In memoriam: installation commemorates victims of Triangle Shirtwaist Fire

A-Space Gallery at West Cove Studios
30 Elm St., West Haven, (203) 627-8030
Cate Bourke: Crewel Linen—Unfinished Business
Through Mar. 25, 2012.
Panel discussion: Sat., Mar. 24, 2—3 p.m. at the People's Center, 137 Howe St., New Haven.
Reception: Sat., Mar. 24, 4—6 p.m. at West Cove Studios in West Haven.

Orderly ghosts.

That is my first impression gleaned from entering the West Cove Studios gallery where artist Cate Bourke has installed Crewel Linen: Unfinished Business, a remembrance of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of March 25, 1911.

From the gallery's industrial ceiling, Bourke has suspended four rows of eight-foot banners—made of shirtwaist cloth—more than 30 deep each. Sewn near the bottom of each banner is a rectangle of heavier beige linen bearing the name of one of the victims, mostly but not all women. There is a banner for each of the 146 victims of the fire.

The fire is the deadliest industrial disaster in New York City history and one of the deadliest industrial accidents in U.S. history. Because managers had locked the doors to stairwells and exits—ostensibly to prevent unauthorized breaks and theft—workers were trapped in the sweatshop, which was located on floors 8—10 of the Asch Building near Washington Square Park. Dozens of workers died jumping from the windows to the street in vain attempts to save their lives.

The names are a roll call of the striving industrial immigrant working class of early 20th century New York, predominantly Jewish and Italian: Annie Colletti, Sarah Brodsky, Morris Bernstein, Josephine Cammarata. Most of the victims were between 16 and 23 years old.

The edges of each banner are frayed, untidy. Long, loose threads hang from many—the loose threads of lives unfinished. A visitor can walk between the rows of banners like a supervisor walking the aisles between work stations, inspecting them. Or imagine oneself in a wraith-like cemetery.

At one end of the gallery, in contrast to the orderliness of the rows of banners, lies a pile of thread and cloth trimmings. It was scraps like this that are alleged to have caught fire, sparking the blaze. The pile evokes the chaos of the fire. But even more, it suggests the notion that these workers—these people—were themselves discards of an oppressive industrial system, as disposable as fabric trimmings.

Crewel Linen—"crewel" is a form of embroidery and, obviously, a wordplay on "cruel"—is a memorial, filled with the meditative silence of the dead. The subtle breezes endemic to a drafty factory building cause many of the banners to sway softly.

History, yes. In the terms of contemporary argot, "ancient history."

And yet, of course, it's not. One need only read the reports of the horrific—if gleaming with high-tech sheen—exploitation of workers in the Apple supply chain to know that abuse of workers remains a contemporary phenomenon. Too often, a reader can catch a glimpse of a one-paragraph wire services story in the newspaper of dozens of workers killed in an industrial accident—usually an accident that was completely preventable if a decent concern for human life took precedence over naked lust for profits.

The other contemporary resonance echoes from the names of the victims—probably all first or second-generation immigrants eking out a living (if that) without control over the conditions of their toil. Today the names are more likely to be Spanish or Asian. But the dangers of living a marginalized existence on the edges of the economy—compounded by the repressive crackdown on undocumented workers—remain.

Crewel Linen will be on view through Mar. 25, 2012, the 101st anniversary of the fire. There will be a panel discussion on the installation on Sat., Mar. 24, from 2—3 p.m. at the People's Center at 37 Howe St. in New Haven. Moderated by Henry Lowendorf, chair of the New Haven Peace Commission, the panel will feature artist Cate Bourke, Megan Fountain of the community organization Unidad Latina en Accion and Jennifer Klein, professor of history at Yale University.

The panel will be followed by a reception at the gallery (30 Elm St. in West Haven) from 4—6 p.m.

Clay another way

Guilford Art Center
411 Church St., Guilford, (203) 453-5947
Contemporary Ceramic Sculpture
Through July 24, 2010

Contemporary Ceramic Sculpture at the Guilford Art Center is a wide-ranging show of non-functional ceramic works, essentially using clay as sculptural material. Lisa Wolkow, longtime head of the center's ceramics studio, juried the show, which features 20 artists from across the country.

Most of these pieces reference natural or architectural objects. Even the most abstract works—Andrew Maglathlin's (Web site) two sculptures—are inspired by natural forms.
A number of works incorporate found objects and/or non-ceramic materials, as well: wire mesh in two works from Lauren Sandler's (Web site) "Artifact Series;" rusted metal scraps and leather used in Barbara Broadwell's (Web site) creepy yet evocative "Abbadon;" a wood and glass display case that houses literal "feet of clay" in Justin Hackett's "Anthropomorphic Collection." (In some cases, there are objects included in the works that look like found objects but are actually ceramic facsimiles: the small pair of scissors with orange handles in Trisha Coates' (Web site) "Cleo's Famous Sprouts Teapot" and the trash objects—toothbrush, bottle cap, electrical cord—in Holly Dowidat's (Web site) "Scraps 'The Garbage Dog.'")

Among my favorites are those works that attain a fine balance between form, contrasting textures and color combinations. Virginia Jenkins' two small pieces ("Open and Broken" and "Pragle Rock") are abstractions that deftly evoke the natural world. Soft, blob-like curves meld with hard-edged surfaces. In "Open and Broken," the object has both a notable outer surface with contrasting textures of shiny glaze, matte coloring and flaking paint and open, inner surface. It is suggestive of an inner life for an inanimate object. Her coloration of "Pragle Rock" is serenely beautiful, conjuring a natural world that is in process rather than static.

Nancy Hayes' two sculptures more directly evoke the process of nature. The two works build outward from a foundation element, like vines and brambles on a tree trunk. Hayes' "Expanding Growth Form" seems at first glance to be plant-like, woody vines clamping on woody vines. But further consideration conjures the idea of subatomic form or—and here I'm really reaching for metaphors—life and art itself, always building ever outward from experience, perception and concepts.


Zach Tate's work, according to his artist statement, often uses the human form as a starting point. Tate's entry here is one of the darkest works in the show. "Not Everything in Red White & Blue is So Perfect" features three cartoonlike human figures, each standing about a foot and a half tall. The first two have on red and white-striped jumpsuits; the third figure wears a blue jumpsuit. The middle figure wears a KKK-like peaked hood with eyeholes. A black balaclava mask covers the lead figure's head while the figure bringing up the rear has the lower part of his face masked with a red kerchief. All three are splashed with what looks like oil. While Tate's work was likely made before the Gulf of Mexico oil spill it seems to reference that catastrophe as well as the racism and deception that simmers masked behind the myth of American exceptionalism.


On a more elegiac note, there is Cate Bourke's "I Shall Never Tire of Representing Her." Bourke's work was inspired by finding a cache of a dozen sets f her late mother's rosary beads. Working in porcelain—held together with steel and wood—Bourke has created nine totems of oversized beads. It is a touching memorial, each form unique and all of them celebrating the dynamic complexity of a treasured individual human life.

Where many of the works in this show benefit from their juxtaposition of different colors, Bourke's tribute soars on the wings of its stately monochromaticism. Lit from above, the grooves and textures of each bead are set in dramatic relief of light and shadow.

It is a particularly fitting work in an exhibit of earthenware sculpture. The line from the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer comes to mind: "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." In Bourke's hands, the prosaic stuff of earth becomes a poignant and enduring remembrance.