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Art

Christina Quarles Finds Freedom in Confinement at Hamburger Bahnhof

Olivia Giovetti
Mar 30, 2023 6:06PM

Christina Quarles, installation view of “Collapsed Time” at Hamburger Bahnhof, 2023. Photo by Andrea Rossetti. Courtesy of the artist, Hauser & Wirth, and Pilar Corrias.

“Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.” It’s one of the most quoted lines of John Berger’s Ways of Seeing, and a sentiment that artist Christina Quarles riffs on in her work. As she explained at the opening of “Collapsed Time,” her first institutional solo exhibition in Germany, she’s “interested in the experience of living within your own body instead of the experience of looking at a body.”

The exhibition, now on view at Berlin’s Hamburger Bahnhof through September 17th, also features the works of seven artists, such as Daniel Buren and Charlotte Posenenske, from the collection of the nearby Nationalgalerie, personally selected by Quarles. These artists’ graphic elements and depictions of confinement gain renewed meaning offset by Quarles’s own works.

Christina Quarles, installation view of “Collapsed Time” at Hamburger Bahnhof, 2023. Photo by Andrea Rossetti. Courtesy of the artist, Hauser & Wirth, and Pilar Corrias.

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“Figure drawing is this weird thing where you can’t just acquire the skill and be done with it,” Quarles explained. “It’s like working out at the gym, you have to keep maintaining it. When I go to the painting, I’m not referring to sketches. I’m referring to this ongoing practice of drawing.”

Figures, erm, figure heavily in “Collapsed Time.” Nudes contort themselves to fit within the confines of the canvas, and the tension is palpable. It’s not, however, the tension of a woman being watched. In fact, as Quarles wrote in the accompanying publication for “Collapsed Time,” while her figures are often gendered as women by observers, “there’s many aspects of the figure that are more androgynous.” These bodies resist the confines of specificity and identity. In Bless tha Nightn’gale (2019), an Egon Schiele–like tangle of bodies reveals breasts, long hair, and at times feminine facial features. But that face is one of three possible faces lurking in one form. Meanwhile, a figure on the left-hand side of the canvas is stripped so bare that the decisive, wide yet simple brushstrokes suggest that all that remains of the person presented is skeletal muscle.

Christina Quarles, Slick, 2022. © Christina Quarles. Courtesy of the artist, Hauser & Wirth, and Pilar Corrias.

These specific ambiguities are one way that Quarles brings her own body into her work. She can recall countless playground conversations as a child, being asked by her classmates: “What are you?” The fairness of her skin meant that she often passed as white, leaving her young peers in disbelief when she explained that her mother is white and her father is Black. “It sort of opened up this possibility for me that one’s internal self-understanding could be contradictory to how you’re read or interpreted by other people,” she said in an interview with the exhibition’s co-curator, Sam Baradouil. For Quarles, applying that contradiction to the canvas or drawing paper is liberating.

The minute details of her identity as a queer, cisgender, biracial woman translate into figures that are hard to pin down as fixed marks. In the same way that Quarles describes coming out as a continual process (like figure drawing, it’s not an event that’s attained once and then marked complete), her subjects are constantly asserting and reasserting themselves in different states of definition, at once familiar and disorienting. It’s the impulsively surreal illustration style of Ren & Stimpy’s John Kricfalusi, tempered with a more inviting, at times Lisa Frank–ish color palette.

Christina Quarles, installation view of “Collapsed Time” at Hamburger Bahnhof, 2023. Photo by Andrea Rossetti. Courtesy of the artist, Hauser & Wirth, and Pilar Corrias.

Set against a lavender plane tilting at the angle of a sundial, a pumpkin-hued orb glows near the center of In 24 Days Tha Sun’ll Set at 7pm (2022), anchoring the viewer in what Quarles described as the feeling of early autumn in Los Angeles (where she grew up and still lives). The work evokes the feeling of waking up on an October morning to see that, for the first time in months, you’re up before the sun. Bodies angle towards the glowing orb, like plants trying to soak up as much light as possible. The painting gestures to a time when supplies aren’t dwindling quite yet, but a feeling of impending scarcity is in the air. Looking at In 24 Days with Artsy, she explained that the bodies “represent my memory of a feeling,” rather than anything she’s seeing.

Of course, memory can also be hazy and at times this is rendered literally in “Collapsed Time,” in which some of the works are displayed behind translucent stretches of gauzy fabric. The odd elbow or a knee of Quarles’s figures peeks through these angular scrims. As the viewer tries to look closely, there is an unshakeable sense that we are watching ourselves in the process. And, as the show’s co-curator Baradouil has said, that’s the point: “Artists are supposed to complicate things for us.”

Olivia Giovetti