Gray Wielebinski’s Powerful Installations Deconstruct Myths of American History

Artist Gray Wielebinski describes much of his work as collage, including immersive conceptual installations. His practice, which also includes more traditional collage works with cut and pasted paper, focuses on how and why we tell collective stories, from the myth of contemporary Americana to the paranoid narratives of the Cold War, and references everything from abstract painting to children’s cartoons and subcultural nightlife spaces. Combined, these elements convey the disjointed experience of 21st-century image consumption. The artist, who was featured in The Artsy Vanguard 2020, also plays with the visual appeal of cultural myths, which often rely on compelling imagery to capture the imagination.

“I start with research, broad themes, ultimately: power,” the artist said in an interview at his Soho studio ahead of a new exhibition at London’s ICA (“The Red Sun is High, the Blue Low,” running through December 23rd). “I’ve been thinking a lot about the material foundations of nation-state building and mythology, particularly the American empire.” Born in Texas, Wielebinski graduated from his MFA at the Slade School of Fine Art in London in 2018. He has since had solo exhibitions at Hales Gallery (2021), Seagar Gallery (2019), B. Dewitt Gallery, and Gazelli Art House (both 2018).

In “The Red Sun is High, the Blue Low,” Wielebinski explores the messily intertwined nature of private and public spaces. Sandwiched between important sites in London (the Mall, Buckingham Palace, St James’ Park, and the Admiralty Citadel), the ICA’s location is loaded with monarchic and political power. The World War II–era fortress of the Admiralty Citadel has had a particularly strong impact on the show. “It’s covered in ivy because Winston Churchill called it ‘a vast monstrosity’ and it was described as ‘the ugliest building in London’ in a House of Commons debate in 1955,” he said. “It’s still used by the Ministry of Defence, but you can’t see inside it.” While many people have a clear image of what government and war rooms look like, this mostly comes from their popular depiction on screen: Wielebinski cites Dr. Strangelove in particular.

The proximity of the Citadel led the artist to think about possible readings of Don DeLillo’s phrase “men in small rooms” from his 1988 book Libra. “‘Men in small rooms’ could be understood as a psychic dreamscape, which I’ve made work about before, or the imagined Americana of locker rooms and homoeroticism,” he said. “But it can also be the political nefariousness and violence being abstracted by men in small rooms making decisions that the public isn’t privy to.”

For the show, Wielebinski has whitewashed the ICA’s windows in reference to U.K. government guidelines during the Cold War to protect houses from nuclear apocalypse. “It was a tragicomic, futile suggestion, which couldn’t really help,” he said. “I was also thinking of this very gestural markmaking. The culture wars between the U.S. and U.S.S.R. led to the U.S. bolstering Abstract Expressionism in opposition to Socialist Realism, because it showed the utmost creative freedom that the U.S. and the West could allegedly offer.”

Wielebinski painted the windows in order to highlight the shift of responsibility from governments onto individuals in times of crisis. The artist challenges the lack of communal thinking that is often involved in planning for the apocalypse, and the exhibition features a bunker installation: a darkened room with illuminated lockboxes broken open at regular intervals around the walls. “I am critical of bunkerism,” he said. “Instead of embracing the present, it’s preparing for a future that’s about sequestering yourself and keeping everyone out instead of being with the messiness of the now.”

Adjacent to the windows, the artist has painted a selection of sun motifs in different colorways. The work is typical of the complex layering of meaning throughout the show. The shape of the suns is inspired by the closing credits of Looney Tunes, while their technique calls to mind minimalist abstract painting. The works reference the setting sun as an apocalyptic signifier within science fiction narratives; Wielebinski was particularly inspired by the writing of Samuel R. Delany, as well as the diaries of Zoe Leonard. Hung in metal frames, these sun motifs also look like shooting targets.

There is also a basketball scoreboard, that connects the recognizable aesthetics of the North American sport with the doomsday clock and depersonalized signage in conceptual art, such as Jenny Holzer’s LED sign takeovers. “Basketball was the sport I played most when I was younger, so it’s a very mundane everyday object,” he said. “It’s also a beautiful sculptural object which will perhaps be ominous in this context. And it’s foreign, in that it’s not so recognizable in the U.K.”

Previous works have delved into the aesthetics of sports as a way of exploring gender, sexuality, costume, and power. For example, the 2022 installation Pain and Glory (shown as part of the show “Love” at London nonprofit Bold Tendencies) featured a mechanical bull surrounded by stained glass windows replete with glory holes and fencing featuring butt plug–esque adornments. The body of the viewer played a central role, whether they were merely watching or chose to interact with the work by riding the bull.

“[The work] explored what it means to have a moment alone in public, but there was also performativity, pleasure, and subversion of what we assume the power dynamics of looking and being looked at are,” he said. “You go into this sanctuary space when you’re on the bull. You can’t pay attention to the people watching; you’re so concentrated on your body, which is going in all these different ways. I was thinking about how to abstract transness or universalize it; what it means to associate or dissociate; or be embodied or not. Also, the ambivalence of being witnessed in that.”