the night sky was the highest and purest art of all.

In these prints, and certainly throughout her career, Rockburne addresses questions that for centuries have perplexed philosophers and scientists, mathematicians and theologians: How does one reach the infinite, while also locating it within the realm of human experience and understanding? How does one take what might seem to some an essentially abstract idea and transform it into a palpable reality?

Looking at Rockburne’s lithographs, we find ourselves looking into them, becoming ever more conscious of both their myriad parts and subtle complexities. These are not images (or narratives) we can fix in our mind, but realities we must return to again and again. For after a while, it dawns on us that this may be as close as we ever get to observing singularities, cold dark matter, and angular momentum, both the stuff and energy which constitutes this universe and us.