The Light String Going On And Off

a screenshot of kriston capps instgagram of a felix gonzalez torres lightstring hanging from the ceiling and pooling on the wooden floor of the national portrait gallery, with the toplit line of white wrapped candy against the white wall behind it, with the caption "the most peaceful/paintful experience you will find in the district today is always to return at the national portrait gallery. felix gonzalez-torres is the guide you need right now. the guide we need. find my review in artforum this month. and a comment by gregdotorg, me, "they turned it off!" — screenshot of Kriston Capps’ IG of an installation photo from the National Portrait Gallery of Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ light string work, *“Untitled” (Leaves of Grass)*, turned off. photo: Matailong Du/NPG

As my comment on Kriston Capps’ insta shows, it’s somehow always a surprise to see a Felix Gonzalez-Torres light string with the lights off. My reaction led Kriston to doublecheck with the National Portrait Gallery whether it’d been OK to post [tl;dr it was, but hold on], and it sent me looking for more.

a black and white 1992 installation photo of andrea rosen gallery in soho includes one gonzalez torres light string, lit up and swagged across the concrete beam ceiling and stretching down the right wall, and another hanging in the right corner, turned off. from the felix gonzalez torres foundation — “Untitled” (Toronto) [on] and “Untitled” (Miami) [off], installed in 1992 at Andrea Rosen Gallery, image via FG-T Foundation

Of course, it goes back to the beginning, where they were shown on and off, side by side. Gonzalez-Torres’ whole point of his works was that the owner [or exhibitor] was to decide how to display them, and that includes whether to turn them on. The Felix Gonzalez-Torres Foundation has photos of an unlit “Untitled” (Tim Hotel), 1992, in a collector’s home, which feels like the normal, private state. Maybe it gets turned on for company, which raises the question of public vs. private presentation as well as space.

Because obviously, they look the sexiest when they’re on, and it’s understandable for curators of public exhibitions to want that glow. But that allure also underscores the impact and importance of seeing them turned off sometimes.

MoMA helpfully includes both on and off photos on their page for “Untitled” (Toronto), 1992, which has been in the collection since 1997, but I’ve only ever seen it exhibited on.

an installation shot from the fondation beyeler in basel switzerland is of the light diffusers on the gallery ceiling, which look a bit like wire mesh air conditioner filters, but extremely expensive, because it's renzo piano, and the clerestory windows and beam structure beyond them are somewhat obscured. a felix gonzalez torres light string is spread across the diffuser panels, with a few light bulbs dangling into the gallery space. on the wall of the gallery are a couple of framed photos of space or a planet or whatever, i'll add it later, even though it's not the point here. a wacky show from summer 2024 — installation view of *“Untitled” (For New York)*, 1992 at *Summer Show*, Fondation Beyeler, 2024, image via FG-T Foundation

Last year at their wacky Summer Show, the Fondation Beyeler exhibited their light string, “Untitled” (For New York), 1992, turned off, and mostly tucked away above the light diffusers, with just a couple of bulbs poking through. Even in the YOLO context of a show with like a hundred curators that changed every day, the secret light string hidden in the ceiling feels like Tino Sehgal’s little treat to himself.

So I really do not feel like my surprise was unfounded, to see what I’d come to read as a curatorial zig in an institution like the National Portrait Gallery, so seemingly dedicated to zagging. Kriston’s post brought the co-curator of “Always To Return” Josh Franco to the comments, though, where he explained the on/off parameters of “Untitled” (Leaves of Grass).

a composite image, up top is a gogo dancing platform painted in pale blue with white light bulbs around the top edge, sitting in a concrete floored white cube gallery looking like a minimalist sculpture titled "untitled" (go-go dancing platform), and below is the same sculpture/platform with a go-go boy dancing on it, a white guy wearing little silver underpants and kind of lame sneakers, holding a yellow sony walkman, with his headphones on, dancing with his back to the camera to music only he can hear, for five minutes at a time that is not announced to the gallery-going public. a 1991 work by felix gonzalez torres — Felix Gonzalez-Torres, “Untitled” (Go-Go Dancing Platform), 1991, image ganked from Saatchi

But he also told of demonstrating the parameters, and the concept of the deciding how to show the work, by periodically entering the gallery mid-day, and unplugging the light string from its outlet embedded in the floor. Alas, the wiring in the 19th century building turned out to be a bit unsteady, so the work had to be rehung to plug into the ceiling, and the curators’ occasional moment on the public stage was lost. If only they’d had a go-go dancing platform in the show.

At this point it feels obvious and inevitable, but maybe that’s how you know a work works, when you suddenly can’t imagine it not existing. If you have a light string, let’s talk.

a felix gonzalez torres light string hanging down from a wall and pooling on the floor, turning on and off evry five seconds, an artwork based on two other artists' work, at moma — Creed Work No. 313: the light string going on and off, 2025, 5 seconds on/ 5 seconds off, cf. also