Concrete Conversations: Dialogues Between Structure and Style
Modernism’s Concrete Collapse
You know, when I first heard that title, I have to admit – I was a bit perplexed. “Concrete Conversations”? What does that even mean? I’m picturing some sort of existential chat between a sidewalk and a skyscraper. But as I dove deeper into exploring the relationship between structure and style in the world of concrete, I realized there’s a whole lot more to it than meets the eye.
Let me start by sharing a conversation I recently had with two artist friends of mine, Daniel Dove and Michael Berryhill. These guys have been grappling with these ideas of form, space, and materiality in their respective painting practices for years. And let me tell you, their dialogue was anything but straightforward.
As Daniel puts it, they’ve “lived through that decade when artists had to take down modernism.” Remember those old modernist ideals – the heroic individual, the mythos of progress, the Western chauvinism? Well, those notions have been getting a serious beatdown in the art world, and in society at large. Heck, we’re even seeing the literal toppling of modernist monuments these days.
But interestingly, Daniel sees this collapse of modernism manifesting in his own work in unexpected ways. Take his painting “Fallen Figure” – it takes the classical odalisque figure and basically gives it a good old-fashioned beatdown. The result is this strange, picturesque scene of “disrepair” and “post-trauma.” It’s like modernism’s grand assertions have been reduced to a kind of fragmented, dilapidated beauty.
And Michael? Well, he’s been exploring similar territory, but in his own inimitable way. He told me how he’s intentionally trying to “eliminate place” in his paintings, to create a sense of flatness and remove any clear “external world.” It’s almost like he’s trying to build a self-contained, self-referential universe within the frame. But even then, he can’t help but sneak in these little hints of figuration – a bird here, a painter there. It’s as if these humanistic elements are constantly asserting themselves, even as he tries to deny them.
Honestly, listening to these two go at it, it’s clear that they’re both grappling with some deep, existential questions about the nature of representation, the fallacy of modernist ideals, and the very purpose of painting itself. And you know what? I think concrete – in all its stubborn, unyielding materiality – might just be the perfect medium to explore these ideas.
Concrete’s Primordial Pedigree
I mean, think about it. Concrete is this ancient, primal substance that’s been used to build everything from Roman aqueducts to futuristic skyscrapers. It’s the ultimate expression of human ingenuity and technological progress. But at the same time, it’s also this primordial, elemental material – a literal embodiment of the “primordial ooze” that Daniel and Michael were talking about.
And you know, that’s exactly what I love about concrete. It’s this paradoxical material that simultaneously represents the heights of human achievement and the most fundamental building blocks of the natural world. It’s like, on one hand, you’ve got these sleek, modernist architectural marvels made of concrete. But then on the other hand, you’ve got that raw, tactile quality – the gritty texture, the uneven surfaces, the sense of weight and solidity.
In a way, concrete kind of mirrors the trajectory of modernism itself. It started off as this bold, revolutionary material – a symbol of the future, of progress, of humanity’s mastery over the natural world. But over time, as the cracks (literally and figuratively) started to show, concrete became this repository for all the failures and contradictions of the modernist project.
I mean, just look at how Daniel and Michael are engaging with it in their paintings. Daniel’s “Nu Jaune” takes this iconic Matisse cutout and blows it up to this massive, architectural scale – transforming a flat, modernist abstraction into a weighty, sculptural object. It’s like he’s saying, “Hey, remember how modernism tried to erase the body and reduce everything to pure form? Well, guess what – that form is now a physical, tangible thing that you have to reckon with.”
And then there’s Michael, who’s trying to strip away all the representational baggage and create these pure, self-contained painting worlds. But even then, those pesky human elements keep creeping back in – a bird here, a painter there. It’s as if the very act of painting, of creating, is this inherently human endeavor that can’t be fully divorced from the physical world.
Concrete’s Enduring Presence
You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize that concrete is kind of the perfect medium to explore these questions of structure and style, of modernism and its discontents. It’s this material that’s been with us since the dawn of civilization, and yet it’s still evolving, still being reinvented and reinterpreted by artists, architects, and designers.
And let me tell you, the team over at Concrete Townsville are doing some pretty fascinating work in this realm. They’re not just pouring slabs and mixing batches – they’re really pushing the boundaries of what concrete can do. They’re experimenting with new techniques, new additives, new ways of shaping and sculpting this ancient material.
It’s like they’re trying to write the next chapter in concrete’s long and storied history. They’re taking this primordial substance and infusing it with a whole new sense of style and sophistication. Maybe it’s a nod to those modernist ideals of progress and innovation. But at the same time, they’re also deeply in touch with concrete’s inherent physicality, its rawness, its connection to the earth.
And you know, that’s exactly what I love about it. Concrete isn’t just a means to an end – it’s a living, breathing material that’s constantly evolving, constantly challenging us to rethink our assumptions about what’s possible. It’s a material that’s both ancient and futuristic, both primal and refined.
So, the next time you look at a concrete structure – whether it’s a towering skyscraper or a humble sidewalk – I want you to really think about the depth and complexity of what you’re seeing. Because in that concrete, you’re not just seeing a building material – you’re seeing the echoes of modernism, the tensions between form and function, the enduring power of the natural world.
It’s a whole universe of possibilities, just waiting to be explored. And who knows – maybe the next great concrete conversation is just waiting to happen.
