Pollen 1978

Wolfgang Laib made Pollen, a jar with a metal lid filled with pollen. The pollen itself is so present. It is a single material that has been foraged. Gathered. Thought of. Process as material, as form, as life. The colour is almost ochre, but a luminous ochre, a living ochre. It is presented so humbly, in a simple, functional jar. It is almost a joke. Are we really going to look at a jar of pollen? The answer is yes. We look, we contemplate, we question. It reminds me of Beuys, but where Beuys was theatrical, Laib is quiet. The stillness, and the purity of this work, the absolute simplicity of it, is like a form of resistance. A reminder. A question. What could be art?