Art, J. Paul Getty Museum, Paintings

James Ensor 2.0: “Christ’s Entry into Brussels” Becomes Performance Art

Two bottle stoppers from Vive L.A Social, Mathis Collins, 2011

Vive L.A Social (details), Mathis Collins, 2011

The unruly figures in James Ensor’s massive painting Christ’s Entry into Brussels in 1889 have sneaked off the canvas and into bottles across Los Angeles. They’re the cast of characters in a new performance work by French artist Mathis Collins.

Mathis was in L.A. last month to exhibit The General Assembly (below), an assemblage of bottle stoppers adorned with character heads that looks like something Ensor might have made if he’d worked in glass, cork, and wood. A visitor to JAUS ART, an artist-run space, noticed parallels with Christ’s Entry and told Mathis he should go see it.

Mathis Collins with his 2011 artwork The General Assembly

Detail of bottle stoppers in Mathis Collins's 2011 sculpture The General Assembly

Mathis with his 2011 artwork The General Assembly (above); detail of some of the sculpture’s bottle stoppers (below).

Mathis had come to L.A. to exhibit The General Assembly, and he also wanted to do a social art project involving bottle stoppers—which have fascinated him ever since he inherited a vintage piece. But he didn’t know where to start in this big, confusing place. When he saw Ensor’s bright, crowded cityscape, full of soldiers and protestors and big shots and lost souls, he knew he’d found a perfect metaphor for L.A.

“I wanted a meeting with the painting,” he told me later, “an experience of it. I just didn’t know what.”

So the next day, Mathis came back to the Getty with 12 beechwood stoppers he’d turned in France, and started sketching. He traced a vast arc through the painting, drawing the characters one by one onto his stoppers but reserving a single blank spot on each for something special to come later. He spent two full days with the painting, getting to know the duck, the owl, the skeletons, the soldiers, and the vomiting man the way artists have for centuries: by looking and drawing.

Mathis Collins holding two of the bottle stoppers for his 2011 work Vive L.A. Social

Mathis Collins holding two of the bottle stoppers for his 2011 work Vive L.A. Social

Once the pieces were inked, they were ready to begin their social journey. Mathis has a background in slam poetry and performance art, and his work isn’t alive until it connects. He’d reserved that blank spot on each stopper to sketch the person he chose to give each piece to. These were friends old and new who took an interest in his project and would place their stopper in a bottle in a shared space, such as a bar, where Ensor’s characters can grab a drink and be social too.

It’s performance with many parts—the artist, the painting, the recipients, the stoppers, and the people who will interact with them. Mathis calls it Vive L.A. Social, a riff on the red banner in Ensor’s painting reading “Vive la Sociale” (“Long Live the Socialist State”). “My performance,” he told me, “is to bring the painting out into the city and Angelenos into the painting, for them to meet my vision.”

One stopper, though, didn’t go out into the wild. When I met Mathis to hear more about this project, he offered me and the Museum a stopper decorated with Ensor’s rowdy soldiers. Together, we decided that it would rather remain unfinished for now, waiting for its final move. The soldiers will meet the artist again next time he’s in L.A., toasting to all his new friends.

Artwork courtesy of and © Mathis Collins; Detail images of Vive L.A. Social courtesy of Mathis Collins.

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      All Hail Tiberius, Least Media-Savvy of the Roman Emperors

      Tiberius was proclaimed Roman emperor on September 17 in AD 14, exactly 2,000 years ago.

      He was also a bit wacko. “He was the least media-savvy emperor you could imagine,” says curator David Saunders, who has been in charge of this bronze portrait of Tiberius which leaves us on September 22. He point to this description found in the writings of Cassius Dio:

      Tiberius was a patrician of good education, but he had a most peculiar nature. He never let what he desired appear in his conversation, and what he said he wanted he usually did not desire at all. On the contrary, his words indicated the exact opposite of his real purpose; he denied all interest in what he longed for, and urged the claims of what he hated. He would exhibit anger over matters that were far from arousing his wrath, and make a show of affability where he was most vexed…In short, he thought it bad policy for the sovereign to reveal his thoughts; this was often the cause, he said, of great failures, whereas by the opposite course, far more and greater successes were attained.

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      Suetonius is full of great, albeit spurious, anecdotes about poor old Tiberius, David reports. “When someone addressed him as ‘My Lord,’ it is said, Tiberius gave warning that no such insult should ever again be thrown at him.”

      Happy accession, My Lord!

      Portrait Head of Tiberius (“The Lansdowne Tiberius”), early 1st century A.D., Roman. The J. Paul Getty Museum

      Statue of Tiberius (detail), Roman, A.D. 37, Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei – Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, Laboratorio di Conservazione e Restauro. Currently on view at the Getty Villa following conservation and study.


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