Forgive me for indulging in out-and-out hyperbole right out of the starting gate, but this installation of outtakes from the archives of the late, much-loved UB sociology professor and activist Ed Powell is not to be missed. It's one of the most fascinating and imaginative archival exhibits I've ever seen. The back room of Rust Belt has been transformed into a wild, slightly surreal dreamscape of papers, notes, personal effects, books, still-packed boxes, and miscellaneous ephemera. They cascade from the ceiling, they accumulate in corners, they spill across the floor, and they're tucked into every available nook and cranny of the small space.
Curator Erin Verhoef (familiar to most everyone who has spent time in the front part of the store) explains in a photocopied note that the project is an outgrowth of her work with Powell's archives at UB; what we're seeing here is mostly duplicates from the main collection. "With the technological advances in information science, paper communication is being replaced by virtual communication ... and frankly, it breaks my heart," she writes. "I am not resistant to change; I am resistant to disrespecting physical contextual history ... which is now and everywhere." (Reading these words in a 21st century used bookstore gives them even more weight.) Visitors to the show are even encouraged to take a part of it home with them ("but please do so with consideration")--a brilliant notion, because in trying to pick my own souveneir, I was obliged to think about the very act of collection (my home office is almost as cluttered and crazed as this simulated one) and about the difficult choices entailed in curating any posthumous show.
I never took a class from Powell; I had a passing conversation or two with him over the years, and I certainly remember seeing him on his bike and at events all over town. (He was pretty hard to miss.) So I am not be the best judge of how accurately Verhoef has captured his spirit. (Whoops, bad choice of words: no way to capture a spirit this wild and wooly. "Preserved"? "Honored"? "Evoked"?) But the minute I walked in the room, I got the basic idea: Epicircle is every bit as eccentric, and as inspiring, as the legendary packrat to whom it pays tribute. The installation is so damn cool I almost wish it coud be permanent--but the notion of "permanent ephemera" is an oxymoron Powell would surely find hilarious.
Important note! If you want to see "Epicenter," HURRY! Today (Friday, July 27) is the last day, and then it will be gone forever.
2 comments:
I thought this was going to be a brief drive-by enroute to another event, instead, it replaced it.
I had the luxury of being in Ed Powell's house when it was put to market after his death (it was incidentally open for viewing during some Parkside Community Association event a few years back). The house was massive, structurally and aethetically astounding, but the most memorable part was the unbelievable volume of books to be seen all over, in every spare cranny of this cavernous dwelling. I didn't know the man, but his vibe was there, through the books and papers. Made me long for an era that I was just a hair too young to live thru.
Same vibe present at this installation!!I was there for over an hour, pawing thru headlines, class notes,letters to colleagues.
Interesting to note that I know his son (never made the connection 'til last night).
This man's eagerness to share his knowledge and opinions was nicely manifested in the generous offer of the show's curator to the attendees of this installation to select and take a memento with.
I selected a narrative related to the Love Canal investigations. Something that occurred that I was living elsewhere; pertinent to me as an ex-lover had come to WNY for the first time to photograph the waste site for Greenpeace several decades before I met him.From your archives into mine.
um, that's aesthetically
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