The language of sound structures our understanding of the world: A “composition” is both a piece of music and the makeup of a whole; one’s unique contribution to a text or artwork is their “voice.” For decades now, Ohio-born, New York-based artist Jennie C. Jones has been translating between music and the physical world in paintings, sculptures, installation, and sound works, responding to the legacies of Minimalism, modernism, and the Black avant-garde. “Ensemble,” which opens today, April 15, on the rooftop of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, extends this inquiry across a site-specific installation of three sculptural forms and one floor piece. On view through October 19, it is the museum’s final commission in the space before it undergoes renovations to create its Oscar L. Tang and H.M. Agnes Hsu-Tang Wing for Contemporary Art, anticipated to open in 2030.
The installation is composed of deep aubergine and hot red powder-coated aluminum and concrete forms inspired by string instruments, particularly those found in The Met’s extensive collection. A squat, inclined sculpture is based on a zither; a tall, slim piece draws upon the Aeolian harp; and a tripartite work with twin vertical parts and a long horizontal section recalls a one-string. These are partially circumscribed by a floor piece that gradually thickens from two points along the balcony’s edges toward their intersection.
“Jones’s fidelity to abstraction invites her viewers to pay attention to the quieter pathways where profound meanings reside,” David Breslin, curator of Modern and Contemporary Art, said in a statement.
As the above paragraph might suggest, these works are difficult to describe. They are unceasingly surprising, changing dramatically from various angles: The sculpture that echoes a zither, for instance, appears as a wide rectangle that resembles a flattened-out bench on its side from one perspective, and as a barely-there vertical shape with slits you can see straight through from another. They play tricks with perspective: One half of the twin tall pieces of the one-string-inspired work tilts behind the other and also narrows from base to top, creating the illusion of more dramatic depth. They are put together with the care of a Stradivarius violin (or, for a more local example, a Steinway & Sons piano), with subtle details such as a tiny lip where two forms meet — but do not shy away from the fact of their making, with visible rivets in certain places. The three sculptures face the center of the conductor-like bright-red floor piece, which seems to arrange not only artworks but also people.
“Ensemble” also borrows from the vernacular of the museum. The concrete blocks recall the travertine stone found in the museum’s Great Hall, and the strings suggest the stanchions that keep visitors away from artworks, transforming the museum itself into an instrument of sorts. But they also speak to the greater environment of the city and the time of year. Their angular forms, for instance, recall the skyline behind them, and their industrial colors invoke both municipal aesthetics and art history.
“The red is called ‘pure red,’ which we were joking should be called ‘public art red’ because it looks like a Calder or Picasso or big red public art,” Jones told Hyperallergic. “I was interested in using a color that would change throughout the day and throughout the season.”
As “Ensemble” occupies The Met’s rooftop through the fall, repeat visitors can tune in as the sculpture changes its tone throughout the months.