Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
Michael Craig-Martin’s ongoing series of portraits appear simple; colourful subjects that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea instruction manual. Their subjects, all everyday objects, are presented with a Caulfield-esque thick, black outline, illustrated against their blank backgrounds of contrasting colours. The objects, though commonplace, are distinctly modern, with recent work including portraits of Apple watches, electric toothbrushes, and particularly up-to-date face masks.
Physical and spatial de-contextualisation has been present in Craig-Martin’s work since 2001, with Las Meninas II obscuring its objects’ relation to each-other and relative size; sunglasses and a pencil-sharpener physically dwarf a stepladder, while a wall-mounted mirror floats without the aid of a wall. While all of the objects in his recent work are presented as simple, lone illustrations with no context or setting, Zoom stands out in its representation of physical space. The multiple laptops and titles of the piece suggest a relationship between the objects, carrying the implication of physical distance and communication within the context of a pandemic-stricken world. The space is not only non-physical, as in Craig-Martin’s other work, but stands as an active rejection of physicality. The clear, bold lines and block colours work as a reflection of consumer culture and the blandness it represents, while also ensuring the instant recognisability of the objects presented, even in their contextless state.
The viewer, then, creates their own framework within which Craig-Martin’s portraits can be contextualised. Zoom and Untitled (Mask 2) in particular carry significantly more weight for a contemporary viewer; the blank background behind the mask doesn’t just decontextualise it, but ensures that the viewer places it within their own viewpoint of the modern world. Michael Craig-Martin has described his work as ‘an archaeology of the present’, and the visual simplification of his work plays into this. In reducing them to their most basic, recognisable outlines, the paintings portray their respective objects just as we would expect to find them in a museum, as lone objects, presented and displayed individually.
How far, though, does this presentation actually reflect its objects? And how much does Craig-Martin’s work actually embody traditional archaeology of the past? With their form on display as plainly as possible, the images contain little hint of the objects’ functions. Walk through any museum of archaeology exhibition and you’ll be met with objects of unknown origin and obscure use, the severing from their context rendering their function inscrutable. Eye Test perhaps best stands out as an example of Michael Craig-Martin’s use of image and symbol, using the images almost as hieroglyphics, replacing words and letters as they shrink, as if to reduce them from the objects themselves into emojis.
Michael Craig-Martin’s recent works don’t just reflect the modern world, but necessitate that the viewer read them within its context. Conversely, by removing function, we are invited to appreciate the form, and to consider the objects from a purely aesthetic perspective, independent of their purpose. These apparently contradictory approaches to Craig-Martin’s work reflect traditional archaeology, in which previously functional objects are appreciated for their form, as well as considered within their cultural context.
