Greenhouse Glut (Neapolitan) 1987

Editor: This is "Greenhouse Glut (Neapolitan)," a 1987 assemblage by Robert Rauschenberg. Looking at this jumble of chair parts and metal frames, I'm initially struck by its fragility, or maybe its transient nature, as though it's been tossed together for a temporary purpose. What are your initial thoughts? Curator: Fragility and transience, excellent observations! To me, Rauschenberg’s "combines" like this one are poems written in the language of discarded things. Think about what each of these objects *was*: a chair meant for rest, bed frames promising sleep. Now they’re defunct, upcycled into something new. It's a bit like life, isn’t it? Things break down, we repurpose ourselves. I wonder, does that Neapolitan title offer another layer for you? Editor: It does, now that you mention it! It reminds me of that layered ice cream... maybe it's Rauschenberg’s visual pun – a delicious treat constructed from the refuse of consumer culture? Curator: Exactly! And that consumer culture is both seductive and wasteful. These found objects hint at the endless cycle of production and obsolescence. And tell me, what does the open structure say to you, or suggest? Editor: I see right through it… maybe its honesty in the sense that it is revealing the ugly materials in order to get the beauty across? Curator: The beauty in decay, in transformation… I find that notion compelling. We assign value to the pristine, but what about the poetry in what’s been used, broken, and reborn? Editor: I hadn't considered it that way, but I love how Rauschenberg forces us to find beauty in the discarded and rethink our relationship with consumerism. I guess there's nothing truly useless, is there? Curator: Precisely! He saw potential in the cast-offs, inviting us to do the same. It makes me question, you know, what "waste" really *means.* And where is the real value of objects beyond utility.