Joseph Paul Bergel
The Happiness And Sadness Of Cause And Affect
Ballroom Studios 107 King St W
Kitchener, Ontario
January 31 to March 31, 2001


By Andrew Wright

Not far from where I live there's a sod farm. It is a huge expanse of luscious green in the middle of brown Ontario farmland. In the summer it looks as though someone's been Photoshopping the landscape. I suspect it is one of the most lucrative agricultural industries in the region, providing the many new suburban homes with little pieces of nature. The sod arrives on a truck in rolls. It is laid out, square foot by square foot, and at first requires copious amounts of water. Then, voila, instant lawn. You can, of course, grow grass from seed, but the process is slow, uncertain, and leaves your front yard looking like a mangy dog for a while.

Joseph Paul Bergel has chosen the more difficult route for his installation work The Happiness and Sadness of Cause and Affect. The work is simple: a 10 x 10 foot hallway, closed wooden doors, a single light bulb in the ceiling, and grass. Bergel's grass is not the hefty, scruffy kind. There are no stocky and short blades of chemical green. It has none of that thick slice of earth to anchor the roots that sod does. This grass is delicate and fine and appears to be growing almost directly from the floor. The blades are wonderfully long and slender, bending under their own weight and swaying occasionally in the drafts that circulate through the building. This is not a lawn. It is sparser, lighter, and uncut. The thing about this grass is that it is green. Really green. The kind of green that makes you breathe easier, makes you believe in photosynthesis.

image: Joseph Paul Bergel, The Happiness And Sadness Of Cause and Affect,
2001, Courtesy: the artist
Of course, the cliches are all here: the natural vs. the artificial, suburban vs. urban, interior vs. exterior, etc. They are readings we expect and which have become predictable metaphorical interpretation. One line of inquiry might go like this: The grass, which is on the verge of growing past its green lushness and its orderly manifestation, will soon yellow and outgrow its borders. It is at a point that requires action of us. Either we let it go to wildness, continue of its own accord and presumably return to an unadulterated state of nature, or we cut, trim, prune and preserve it, thereby assuring our version of its beauty.

Bergel's work will engage you in those debates should you be interested, but I think what's more important here is the simplicity of the gesture. The difficulty of actually being poetic in an art world that is obsessively self-reflective, self-aware, and self-critical is underscored by the success of Bergel's invitation to experience. On a dreary February day, I climb to the third floor, and through an open door, I feel and see the sweet warmth of another season. He asks that people feel free to remove their shoes and socks and walk on the grass. I can't. It is too beautiful.