SAN FRANCISCO – I first heard of Jen Bervin when I read Nets (Ugly Duckling, 2003). In this book, Bervin took 60 of William Shakespeare’s sonnets and erased them until the remaining words (exactly where they were in the original) became his poem. Unlike earlier poets, such as Ronald Johnson and Jonathan Williams, who erased pre-existing texts, Bervin did not completely erase his source. Shakespeare’s poems are still noticeable in light blue text, while Bervin’s are in black; readers can literally see the dialogue between the two poems. Leaving the source visible, she acknowledged that some of her poems would suffer from comparison. It is the opposite of appropriation, a common postmodern practice. Writing about this work in the afterword to Netsshe declares: “When we write poems, the history of poetry is with us, pre-inscribed in the white of the page.
The second book I read was Silk Poems (Nightboat Books, 2017). The poem was printed like a roll of fabric unrolling on the page; each line of typed text (all capitals) consisted of six letters, corresponding to the silkworm’s DNA. While I knew a physical manifestation of this poem existed, and that Bervin worked in other materials and made objects, including artists’ books, I had never seen any at this point. I had planned to visit his exhibition Jen Bervin: Shift Rotate Reflect: Selected Works (1997–2020) at the University Galleries of Illinois State University (August 15-December 13, 2020), curated by Kendra Paitz, but the pandemic has made travel impossible. I was wondering when I would get the chance to see an entire exhibition dedicated to the range of his practice, so I felt very lucky to see the big exhibition Jen Bervin: sourceat the Catharine Clark Gallery, in the newly expanded gallery space.
The 15 works in the exhibition, dating from 1998 to 2023, include artists’ books; “River” (2006-2018), composed of sequins of fabric stamped with silver foil sewn together; and “Silk Poems” (2016), an installation that features video of Bervin’s extensive research on silk. What ties these works together is her physical and intellectual engagement with her materials, whether embroidering muslin with words and markings that match Emily Dickinson’s booklets (a group of 40 small homemade booklets in which she copied about 800 of her poems), to type a text or sew on sequins to form a silver glittering river. In his practice, reading, as a valued, hyperconscious activity, and doing become inseparable.
One of the striking things about Bervin’s work — and it is true of Nets – is its ability to both preserve and change its source. In doing so, she establishes two dialogues, one with the work and the other with the viewer/reader. This is also true of Jasper Johns’ groundbreaking early works, such as “Flag” (1954-1955). If one considers the encaustic and the “Flag” collage or Bervin’s weaving of the Dickinson papers on cotton muslin only from a formal point of view, one misses the deeper and more exacting richness of their work, of the dialogues they have initiated with history.
This was my experience with the group of individual pieces collectively titled The composite marks of the bookleteach numbered and dated between 2004 and 2022. Made of cotton and silk yarn over cotton batting with muslin, and measuring 72 by 96 inches, they are displayed so viewers can see both sides.
During Emily Dickinson’s (1858-1864) most extraordinary outpouring of poetry, which coincided with the Civil War, she copied over 800 of her poems into handmade volumes of folded sheets of paper , which she made by stabbing two holes in the papers and tying them together. Dickinson made other “signature” marks on these sheets of paper, which researchers have questioned. Its unique booklets are at the origin of the original and mysterious works of Bervin. From sculptor Roni Horn to Chicago image painter Philip Hanson to poet Susan Howe, Dickinson has served as raw material for designers – so much so that I wondered if anything new could be done. Unlike other poets and artists, Bervin does not quote, reconfigure, or ponder well-known lines and phrases. She is interested in the marks and dashes that Dickinson used for punctuation, which scholars have speculated to indicate pauses of silence or bridges between sections of a poem.
I think Bervin wants to suggest the context of the Civil War without being didactic about it. Cotton was produced in the 15 slave states by nearly two million slaves. Women made cotton clothes and wore cotton dresses. By evoking duvets and bedding, the artist comments on the role of women in this long and bloody conflict that still haunts us. The way the red threads mark the surface, like cuts and incisions on a white background, further influences this reading. Dickinson never acknowledged the Civil War, nor expressed an opinion about it, slavery, or people of color.
Bervin’s touch on these issues is light. She gives viewers plenty of space to reflect on these connections and silences. His work is open and resists any reductive or literal reading.
According to the press release, the “River” sculpture, which crosses the uneven ceiling of the gallery, “imagines an impossible view: the Mississippi River as seen from the heart of the earth, its sources, its alluvial path and its confluence in the delta .spanning 230 curvilinear feet of ceiling and wall.As we walk beneath the room and gaze upon it, seeing the sequins shimmer and flash in the light, we are invited to acknowledge all the different roles the Mississippi River has played in U.S. history Bervin undermines our comfortable relationship with rivers, a common subject, by making viewers look up rather than down.
The “River” scale is set at one inch for one mile. In “Measure (after Susan Hiller)” (2023), Bervin pays homage to Hiller (1940-2019), the influential American-born British conceptual artist. For “Measure by Measure II” (1993-2012), Hiller burned his paintings annually and collected the ashes in glass measuring tubes. Bervin’s work consists of diaries she wrote between 1992 and 2012, which she burned, containing their ashes in tubes. A phrase from the diary inside is on the outside of each tube.
“Measure (after Susan Hiller)” is less visually imposing than “River” and Fascicle composite marks. I’m happy about this gap – it means Bervin hasn’t figured it all out yet. Each work is different, including his artist’s books. An unclassifiable artist and avid reader, she has broadened the notion of what it is to be a poet in the 21st century.
Jen Bervin: source continues at the Catharine Clark Gallery (248 Utah Street, San Francisco, CA) through June 10. The exhibition was organized by the gallery.
