Stepping into Adrian Piper’s Who, Me? at Portikus, one is immediately confronted with a monumental, even unsettling sight: a large, leafless tree—complete with gnarled roots—suspended upside down in the gallery’s central well. Tethered by steel wires at each corner of the vast white space, the tree hovers over a mirrored floor that spans the entire base of the installation. From the mezzanine walkway, visitors can circle the work, gradually realizing that this reflection doubles not just the tree, but also the architectural framework of the gallery and, crucially, the visitors themselves. Titled I’m the Tree (2024), this visually arresting installation sets the tone for the exhibition’s broader exploration of selfhood, perception, and the subtle interplay between observer and observed.
A Reconfigured Encounter
Normally, Portikus’s open layout allows for immediate confrontation with any artwork placed at ground level. Yet Piper deliberately disrupts this convention by constructing a partition that prevents visitors from entering the main space directly. To see the tree, one must climb to the mezzanine, peering down into a void seemingly designed to challenge spatial expectations. The effect is powerful: rather than standing alongside the sculpture, the audience gazes upon it from above, as though investigating a secret chamber. That vantage point offers a contemplative distance, prompting reflection on the tree’s suspended form and the curious reversal of sky and ground in the mirrored surface below.
Visual and Conceptual Resonances
What makes I’m the Tree so compelling is how it merges raw visual drama with philosophical inquiry—central to Piper’s practice as both conceptual artist and analytical philosopher. The suspended tree, stripped of its leaves yet bearing its tangled roots, becomes a haunting symbol for questions of identity and belonging. On one hand, it seems forcibly uprooted, an artifact of nature now subject to an austere architectural context. On the other, its reflection in the mirror merges the tree’s crown with its roots, suggesting continuity or even cyclical transformation. The viewer is drawn into this doubled space, reminded that observation itself is always partly a reflection of our own inner questions: Where are we rooted? How do we perceive ourselves when our usual frame of reference is reversed?
Confronting the Self
Downstairs, I’m the Screen (2024) extends this dialogue by inverting the spectator’s role. Mirrored walls once again multiply the room’s features—but here, the arrangement is more theatrical. Four rows of chairs face a blank white projection screen and an empty podium lit by a single lamp. With no speaker present and no images displayed, the focus shifts to the visitors themselves: it is their reflection, their presence in the space, that becomes the “content.” One moment, you see your own mirrored figure alongside other viewers; the next, you notice the flowing Main River refracted through the windows. The piece highlights the tension between an “audience” that awaits instruction or performance, and the reality that all meaning in this installation arises from our own engagement.
Philosophical Undercurrents
Piper’s longtime engagement with thinkers such as Immanuel Kant resonates throughout Who, Me?. Kant’s suggestion that the self is a transcendental condition—never directly knowable as an object—takes physical shape here. In both installations, the visitor’s sense of self remains elusive, refracted, and unstable. The inverted tree presents an uncanny reflection that challenges conventional viewing; the mirrored auditorium downstairs underscores the emptiness of “objective” knowledge, deferring any definitive meaning back onto the participants. By spotlighting the processes of seeing and being seen, Piper questions whether we can ever fully grasp who we are without acknowledging the contexts—spatial, social, and philosophical—that frame us.
An Invitation to Self-Inquiry
Ultimately, Who, Me? is as much a question as it is an exhibition. While I’m the Tree confronts us with the stark power of nature manipulated in a way that triggers introspection, I’m the Screen implicates us directly in the creation of meaning. Taken together, these works act as a mirror for our own habits of thought, revealing how our perceptions, biases, and aspirations shape what we see. Adrian Piper’s genius lies in orchestrating an environment where art, architecture, and philosophy intersect—an environment in which each viewer becomes the final piece of the puzzle. As you navigate these mirrored thresholds, the question “Who, me?” echoes with every reflection, reminding us that the self remains a slippery concept, forever intertwined with the act of looking, thinking, and being looked at in return.
