Walter Pichler: Drawings, Sculpture, Architecture 6 April – 5 May, 2001
at the Barbara Gladstone Gallery, NYC
Walter Pichler's figural drawings of the 70's are jagged, repetitive. The men (and they are all men) are gaunt, stretched out, all angles, hunched shoulders and elbows. They are alone. They are line drawings, traced over and over again, as if the figure is moving, trying to get away from the pencil or pen. The men are filled with watery, often faded, browns, blues and blacks. Pichler's architectural drawings are conventional -- all lines and perfectly formed angles, transparent diagrams that show all sides of the puzzle. The jagged men are transparent too. In one picture, the wall shows through a man's ankles.
Walter Pichler came to art through architecture. He was born in Austria in 1936, and experienced the destruction and hasty rebuilding of that country's homes and buildings during and after WWII. He and another group of visionary, radical architects felt that the functionalism of post-WWII European Architecture was simply another excuse for facist oppression. In other words, functionalist buildings -- the results of the dictum "form follows function" -- were designed so that the common man would function most efficiently for those in power. In a series of manifestos written by Pichler and his comrades in the late 50's and early 60's, the trends of the day were condemned, and a new form of architecture, springing from the needs of the body, spirit and imagination, rather than tradition and society, was purposed. The idea that there was a basic, essentialist "function" for buildings was deconstructed.
From this break-away ideology, Pichler was inspired to make architecture that was more and more like art. His "buildings" in the 60's were a commentary on the increasing architectural trend towards tuning out the outside world and nature, and sealing residents in with a TV and perfect climate control. His "small room" (see picture) fits over the head of the "resident" shutting him off from external stimuli, making him a completely useless, self-contained, blind man with nothing to exchange or offer the outside world. In as much as architecture is defined as the creation of an environment for living, working, playing or learning, Pichler crossed the line from architecture into art when his creations became commentary. At the same time, Pichler began to build centers to contain his art work, and these pieces were much more like conventional architecture than art. He continues to live and work in one such center, out in the Austrian countryside.
In 1971, Pichler made what is considered to be one of his most important sculptures, "bed". This work sprung from Pichler's belief that architure (and building) is part of the natural succession of events that began when prehistoric man first wore clothing. To Pichler, "Clothing was the first architecture." Much closer to the body and more intimate than a house, a bed is only one step away from clothing. Pichler's "bed" was made of the rusted frame and springs of an old hospital bed and a polished metal block figure, scooped out so that it appears that it would fit easily around a resting man's body. The polished metal figure is fragmented by large panels of uneven, ragged glass. His arms, legs and ribcage are bisected by these glass sheets. The overall impression one gets from looking at "bed" is despair and contradiction -- it is a bed that would slice the would be-sleeper to pieces. With this sculpture, Pichler issues a warning about sleeping in the usual manner, as his manifesto was a cry to wake the masses to the truth of the usual architecture.
Pichler remade his bed. In 2000, he updated his concept with a new sculpture. This one is much more calm, abstract. The glass remains, but it is no longer jagged. The metal block figure is less human and the bed frame has become two nicely finished concrete blocks. It looks as if it would make a lovely fountain. And his concurrent architectural pieces work with natural water, the way it flows, the way that rain can be harvested from a roof to water a garden.
His most recent figural pieces are less hunched and walk straighter. Often, they are no longer alone, but have partners, whom they frequently touch. It appears as though the uneven men of Pichler's imagination have become less ragged and more engaged, perhaps because of the architect's continuing contact with nature and its power of renewal as the memory of the war fades.
The copyright of the article Architect of the Invisible in Contemporary Art is owned by Christine Hamm. Permission to republish Architect of the Invisible in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.
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