Kusama Infinity Room -- Reflections on Immersion Art
(Dallas) Yayoi Kusama’s mirrored room gives the appearance that spotted
pumpkins go on forever, in what’s known as an “infinity mirror box.” A small,
12X15X12 foot box at the Dallas Museum of Art contains 62 plastic pumpkins,
bright, yellow-orange, and highlighted by black polka-dots.
Surrounded by 45 mirrors (55% on the interior ceiling of the
box) a visitor has but 45 seconds to go inside and look at the flowing fields
of pumpkins stretching out endlessly into a limitless horizon. Inside the room
was stuffy, constricted, and we were shuffled in, and out rapidly—making me
feel like a carnival barker hoodwinked me to hurry inside and see the fat lady
or the house of horrors.
I wondered if Kusama’s series of infinity rooms are each
reflections of her complex mind, or rather small slot machines for paying
customers to move through like coins in a casino. A similar exhibit at the
Broad Museum in Los Angeles sold 50,000 tickets in less than an hour.
Seeing a photograph doesn’t give the illusion credit;
three-dimensionality and the infinitude of the box cannot be captured in a
photograph, and weren’t meant to be. The black/orange contrasted well with the
polka-dotted pumpkin patch theme; but I didn’t have enough time to think about
any deeper meanings.
After taking 20% of the allotted visitation for a smartphone
selfie, I could not study the size of the mirrored squares, nor could I look
closely at the pumpkins. The infinity effect draws your eyes to how many rows
of gourds spread out from your vantage point, away from a closer
inspection of each piece of plastic art, or the design of the room. Maybe that
is the intention of the artist.
Kusama’s fame (and fortune) make each installment in her
series an event. One visits the room in pairs, so I went at the invitation of
an art student very close to me.
The experience as a whole takes longer than
45-seconds, but even the ticketing, reading, waiting in line, and discussion
afterward lasts no longer than 30-minutes. We both expressed appreciation for
the event, but I didn’t connect with “speed art” the way many do; instead, my
taste is more traditional. I enjoy slowly meandering through an exhibit looking
at the artist’s nuances, even to the point of envisioning how the art is
designed and constructed. I enjoy art like a nice meal, or a fine wine, noting all
its flavor, bouquet, and body. Nevertheless, each artist’s intent must be
appreciated even if it doesn’t appeal to my own preferences, as is the case
with my short immersion into Kusama’s infinity room.
©Mark H. Pillsbury
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