The In-Between

A basic understanding of what constitutes advanced art is a repositioning of limits. ‘Pushing the boundaries’ is the exhausted expression. From static to performative, tactile to immaterial, sole artist to collaborative anonymous, something there to everywhere and nowhere, contemporary art is not really “art” anymore. I’m picturing my flatmate after one of my art-ramblings, who responds, with her ‘intellectual’ face on, with that cliché (but what she probably thinks is still a challenging and loaded) question: “but is it really art?…” Sometimes I initiate a debate with her, but more often than not, I just shrug, because I never really know the answer.

But through this course I now realise that the idea itself is exhausted. The question fails because it demands a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, and assumes that anything else is unsubstantial. Yet what artists’ are playing with now more than anything else is precisely what this question evades: the ‘in-between’.

Theorizing on site-specificity, James Meyer introduces the ideas of Gilles Deleuze and Guattari to demonstrate this new authority of the ‘in-between.’ They propose: “Every point is a relay and exists only as a relay. A path is only between two points, but the in-between has taken on all the consistency and enjoys both an autonomy and a direction of its own.”

However, no matter how absurdly ‘in-between’, interruptive, controversial or activist a work may be, it will eventually be absorbed by the art world, and increasingly by the world outside the art world too. As Miwon Kwon describes, “vanguardist, socially conscious and politically committed art practices always become domesticated by their assimilation into the dominant culture.” I find her word choice of ‘domesticated’ particularly compelling as it alludes to the traditional cushioning of art in the neat, wholesome gallery space: where this whole topic began.

91 kilos of soy noodles

All this talk of gardening, compost and all things organic reminded me of a work I saw, (or more accurately "felt") at the Palais de Tokyo a couple of years ago. Part of the exhibition "Nouvelles de Monde Renverse" (News from an Upside-down World?), the work, 'Post Patman' was a room-filled installation by Michel Blazy. Blazy is a French artist who explores the basic physicality of our existence. Using only natural materials, his pieces are multi-sensory and change over the duration of the exhibition. Through decay, he presents the fragile condition that is life.

I enter the room through a layer of plastic strips over the doorway, the kind that you find at a butchery. Already, I think of red flesh, alluding to the cycle of life and death. As soon I pass through these I am hit with that awful stench of food gone bad. Except this isn't just escaping from the container briefly, this fills a room the size of a small field, with no windows. The air is warm and sticky. A bird tweeps. There are birds in here?! Let me try to describe the visual experience. The first thing that jumps out at me is a giant, bright yellow, atomic-mushroom-cloud form. It's made out of 91 kilos of soy noodles. A bird chills at the bottom. One wall is covered with a wallpaper of mashed potatoes and beetroot purree, now all dry and crumbly, flaking off to reveal surprisingly gorgeous patterns. On the floor are chickens made of chocolate, a bunch of rotting carrots and a caramel carpet. From another wall sprouts bacon flowers, and across from those is a tray of orange peels neatly piled up, not so neatly rotting away. Somewhere in between all of this is a collection of large green bins filled with bubbly foam, rising up and over the edges, spilling onto the floor. I'm not sure what he intended to express with these bins (if in fact he did intend to 'express' anything at all), but I find them amusingly ironic, that of all the decaying items in the exhibition, what's in the bin is clean, soapy water.

Apparently Blazy went back every week to check out the evolution of his pieces, sometimes making additions. Definitely a gardener of sorts.

Art, Politics, Windows and Rifles

Gerald Raunig’s “transversal concatenation” theory delineates the interaction between art and political activism in contemporary socio-aesthetic practices. Despite the overlaps and transitions between art and politics, he argues that their distinct identities will always be maintained. Nikos Papastergiadis paraphrases “they are both discrete fields that rest on the same terrain.” Instead of fusion, according to Raunig, there exists an essential 'shuttling' between the two. As part of his argument he draws on particular genres of art, including conceptual, community and site-specific art.

During research for my essay on site-specific art I came across an artwork by Gordon Matta-Clark that in retrospect really demonstrates Raunig’s ideas.

During the late 1970’s Gordon Matta-Clark was a young sculptor engaging in ‘subtractive’ practices: cutting away sections of abandoned buildings. These works, often in collaboration with friends, were for the most part unauthorized. In 1976 he was given the opportunity to conduct such work with the sanction of an institution. Along with a handful of other high-profile architects Matta-Clark was invited to contribute to a New York exhibition at the Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies called Idea as Model. His proposed installation was approved by the curator. Thomas Crow (in a chapter on site-specific art in Modern Art in the Common Culture) describes how Matta-Clark’s work aimed to “expose a limited, existing space by cutting out square sections of a seminar room clad in windowless sheetrock, opening it up to the rest of the building; the removed pieces were to be stacked inside the room.”

However, late in the installation process Matta-Clark sporadically altered this conception. In each window he placed a photograph of a new housing project in the Bronx in which windows had already been smashed out. Recognizing the artist’s ploy, the curator allowed Matta-Clark to break several of the Institute's windows (that were already cracked). However at 3am that morning Matta-Clark returned with an air rifle and shot through them all.

In this work Matta-Clark employed both aesthetic and activist strategies to address his concerns for the poor conditions of local housing. Yet, as Raunig argues, the distinction between the two fields is preserved. Matta-Clark translates this idea literally through the separation of time. From day to night he 'shuttled' between artist and activist.

History is not given. Please help to construct it.

NSK (Neue Slowenische Kunst) is a provocational, multi-disciplinary art collective, made up of five main 'members': Laibach (music), Noordung (theatre), Retrovision (film), New Collective Studio (graphics), the Department of Pure and Applied Philosophy (theory) and IRWIN (visual art). Skipping around the wonderful world wide web I came across an ongoing project started by IRWIN in the early 2000s called East Art Map (EAM).

The home page of the EAM's website dons the slogan "HISTORY IS NOT GIVEN. PLEASE HELP TO CONSTRUCT IT." This refers to the extremely limited documentation of Eastern European art history, particularly from 1945 onwards. EAM's aim is to formally acknowledge the crucial artists, artworks and projects during this period, essentially re-constructing history. They write, "We are planning to transform the legends and stories of the underground into a legal art history." As well as the 24 art critics, curators and artists that make up IRWIN, EAM is extended to the general public. The result is a data pool of over 200 artists and works, 133 of which were suggested by members of the public.

However before I even read into the specific EAM concept, I found the slogan alone ("HISTORY IS NOT GIVEN. PLEASE HELP TO CONSTRUCT IT") to be evocative of the overall NSK philosophy. Challenging state authority, tackling highly charged issues, juxtaposing conflicting political ideologies and reappropriation are common NSK approaches; all falling under the idea of re-writing history. Secondly, its invitation to the wider public reflects the value they place upon the collective over the individual. Finally, the idea of re-constructing history is the very basis of the NSK principle/process, retroavantgardism (retrogardism): recycling the past to inform the future.

Back to the EAM website, their validation for a participatory approach is a liberating attitude towards art history in general: It achieves to: (paraphrased)
1. accelerate and democratize the collection of data
2. allow for anyone to collaborate in the creation of a history that will be unfolding before our eyes
3. establish a space with conditions that will facilitate communication art theoriticians, critics, artists and the general public.

Dynamic, collaborative, communicative. What a vision for art.

Carousel Slide Swing

Upon reading Miwon Kwon's chapter 'Sitings of Public Art: Integration vs Intervention' and his descriptions of "leftover urban spaces", "small piece[s] of no-man's land" and "empty sites", I was reminded of the work "Carousel Slide Swing" by Polish artist, Kamila Szejnoch. These public artworks are not just site-specific but "empty" site-specific. Similar to Federal Plaza receiving a "complete makeover," Szejnoch redesigns monuments in Warsaw from Polland's Communist era.

Whilst these monuments have not been removed (unlike the sculptures of John Ahearn and Richard Serra), these sites are "empty" in the sense that they have lost all purpose and meaning: outdated, unfamiliar, 'dead'. Kwon's discussion of the 1970s critique of the art-in-public-places approach can be similarly applied to these Communist monuments: their indifference to contemporary life that surrounds them is reciprocated by the public's indifference towards them. Like the rehabilitation of the art-in-public-places program in the 1970s, Szejnoch's works were part of a nation-wide movement to re-organize public spaces to reflect the changing times.

Szejnoch's works were dualistic in function. Firstly she wanted to parody their current stance as imposing archaic oddities, by transforming them into even more overt 'exhibits' of the past. Secondly she wanted to recontextualise them in today's culture; to absorb new meanings in new times. The way she achieves both these aims is through playing with the area immediately surrounding these monuments, creating a frame around them, or as she describes, "leaving them as quotations from history and simply putting quotation marks around them." Without altering the existing shape of the monument al all she designs spaces of recreation that mould to its contours.

Her designs included hanging a swing from the Berlin Army movement monument, installing a slide onto the monument to the Red Cross Army, and wrapping a carousel around the Brotherhood in Arms monument. The 'swing' was the only one of the three that was actually realized, but the other two were translated into posters which she stuck up around the city. I see her work fitting under the heading of "new genre public art." Transforming these 'empty' monuments into open invitations to the public, these works literally demonstrate the shift in public art from art-in-public-places to art-in-the-public-interest.

Communicative, Engaging, but Interactive?

Kester's introduction to 'Conversation Pieces: Community and Communication in Modern Art' was a pleasure to read: clear definition of dialogical art, detailed discussion of examples and compelling comparisons with other forms of art. I definitely agree that art's function can be seen as a form of communication, whether through visuals, acoustics (linguistic or simple sound-based) or the activation of any other senses. Dialogical art is especially about communication, as Kester writes, "in these projects... conversation becomes an integral part of the work itself."

However I disagree that these works, despite being made up of conversations, change the standard communicative relationship with the viewer. Yes, the process of dialogical art pieces are collaborative and interactive with those involved. However I would not describe the finished recordings themselves (how they are presented to the public) as interactive, as the audience experiences them with the same theoretical distance as experiencing an image on the wall. The viewer/listener cannot join in on the conversations, provide suggestions or have an impact in anyway. In this way, I feel that Freire's "banking" analogy of object art is just as relevant to dialogical art. Whilst the conversations are not manifested as an object, they still contain a certain physicality as pieces of audio. The processes of dialogue and collaboration occurs within the work, not externally with the viewer.

On a smaller note I would like to briefly mention Kester's quoting of Peter Dunn's words that dialogical artworks are ""context providers" rather than "content providers."" I find the word 'rather' is too severe in this point. Certainly they are 'context providers' but they are just as much about content. The topics of each discussion, contrasted with the identities of the individuals, are what I think makes these works so interesting!

Sticky Situation

After reading some of Debord's 'Society of the Spectacle, the 'Constructing the Situation' chapter in Raunig's book, and background information on Debord and the Situationists, anti-art, psychogeography, etc, I have developed a very confused understanding of Situationism.

Honestly, I find the ideas of the Situationist International fundamentally paradoxical. They promote creating situations, : "Our central idea is the construction of situations, that is to say, the concrete construction of momentary ambiances of life..." and yet, as Raunig points out, there is limited evidence that these 'situations' ever really manifested. He writes, "There is only a vague association of what could specifically be meant by the construction of the situation beyond the theoretical conception." He continues, "There is little to be found in the extensive texts of the bulletin of the Situationist International (S.I., founded in 1957) about the way in which the construction of situations and the constructed situation itself may have actually occurred."

The S.I. were all about the life and space of the 'everyday', turning passivity into activity (becoming 'livers' or 'viveurs'), yet were purposely isolated from society. In this way, Raunig labels the S.I. as double-sided: "their practice of exclusion on the one hand and the Situationist process of opening up toward the movement..." Still I don't really understand how they 'opened up'.

Apparently all the disruptive student action at the Sorbonne in the late 1960s, particular comics, advertising and graffiti were done in the name of Situationist theories. But how are these specifically Situationist and not just a form of protest against oppression? As Raunig writes, "The history of the S.I. is that of a development from an avant-gardist art collective to a political agitation troop." So, I am left to question (perhaps in ignorance) what exactly is it....?

I suppose this whole paradoxical 'situation' can be summed up in Debord's words: "truth is a moment of falsehood."

Don't make me wait

Michael Asher's work sparked a string of thoughts regarding the viewing experience of art. His exhibition at La Jolla was specifically designed around his interest in "individuated reception." In other words, viewers had the enter one at a time. At first I found this a little contrived for the art world. I can imagine myself feeling a little annoyed that I would have to line up and wait for my turn to experience the work - not because I'm particularly impatient, but for the sheer fact that the authority of the audience (which is such an integral part of many contemporary works, especially discussed in this course) is handed right back to the art institution. How can they tell me how I can and cannot experience a piece of art? What would it mean if I snuck it with someone else when they weren't looking? And then it question how I would normally 'experience' art. And to be honest, I would have to say individually. Whilst I enjoy visiting galleries and shows with other people, I prefer to 'take in' a work of art, observe how it makes me feel, or the absence of feeling, etc all on my own. So, Michael Asher would be controlling me to 'experience' his art the way I probably would anyway. Even though there would be strictly no one else i the space, in normal gallery viewing situations I'm not necessarily effected by the other people ardound me anyway. Thus, I feel that the process of waiting to see Asher's work is just as part of the work as what is experienced inside. For in that time the viewer is made aware of, reflecting upon and questioning their reception of art; the very emphasis of the exhibition.

artist/scientist/cupid

Hal Foster summarises that artists engaging with relational aesthetics “aim to turn passive viewers into a temporary community of active interlocutors.” Viewers are encouraged to be active through sociability or discussion surrounding the works. One artist Foster mentions takes this idea to a whole new level. Carsten Holler is a Belgian artist with a doctorate in biology. With this influence, many of his works can be considered both science and art. For example, the work Solandra Greenhouse is a small inviting greenhouse, through which the viewer walks, surrounded by the Solandra maxima vine. The chemicals emitted by the vine have a peculiar effect on humans: inducing a physical response that corresponds with amorous feelings. He is not just interested in the social or vocal relations between viewers but their emotional relations. What I find interesting is that the viewer’s activity in this piece is somewhat of a paradox: their participation is a necessary component however their physical response to it is biologically predetermined and thus passive. Holler is scientist cross artist cross cupid!

Sweets

I was intrigued by Bourriaud's discussion of the 1992 exhibition Work, Work in Progress in which the visitor/spectator/audience "had a crucial place, because his interaction with the works helped to define the exhibition's structure." In particular I want to touch upon his thoughts on the "piles of sweets" body of work by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. These are minimal interactive pieces where the audience is invited, or as Bourriaud says "authorised", to take sweets from the pile. For example, Untitled (Loverboys) (1991) is a mound of of sweets of exactly the 355 pounds, the combined weight of him and his partner. Like most of his work, this piece deals with the artist's pain of living with AIDS and the death of his partner to the disease. The gesture of taking sweets and lessening the pile's weight alludes to bodily degradation, mortality and loss. Bourriaud describes this as the audience "contributing to the break-up of the work." Superficially, yes. Yet I feel Bourriad is missing the point. To me Gonzalez-Torres work engages with the community to diffuse his suffering. The interactivity of the work enables him to release his burden onto willing others as well as re-affirming a sense of belonging in the wider community (as his homosexual community is continuously threatened by AIDS). Furthermore, the absence left by the subtraction of each candy becomes a new presence with (or even within the viewer). In this way, the artwork's meaning relies on its relation with the audience. Thus, I challenge Bourriaud by proposing that the the visitor does not "break-up" the work but complete it.