2008 Woodie Awards
Manhole covers, a lost form of public art
Travis Diehl
Issue date: 10/9/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment
We walk above it without noticing: an intricate network, an iron lacework beneath our feet, interlocking maps of sewer, electric, and telephone.
Not to mention their humble street-level extensions: manhole covers.
New York artist Guillermo Resto, whose work appeared at The Space Gallery from Sept. 26 to Oct. 3, not only notices, he meets the flow of all this ephemeral energy in an extremely tactile way. Guillermo applies dye directly to the surface of a manhole cover, lays down a sheet of paper, and coaxes an impression with the bottom of his Reebok, resulting in a striking body-sized print.
Guillermo makes a case for the manhole cover as a lost form of public art. There are starbursts from Californian streets and dots and webs from New York alleys. The one that started it all is of blooming flowers from a Japanese meter cover. But the artist is disappointed with Greensboro's covers, which even in older neighborhoods have been replaced with uniform discs bearing the year 1808 and a drawing of Nathanial Greene, wreathed with foliage. They're made to look old, but aren't. Their divots and notches are purely decorative, and have never gripped a horseshoe.
Guillermo made his first print - a water meter cover decorated with three lotus flowers - in 2002 while on tour in Japan with the Mark Morris Dance Ensemble. And while he still dances and choreographs, now his tours also fuel his new obsession, the manhole cover prints. Says Guillermo simply, "I like to appropriate things."
His work, a diverse catalog of colorful manhole cover rubbings from dozens of cities across several countries - he ticks them off: Brazil, Australia, Puerto Rico, New Zealand - resembles the work of Mimi and Robert Melnick. Beginning in the early 70s, the couple has photographed, in stark literal style, manhole covers from across the world. But Guillermo didn't discover these photos until well into his own series, when a friend gave him the Melnicks' book.
For him, photography was never an option. For his first rubbing in 2002, Guillermo shrugged off rushing to get a camera. "My wife's a photographer," he says by way of explanation, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Instead, he made a crude print using available materials: mud and a sheet of letter paper. The next day he was back with ink pen refills, larger paper and a hotel towel; five years later, he still makes prints the same way.
Not to mention their humble street-level extensions: manhole covers.
New York artist Guillermo Resto, whose work appeared at The Space Gallery from Sept. 26 to Oct. 3, not only notices, he meets the flow of all this ephemeral energy in an extremely tactile way. Guillermo applies dye directly to the surface of a manhole cover, lays down a sheet of paper, and coaxes an impression with the bottom of his Reebok, resulting in a striking body-sized print.
Guillermo makes a case for the manhole cover as a lost form of public art. There are starbursts from Californian streets and dots and webs from New York alleys. The one that started it all is of blooming flowers from a Japanese meter cover. But the artist is disappointed with Greensboro's covers, which even in older neighborhoods have been replaced with uniform discs bearing the year 1808 and a drawing of Nathanial Greene, wreathed with foliage. They're made to look old, but aren't. Their divots and notches are purely decorative, and have never gripped a horseshoe.
Guillermo made his first print - a water meter cover decorated with three lotus flowers - in 2002 while on tour in Japan with the Mark Morris Dance Ensemble. And while he still dances and choreographs, now his tours also fuel his new obsession, the manhole cover prints. Says Guillermo simply, "I like to appropriate things."
His work, a diverse catalog of colorful manhole cover rubbings from dozens of cities across several countries - he ticks them off: Brazil, Australia, Puerto Rico, New Zealand - resembles the work of Mimi and Robert Melnick. Beginning in the early 70s, the couple has photographed, in stark literal style, manhole covers from across the world. But Guillermo didn't discover these photos until well into his own series, when a friend gave him the Melnicks' book.
For him, photography was never an option. For his first rubbing in 2002, Guillermo shrugged off rushing to get a camera. "My wife's a photographer," he says by way of explanation, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Instead, he made a crude print using available materials: mud and a sheet of letter paper. The next day he was back with ink pen refills, larger paper and a hotel towel; five years later, he still makes prints the same way.
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