Fiber Arts
By Ruth J. Katz

Fiber Arts , Jan-Feb, 2006

Marion Wilson's Tender, Diverse Works
"WHEN YOU SLEEP ON THE STREET, YOU DON'T HAVE DREAMS."

This haunting statement and the layered meanings behind it recur subtly in much of conceptual artist Marion Wilson's recent work, and most assuredly in the arresting exhibition Tender, which was on view in New York City at Cheryl Pelavin Fine Arts, September 9–October 8, 2005. The speaker, Luis Guzman, a homeless man, had explained to the artist that dreaming isn't possible when you sleep on the street: you cannot lapse into deep slumber because you are always fearful for your life. But, metaphorically, the statement's meaning is greater: with no home, it's nearly impossible to have dreams that extend beyond where your next resting place will be or meal will come from.

This artfully assembled show had several distinct segments, and its diversity underscored the range of Wilson's talents. In summer 2004, Wilson was asked to participate in an exhibition organized by the New Museum of Contemporary Art, which was ramping up to relocate within Manhattan to a downtown address. Wilson constructed a fantastic, colorful pushcart, called This Store Too, a paean both to the pushcarts that dotted turnof-the-century Lower East Side New York and to Claes Oldenburg's famous Store, created some forty-five years earlier. She planned her "store" to be a traveling work of art, which could be taken for a walk around the museum's future neighborhood.

This Store Too was the central objet of the show at Cheryl Pelavin Fine Arts, and it remains as much art as it is social commentary on Wilson's collaborators, homeless men who lived at the Bowery Mission, near the museum's new address. These tacit partners-in-art sold the artist personal belongings, which she then fabricated into "merchandise" for sale on the cart; in one instance, a mission client parted with his dreadlocks, which became, among other things, stems to artificial flowers. Underneath the cart's cheerful blue and white, plastic-flower-trimmed umbrella was displayed wondrous, phantasmagoric merchandise, including cast-resin change purses, each a small gem worthy of careful scrutiny. Among Wilson's fiber creations were eloquent survival kits—exquisite pastiches of fabric, quilted textiles, beading, and unusual materials. On some were penned the necessities of life, reduced to their barest: ". . . soap, shampoo, toilet paper, a paycheck . . . trust, respect, a friend. . ."

Another segment of the show—Wilson's monotypes, produced in the gallery's print workshop—was also an homage to the men with whom she worked on the Bowery. Wilson used a gauzy, malleable, cheesecloth-type fabric as an overlay in printing. Many of the pieces are whimsical representations of the borough of Manhattan marked with sites where her collaborators have slept.

The last main segment of the exhibit—Wilson's quirky crocheted scarves and clothing—was showcased on one wall. The crocheted vestments (Tender Yarns and Tender Fruits) were the result of Wilson's efforts to teach herself the needle art. She had two rules while creating these fanciful pieces: no patterns, and no correcting any mistakes. The pieces included scarves gone wild, with appendages shooting off the main rectangular bodies, ruched pieces topping off straight edges, dangling curlicues tickling borders, and, for extra whimsy, surprise pieces of fruit (not real, dare we say) tidily crocheted into pouches on several pieces. Color abounds, with no road map dictating a rigid design. Free-form shapes and seemingly random hues unite to render these hangings enticing and enchanting, as if they were the work of a great aunt gone a bit dotty.

In discussing the This Store Too project, Wilson stated simply, "It changed my life." This exhibit may not have changed viewers' lives, but it surely opened their eyes.

New York City-based journalist Ruth J. Katz is a contributing editor to New York Home and Manhattan Living magazines. She has written extensively about fine craft for the New York Times and is the author of five books.

— Ruth J. Katz