Magic of the Taubman Museum’s Swoon Exhibit

I had no idea what to expect when we first arrived at the distinctly odd-looking museum building, but it certainly wasn’t the menagerie of intimately human portraits and true-to-life workspaces that I found. Tables and desks covered with what seemed to be partially finished prints and open cans of paint were set up near the entrance of the exhibit to make the viewer feel as if they were stepping straight into Swoon’s personal studio. Walking around some of the rooms, I got a sense that the artist had only left for a moment. If you blinked, she may appear, continuing to work at her table as if it were simply a regular day. Serendipitously, my friend from home was there as well, and she pointed out that, through displaying materials and workspaces in such an honest and seemingly-casual way, the artist invited us into her world on a completely new level. Not only did the viewer and the artist connect through the work itself, but also through the act of creating that work. 

Inviting the viewer into the creation process was a theme throughout several aspects of the exhibit. Two rooms reminded me a bit of the immersive Van Gogh exhibits that popped up a few years ago—rooms projected floor-to-ceiling with lights and patterns, pulsing and swirling to faint background music.  These, however, also had walls of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. As the lights and patterns roved across the room, they would cover the viewer as well, making them into an art piece as they simultaneously observed others on display. 

There were also places where museum-goers could physically interact with the exhibit—a space was set up with paintbrushes and cups of water, and above the table was a sign, reading “Reflect. Connect. Express Yourself.” It encouraged the viewers to actually write out their thoughts on some of the themes that were carried through the exhibition—specifically fear, guilt, and generational reflection. 

Other portions of the exhibit had a wildly different vibe. Gone was the slice-of-life connection,  instead, walls were covered in honeycomb designs and intricate laser-cut paper. Structures, sculptures, and stop-motion films alike showcased hauntingly personal pieces focused around themes of motherhood, trauma, and unapologetic interpretations of the human body and experience. It was moving, to say the least. Portraits of women with snakes emerging from their exposed hearts were painted on literal wooden doors, skeletons and newborns decorated a small house that could actually be entered, and a dollhouse-like sculpture housed a crab (or spider?)-like woman constructed out of what seemed to be paper. Voices reciting the tale of Little Red Riding Hood in whispers emanated from headphones positioned at the side, and I witnessed viewers experiencing anything from horror to confusion to the unplaceable, profound emotion that I know all-too-well after being there myself. 

My favorite part of all would have to be the stop-motion film that my friend and I accidentally wandered into after leaving the room of mirrors and moving lights (feeling very disoriented, might I add). If you’ve seen Coraline, you understand the type of almost-horrifying but certainly thought-provoking vibe that stop motion can convey. Coraline kept crossing my mind as I watched it in its entirety. Swoon’s artwork took on completely new emotions once brought to life, and I felt that the cycles of life, death, rebirth, and decay that were pictured brought meaning to the pieces that I’m not sure I would have even thought about had I not watched the film. It captured the human body and its capabilities in a way that was equal parts beautiful and grotesque—a raw, honest, and appreciative display of creative talent and pure fascination with cycles of life and the emotions that it can bring forth in a person.

Needless to say, I was stunned. I was stunned once again when, after talking to Ms. Dixon, I realized that many of Swoon’s methods could be recreated—here at Chatham hall, we have the ability to create hand-cut prints and laser-cut paper. The honeycomb design that ran throughout the whole exhibit was just endless repetition of hexagons. Accessible tools and resources, combined with creativity and a powerful vision, can get you far. Yes—you! The Swoon exhibit was nothing if not inspiring and thought-provoking for me, and the combination of methods that we can access here at Chatham and the artist’s own invitation to collaborate and make art with her has the potential to create new artists, designs, ideas, inspiration—you name it. That, at the end of the day, is the power of a good museum exhibit—to unlock creativity and passion in the viewer, and to open up a world of artistic possibility and expression in them just as it was opened up for the artist.