{"id":162858,"date":"2022-12-23T13:00:05","date_gmt":"2022-12-23T18:00:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=162858"},"modified":"2022-12-21T18:40:29","modified_gmt":"2022-12-21T23:40:29","slug":"on-mel-bochner-and-sophie-calle","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/12\/23\/on-mel-bochner-and-sophie-calle\/","title":{"rendered":"On Mel Bochner and Sophie Calle"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Mel Bochner, Bochner, Die<\/em>,\u00a02004, acrylic and oil on canvas, 60 x 80″. Courtesy of the artist and Peter Freeman, Inc., New York.<\/p><\/div>\n

I have had a few of Mel Bochner’s slogans stuck in my head ever since I visited Peter Freeman Gallery to see a exhibition of his work, Seldom or Never Seen 2004\u20132022<\/i><\/a>. Bochner\u2014a conceptual artist known for his colorful, text-based paintings\u2014first rose to prominence with a 1966 show called Working Drawings and Other Visible Things on Paper Not Necessarily Meant to Be Viewed as Art.<\/i> How good a title is that? (The show included a fabricator\u2019s bill from Donald Judd.) The same cheeky spirit inflects his retrospective at Peter Freeman. Most of the works are text-based, brightly colored, and employ a cartoonish Comic Sans\u2013esque font. In one, against a bubblegum-pink background (pictured above), he spells out clich\u00e9s\u00a0for death, which get more and more Looney Tunes<\/i> as they go on: \u201cDie, decease, expire … give up the ghost, go west, go belly up \u2026 screw the pooch, sink into oblivion.\u201d On other canvases, the text is literally filler\u2014white melting into blue, with the words blah, blah, blah<\/em> dripping into nonsense. Bochner is playing with language, having a way with words, flickering between the register of the clich\u00e9 and all the possibilities clich\u00e9s can offer. It\u2019s all a lot of fun. My very favorites are a canvas with writing so thin and light it appears to be in pencil, and one on which is written the perfect joke-warning, which I have since passed along to others: \u201cDon\u2019t make me laugh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014Sophie Haigney, web editor<\/b><\/p>\n

Recently, after once again experiencing the bad behavior of a man\u2014boring in the nature of its badness though nevertheless dispiriting\u2014I once again turned to Take Care of Yourself<\/i>, by the French artist Sophie Calle. The work was first exhibited as a multiroom installation at the 2007 Venice Biennale that incorporated photos, paintings, drawings, video, audio, and text. The project began when Calle received a breakup email from a man anonymized in the work as \u201cX,” with the titular sign-off. \u201cIt was almost as if [the email] hadn\u2019t been meant for me,\u201d Calle wrote. So she shared the email with 106 women (107 participants, if you include a parrot who clawed apart a printed copy of the email), enlisting them in an endeavor reminiscent of a group chat\u2019s collaborative evisceration and consolation in response to such situations. She asked that the women \u201canalyze it, comment on it, dance it, sing it. Dissect it. Exhaust it. Understand it for me. Answer for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

And they did, using their skills as, among other things, tarot readers, Talmudic exegetes, psychiatrists, puppeteers, clowns, anthropologists, cartoonists, magicians, ikebana masters, mothers (such as Calle\u2019s own), et cetera. An editor critiques the email\u2019s convoluted syntax and obfuscatory language, which frames the man as a victim of his own nature and of Calle’s prohibition of infidelity. A lawyer analyzes it as a broken contract. A diva sings it as an aria. A poet reconfigures its language. The collection of responses is a masterpiece of women not only talking back but transforming what they\u2019re talking to. It\u2019s hilarious, over-the-top, and magical.<\/p>\n

Take Care of Yourself <\/i>was also published as a (glossy, pink) book<\/a>. I received it from a man who said, not entirely approvingly, \u201cThis seems like something you would do.\u201d I hope so. Calle wrenches the story away from the man who breaks up with her\u2014and away from the randomness of event itself. Life becomes a story she\u2019s telling, not just something she\u2019s living through.<\/p>\n

The man who signed off \u201cprenez soin de vous<\/i>\u201d is Gr\u00e9goire Bouillier, writer of\u00a0The Mystery Guest<\/i><\/a>, a memoir about being invited to a stranger\u2019s birthday party by a woman who had broken his heart. This stranger was Sophie Calle. Later, he told<\/a> The Brooklyn Rail<\/em> that Calle \u201cbelieves in the genius of the artist while I pay attention to the genius of life.\u201d She wants to control, he implies, while he wants to observe. But if life sometimes behaves like a novel, why not start trying to write life for yourself?<\/p>\n

By the end\u2014of the text thread, the exhibition, the book\u2014the impression left is not of messy sentences or tortured narcissism, but of creative bounty and feminine solidarity. The work takes its name from X\u2019s farewell: \u201cTake care of yourself.\u201d The phrase, as multiple interpreters point out, implies a second clause: \u201cBecause I will no longer take care of you.\u201d Calle\u2019s experiment shows there\u2019s another, sublime possibility for the aftermath: in your lowest and loneliest moments, others will understand for you, answer for you\u2014take care of you.<\/p>\n

\u2014Elisa Gonzalez, author of two poems in\u00a0issue no. 240<\/a> (Summer 2022)<\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIf life sometimes behaves like a novel, why not start trying to write life for yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68386],"tags":[2417,17227,13913,883],"class_list":["post-162858","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-reviews-review","tag-feminist-art","tag-mel-bochner","tag-sophie-calle","tag-staff-picks"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nOn Mel Bochner and Sophie Calle by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"December 23, 2022 \u2013 \u201cIf life sometimes behaves like a novel, why not start trying to write life for yourself?\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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