Crushed cans, 12 x 12, 2006.
The aerosol cans that these pieces are constructed from can be imagined narratively as the peripheral artifacts of creation, bearing more than a passing resemblance to a traditional painter’s flattened, empty metallic tubes of oil paint. Viewing the sculptures literally, this conception expands to represent the peripheral artifacts of life itself: cans of brake fluid, oven cleaner, insect repellent, spray paint, et cetera. In the context of the Art Gallery of Alberta’s “flat” exhibition, these crushed spray paint give a nod, and a wink, in homage to Jules Olitski’s spray paintings, also on view.
These crushed can pieces are all shown one-sided, literally flat on the wall, and thus can be perceived as pictures. Yet, their images are identical with their material supports, not applied as a surface design; therefore, the works remain in the world of physical objects, and are more accurately described as polychrome bas-relief sculptures.
The question as to where such sculptures belong within our contemporary artistic landscape is a pleasing puzzle. Formally, these works might bring to mind the shaped canvases, riotous colours, and metallic reflections of some of Olitski’s (and notably, Clement Greenberg’s) artistic followers, like Edmonton’s Graham Peacock and his fellow ‘New New Painters’; or, the well-known crushed metal sculptures of John Chamberlain. Conversely, some of the works, with more overt references to consumer products, encourage a Pop or Fluxxus-inspired interpretation since, unlike modernist paintings, these pieces are what a Duchampiste would call “objets trouvé.”
Each of these individual works are indeed found objects; conscientiously selected, rather than intentionally created, as artworks. Through a simple change in perspective, detritus is transformed into an aesthetic object. Although a Duchampian reading could lead some to interpret these works as a rejection of Greenbergian sensibilities, that would be a mistake. Greenberg often wrote and spoke appreciatively of Duchamp’s better readymades. Indeed, these crushed can artworks represent a celebration of the true breadth and inclusiveness of Clement Greenberg’s allegedly unfriendly “formalist” aesthetic: anything that can be appreciated aesthetically can be appreciated as art.
The cans stand in a cluster like a group of workers caught mid-conversation, and the heights and angles carry the talk. At the left, two blue cans tilt toward one another and toward the tall yellow can beneath them, as heads incline in a huddle. The yellow can is the most talkative member. Its label is set solid with small type from top to bottom, paragraph after paragraph, ending in a barcode and a company address. Its warnings are legible in pieces: contents may catch fire, keep away from heat, keep out of reach of children, use in a well-ventilated area. Shoptalk is the speech of people who share a trade, and these labels speak in the same register: terse imperatives, cautions, product claims.
The green can stands upright in the middle, the straightest and most formal of the group. It speaks twice, with each line given in English and again in French, and it announces “Extreme Danger” in both. Between the green can and the leaning group at the left stand two weathered grey cans, their labels mostly gone, with a patch of red on the upper one. They read as older hands who have said most of what they had to say.
At the far right the largest can is bare silver, smooth and broad, with a red stain along its lower edge. It faces the viewer with nothing printed on it, and it stands at the end of the row as the one member that doesn’t speak. Where the other cans talk in dense type, it is a wide silent plane, and that makes the volume of the left side louder. Everything the cans say is an instruction or a warning, addressed to someone who is expected to do as told, and the silent can on the right is where that address lands.
“Ryan McCourt’s flattened aerosol cans are relatively pure as Duchampian gestures. They are what they already are. They are each modified, but with rigorous similarity – like widgets stamped from a machine. They are ‘altered ready-mades’, and their aesthetic merit (differentiating them from everything else in the world that is not art) hinges on one thing: the artist’s choice. In spite of the evocative and mostly humorous titles, these objects are almost completely self-evident: no secret patented technique, no relief from the here and now, no window to somewhere else – just beautiful, flattened cans.”
—Marcus Miller, curator, Art Gallery of Alberta, 2007
“Waste, regarded as worthless material, is a human-defined and controlled concept. When we designate something as waste and discard it into the trash bin, it undergoes a nullification of its monetary value and its symbolic meaning changes. The symbolism of waste extends beyond its origin and final destination, delving into the deeper relationship between humans, the material world, and the land.”
—Yuluo Anita Wei, curator, Steelcase Art Projects, 2024
