Cracked

According to Buddhist philosophy, the "three poisons" of ignorance, greed and hate arise from the illusion of permanence in an ever-changing universe. Buddhism has developed highly disciplined artistic responses that react to and embrace impermanence, and Andrew Binkley’s "A Space Between" is most readily grasped on these terms. After all, the Honolulu Museum’s Orvis Artist in Residence program is transience embodied, and Binkley is the latest in a long line of artists who have appropriated the Spalding House tennis court.

Binkley cleared a straight path through 4 inches of gravel that covers the court, running on a southwest axis toward the museum’s Beretania Street complex. The two sites, which once represented independent institutions, are thereby re-consolidated, offering a second approach to his work that involves some light geomancy and subtle commentary.

Clearing the path was a monumental effort worthy of any kung fu flick’s hero-training montage sequence, and the results were appropriately humble: a revelation of cracked asphalt, as unremarkable as the gravel itself, with no indication of a history that leads all the way back to artist Michael Lin’s large-scale painted floral patterns.

Cracks, whether in a building or a teacup, are a mark of failure that devalues or destroys the damaged object. In the West we generally dispose of broken goods or conceal their faults, but in some Eastern traditions such as Japanese "kintsugi," broken china can be repaired with a lacquer resin that has been mixed with powdered gold. Thus, the history of the damage is recorded and honored without erasing it.

Binkley evoked this philosophy and practice by painting all the exposed cracks with brilliant metallic gold with the help of volunteers of all ages and backgrounds. This was a meditative process that required patience and focus and generated a rewarding feedback loop. Applying the gold beautified the cracks, which in turn revealed others that called out to be painted gold themselves. It is like tracing the path of a lightning bolt or a meandering river, in slow motion.

I was fortunate to visit on a quiet, rainy day, and the black surface of the path turned into gold-accented mercury when viewed at certain angles. The monkeypod leaves had fallen, adding flecks of gold, brown and rust.

The path ends in a golden waterfall painted in the court’s corner and tapering off about 12 feet above the surface of the gravel. The flames are a symbol of enlightenment: a clear goal. And then there is the hard-to-resist meditative simplicity found in slowly walking from the corner opposite the waves, looking down at the branching patterns of gold and, in my case, watching the concentric ripples caused by raindrops distort the shallow reflections.

In contemporary art, the term "site specific" refers to works that directly address the places where they are viewed, built and installed. Therefore Binkley is also addressing the museum itself in this piece, and this is where things get interesting.

Considering the internal politics of joining two organizations’ staffs, the challenge of attracting audiences rendered distant by contemporary distraction, and the museum’s complex engagement with the various stakeholders of Thomas Square Park, it is clear that fault lines abound. In "The Space Between" the Honolulu Museum of Art stands in for a society that is cracking, fragmenting and shifting on multiple levels.

At another scale "A Space Between" specifies the site of these islands and, arguably, the ignorance, greed and hate that created the cracks between native and settler populations. In Hawaii in particular, the respective consolidation of news, land, art and politics appears to be a foregone conclusion, paved over by time and — truthfully — public acquiescence.

What is broken here and who broke it? What was it worth before the damage was done, and who says? Can it be repaired? Should repairs be openly acknowledged or hidden? Are some solutions just incredibly expensive means to highlight (not solve) a problem? Binkley’s piece argues for a union of all of these questions, derived from a careful study and delineation of the different situations that birthed them.

By patiently and mindfully tracing the outlines of our problems in precious metal, we can pay them respect and see them as the ever-shifting wholes that they are.

When "A Space Between" is gone, its impressions will linger.