We wish we could have used Chris Gilmour’s cardboard typewriter to write this post. Words would have come out more softly, gently adapting to this humble medium. Chris has chosen a simple but meaningful material for his work: in first place because corrugated cardboard is usually employed to pack and ship the artist’s work, rather than physically representing the oeuvre itself (the container, in this case, becomes the content). Even more interesting is the gap between the cheap, discarded material and the height of the final output. It’s an elegant operation that goes beyond the usual theme of recycling, and underlines the role of the modern artist as a new ‘artisan virtuoso’, at ease with the industrial material as much as the icons of an industrial culture. The end result is a “fragile perfection”, a sober refelction on our own world, where the value of beauty is too often misunderstood with its price.
All of Chris Gilmour’s super-detailed works are lifesize and don’t use metal frames or wiring as a support. Every piece is just made of cardboard, and glue. That’s probably why we can’t take our eyes away from his simple masterpieces.
This article was written by Monica Turlot, senior writer, artist and critic at Brandpowder, after a couple of Dry Martini and a bowl of black olives.