Spoonfed review by Tom Jeffreys, published online in February 2010. Little wonder.., Jonathan Ward took place at KALEID in Shoreditch between 3-27th February 2010.
Calm, quiet, intimate little adventures. Tom Jeffreys applauds the wonderful work of artist Jonathan Ward, whose exhibition is at KALEID editions this February.
I don't think I've ever seen a Private View so quiet. And I don't mean it's empty or anything; rather that, instead of downing as much free wine as possible whilst standing around nattering about trouser turn-ups, everyone is quiet, engaging intently with the work on show. I'm at KALEID editions – anyone who knows me knows this is basically my new favourite place in London – and the opening is for 'Little Wonder...', an exhibition of artist's books by Jonathan Ward.
For anyone unsure what artists' books are (yes, I'm aware the apostrophe keeps moving) you might like to check out my interview with artist and KALEID editions' owner Victoria Browne. In short, an artist's book is a work of art made by an artist, but (more or less – often less) in book form. So for example, on display this evening, there's fairly recognisable book-type things (like a mock-school prospectus, a felt-clad sort of photo album, and a giant-leaved book with all manner of feathers in the inside cover). But there are also things that hardly look like books at all: a little wooden pot, inside of which a scroll, a cut-out print of imaginary plants, a dog collar, and little circular pieces of silk inside a soapstone trinket box.
The exhibition is perhaps primarily about memories. Jonathan's work is intensely personal: a black and white photograph of the artist as a child is repeated throughout First Catch, each one connected to a printed animal on the facing page by a length of fishing line. In other works, he lays bare the worry of finding a lump in his leg (the punningly entitled Felt) or the awkwardness and embarrassment of the first day at school (Galling Moments, a tiny little book encased in a box, accompanied by slides of oak gall wood).
One of my favourite pieces is In Loco Parentis, a prospectus for the fictional Hardwicke Dunstan School for Boys. Jonathan has sourced images from weird old books that depict boys being subjected to various bizarre correctional contraptions. Then the accompanying text explains how the school adopts the latest technological advancements to guard against “erroneous thought patterns” or teach pupils how to wither pot plants from “14 feet and beyond”. The book is genuinely hilarious – I rather embarrass myself with frequent loud guffaws – but it's a darkly evocative kind of humour. Chatting briefly to Jonathan, it's clear his time at one of those barbaric boarding schools was not a happy one.
What I love about the works here is a sense of shared discovery. There's something exciting about delving into the artist's past, and the actual process of 'reading' these books is an adventure in itself. There's also a certain irony about seeing people take part in such a private past time as reading in the relatively public environment of a Private View...
But there's a broader resonance too: we all remember the hopes, pains, awkwardness and exhilaration of being a child. Memory is always shared. This breadth is echoed in Jonathan's decision to invite five of his favourite artists to produce and exhibit work for this show. I love Rob Hunter's playful People I Remember, Places I Don't and Dawn Mason's Spoons is a delicate, beautiful, starkly moving thing.
In the same way that Jonathan collects his memories in order to share them with us, so I kind of feel the need to share in these memories by collecting his work. Luckily, with prices starting at £15 that's not a problem. I pick up a copy of In Loco Parentis, and Little Wonder... Published by KALEID editions, this latter work consists of laser-cut cards of every work in the exhibition with a little book to put them in. Interestingly there's also space for the artist's future works – so apparently I'll be receiving cut-outs of Jonathan's work long into the future! Eventually I leave, filled with wonder and a child-like delight.
