Antidote Absurdism
The shifting nature of meaning around something real, 1995
“To awaken people from their lethargy, you have to shake them. You can caress them again afterwards.”
Rebecca Horn 'The secret power of things' Rebecca Horn in conversation with Susanne Wagner, ArtDas Kunstmagazin (March 1994)
“Language remains a vital tool for navigating through contested idealogicial terrain, giving course to action, and constantly reframing one’s experience. Writing is a means of excavation, made visible by discovering that loss is a point of departure.”
Rodney Sappington Introduction to 'Uncontrollable Bodies' Bay Press, Seattle (1994)
Meaning would appear to be fundamental to much of Twentieth century artistic practice. What do we ‘mean’ by ‘meaning’? Meaning implies, in a critical sense as opposed to literally, some sort of scrutiny of the static or moving art object and/or experience, in order to perhaps uncover some degree of discourse pertaining to the viewer’s subjective perception of what they think they see. This, of course, is instantly incredibly problematic, due to the plethora of individual experience (perceptual criteria) that each different viewer brings to the work. Artistic practice and its subsequent display in or out of the gallery environment, deals with a visual vocabulary (what the viewer ‘perceives’ to be there) and therefore is largely dependent upon the eyes and the sense of sight to stimulate the subsequent discourse. Indeed, as Tyler Stallings has pointed out, ‘western tradition has depended largely on sight to determine the meaning of things.’ (Introduction to ‘Uncontrollable Bodies’ Bay Press, Seattle 1994)
Subsequently, the question ‘but through whose eyes do we derive meaning?’ arises. This brings into play the notion that there are interwoven, fluid strata within the audience itself. Assuming that meaning is perhaps derived from past experience (and also therefore perhaps with knowledge of the previous vocabulary of the artist), the role of the critic as ‘explainer’ becomes important. Yet, it is also well documented that such barriers between practices were seen to be fluid as part of 1970’s Conceptualism, Art and Language being typical of this approach. I feel that, in reading someone else’s experience of a work, this does in fact, channel one’s own subsequent perception (the audience is perhaps steered towards a specific discourse), even though this is perhaps not their purpose. It is a curious paradox to suggest what is meant by individual interpretations of meaning, as it is instantly contradictory, with one dialogue being set up and perhaps another undermining it. It is this constantly fluid state of debate around a work and the shifting nature of what the viewer derives from the gallery experience which I wish to explore here.
I am conscious that it should be an exploration of a fundamental and perhaps pertinent question, rather than giving any sense of a confirmed answer (‘this is what it means’). ‘What does it mean?’ would also, in a wider sense, appear to be one of the fundamentals of the human condition itself. Without meaning (or knowledge of existence and/or purpose), the viewer is drawn closer to a degree of ‘disturbed’ perception, and perhaps it is this which enriches the quality of the gallery experience. The filed of perceptual disturbance is now growing ever wider, with the recent advent of cyberspace and virtual reality, where one is able to completely escape the ‘everyday’ and enter some form of supposed utopia.
Indeed, meaning also implies some degree of future revelation, the initial discourse or questioning of the work becoming the start for a chain of events. There is the idea of repercussion, of being drawn back to a particular moment, thus creating a continually moving state of events, a flux of individually perceived experience.
In order to create some form of framework for this exploration, I feel it is perhaps necessary to form some sort of criteria for talking about particular works. I have therefore decided upon the inter-relationships of three subjective elements, the artwork itself, the viewer/audience, and the display environment (for the purpose of this discussion this is taken to denote the gallery space).
The artist is conspicuously absent from this somewhat precious art world trinity (as they are not physically there as with the other three, but of course this is not to discount performance work, which perhaps fits the artist into the role of artwork), yet has a close relationship with all three.
My exploration is focused upon two key exhibitions, ‘Facts of Life’, a group show of young British artists, and also ‘Naked City’, a larger show of perhaps more ‘established’ names. Both were shown in Milan in January 1995 and raise interesting and pertinent questions as to the role of the gallery as a display space in the late Twentieth century. I intend to concentrate upon individual works within the shows, and question this notion of ‘meaning’ in relation to them through my own subjective experience.
Chapter One: The Illusion of Unmoving Motion
Shown in January 1995 at the Valeria Belvedere gallery, Milan, the Jonathon Watkins curated ‘Facts of Life’ show displayed the work of four young British artists. Yet in terms of attempting to question the fundamental ‘meaning’ of the works, I feel that it was perhaps Graham Fagen’s video and performance work in particular, entitled ‘Former and Form, Valeria Belvedere’ (1995) that posed and still poses some of the more of the more interesting questions as to the essential quality of perception within the gallery context.
In purely descriptive terms, with is actually displayed is a TV monitor, placed on the floor in front of one of the gallery windows. The video itself depicts a young man (whom I assume to be the artist) standing in front of the same gallery window, yet completely motionless, with only the moving traffic in the background and his blinking and occasional flinching to convince the viewer that it is not a video still, or paused on one frame. Working within the framework of the ‘still-life’, this recording through a time-based medium of a supposedly non-event of motionless seems to go against any prior assumption of video work the viewer may have (or indeed, video in general), whereby one expects something to happen, due to the nature of the medium. As TV has the capacity to project moving images (giving the illusion of motion), and is primarily used for that purpose, to return it back to its predecessor once removed, namely photography, almost seems like a step backwards in order to go forwards (assuming all artists are collectively working together to advance ideas and styles within the practice of making art itself).
Reminiscent of Warhol’s films of sleeping boys, or John Cage’s silent orchestral works, Fagen also appears to be interested in this expectation of action, its subsequent recording and documentation, but also in what I could perhaps describe as somewhat of a slight disturbance or shift in perception. The reality of the work becomes only a distant cousin to what we actually see (yet undoubtedly related). This is perhaps best demonstrated by Fagen’s use of a significant change in scale. Due to the nature of its display (the the viewer instantly recognizes the video’s setting), Fagen, or the record of Fagen, metamorphosizes into a flat, considerably smaller depiction, yet it is curious because we are unable to look at the video in isolation, we have to look at also the original scale, the viewer’s attention almost being drawn away from the work itself into some arena in which Fagen has instilled his presence (through the performance). It is also notable that the TV monitor is placed in exactly the same spot on which the artist stood, perhaps becoming some sort of trace of artistic activity, in a kind of ‘work where you stand’ fashion.
Relating back to the endurance performances of the sixties and seventies by such artists as Burden (although Fagen’s work seems very safe in comparison), Acconci and Nauman, Fagen’s work seems also to throw up questions as to the relationship between ‘new’ technology such as video, and the more established media of art, that of painting and/or still image. It almost becomes a perverse exercise in monotony, yet only because of the mediation. It is a near literal transposition of a photograph or painting into a time based medium, perhaps suggesting, that the longevity of such works is shorter than at first thought. Yet in saying this, video is also not particularly permanent as it deteriorates and decays, so perhaps it is being shown as an equal, not as a better. The specific mediation of the flat image onto the video screen is also reminiscent of Open University programs whereby an explanation of a period such as Abstract Expressionism (very much concerned with the specific relation between paint and canvas) is also mediated as a flat image, with no sense of texture whatsoever. Paint on canvas (a static state), is portrayed on the screen at a speed of 50Hz, and is also unchanging, although it is the background and the occasional movement of the artist which undermines this in Fagen’s piece.
“The human body is always treated as an image of society... there can be no natural way of considering the body that does not involve at the same time a social dimension.”
Mary Douglas: 'Natural Symbols, Explorations in Cosmology' Pantheon, New York 1970
To question further the piece in terms of its title, ‘Former and Form, Valeria Belvedere’ raises the notion of which really is which? This title and subsequent exploration has been an ongoing concern for Fagen, with past works exhibiting the artwork as the 'form' and also the mould or equipment used in the making as the 'former'. Valeria Belvedere is obviously where the work is placed, yet the notion of uncovering the problematic meaning behind the title (often a help or hindrance as to uncovering 'grand narratives') is purely within the realm of the subjective. However, not to discount speculation, I feel as if 'form' could denote any number of elements within the work, although it is specifically the TV monitor which becomes the sculptural and focal 'form' of the work, displaying the artist's performance and subsequent documentation as 'former'. In a sense, drawing a fine line between what is past and what might be present, although in a strange sense. the two are interwoven in this work.
Relating back to the initial premise of exploring meaning in relation to the problematically titled art world 'trinity' of artwork, gallery and viewer, how does the audience interact with the work? To begin with, it is a silent, if one way interaction, with the ‘real’ image of the artist having been once removed (it is in a perverse way a very British silence, restrained and reminiscent of the Victorian 'stiff upper lip') yet laid bare in a sort of ’this is all there is’ gesture, although this discussion perhaps proves the contrary. It is a particularly intimate interaction, with the silence almost becoming unbearable, as it also does with everyday conversation.
Jane and Louise Wilson
Crawl Space (1995)
The notion of silence is also present in Jane and Louise Wilson's installation entitled ‘Crawl Space’ (1994). The piece consists of many elements typical of the Wilson's now familiar vocabulary. Photographs of what appears to be either a run down hotel interior and/or a constructed fragment of a stage are placed around the walls of the room and also corresponding to their subject matter. For example, a large picture of the corner of a room is displayed as such, not as to create the illusion of trompe l'oeil, but so as to depict a fragmentation of form within the space. Also, shown on a TV monitor displayed about a meter above eye level is a video, integral to the installation, which depicts the twins themselves, sat down and facing the screen, experimenting with the effects of a continuously playing strobe upon their faces. The majority of the film is taken up with this footage, although it does occasionally cut to images similar to those in the photographs, yet still with the strobe playing.
“The giggle rises up from under the door, filling the room, pulling back the blinds, pushing open the windows. It moves through the air. Joining with the laughter rising out of my throat. It escapes uncontrollably from my mouth. The house shakes under our sound, furniture moves, bottles fly off the dresser, the mirror buckles under the vibration, cracking it in two. Truth is, these girls laugh too much.”
Carla Kirkwood: 'Laying Me Down' Uncontrollable Bodies, Bay Press, Seattle (1994)
The element of theatricality is played upon extravagantly within much of this work, with the performance itself becoming purely a tool/device for exploring something else (endurance and subsequent perceptual phenomena), and the photographic, overly constructed 'vanitas' works even resembling fallout from a stage set.
This process of endurance to induce a physical and/or mental state of perceptual disturbance seems to be of particular interest to the twins, who have previously explored the effects of hypnotism upon themselves. In this sense it would seem a natural progression, but I feel that, in working perhaps as one artist, one step beyond that of collaboration, these 'experiments' of theirs could possibly be aimed at perhaps deducing some line of difference between them, in a mental as opposed to physical sense. An exercise to uncover the fundamental psychological differences between two supposedly like individuals. Therefore the notion of 'self becomes difficult and problematic to apply to their work, due to this biological duality. The self in their case is perhaps an exploration of difference (one will perhaps react differently to the other), whereas the self of the viewer under siege from this split is perhaps more Interesting. In this. I am attempting to explain that the Wilson twins' practice is perhaps more problematic than the single artist because the very fact of their 'twinness' is impossible to ignore, both in the work and/out of it.
I feel that the kernel of the work, however, is the strange quality one experiences when ‘encountering’ or ‘discovering’ their work. It has a particularly voyeuristic ‘scene of the crime’ resonance to it.
“The air smells of weeds, sweet and sour. Stacks of gas masks are piled in the comer, water covers the floor. It will take time to sort through these things, throwing out the unnecessary, organizing what is to remain. But I am alive.”
Carla Kirkwood: 'Laying Me Down' Uncontrollable Bodies, Bay Press, Seattle (1994)
This process of trance inducing perhaps to find psychological as opposed to biological difference between them contains what appears to be random and unscripted movements by the twins, yet this grows to be a particularly synchronized activity, as it is also unclear as to what extent the movements were pre-planned. The title ‘Crawl Space’ implies a cramped location, either low-down, small or tight, a place where the human can only just fit in. In a simplistic sense, it is easy to correlate this with the gallery space, whereby all the artists' work jostles for position and the attention of the viewer. However, the 'crawl space' here, I feel, is that of a more metaphorical space made visible through the medium of the installation. The work, seductively draws the viewer into this theatrical, created arena, whereby they are encouraged to submit to the very same effect of the strobe as the twins. The artists are attempting to perhaps create an arena in which perceptual barriers are being removed, so that the viewer almost becomes one step closer to becoming the man who mistook his wife for a hat.
Chapter Two: A Fascination with Extreme Situations
“When I look into Audrey’s eyes, it’s that same old world capsized.”
Velocity Girl: 'Audrey's Eyes' Copacetic, Sub Pop (1993)
The ‘Naked City’ show, also in Milan during January 1995 at the Massimo deCarlo gallery, appears to perhaps tackle the common problematic notion of meaning in a severely different way to that of the show at Valeria Belvedere, strongly employing the device of curation so as to emphasize the roles or narratives played out by two particular works. The exhibition consisted of fifteen artists, each exhibiting one piece of work, amongst them names including Dan Graham, Vito Acconci and Andrea Zittel. However, the element of display seems to be the focal point for the entire show. Much of the work on display had been compacted into one corner of the gallery, allowing little space to even move within the works, the viewer becoming more of a spectator of a sculptural composition than being able to move freely within the space around the work (which had now almost been removed). The notion of curation in this particular manner poses the interesting question as to just how much space does an artwork need around it when on display? The methodology applied in the 'Naked City' show would appear to suggest that they need very little space to -breathe-, and one is reminded of the Royal Academy (London) and their Summer Exhibition, where the paintings are hung wall to wall, becoming little else than rather highbrow wallpaper.
However, the group of works clustered into the corner of the gallery was with the exception of two pieces, Franz West's ‘Anonymitat’ (1994) of which I will discuss later, and also Carsten Holler’s ‘Glasses’ (1994) both of which were displayed on the opposite side of the gallery, space, and facing the others.
Carsten Holler
Glasses (1994)
Carsten Holler's ‘Glasses’ (1994), reminiscent of the mechanical device worn by the aging eye scientist in Ridley Scott's ‘Bladerunner’ (1982), contain a prism-like apparatus which, when the viewer puts them on, distort the gallery experience into a topsy-turvy world, yet with a disturbance and/or shift of normality of about one meter, whereby perception of distance becomes almost totally impossible. The experience of wearing the goggles is therefore incredibly difficult to transcribe. What does this mean? There is a disturbance or shift in the perceptual organization between what I initially termed to be the art world 'trinity' of viewer, gallery and artwork. The viewer and artwork appear to somehow partially fuse, thus creating a flux in the subsequent view of the other element, the gallery environment, because y the viewer becomes part of the artwork, and seems to feel odd to be sited (and almost confined) in their still traditional location, the gallery space.
‘Glasses’ implies that the audience's vision will be significantly improved (as opposed to goggles which are made for protection, although this piece is perversely both), as 'glasses' are only usually needed in the event of poor eyesight. There is subsequently a discourse established as to the current situation of the role of the audience in contemporary debate, with the gallery and the artwork becoming more and more important, although, Holler's piece needs the other pieces in the room for it to function as an artwork. What does this mean? It is the viewer's perception of viewing work that is changed, as well as that of the gallery (one is perhaps stressed more than the other).
I am also fascinated by the initial temptation put upon the audience in relation to this work. The notion that one assumes the right to don the goggles (without prompting from either a written notice or gallery staff) is because we are curious to see what the attachments actually do. We recognize the piece as an adjusted readymade, and are tempted to know to what degree our perception will be altered. I feel that, particularly in an age which now includes virtual reality, to remain with one, unmoving perception of the world, is perhaps now socially considered unadventurous, so the temptation (perhaps now due to the social) to 'enter' another perceptual world (a virtual reality) is very appealing. The viewer perhaps wants their perception of the supposedly 'normal' gallery experience changed/altered, and it is true to say that the ‘Naked City’ show certainly fulfills this premise. Holler's work appears to reflect fundamentals of artistic practice, and the specific relations between elements within the gallery experience, and then proceeds to change them and disturb the audience's perception of something which is assumed to be static and unchanging.
The lenses which Holler has attached to the original goggles, instantly reminiscent of aging laboratory equipment (indeed, Holler trained as a biologist), seem to be taken from a device resembling a microscope which has been dismantled, possibly to aid the audience's viewing experience. What appears to be under exploration here is how the viewer, with the aid of these goggles, experiences possibly an improved viewing perception. With these glasses, they are presumably more able to scrutinize the object 'under consideration' (another fundamental), as is normal in a gallery (but also under the microscope), but of course, this can never be the case as the glasses are perhaps too disorientating. It is the premise of improvement turned on its head.
The artwork's effect upon the viewer and their surroundings is obviously apparent, yet what of the viewer's impact upon the glasses? Primarily transforming the piece from static to functioning state, the viewer fulfills the artwork’s possible purpose in that it appears designed to be used. Yet opposition to this, I do however feel that the object itself is also particularly seductive, perhaps this is why the audience feels the desire to remove the piece from its simple steel hook display.
Another piece segregated and ostracized from the rest of the artworks, displayed next to Holler's glasses, and also definitely designed to be audience interactive is Franz West's work entitled Anonymitat (1994), which consists of two steel and canvas chairs, and the base upon which they are displayed. However, accompanying the work, and displayed on a nearby wall is a corollary set of criteria:
“The chairs can be arranged in any way upon a base (3 X 220 X 120cm) and are able to be sat upon. When the chairs and the base become dirty, they can be repainted with a coat of very diluted white acrylic paint. When the covering of the chairs cracks during the show, it can also be repainted as described above.The metal parts can be evenly painted in a coat of black acrylic paint.”
(Translated from Italian)
The question I feel which is instantly raised is 'who has to do the painting?' The longevity of a piece of work (yet another fundamental under scrutiny) and its subsequent maintenance and upkeep throws light upon a group of people, particularly important in the functioning of the gallery ^ system, that of a questioning of the role of the gallery staff. Often there within the gallery to either protect the work from damage or to answer queries, they are relatively invisible yet an omnipresent group, vital to the gallery experience. I am particularly reminded of the now notorious set of criteria which Haim Steinbach imposed upon his works. The idea of the containment, packaging and subsequent handling of the work became an integral part of the piece, and failure to comply resulted in only half-finished display (although I am dubious as to the possibility of the viewer ever being able to notice). This pedantic set of intentions, as part of the work, became as important as the visual vocabulary in which it resulted.
How does Franz West's work therefore exist? As the chairs, the physical objects themselves, or as the process of gradual thickening of paint upon them? I would suggest that it is either both or neither, as the 'intention (and therefore ambiguously, 'meaning') hinges upon the accompanying statement. It is also worth noting that West's similar II Paravento (1994) shown shortly after the ‘Naked City’ show at Centre Spazio Umano, could possibly have also been the same two chairs.
The entire ‘Naked City’ exhibition appears to perhaps be solely concerned with these two 'perceptual disturbance' pieces, both concentrating upon some degree of shift in the viewing experience by making the works interactive. Yet in saying this, they are only interactive in the sense that they require the participation (in an active as opposed to passive interaction) of the audience for their perhaps more interesting facets to be revealed. The other works in the show are read solely through the vocabulary of these two pieces, segregating the ambiguous terms of art object and art subject Into perhaps a more interesting visual vocabulary. It is the requestioning of a fundamental, yet abstract idea of what perhaps, we collectively think we know as ‘art’
Conclusion
“This progress of scientific technological research will have the effect of an empty vase, if we make a mere technological use of it, with efficiency and ability though, but without the support of other disciplines. Without meanings, contents instead of forms are important.”
Diego Esposito: 'Fragile' Exhibition catalogue essay, Crema (1994)
In raising the pertinent questions (as opposed to answering them) in relation to what debate may be deduced from these particular artworks, perhaps one of the most fundamental points to suggest, is that it is instantly incredibly problematic to speculate over what can only be described as a purely subjective experience (meaning). However, I do feel as if it is somehow optimistically possible to correlate particular shared experiences within the gallery, so as to produce some form of cohesive dialogue. The subjective speculated over by the objective.
'Meaning' in terms of some form of future revelation from an initial stimulus (presumably the art object within the gallery), appears particularly apt when discussing Graham Fagen's ‘Former and Form, Valeria Belvedere’ (1995) as it toys with the disturbance of past and present, and therefore future. There is a significant disturbance in the viewer's supposed perception of the object, due to its siting, subject matter, and mediation. It is perhaps possible therefore, to assume or speculate that meaning could possibly be derived and dictated by the particular subjective 'range' or 'distance' of this shift from reality. I am, of course, attempting an objective and scientific confinement of the chaotic and problematic subjective. The move from ‘reality’ into this disturbed ‘art consideration’ state, (the degree to which we recognize what we see as an art object) parallels the fact that perhaps the distance of the shift is almost inversely proportional to its corollary in ‘reality’ (is it therefore possible to make work about subjects we cannot conceive of?
‘The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living’
Damien Hirst (1992)
Damien Hirst's 'The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living’ (1992) perhaps touches upon this notion). This idea of a 'shift' or a specific distancing of the gallery experience from ‘reality’ (although of course the two are interwoven) is also demonstrated in a more literal sense by Carsten Holler's ‘Glasses’, which actually do distance the viewer from their environment.
To explain further, the degree to which there would appear to be 'common meaning is dependent upon how near the art object itself is to its original stimulus. It is not as simple as ‘the abstract is purely aesthetic and deals with new ways of seeing’ as opposed to 'the readymade tradition is purely conceptual and deals with new ways of looking at the same object', yet within this arena, these incredibly problematic terms, combined with their siting within the gallery results in this particular distancing away from what we could call the 'everyday object'. I am trying to question the distance between when an object is and isn't an artwork.
However, returning to the original point of the particular range of this shift, I am conscious of attempting to confine my discussion to within the somewhat scientific arena, and therefore wrongly ignores the harsh fact that even what I am terming to be ‘reality’ is also purely subjective. There is no common experience or mass sense of reality, due to the basic fact of individual perceptual criteria. One individually might think that a wall is a wall is a wall. but of course, not to everyone. To be prescriptive is to look for the confined answer, and this is certainly not my premise.
How does one attempt to define a subjective term without bring prescriptive?
In the works which I have chosen to discuss, there is a sense of trying to bring together or fuse subjective experience through a channelling of perception, a narrowing of the plethora of perceptual elements in order to bring about some form of 'cohesiveness' of experience within the gallery environment.
This very cohesiveness however, is instantly undermined by the active and/or passive role of the audience, the temptation to start considering the work, to speculate as opposed to prescribe. I therefore feel as if it is perhaps some (not all) of these criteria which make up our own experience of 'meaning', although the term itself is so problematically fluid and fragmented, any form of rationale, scientific or otherwise, would appear to be instantly undermined, yet it is debates such as these which question the very fundamental nature of what we collectively know to be contemporary art practice which would appear to be the important functioning elements.
