Arts & Events News

When art and science meet somewhere in time

09/14/01

By her own admission, Vancouver, Wash., artist Sumi Wu was supposed to grow up and become a scientist. Yet somewhere during her academic journey, a fork in the road brought her to art.

Wu did study microbiology and physics in college, and those disciplines significantly inform her artwork.

In her exhibition "Antiquated Instruments for a Modern Universe" at Guardino Gallery, Wu reveals a continued fascination with scientific discovery. Her cast of delicate objects constructed in both metal and yarn attempts to address such mysteries as the Big Bang, black holes and concepts of time.

In "Hourglasses for a Decadent Society," Wu showcases a set of small, irregularly shaped hourglasses filled with varying amounts of sand.

She presents the objects in a shadow box adorned with maroon velvet and a surface of twirled brass wire and finishing nails. The showy presentation is a bit distracting, but the poetry of the work comes through. The individual shapes and amounts of sand in each correspond to conditions of time.

For example, one hourglass has a small top sphere paired with a larger bottom sphere. The sand is weighted at the bottom, suggesting that all time has passed. In another hourglass the situation is reversed, indicating that time has not yet begun. The piece is Wu at her smartest and most succinct.

In "Ampoules of Night Air," Wu wrestles with another abstract notion. A set of small glass bottles contains the intangible: specimens of air captured in hours of darkness. They are placed in a velvet-lined case, which is, again, a bit of overkill. The marriage of velvet, gold rope and purple, metallic fabric looks more Las Vegas than laboratory.

Yet the piece captures the imagination.

Five of the bottles are labeled with dates and times of sampling and sealed shut. Three bottles remain empty, awaiting the scientist's next journey into the field.

Guardino Gallery, 2939 N.E. Alberta St., 503-281-9048. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays through Sept. 25.

-- Karrin Ellertson Special to The Oregonian