Artist Rachel Youn's Venice exhibition, "Unruly Vessel," unveils a captivating series of kinetic sculptures that challenge our perceptions of self-care and discipline. Utilizing discarded wellness devices and synthetic flora, Youn orchestrates perpetual motion, transforming tools designed for solace or physical betterment into artworks that interrogate the boundary between restorative practice and enduring ordeal. The presentation juxtaposes these modern concerns with Venice's own rich history of control, labor, and spiritual practice, revealing how acts of improvement can subtly shift into cycles of relentless repetition. The artist views these mechanical components not merely as raw materials, but as "collaborators," each possessing an inherent vitality that she extends into fresh expressions and configurations, breathing new life into objects that have long outlived their initial function.
Youn's creative journey began with a curiosity for the inner workings of a secondhand foot massager, leading her to collect various disused wellness products. She became fascinated by how these machines mimicked human touch—the gentle pressure of a thumb, the firm embrace of a hand. This led her to incorporate baby swings, whose mechanical rhythms echoed the comforting sway of a parent. This exploration of artificial intimacy and uncanny movement became a natural progression in her artistic practice, grounding her work in the concept of artifice. Her research into Venice's past, particularly the island of San Servolo and the Pubblica Fusta—a floating prison—further deepened her understanding of the historical intersections between rehabilitation, religious discipline, and societal exclusion. This historical context enriches her art, revealing a profound connection between contemporary wellness trends and historical methods of bodily regulation.
The Dual Nature of Repetitive Motion
Rachel Youn's artistic exploration delves into the delicate balance between alleviation and discomfort, a theme she consistently encounters in both historical research and her own lived experiences. She observes that practices intended for recovery often mirror those used for strict regulation. A prime example is the origins of the modern treadmill, initially conceived as a "treadwheel"—a punitive device designed to instill industrial habits in prisoners. Similarly, contemporary wellness practices like cold plunges and saunas echo hydrotherapy treatments historically employed in psychiatric institutions. Youn highlights that many actions undertaken in the name of self-improvement, though arguably painful, are distinct from punishment due to the element of consent. Her fascination lies in the human inclination to embrace adversity when it is framed within the language of personal advancement, health, or productivity, reflecting on our capacity to rationalize physical and emotional discomfort as beneficial.
This inquiry manifests in sculptures caught within endless loops of motion. Motors activate the same gestures repeatedly, creating movements that fluctuate between soothing rituals and relentless compulsions. Youn describes her work as an "existential inquiry" into how repetition transforms from comfort into pain. A massage, initially restorative, becomes unbearable if prolonged indefinitely. This dynamic extends to daily routines, employment, and personal relationships, questioning the point at which consistency shifts from grounding to disturbing, and familiarity from comforting to demoralizing. For viewers, these cyclical movements often induce a hypnotic state, yet for Youn, they represent an "endless cyclical motion bordering on torturous" that ceases only when the machine inevitably fails. Artificial plants are crucial to this ambiguity, functioning as bodies, decorative elements, flawed imitations of nature, or even unwilling participants in the mechanical systems that animate them, blurring the lines between the living and the artificial.
Unrealized Aspirations and Humorous Absurdity
Venice, with its unique historical backdrop, provided an exceptionally rich context for Rachel Youn's artistic investigations. Her residency in the city led her to explore San Servolo island, home to a museum housed within a former psychiatric institution. Here, she uncovered the history of the Pubblica Fusta, a mastless vessel once anchored near Piazza San Marco, which served first as a floating prison and later as a site for confining individuals deemed socially undesirable, such as convicts and those with mental illness. This historical discovery deeply influenced her installation "Congregation," where exercise machines propel large palm fronds mounted on wooden benches, creating mechanical oars. This work simultaneously references the Pubblica Fusta and Christian rituals like Palm Sunday, evoking a sense of "madly rowing towards nothing as a congregation," which Youn interprets as an expression of frustration towards prevailing political and religious institutions.
Beneath the surface of many of Youn's creations lies a profound empathy for the objects themselves. These machines, originally marketed as instruments for self-care, health, and transformation, often arrive in her studio laden with faded aspirations. She notes a "prevailing sense of failure" associated with these devices, which, despite being intended for self-improvement, often fall short in fostering genuine human interaction and intimacy. Whether heavily used or left untouched, these discarded items bear the silent traces of unrealized hopes, having been purchased with high expectations only to be resold or donated after falling into disuse. For Youn, they embody a poignant "narrative of desire and shortcoming." Humor serves as another vital entry point into these complex emotional landscapes. Despite addressing themes of exhaustion, obsolescence, and disappointment, her sculptures retain an undeniable absurdity. Youn views humor as a form of connection, believing that while art may not solve systemic issues, it can foster moments of shared understanding, even if those feelings are fatigue and hopelessness. Though her work may have become less overtly comedic over time, absurdity remains essential, allowing her and others to step back and perceive the inherent ridiculousness of existence, echoing the sentiment, "I'm laughing because I'm crying."
