SCHIZOPHONIA Centre d`Art Contemporain La Synagogue de Delme

Transcription

FRANCE
FRANCE
Weeven
werebefore
beset by
We were beset by sounds
wesounds even before we
step
through
the door of Delme synagogue.
step through the door of
Delme
synagogue.
SCHIZOPHONIA
SCHIZOPHONIA
Amidst the noise of theAmidst
wind inthe
thenoise
treesof the wind in the trees
Centre d’Art Contemporain
Centre d’Art Contemporain
the passing
traffic, a highly dissonant
and the passing traffic,and
a highly
dissonant
pieceout
forofsolo
piano drifted out of concealed
piece for solo piano drifted
concealed
LaDelme
Synagogue de Delme
La Synagogue de
speakers
(thepace
instrumental source, pace
speakers (the instrumental
source,
Schafer,
was
nowhere
Schafer, was nowhere to
be seen).
The
sound to be seen). The sound
In the
early
1980s, Adrian Piper
would
undoubtedly
In the early 1980s, Adrian
Piper
toured
wouldtoured
undoubtedly have
pleased
the com-have pleased the comAmerican
universities
kidsWolff, who
poser
Christian Wolff,
American universities teaching
college
kids teaching
posercollege
Christian
instinctively
devel-who instinctively develto sessions,
get funky. at
One of these
at
hisSchoenberg’s
own version of Arnold Schoenberg’s
how to get funky. One ofhow
these
opedsessions,
his own version
ofoped
Arnold
Berkeley
in 1983,
insystem
the short
12-tone system
and encouraged his mentor
UC Berkeley in 1983, is UC
captured
in the
shortis captured
12-tone
and encouraged
his mentor
film Funk
Lessons included
in ‘Schizophonia’
to play piano with the window
film Funk Lessons included
in ‘Schizophonia’
.
John
Cage to play.pianoJohn
withCage
the window
‘Ourexplains,
aural sensibility’
, Piperopen
explains,
openin.
toThe
let the
street noise in. The sound
‘Our aural sensibility’, Piper
‘is
to let‘is
the street noise
sound
probably
the
intimateissense
we have.’of a piece
is a by
sonification
of a piece by Latifa
probably the most intimate
sense
wemost
have.’
a sonification
Latifa
Butmusic
she iscan
alsobe
aware
music can Resolutions
be a
Echakhch,
Resolutions
But she is also aware that
a that Echakhch,
(in progress)
(2009), (in progress) (2009),
of what
she calls ‘trauma’
– those
which,
on the
inside, records in charcoal
source of what she callssource
‘trauma’
– those
which, on
the walls inside,
records
inwalls
charcoal
adolescent
embarrassments
we carry
theresolution
numbers on
of every
adolescent embarrassments
that we
carry
thethat
numbers
of every UN
the UN resolution on the
ourour
lives which can
inhibit our
Israel–Palestine
conflict. The numbers seem
through our lives whichthrough
can inhibit
Israel–Palestine
conflict.
The numbers seem
unselfconscious
enjoymenttoofexpand
music.deliriously,
Both
to expand
climbing up to the
unselfconscious enjoyment
of music. Both
climbing
updeliriously,
to the
history
and dance class,
Funkeven
Lessons
first
floor,
intruding into the next level.
history lesson and dance
class,lesson
Funk Lessons
first floor,
intruding
into
the even
next level.
as of
much
to the pleasures
of musicthey areLike
they are also steadily disinteattends as much to theattends
pleasures
music
Like memories,
alsomemories,
steadily disinteas to
its politics.
Piper will grating,
dance totheir
Talking
grating,
dust collecting on the floor.
as to its politics. Piper will
dance
to Talking
dust collecting
ontheir
the floor.
butwhite
she’s wary of the
way
by rendering
them musically, otherwise
Heads, but she’s wary ofHeads,
the way
But
by white
rendering them But
musically,
otherwise
musicians
have made money
by exploiting
obscure clear.
relationships
become clear. As
musicians have made money
by exploiting
obscure
relationships become
As
innovations
of black pioneers
like Bootsy
inSchoenberg’s
12-tone technique, their
the innovations of blackthe
pioneers
like Bootsy
inSchoenberg’s
12-tone
technique, their
Collins.ofThese
multiple layers
of reference
are never resolved.
Collins. These multiple layers
reference
dissonances
are never dissonances
resolved.
throughout the works
includedmore conflicts
Upstairs,
more conflicts
were rendered in
resonate throughout theresonate
works included
Upstairs,
were rendered
in
in ‘Schizophonia’.
sound.
Franck
Leibovici’s evenings of poetry
in ‘Schizophonia’.
sound. Franck Leibovici’s
evenings
of poetry
Curated by Anna Colin and Sam Thorne
and other inspiring speeches (2013), specially
Curated by Anna Colin and Sam Thorne
and other inspiring speeches (2013), specially
(who was, until recently, associate editor of
commissioned for the show, extends his
(who was, until recently, associate editor of
commissioned for the show, extends his
frieze), ‘Schizophonia’ brings together a numongoing ‘mini-opera for non-musicians’ with
frieze), ‘Schizophonia’ brings together a numongoing ‘mini-opera for non-musicians’ with
ber of works by artists engaged with sound
a set of nine music stands, each bearing the
ber of works by artists engaged with sound
a set of nine music stands, each bearing the
and music – in all their sensual and traudistinctive off-white sheets of music manuand music – in all their sensual and traudistinctive off-white sheets of music manumatic excesses. The Otolith Group’s People
scripts. The French artist has transcribed
matic excesses. The Otolith Group’s People
scripts. The French artist has transcribed
to be Resembling (2012) is an affectionate
the collective music of special forces troops,
to be Resembling (2012) is an affectionate
the collective music of special forces troops,
tribute to the Codona jazz trio; Lawrence Abu
comments threads and jihadists, all found
tribute to the Codona jazz trio; Lawrence Abu
comments threads and jihadists, all found
Hamdan’s papers and posters in Conflicted
online, taking care to spare no sforzando,
Hamdan’s papers and posters in Conflicted
online, taking care to spare no sforzando,
Phonemes (2012) detail the way the sound of
no carefully notated nuance espressivo. In
Phonemes (2012) detail the way the sound of
no carefully notated nuance espressivo. In
an asylum-seeker’s voice can become a site
the extensive text beside the installation,
an asylum-seeker’s voice can become a site
the extensive text beside the installation,
of political contestation; Sharon Hayes’s An
Leibovici highlights the parallel between his
of political contestation; Sharon Hayes’s An
Leibovici highlights the parallel between his
Ear to the Sounds of Our History (2011) builds
scores and the so-called fake books of old
Ear to the Sounds of Our History (2011) builds
scores and the so-called fake books of old
new meanings from the juxtaposition of old
which reified the oral tradition of jazz into
new meanings from the juxtaposition of old
which reified the oral tradition of jazz into
spoken-word recordings. The exhibition’s title
something objectified, lifeless, commodifispoken-word recordings. The exhibition’s title
something objectified, lifeless, commodificomes from the essay ‘The New Soundscape’,
able. But the lack, in these scores, of all the
comes from the essay ‘The New Soundscape’,
able. But the lack, in these scores, of all the
written by acoustic ecologist R. Murray
slides, slurs and microtones which you would
written by acoustic ecologist R. Murray
slides, slurs and microtones which you would
Schafer in 1968. ‘Schizophonia’, for Schafer,
expect from directly transcribed untrained
Schafer in 1968. ‘Schizophonia’, for Schafer,
expect
from
directly
transcribed
untrained
referred to ‘the cutting free of sound from
voices – subtleties which were once excluded
referred to ‘the cutting free
of sound from
voices
– subtleties
were once excluded
its natural origins’, setting out
to record
the which
by written music – suggests Leibovici has
its natural origins’, setting
out to record
the between
by written
music – suggests
Leibovici
changing
relationship
our bodies
himself
reducedhas
the living tradition of written
changing relationship between
bodies
himself reduced the living
tradition
written
and the our
sounds
around them.
music
that heofseems
to criticize. Today, music
and the sounds around them.
music that he seems to criticize. Today, music
manuscript
is athan
far more agile beast than
manuscript is a far more
agile beast
theupstraw
man stands.
propped up on these stands.
the straw man propped
on these
true chamber
work, however, Leibovici’s
A true chamber work, Ahowever,
Leibovici’s
piece than
is more
contrapuntal
than that: he
piece is more contrapuntal
that:
he
knows
that,
in recording
these songs on
knows that, in recording
these
songs
on
is also giving them a permanence,
paper, he is also givingpaper,
themhe
a permanence,
place they
in history
from which they would
a place in history fromawhich
would
otherwise be excluded.
otherwise be excluded.
2
2
Schafer’s original soundscape project
Schafer’s original soundscape project
was ultimately a conservative one. He feared
was ultimately a conservative one. He feared
the encroachment of the noises of modern life,
the encroachment of the noises of modern life,
and the opportunities provided by recording.
and the opportunities provided by recording.
But once sounds are cut from their sources
But once sounds are cut from their sources
and objectified as recordings, they can open
and objectified as recordings, they can open
up a wide variety of new uses, meanings and
up a wide variety of new uses, meanings and
pleasures. Playhead: A Parallel Anthology
pleasures. Playhead: A Parallel Anthology
(2013), by Open Music Archive (a.k.a. Eileen
(2013), by Open Music Archive (a.k.a. Eileen
Simpson and Ben White), plays selections
Simpson and Ben White), plays selections
from Harry Smith’s legendary Anthology of
from Harry Smith’s legendary Anthology of
American Folk Music (1952) along with later
American Folk Music (1952)
along with later
recordings and remixes of the same songs.
recordings and remixes
of the same
Compiled
fromsongs.
recordings made between
Compiled from recordings
between
1926made
and 1933,
the original Anthology col1926 and 1933, the original
lectedAnthology
vernacularcolsongs performed by rural
lected vernacular songs
performed
rural deal of affection for
singers.
I haveby
a great
singers. I have a great Smith’s
deal of affection
Anthologyfor
and many of these remixes
Smith’s Anthology and(particularly
many of these
remixes
those
by Leafcutter John and
(particularly those by Leafcutter
John
and
Beatrice Dillon). But Simpson and White
Beatrice Dillon). But Simpson
and
White
accompany their video with a booklet detailing
accompany their videowhich
with arecordings
booklet detailing
are currently in the public
which recordings are currently
in the
publicheavy black lines, scoring
domain. The
leaflet’s
domain. The leaflet’s heavy
blackstill
lines,
scoring
out songs
under
copyright, imply that
out songs still under copyright,
imply that
there’s something
inherently censorial about
there’s something inherently
authors’censorial
rights. Atabout
a time when many of the
authors’ rights. At a time
whenbiggest
many of
the
world’s
corporations
are doing everyworld’s biggest corporations
are can
doing
thing they
toeveryerode them, this aspect of
thing they can to erodethe
them,
thisseems
aspecttoofdo little more than reiterproject
the project seems to do
more than reiteratelittle
a now-mainstream
techno-libertarian
ate a now-mainstreamcommon
techno-libertarian
sense.
common sense.
‘Schizophonia’ tended to work best when
‘Schizophonia’ tended
to workwere
bestfocusing
when less on music itself,
the artists
the artists were focusing
ononmusic
andless
more
musicitself,
as a means of viewing the
and more on music asworld.
a means
viewing
thea musician himself
‘I doofnot
feel that
world. ‘I do not feel that
a musician
himself
makes
the music,’
says one of the interviewmakes the music,’ saysees
one
the
interviewinof
the
Otolith
Group’s film. ‘The musician
ees in the Otolith Group’s
film.
‘The musician
is only
a filter.’
For Piper, Echakhch and others,
is only a filter.’ For Piper,
Echakhch
music
can beand
justothers,
such a filter – one that
music can be just such
a filtermore
– one
thatit occludes.
reveals
than
reveals more than it occludes.
1
ROBERT BARRY
1
ROBERT BARRY
52
Frieze, March 1 2014
152
FRIEZE
FRIEZE
NO.
161
NO.
MARCH 2014
161
MARCH 2014
Van Halen and Cabaret Voltaire, Bad Brains and Palace Music: musically eclectic and improbable juxtapositions. The disparate albums are
nonetheless united by the abstract language of the covers, a formal
repertoire made up of triangular, quadrangular, and circular matrices
well known in the history of abstract painting, which multiply and
propagate in the space of the gallery, leaving themselves open to any
sort of association.
—Riccardo Venturi
Translated from Italian by Marguerite Shore.
Ian Kiaer
MARCELLE ALIX
Broadly speaking, Ian Kiaer’s methodology evokes the intricate process
of placing heterogeneous elements in a plane within an accurate perspective (or at least a desired one). In other words, despite its sculptural
guise, his work avails itself of a concept historically attached to painting. Not many individual positions so epitomize the expanded nature
hardly compete with the vastness of the architecture (designed by Aldo
Rossi and Xavier Fabre). About half the works from Vassivière were
also shown in Paris, where the space was much smaller and the scale of
the art became visibly overwhelming. They competed with the gallery
space, leaving hardly any room for the viewer. With the change in the
ways the work would be perceived in Paris as opposed to Vassivière,
Kiaer demonstrated the expanded sense of specificity that derives
from reflections on his studio work, with different formal and narrative
readings depending on the objects’ relation to the space in which they
are shown.
In contrast, for a. r. salle des études (a. r. study room) (all works 2013),
Kiaer installed a number of small objects in an unobtrusive arrangement. Geometrical pieces of various materials lay scattered here and
there. Next to a rubber ring resting on the floor stood a Plexiglas screen
leaning against a dull-colored wall, creating an utterly unspectacular
juxtaposition. An abstract architectural model stood next to a black
sphere that evoked Ledoux and the spherical House for the Guards of
the Farms that the architect had planned for Mauperthuis, near Paris.
A minuscule model figure stood next to the sphere, as if to stress
Ledoux’s limitless ambition. On a wall at the far end of the room could
be seen a small projection of CCTV footage of the same sphere floating
on rough water, a trembling and decidedly austere image that successfully encapsulated the formal and narrative potential of the work while
enriching the playful game of divergent scales that prevailed in the show.
—Javier Hontoria
BERLIN
Sharon Hayes
Ian Kiaer, a. r. salle
des études (a. r. study
room) (detail), 2013,
paper, Plexiglas,
rubber, aluminum,
video projection
(black-and-white,
silent, 60 minutes),
dimensions variable.
TANYA LEIGHTON GALLERY
of artistic practice today as Kiaer’s, in which voids convey content as
much as forms do. Scattered around the exhibition space, his fragmentary objects paradoxically sparked the notion of a whole as he immersed
the viewer in scenarios built on clustered arrays of references. Along with
painting, these include the history of utopian projects, such as those
undertaken by visionary intellectuals and architects, among them ClaudeNicolas Ledoux in eighteenth-century France and Konstantin Melnikov
in twentieth-century Russia, with which Kiaer has long been fascinated.
In Kiaer’s work, there is a connection between painting and the
architectural duality of inside and outside, since the practice of painting
so insistently poses the question of what happens when an artwork
transcends the solitude of the studio and steps out into the world and
toward its public. I wonder if, at the start of Kiaer’s career, this was the
crux of his turn toward disseminating both found and handmade
objects in the exhibition space, therefore emphasizing the idea of a void
waiting to be filled by the viewer, who composes a narrative thread out
of the scattered elements that would have once been captives of the
picture plane.
Kiaer’s recent exhibition was a recontextualization of works from
his first institutional show in France, held at the Centre international
d’art et du paysage de l’île de Vassivière in the spring of 2013. The
concept of specificity was equally at stake on both occasions. In Vassivière, the artist sought to avoid confronting massive spaces with
equally huge tridimensional works. Instead, he kept a very low formal
profile with transparent and weightless inflatable pieces that could
Let Anita Bryant be muted. Yes, I admit that deep down in my heart,
the image of Bryant, singer and notorious campaigner against gay
rights, taking a pie in the face (as she did in a 1977 televised interview)
does trigger a certain schadenfreude. Still, there is something paradoxical about the fact that the overhead projection that showed this
infamous moment, I Saved Her a Bullet, 2012, formed part of a show
that was all about the modulation of the (female) voice. But of course the
image of Bryant is double-coded in that it bespeaks both her attempts to
silence the gay community and that community’s cry of protest.
In Sharon Hayes’s recent exhibition “Public Appearance,” nothing is
one-dimensional when it comes to movements of political emancipation
Sharon Hayes,
Kate Millett, and the
Women’s Liberation
Cinema, Gay Power,
1971/2007/2012,
16 mm, color, sound,
33 minutes.
JANUARY 2014
JAN.REVS.indd 225
225
12/9/13 6:25 PM
Artforum, January 2014
REVIEWS
from the late 1960s onward. Take Gay Power, 1971/2007/2012, based
on original footage from New York’s second Christopher Street Liberation Day Parade, shot in 1971 by Kate Millett and the Women’s
Liberation Cinema. Decades later, Hayes was asked to add sound to
the footage; she in turn asked Millett to comment on the material and
interspersed the feminist icon’s short, personal utterances with her own
observations and quotes not only from original newspaper articles
reporting on the event and flyers from the Christopher Street Day
Parade Committee but also from fellow artist Emily Roysdon. Millett’s
pragmatic, candid confessions (“We were very afraid”) shed a fresh
light on those early days of activism, making us look through the lens
of the unsentimental, the nonheroic.
The gap between now and then, between our assumptions and the
experience of those involved, is also the subject of Sarah H. Gordon’s
Strike Journal, May 1970, 2012. It is a contemporary recording but
pressed on vinyl, and therefore somewhat nostalgic for the woman of
the title reading her diaries from the time when she was a student
actively helping to organize a strike to protest US military intervention
in Cambodia. No visual information, no celebrity awe diverts our
attention from the voice of this woman, who was never a public figure.
She almost gives the impression that she is quoting from someone else’s
text, so subdued, at times insecure, even hesitant is her delivery. Hayes
seems to probe her as a witness, to see if she is still connected to her
former political engagement. Gordon sounds even more vulnerable
than her famous counterpart Millett; her testimony does little to evoke
romantic dreams of a once revolutionary past.
None of this, however, means that Hayes would consider that the
faith in social transformation that was so typical of those days is utterly
lost to us—in fact, quite the contrary. “Join Us,” 2012–13, a collection
of two hundred flyers from the 1960s onward installed in a window,
all calling for action, reminds us of an uninterrupted lineage of political
participation throughout the years. And in Gay Power, Hayes wonders
whether “we can reuse this model of power and love.” It is not easy,
perhaps, to share her optimistic belief in the transformative, even subversive forces of queer desire—a faith allied with Judith Butler’s insistence on the importance of performativity, and rooted in a time before
the commodification of all things LGBTQ and the allure of the pink
dollar. But if you want to believe, if you want to carry on, then take a
good look at Hayes’s work. Rather than alienating us from the feminist
and other political struggles of the past by glorifying them, she makes
them accessible by helping us reconnect to the feelings behind them.
And that surely is no easy task.
—Astrid Mania
Ari Benjamin Meyers
ESTHER SCHIPPER
Every Saturday over the course of Ari Benjamin Meyers’s “Black
Thoughts,” the exhibition fulfilled the promise of a spectacular viewer
experience, which has become known as a characteristic of a certain
vein of 1990s art––and typical for several artists in Esther Schipper’s
program: Different combinations of five commissioned musicians
would appear to interpret a rather minimal musical composition by
turns restrained but insistent or full-on and dynamic. Any other day of
the week, though, the gallery was vacant of the performers and their
sound; the exhibition would have been similar in appearance to various
clean, total, reduced exhibitions by other gallery artists––for instance,
Karin Sander’s “h = 400 cm” from 2012 or Ceal Floyer’s untitled exhibition from 2011––thus suggesting that the one aesthetic might be a
natural foil for the other.
226
Ari Benjamin Meyers,
Serious Immobilities,
2013, mixed media,
dimensions variable.
Installation view.
The contrast between a live experience and an austere, evacuated
one evokes a valid concern for some artists: what to do with the objects
of performance (in this case, an electric guitar, an electric bass, amplifiers, music stands, and sheet music) when no appointed bodies are
around to use them. For his part, Meyers had recourse to the ready
solution of preserving the objects where the performers left them––the
instruments on their stands, the sheet music on theirs or piled on the
ground––as representative of the potential that these mute things maintain either to be played or to be viewed as art objects. It’s a logical
choice, but the gesture seems all too familiar.
Elsewhere, Meyers engaged another increasingly common element
for evoking a performative dimension in contemporary art: the score.
This was Vexations 2 (all works 2013), which eventually consisted of
840 sheets of handwritten musical notation reaching across the walls
of the main gallery space nearly from top to bottom and corner to
corner. With such a large quantity dealt with so methodically, however,
Meyers’s score read more as a visual texture than as an invitation to
perform the composition. The same could be said for the small table
set with blank sheet music and graphite pencil shavings, where Meyers
sometimes sat to finish writing out notation, as well as for the grand
piano standing in the middle of the room that had apparently
been tuned to play only one note. Of course, the rigid appearance of
Vexations 2 is not necessarily a surprise, given that it is an adaptation
of Erik Satie’s 1893 composition Vexations, which requires the performer to play 840 repetitions of a single one-page piece.
Trained as a composer and conductor—he has led two productions
of Philip Glass’s opera Einstein on the Beach and been a member of the
German band Einstürzende Neubauten—Meyers has increasingly
flirted with the art context over the past several years, having worked
together early on with Tino Sehgal and later with Dominique GonzalezFoerster, Anri Sala, and Saâdane Afif. Also part of the exhibition was
a series of semi-absurd interventions in the pages of leading art magazines, posing the question “Do you have black thoughts?” or advertising a “specialist in funeral marches.” Still, nothing quite so macabre or
specific came to mind during the absolutely captivating hours when the
musicians interpreted Meyers’s composition, the show’s standout.
Sometimes the bass guitarist repeated one note on end for long minutes.
Other sequences delivered a beautifully evolving rhythm of equally
repetitive chords and breathy singing from the three vocalists, who
intermittently lay down next to viewers during the performance, as if
lost in the––thankfully––slowly passing moment.
––John Beeson
ARTFORUM
JAN.REVS.indd 226
12/9/13 4:01 PM
Mousse 41 ~ PuRPose / uRGeNCY
AN ACTUAL SUBVERSION
by David Levine
When I left theater, I took the actors with me; what I left behind was the
sense of event. I was fascinated by the vision of “method” acting—that
if you worked hard enough, you could experience the world as someone
else—and I was equally fascinated by the consequences of that vision:
that one ’s body could become a shell for a foreign subjectivity, and that
without the dramatic apparatus of script, tickets, and architecture, noone would ever know.
Certain works helped me rethink my relationship to actors, performance
and spectatorship. Among them were Vito Acconci’s Following Piece, in
which the artist followed people on the streets of New York until they
entered private space1; Lynn Hershman Leeson’s Roberta Breitmore, in
which Leeson created, registered, and lived out a whole new identity in
San Francisco; Tehching Hsieh’s Outdoor Piece, in which the artist refused to go indoors for an entire year; and Adrian Piper’s The Mythic
Being, in which Piper disguised herself as a man and inserted this new
persona into the streets of New York and Cambridge. These pieces2 went
unremarked as they were being performed. And to the extent that they
went unnoticed as art, each performance was able to thread itself into the
fabric of everyday reality. Each piece could have gone on forever, a node
of tactical insincerity operating in society unannounced.
But then they wouldn’t have been known as art. Compare these works
to recent projects by Sharon Hayes, Tino Sehgal, or Suzanne Lacy, and
the problem becomes immediately apparent: although all three artists are
known for a far more explicit engagement with contemporary economic,
political, and ecological concerns, their works are always immediately identified as artworks. They either announce themselves, or are announced as, events and spectacles, and therefore as alternative, superior,
or parenthetical to lived reality.
Is this a problem with the way we define art, or the way we present it?
Right now, the concept of “art” serves no other purpose than to designate a state of exception that is parenthetical to everyday life. There
is resistance in our world, there is recuperation, there is labor, there is
suffering, there is statelessness and there is war… and then there is art
concerning these things. To claim that art alters anything but the symbolic order, or to claim that altering the symbolic order has any effect
upon real conditions, or to claim that the distinction between symbolic
and real is a false opposition, is to climb a staircase of increasingly exquisite sophistry. Well-intentioned and involuntary sophistry, to be sure, but
sophistry nonetheless.
But “art” is as much the product of publications and institutions as it
is of artists. And thus it makes no sense to ask about “purpose” or “urgency” with regards to any particular format, approach, or method: they
are all equally inconsequential when faced with political, economic and
ecological conditions outside the art world. This isn’t a knock on artmaking, artists, curators, or publications—but it is a plea for more honest claims about what it is we do, why we do it, and how the artistic or
institutional preference for credit or payoff curtails a work’s ability to
accomplish anything beyond a spectacular and temporary reshuffling of
signifiers. Try to imagine what Hsieh’s year-long Outdoor Piece would
look like if sponsored by Creative Time. Try to imagine how Acconci’s
or Piper’s performances could be incorporated into an exhibition by any
means other than documentary evidence.
One person’s action is another person’s act. One person’s performance is
another person’s job. One person’s intervention is another’s act of sabotage. To designate a gesture as art—or to arrogate it to an art context by
means of exhibition or publication—is to lift it out of circulation, or restrict its circulation to purely symbolic ends. So how urgent are we feeling? Can we apply an artistic (or curatorial, or editorial) consciousness
to our activities while abjuring the sense of event? Can we reframe, recontextualize, draw attention to or intervene in contemporary conditions
without making a show of it? Can we forego the satisfactions of calling
the outcome “art,” or ourselves “artists?” To do so would be to move
underground with our activities. To do so would be to open the possibility of actual as opposed to notional subversion. If designating a gesture
as art means putting that gesture in parentheses, the lesson of these works
is perhaps to open a parenthesis that never closes.
NOTES
1) Strangely enough, this is also a common exercise in acting programs.
2) With the possible exception of Piper’s.
Adrian Pip
1975. Coll
Research
Vito Accon
York, Gall
76
di David Levine
Quando ho lasciato il teatro, ho portato con me
gli attori ma mi sono lasciato alle spalle il senso dell’evento. ero affascinato dalla visione del
metodo stanislavskij, che, praticato con il dovuto impegno, consente di vivere il mondo nei
panni di un’altra persona – e dalle conseguenze
di quella visione: la possibilità di fare del proprio corpo l’involucro di una soggettività esterna senza che, in assenza dell’apparato teatrale
formato da soggetto, biglietti e architettura,
qualcuno possa mai scoprirlo.
Il mio processo di ripensamento della relazione con gli attori, con la performance e con la
condizione di spettatore è stato agevolato da
alcune opere, in particolare Following Piece di
Vito Acconci, nella quale l’artista segue alcune
persone incontrate per strada a New York fino a
quando queste entrano in uno spazio privato1;
Roberta Breitmore di Lynn Hershman Leeson,
nella quale l’artista crea, registra e vive di fatto
un’identità totalmente nuova a san Francisco;
Outdoor Piece di Tehching Hsieh, che lo vede
rifiutarsi di entrare al chiuso per un anno intero;
e The Mythic Being di Adrian Piper, nella quale
l’artista, una donna, si traveste da uomo e porta
la sua nuova identità nelle strade di New York e
di Cambridge. All’epoca della loro esecuzione,
tutti questi lavori2 sono passati inosservati e,
Tehching Hsieh, One Year Performance, 1981
– 1982, New York. © 1982 Tehching Hsieh.
Courtesy: the artist, sean Kelly, New York
Mousse 41, December 2013
proprio per il fatto di non essere stati registrati
come atti artistici, sono riusciti a insinuarsi nel
tessuto della realtà quotidiana. ogni situazione avrebbe potuto continuare all’infinito come
nodo di artificiosità tattica attivo senza essere
comunicato alla società.
Ma allora non si pensava di riconoscerle come
arte. Basta fare un confronto tra questi lavori e
i progetti recenti di sharon Hayes, Tino sehgal,
o suzanne Lacy per individuare immediatamente il problema: anche se tutti e tre questi
artisti sono noti per il loro approccio anche più
esplicito ai temi economici, politici ed ecologici
contemporanei, i loro lavori sono sempre immediatamente identificati come opere d’arte,
che si annunciano, o sono annunciate, come
eventi e spettacoli, e perciò alternative, superiori o parentetiche alla realtà vissuta.
È un problema, questo, che ha a che fare con il
modo in cui definiamo l’”arte”, o con il modo
in cui la presentiamo? In questo momento, il
concetto di “arte” non serve ad altro che a definire uno stato di eccezione che è parentetico
alla vita di tutti i giorni. Nel nostro mondo c’è la
resistenza, il recupero, il lavoro, la sofferenza,
l’assenza di stato e la guerra... e poi c’è l’arte
che riguarda tutte queste cose. Affermare che
l’arte alteri qualcosa oltre l’ordine simbolico,
o affermare che alterare l’ordine simbolico abbia qualsivoglia effetto sulle condizioni reali, o
affermare
le sia una
scala sem
sofistica b
chiaro, ma
Ma l’”arte
istituzioni
non ha se
l’”urgenza
approccio
fluenti a
nomiche
del mond
alla pratic
pubblicazi
dica ones
facciamo,
o istituzio
cesso ridu
qualcosa
raneo rim
a immagi
anno dell’
sorizzata d
nare come
sizione le
diversi da
L’azione d
tra. La per
un’altra. L
Mousse 41 ~ PuRPose / uRGeNCY
ions as it
e” or “urhod: they
omic and
k on artmore honartistic or
ability to
uffling of
ece would
Acconci’s
on by any
rmance is
t of saboontext by
on, or ree we feelciousness
rame, reonditions
of calling
e to move
e possibila gesture
ese works
rograms.
registrati
nuarsi nel
situazionito come
za essere
erle come
ti lavori e
o sehgal,
mmediatatre questi
anche più
ecologici
mpre imre d’arte,
ate, come
ve, supe-
are con il
n il modo
mento, il
che a dearentetico
ndo c’è la
offerenza,
c’è l’arte
mare che
imbolico,
bolico abni reali, o
Adrian Piper, The Mythic Being: Cruising White Women, #1 of 3,
1975. Collection of eileen Harris Norton, Los Angeles. © Adrian Piper
Research Archive Foundation Berlin. Photo: James Gutmann
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Roberta Contemplating Suicide on the Golden
Gate Bridge, 1974. Courtesy: Gallery Paule Anglim, san Francisco
Vito Acconci, Following Piece, 1969. Courtesy: studio Acconci, New
York, Galleria Michela Rizzo, Venezia. Photo: Betsy Jackson
sharon Hayes, In the Near Future, 2009. Courtesy: the artist, Tanya
Leighton, Berlin
77
affermare che la distinzione tra simbolico e reale sia una falsa opposizione, è come salire una
scala sempre più squisitamente sofistica. Di una
sofistica ben intenzionata e involontaria, sia ben
chiaro, ma pur sempre sofistica.
Ma l’”arte” è figlia delle pubblicazioni e delle
istituzioni tanto quanto lo è degli artisti. e quindi
non ha senso interrogarsi sullo “scopo” o sull’”urgenza” in rapporto a un eventuale formato,
approccio o metodo: sono tutti parimenti ininfluenti a fronte delle condizioni politiche, economiche ed ecologiche che regnano al di fuori
del mondo dell’arte. Non si tratta di un attacco
alla pratica dell’arte, agli artisti, ai curatori, o alle
pubblicazioni è, semmai, un appello perché si
dica onestamente cos’è che facciamo, perché lo
facciamo, e in che modo l’inclinazione artistica
o istituzionale per il riconoscimento o per il successo riduca la capacità di un’opera di realizzare
qualcosa che non sia uno spettacolare e temporaneo rimescolamento dei significanti. Proviamo
a immaginare cosa sarebbe l’esperienza di un
anno dell’Outdoor Piece di Hsieh se fosse sponsorizzata da Creative Time. Proviamo a immaginare come si potrebbero configurare in un’esposizione le performance di Acconci o Piper in modi
diversi dalla testimonianza documentaria.
L’azione di una persona è lo spettacolo di un’altra. La performance di una persona è il lavoro di
un’altra. L’intervento di una persona è l’atto di
sabotaggio di un’altra. Definire un gesto come
arte o ascriverlo forzosamente a un contesto artistico mediante l’esposizione o la pubblicazione
significa toglierlo dalla circolazione, o limitarne
la circolazione a finalità puramente simboliche. e
allora, quanto ci sentiamo urgenti? siamo capaci
di applicare una coscienza artistica (o curatoriale
o editoriale) alle nostre attività pur abiurando il
senso dell’evento? siamo capaci di riformulare,
ricontestualizzare, attirare l’attenzione o intervenire sulle condizioni contemporanee senza farne uno spettacolo? siamo capaci di rinunciare
alle soddisfazioni di definire il risultato “arte” o
di chiamarci “artisti”? Riuscirci significherebbe
passare alla clandestinità con le nostre attività.
Riuscirci significherebbe aprire la possibilità di
una sovversione effettiva e non di facciata. se
definire un gesto arte significa mettere quel gesto tra parentesi, la lezione di queste opere è
forse quella di aprire una parentesi che non si
chiude più.
NoTe
1
Che, stranamente, è anche un esercizio
spesso praticato nei corsi di recitazione.
2
Forse con l’eccezione di quello di Piper.
5. Delirious Anthropology
About this Blog
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By CLAIRE BISHOP | Published: 26. OCTOBER 2013
I feel like I’ve spent the last four weeks overstating my scepticism about
contemporary art’s retrospectivity—as seen in the repurposing of modernist art
and architecture, the incorporation of pre-existing archives, and the retrieval of
outmoded mechanisms of display. All three are examples of art’s fascination with
the past that too often forgets to keep its sightlines on the present. This week I’d
like to conclude my series of blogposts by looking at three recent videos that take
past works and pre-existing archives as their starting point, but which do so in
order to assess the present: Provenance by Amie Siegel (recently on show at
Simon Preston Gallery in the Lower East Side), Grosse Fatigue by Camille
Henrot and Ricerce Three by Sharon Hayes (the last two exhibited at the Venice
Biennale).
Marvin Heiferman
November 1 to December 15
Claire Bishop is a Professor in the PhD Program
in Art History at CUNY
Graduate Center, New
York. Her books include
Installation Art: A Critical History (2005) and
Artificial Hells: Participatory Art and the Politics of Spectatorship
(2012), for which she
won the 2013 Frank JewCurator and writer Marvin Heiferman organizes
ett Mather award for art
visual culture projects for institutions that include
criticism.
She is a regular
the Museum
of Modern
Art, Smithsonian
,
contributor
to Artforum
Center of Photography,
Radiand her Institution,
next book,International
Whitneyor,
Museum
cal Museology,
What’sof American Art, and the New
Museum.inHeiferman
Contemporary
Muse- has written for The New York
ums ofTimes,
Contemporary
Art in America, Artforum, and Aperture.
be published
Art?, will
His most
recent book is Photography Changes
this fall Everything
by Koenig Books.
(Aperture, 2012). New entries to his
Twitter project, WHY WE LOOK (@whywelook) are
posted daily.
Co-Bloggers
Pete Brook is a freelance writer and blogger for
Prison Photography
Amie Siegel, Provenance, 2013 (HD video, color, sound, 40′
30″) courtesy Simon Preston, New York, (installation view)
Siegel’s lingering, luxuriant hour-long Provenance (2013) takes us back to the
first week of my blog, when I asked why so many contemporary artists are
making work about modernist art, architecture and design. Her video deals with
the fate of Pierre Jeanneret’s chairs for Le Corbusier’s complex in Chandigarh.
Designed and fabricated in the 1950s, these chairs are today sold as luxury
furniture for the discerning one percent. The twist is that this story is told
backwards: as the video opens with lingering shots of spacious, perfectlyarranged homes in London, Paris and New York, and aboard a luxury yacht.
Jeanneret’s chairs—now refitted in coloured calf-skin—are identifiable not just by
their distinctive design, but by the handpainted serial numbers on their sides.
Siegel cuts to the photographer’s studio where two of these chairs from Le
Corbusier’s government buildings in Chandigarh are photographed for an auction
house catalogue, and then cuts to the auction where they sell for $60,000. Her
camera then turns to the Belgian restoration factory where the chairs are gutted
and refurbished around the original teak structure.
Peter Burleigh is a lecturer at the University of
Basel and the FHNW Basel
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Archive
George Baker (5)
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Walead Beshty (5)
30″) courtesy Simon Preston, New York, (HD video still)
Claire Bishop (5)
David Campany (5)
Marvin Heiferman (1)
And then we move to Chandigarh: a forest landscape at dawn, the sound of birds
and monkeys, and exquisitely framed shots of Le Corbusier’s architecture. The
familiar chairs can now be seen in use, in government offices drowning in piles
upon piles of paperwork. In the attic backspaces of these buildings, hundreds
more of these broken and dusty chairs are stacked high on top of each other—and
we soon find the reason why. In a renovated suite of offices, the clutter of
paperwork has been replaced by computers in open-plan booths, complete with
corporate swivel chairs covered in plastic. Over at the Punjab Assembly,
meanwhile, Jeanneret’s bright-coloured chairs are still in use, zinging in yellow,
red, blue, green. In University library, amid the ambient rustling of research,
students also use these same chairs. The film ends here in the university, with the
chairs valued for their function rather than for the luxury signifier that is ‘Le
Corbusier’.
Martin Jaeggi (5)
30″) courtesy Simon Preston, New York, (HD video still)
In the great slew of contemporary art that repurposes modern architecture and
design, Siegel’s piece is one of the few I have encountered that deals with the
economic status of these objects in today’s global marketplace. It’s a lavish work,
but this also makes me uneasy. Provenance tells a story, but does so in a visual
language that is as luxurious as the private dwellings wherein these objects now
reside. Collectors’ (second or third) homes and Punjab University Library are
filmed alike in the most sumptuous fashion, to the point where any position
(criticism, indignation, or approval) is smoothed over in gliding camerawork.
Siegel reports on a state of affairs, but declines to comment, letting a story speak
for itself. The experience is ravishing, but its cost is a loss of the grit that made
the storytelling function of previous photographic practices so poignant and
memorable (Sekula, Goldblatt, Sternfeld).
**
Sharon Hayes, meanwhile, has long made work that draws on the past, especially
popular archives and political protest. Her recent video for Venice also looks
backwards to go forwards: it takes as its starting point Pier Paolo Pasolini’s film
Comizi d’Amore (1965), in which the director interviewed a wide cross-section of
Italians about sexuality and relationships—from schoolchildren to the elderly,
male and female, urban and rural, north and south. Crucially, Pasolini didn’t
interview his subjects one to one, in the manner of ‘talking head’ documentaries,
but collectively—in the streets, cafes and fields. His interviewer asks small boys
where babies come from; he asks an elderly farmer if a woman’s virginity is
important; he asks young women if they approve of brothels. The latter passages
2 of 6
11/4/1
are the most poignant, almost painful, as young women struggle to speak out in
front of their cocky male peers.
Sharon Hayes, Ricerche: Three, 2013 (single channel HD
video, 38′) Courtesy of the artist and Tanya Leighton, Berlin,
(installation view)
In Ricerche: Three (2013), Hayes redirects this informal interview format to
interrogate a group of thirty-six students at a women’s college in New England.
The resulting video, simply filmed in the spring sunshine, is some 38 minutes
long and provides a cross-section of gender positions at an institution that many
would regard as implicitly conservative. It turns out that the college houses the
greatest diversity—from those with a strong religious framework (often from
South East Asia) to the most radical (becoming transgender). The style of filming
sticks closely to that of Pasolini, with individual faces framed within the collective
body. Some of Hayes’s questions also overlap with those of the Italian director:
Do you think you’ll marry soon? Do you think of yourself as a Don Juan? Others
are more tailored to the context: Why did you come to an all-female college? Can
you be more free sexually here than politically or intellectually?
Sharon Hayes, Ricerche: Three, 2013 (single channel HD
video, 38′) Courtesy of the artist and Tanya Leighton, Berlin,
(HD video still)
The result is a generational snapshot that is also geographical. If Pasolini travels
Italy to gain a diversity of results, Hayes finds a global spectrum on one campus.
And if her respondents’ answers have a common theme, it is the overwhelming
pressure to identify and label oneself in the marketplace of identity. The
appearance of these young faces in the sun, struggling to express their
independence and individuality in front of their peer group, is unexpectedly
hypnotic. And while Ricerche: Three can be seen as a historical update of (and
antidote to) the gender politics of Comizi d’Amore, it also opens up to new
questions. If Pasolini’s film shows women struggling to articulate their sexuality
in a macho Italian culture—the light of feminism still a faint glimmer on the
horizon—then Hayes captures a moment when female self-assertion is
unquestionably more confident, but where uncertainties now congregate around
biological modulations of the body. Unexpectedly, the all-women’s college
becomes the testing ground for the co-existence of gender’s own multiple
modernities.
**
It is telling that Hayes’s mining of the past doesn’t lead to a fascination with the
Italian neo-realist director or with one of his actors, but to a discussion of
sexuality today. In a similar fashion, Camille Henrot’s Grosse Fatigue (2013)
turns to the allure of the archive but in order to prompt thoughts about the
3 of 6
11/4/1
acquisition and storage of knowledge in the twenty-first century. Her thirteenminute video resulted from a residency at the Smithsonian Institute in
Washington DC, and some of video’s material is shot directly in its natural
history archives and laboratories: drawers upon drawers of preserved parrots,
toucans, insects, fossils. But rather than wallowing in archival nostalgia, Henrot
turns this experience into a pounding, percussive video set to a soundtrack by
poet Jacob Bromberg and music by Joakim Bouaziz. The work opens with the
image of a galaxy upon her computer desktop, and proceeds to rhythmically layer
knowledge upon knowledge in the form of stacked open windows. Natural history
collides with technology, colonial history, poetry, Wikipedia and creation myths
in a kaleidoscope of colour and taxonomy, research and incantation.
Camille Henrot, Grosse Fatigue, 2013 (video, color, sound,
13′) © ADAGP Camille Henrot. Courtesy the artist and kamel
mennour, Paris (video still)
Grosse Fatigue also marks an update of the multi-channel video installation:
rather than surrounding viewers with simultaneous projections (à la Isaac Julien
or Doug Aitken), Henrot makes a single-screen work that places images on top of
one other, as windows on a desktop. Turning pages of books, scrolling pages on a
website, video of archivists and storage systems: Grosse Fatigue is a poetic
response to information overload and an antidote to the archival impulse,
replacing the latter’s austere aesthetic (the type-written text, the faded
photograph, the glass vitrine) with acidic hues, virulently painted fingernails, and
a sensuous, mythological soundtrack. It evokes the persistence of creation myths
and deep time in the visual imagery of computers—from galaxy screensavers to
the iPhone’s globe motif—to produce a delirious anthropology of present-day
perception exhausted by information.
Camille Henrot, Grosse Fatigue, 2013 (video, color, sound,
13′) © ADAGP Camille Henrot. Courtesy the artist and kamel
mennour, Paris (video still)
These works by Hayes and Henrot mine the past, but not in the name of
retrieving and presenting obscure histories, minor figures and overlooked
episodes for their own sake. Instead, the past is a starting-point for analyzing the
present day. This is not to deny that archivally-oriented art, smitten with the
vitrine and curatorial methodology, can offer important counterpoints to
officially sanctioned histories, it is more frequently the case that they exacerbate
our sense of unmanageably fragmented knowledge (‘the Google effect’). The
‘artist as historian’ is today’s equivalent of the nineteenth-century history painter,
but chooses to focus on minor events rather than major, subjecting it to
microscopic analysis. By contrast, the works of Hayes and Henrot are more
interested in using the past as a way to grasp our own time, as if through
binoculars held the wrong way. The present is seen from afar and defamiliarized,
always with half an eye on the future’s judgement-to-come.
4 of 6
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138-167_Rev_Layout 1 12.09.13 11:56 Seite 151
SHARON HAYES, KATE MILLETT AND THE WOMEN’S LIBERATION CINEMA
Gay Power, 1971/2007/2012
Courtesy of the artists and Tanya Leighton, Berlin
Film stills
Sharon Hayes
»Public Appearances«
Tanya Leighton, Berlin
6.9.–28.10.2013
Agitpop
Einer breiteren Öffentlichkeit ist Sharon
Hayes bekannt geworden, als ihre Performance »Revolutionary Love 2: I Am Your
Best Fantasy« auf der diesjährigen Venedig
Biennale mit einer »besonderen Erwähnung«
geehrt wurde. Jetzt zeigt die 1970 geborene,
US-amerikanische Künstlerin in der Galerie Tanya Leighton Arbeiten aus den letzten
zwei Jahren. Die engagierte Ausstellung fällt
sofort durch ihre mediale Vielfalt auf,
diverse Textarbeiten, ein Film, Poster und
Fotos sowie eine Soundinstallation hat die
Künstlerin hier versammelt. Der zweite Blick
aber lässt in dieser Diversität schnell zwei
durchgängige Themen erkennen: Zum einen
wird die Möglichkeit individuellen aktivistischen Handelns im Kontext kollektiver
Protestformen wie Demonstration, Versammlung oder Streik reflektiert. Zum
anderen werden die Ästhetiken aktivistischer
Protestkultur seit den 60er Jahren einer
Revision unterzogen.
Im Zentrum der Ausstellung steht der
Film »Gay Power« (1971/2007/2012). Zu
sehen ist die Dokumentation der Parade des
Christopher Street Day in New York 1971.
Die üblichen Bilder flimmern, an der Grenze
zum Klischee, über die Leinwand: Mehr
oder weniger tanzende Menschen – Schwule,
Lesben, Bisexuelle und Transgender –, die
ihr Recht auf Sexualität und ihre Freude
daran selbstbewusst in aller Öffentlichkeit
zum Ausdruck bringen. Gefilmt wurde die
Parade von dem Kollektiv »The Women’s
Liberation Cinema«. Dieses Material wird
in der Tonspur nachträglich kommentiert,
und zwar von der Künstlerin und Kate
Millett, der US-amerikanischen Aktivistin,
Schriftstellerin und Bildhauerin, die durch
ihr 1970 erschienenes Buch »Sexual Politics« die Frauenbewegung mitgeprägt hat.
Zwei Feministinnen aus zwei unterschiedlichen Generationen setzen sich so mit der
Geschichte des Christopher Street Days auseinander, wobei dessen Eingebundenheit in
historische Prozesse ebenso in den Fokus
rückt, wie dessen immer noch bestehende
SPIKE 37 — 2013
Faszination, aber auch seine inzwischen zum
Kitsch zu verkommen drohende Bildsprache.
Im vorderen Raum der Galerie bestimmen vor allem die Soundinstallation »Sarah
H. Gordon’s Strike Journal, May 1970«
(2012) und die Installation »Join Us«
(2012/13) das Geschehen. Die Soundinstallation aus zwei Plattenspielern, zwei Schallplatten und Kopfhörern, führt ebenfalls eine
Re-Inszenierung historischen Materials vor,
ist doch auf den Platten Sarah H. Gordon
zu hören, wie sie aus ihrem »Strike Journal«
liest. Die Texte hat Gordon vor gut drei Jahrzehnten anlässlich der Studentenunruhen
am Smith College in Massachusetts geschrieben. Signifikant ist, wie die Historizität der
vorgetragenen Texte nicht nur durch ihren
Inhalt, etwa der Beschreibung von organisatorischen Details des studentischen Streiks,
deutlich wird, sondern vor allem durch die
inzwischen »alt gewordene« Stimme von
Gordon. Die Installation »Join Us« zeigt 200
aktivistische Flyer, die poppig-bunt auf ein
Fenster der Galerie tapeziert sind. Die Flyer
aus den 60er Jahren bis heute sind engagierte
Aufrufe politischer Gruppen an gleichgesinnte Individuen, Aufrufe, die als geschriebener, oftmals mit Zeichnungen und Logos
ergänzter, Sprechakt funktionieren. Wie
schon bei »Gay Power« steht so die Ästhetik von Protestkultur zur analytischen
Disposition. Geballte Fäuste, der Afro-Look
von Angela Davies oder Slogans wie »Join
the resistance« oder »Against Apartheid!«
sind eben auch längst in die Jahre gekommen
– allerdings ohne an Brisanz verloren zu
haben. Genau diese Spannung führt Hayes
in ihrer Ausstellung vor, leider droht sie dabei
gelegentlich in den Klischees der (re)präsentierten Protestkultur stecken zu bleiben. —
Raimar Stange
151
Reviews
Spike Art Quarterly, October 2013
Art Forum, October 2012
on site
Just saying no
Julia Bryan-Wilson on the museum of non participation
It’s AprIl 19, four days after the Boston Marathon
bombings, and I’m on my way from the Minneapolis
airport to my hotel. As the radio broadcasts news of the
search for the Tsarnaev brothers, my taxi driver comments on the ironies of the phrase criminal justice. I’m
in Minneapolis to attend the opening of the Museum
of Non Participation’s exhibition at the Walker Art
Center, “The New Deal,” which focuses on questions
of political speech, the grammar of rights, and discourses of protest.
Created by London-based artists Karen Mirza and
Brad Butler in 2007, when the two were living in
Pakistan, the Museum is a peripatetic series of workshops, presentations, installations, and collectively
devised performances. Its origin story is fable-like:
Visiting the National Art Gallery in Islamabad one day,
Mirza and Butler found themselves trapped inside by a
melee just beyond the institution’s doors, where a mass
demonstration by the Pakistani Lawyers’ Movement
had been met with extreme police violence. Then and
there, the pair conceived their conceptual project, a
wide-ranging inquiry into how art production can, and
cannot, be reconciled with contemporary crises. Their
endorsement of what they call nonparticipation does
not entail a rejection of political involvement (or of participatory art practices, for that matter). They think of
nonparticipation not as failure to engage, but as a space
of possibility—as in opting out, boycotts, strikes, and
other forms of withholding. Under the Museum’s flexible rubric, they have generated specific responses to
conditions in locations from Egypt to Germany. “The
New Deal” marks their itinerant institution’s first visit
to the US.
One focal point of the opening is a performance of
Bertolt Brecht’s 1929 “teaching play,” The Exception
and the Rule, which uses the tale of a merchant and his
servant to impart a lesson about class antagonism. The
staging is the culmination of a series of workshops in
which Mirza and Butler explored Brecht’s text alongside
artists, activists, performers, students, and workers
from the Twin Cities, using the methods of the late
Brazilian director Augusto Boal. Mirza and Butler have
a serious, long-standing engagement with Boal, who in
the 1970s developed the radically participatory Theatre
of the Oppressed. Here they put into practice his theories about interactivity and the conversion of the audience into “spect-actors.” I arrive too late to see the play,
and, as a nonparticipant, I can only try to forensically
piece together what happened. I question some of the
players, examine photos, scour the written materials.
I am frustrated that there is no video documentation.
Meanwhile, as what is being gruesomely called the
the Museum of Non participation’s performance of Bertolt Brecht’s The Exception and the Rule, 1929. Walker art center, minneapolis, april 18, 2013.
from left: susy Bielak, david kim, rigoberto lara Guzmán, karen mirza, alejandra tobar, and aaron rosenblum. photo: olga ivanova.
“Boston manhunt” progresses, Google Earth homes in
on a location, freezes on a blurry boat.
I am present for the other event that weekend, a discussion featuring sociologist Avery Gordon and artist
Sharon Hayes. Gordon speaks about local legacies of
nonparticipation in relation to Minnesota’s abolitionist
movement. Hayes, whose own practice (like that of the
Museum of Non Participation) investigates the ways in
which power relations are embedded in the structures of
language, presents excerpts from the transcripts of the
trials of detainees at Guantánamo Bay. Hayes reminds us
that the detainees are on hunger strike—another refusal.
In addition to their work with theater, Mirza and
Butler make audiovisual and text-based pieces, and
“The New Deal” features a selection of this work. In
their affecting video Hold Your Ground, 2012, a woman
repeats a series of Arabic phonemes, as if struggling to
Mirza and Butler think of nonparticipation not as a failure to engage,
but as a space of possibility.
teach, or learn, the language—a striking embodiment
of thwarted communication that also signals the hopeful emergence of nascent dialogue. A large installation
juxtaposes art from the Walker’s collection with four
United Nations resolutions on Iraq, presented as annotated documents of escalating length; the resolutions’
cold syntax of authority is thrown into relief by carefully curated works, including a Kerry James Marshall
print, Jenny Holzer’s still-potent Truisms, 1977–79 (a
litany of maxims like an elite is inevitable), and Carl
Andre’s 1972 poem “Am Am Not Am Not Willing.”
Every encounter with art is informed by the conditions
of viewing. At the Walker that weekend, debates rage
about when, exactly, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev should be read
his Miranda rights. In a joint statement, Lindsey Graham
and John McCain say he shouldn’t be Mirandized at all:
“Under the Law of War we can hold this suspect as a
potential enemy combatant not entitled to Miranda
warnings. . . .” In this, the brute power of lexical mechanisms—the import of the designation enemy combatant,
the capacity of a spoken invocation to delineate a person’s fate—is made manifest. But what happens when
political actors reject language entirely? Such rejection
can produce a deadly literal-mindedness, so that injured
bodies become the medium of protest, bodily destruction the expression of rage. We cannot opt out of discourse without opting out of ethics too: We are part of
the conversation whether we like it or not. The Museum
of Non Participation reminds us of this, proposing that
the tactics of cultural production—Brecht’s allegory,
Holzer’s semiotic excess, Andre’s reticent prosody—can
be used to develop more nuanced and productive means
of withdrawal. Perhaps this is why “The New Deal” feels
like such an urgent and timely provocation.
Julia Bryan-Wilson is an associate professor of modern and
contemporary art at the university of california, Berkeley.
septemBer 2013
Artforum, September 2013
135
Grand
Narratives
This pasT summer, insiders met outsiders
at the 55th Venice Biennale—both in the
bracing anthropological and ethnographic
admixtures of curator massimiliano Gioni’s
central exhibition, “The encyclopedic palace,”
and in the panoply of social, political, and
aesthetic exchanges transpiring throughout
the national pavilions of the Giardini and
beyond. Artforum invited seven distinguished
curators, critics, and scholars—LyNNe Cooke,
pameLa m. Lee, BeNjamiN h. D. BuChLoh,
CLaire Bishop, okwui eNwezor, DaNieL
BirNBaum, and NeGar azimi—to capture
these dynamic convocations. rounding out
the survey, art historian Thomas Crow
visits “when attitudes Become Form” at
Venice’s Fondazione prada, where another
kind of commutation—the remaking of the
historic 1969 exhibition of the same title—
forced old and new, extant and ephemeral,
into charged proximity.
Stones from Roger Caillois’s
collection on display at the
55th Venice Biennale, Central
Pavilion, Venice, 2013. From
“the encyclopedic palace.”
photo: Kate Lacey.
september 2013
Artforum, September 2013
301
VeNICe 2013
World of Interiors
LyNNe COOke
Marino auriti, Il palazzo enciclopedico
del mondo (the Encyclopedic Palace of
the World), ca. 1950s, wood, plastic,
glass, metal, hair combs, model kit
parts. Installation view, Arsenale, Venice,
2013. From “the encyclopedic palace.”
photo: kate Lacey.
302
ArtFOrUm
Left: View of “the Encyclopedic Palace,” 2013,
Central pavilion, Venice. From left: emma kunz,
Work No. 004, n.d.; emma kunz, Work No. 012, n.d.
photo: kate Lacey.
right: View of “the Encyclopedic Palace,” 2013,
Central pavilion, Venice. Foreground: Oliver Croy and
Oliver elser, The 387 Houses of Peter Fritz (1916–
1992), Insurance Clerk from Vienna, 1993–2008.
background, from left: Jack Whitten, 9-11-01, 2006;
Achilles rizzoli, Irwin Peter Sicotte Jr. Symbolically
Delineated/The “Sayanpeau,” 1936; Achilles rizzoli,
Alfredo Capobianco and Family Symbolically Sketched/
Palazzo Del Capobianco, 1937; Achilles rizzoli, Mr.
and Mrs. Harold Healy Symbolically Sketched First
Prize, First Anniversary, 1936. photo: kate Lacey.
Curator MassiMiliano Gioni’s choice of Il palazzo
enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace) as the lodestar for his Biennale exhibition is beguiling and provocative in equal measure. As conceived by Marino
Auriti, a self-taught, first-generation Italian-American
artist, this imaginary museum was as ambitious as
it was unbridled. Aspiring to house the breadth of
human knowledge, Auriti designed a thirty-six-story
tower that would have risen nearly half a mile into
the sky while covering sixteen city blocks in the US
capital. But, since he lacked academic or professional
credentials of any kind, the former garage mechanic,
who sought to patent his project in 1955, would
never have secured the sanction of officialdom for a
plan well-nigh impossible to construct. From the outset, this quintessential outsider assumed the role of
a visionary.
The wooden scale model of Il Palazzo has been
installed at the threshold of the Arsenale, one of the
two venues hosting the Biennale exhibition. Given
that Auriti supplied no concrete guidelines to suggest
how the contents of his tower might be identified,
assembled, ordered, classified, and presented, Gioni
has found inspiration elsewhere—in the lofty triumvirate of André Breton, Carl Jung, and Rudolf Steiner.
Embodiments of the crucial roles assigned to imagination, dream, fantasy, and cosmological speculation
in Gioni’s exhibition, they dominate the entrance
galleries to the Central Pavilion, the Biennale’s second
site. Branching out from there are galleries devoted to
the works of pedigreed mystics, occultists, and visionaries such as Aleister Crowley, Hilma af Klimt, Emma
Kunz, and Roger Caillois, the last represented by his
remarkable collection of geological samples. A miscellany of diverse artifacts orbits this nexus: anonymous
Tantric paintings; sketches made by tribal societies
in Melanesia collected by the Viennese photographer
and ethnologist Hugo Bernatzik; ecstatic drawings
created by sundry Shakers as gifts for fellow believers;
small carvings of animals both fabulous and familiar
made by folk sculptor Levi Fisher Ames, who embellished his menagerie with outlandish narratives during
his tent shows in turn-of-the-century rural Wisconsin.
Also included are contributions from several autodidacts who obsessively designed architectural models,
and with whom Auriti might have felt a close kinship:
Augustin Lesage, Achilles Rizzoli, and an obscure
Austrian insurance clerk (whose dollhouse-size dwellings were discovered in a junk shop by artist Oliver
Croy and are here presented as a work, The 387
Houses of Peter Fritz (1916–1992), Insurance Clerk
from Vienna, 1993–2008, by Croy and curator
Oliver Elser). Rubbing shoulders with objects that
would conventionally be regarded as marginal or
otherwise ancillary to mainstream contemporary art
are works by some of that world’s most renowned
figures—Tacita Dean, Maria Lassnig, Tino Sehgal,
Richard Serra, and Dorothea Tanning—and by many
others less well known.
The labyrinthine layout of this historic building
contributes significantly to Gioni’s aim of establishing networks of relations among artifacts whose
common characteristic is “the representation of the
invisible”: “The Encyclopedic Palace is a show about
seeing with the eyes shut,” he writes. While this
stance, emblematized in the closed eyelids of Breton’s
cast, serves well those whose vision is manifestly
inner-directed, at times it produces strained readings.
Consider the suggestive pairing of Serra’s two-part
forged sculpture dedicated to Pier Paolo Pasolini
with Thierry De Cordier’s series of heaving marinescapes: Are connections to be discerned in recondite
correspondences—by reference to what Jung termed
primordial or first images, over and above modes of
visceral and phenomenological apprehension? While
Gioni’s curatorial strategy productively upends the
hierarchies that conventionally classify artists as professionals or mavericks or outliers, it divests the works
of all traces of the material and intellectual conditions that originally imbued them with meaning and
value. The historicity of ideas is called into question
when works made in far-flung locations and vastly
different circumstances over the course of more
than a century are cast into a timeless present.
Left: View of “the Encyclopedic
Palace,” 2013, Central pavilion,
Venice. From left: Aleister Crowley
and Frieda Harris, Atu XIX–The
Sun, 1938; Aleister Crowley and
Frieda Harris, Atu XVIII–The Moon,
1938–40. photo: kate Lacey.
right: selection of shadowboxes by
levi Fisher ames, n.d., fabric,
glass, graphite, ink, metal, paper,
wood. Installation view, Central
pavilion, Venice, 2013. photo:
kate Lacey.
september 2013
303
Above: linda Fregni nagler, The Hidden Mother,
2006–13, 997 found daguerreotypes, tintypes,
albumen prints, gelatin silver prints. Installation view,
Arsenale, Venice, 2013. photo: Francesco Galli.
Above right: View of “the Encyclopedic Palace,” 2013,
Arsenale, Venice. On wall: phyllis Galembo, Two in
Fancy Dress with Pointed Hats, Tumus Masquerade
Group, Winneba Ghana, 2010. From left: Jimmie
durham, Jesus. Es geht um die Wurst (Jesus. It’s All
About the sausage), 1992; paul mcCarthy, Children’s
Anatomical Educational Figure, ca. 1990; John
deAndrea, Ariel II, 2011. photo: kate Lacey.
below: Peter Fischli & David Weiss, Suddenly This
Overview (detail), 1981–2012, approx. 130 unfiredclay sculptures, dimensions variable. From “the
encyclopedic palace.”
304
ArtFOrUm
It is no surprise, in this regard, that echoes of the
Wunderkammer, or cabinet of curiosities, sound
throughout this section of the exhibition. Devised in
early modern Europe to incite wonder, this model
for collecting and organizing artifacts of the most
rarefied and marvelous kind has become well worn
in recent years. In this instance, our capacity to marvel is soon taxed. The bewildering conjunction
of entrancing inventiveness, esoteric cosmologies,
visionary epiphanies, dark fantasies, enigmatic
weirdness, monomaniacal tunnel vision, and much
else in like vein threatens to overwhelm visitors,
stifling their capacity for affective responses. This
may, in fact, be the desired effect, a necessary pre-
condition for what Gioni has claimed is ultimately
an anthropological inquiry.
The show shifts gears at the Arsenale, where an
alternative to the protomuseological model of the
cabinet of curiosities underpins the presentation:
the modern museum. Progeny of the Enlightenment,
this template puts rationalized systems—ordering,
classifying, analysis, etc.—into the service of knowledge production. An engagement with those conceptual systems has been generative for contemporary
art, as evidenced here, for example, by Christopher
Williams’s seminal photo-based piece Angola to
Vietnam*, 1989, which takes as its point of departure Harvard University’s Ware collection of glass
flowers, and proceeds to weave a richly layered complex of references (social, political, and cultural).
But more recent works that turn to the archive as
resource or tool frequently seem routine, at times
even stale. Too often, as seen in Linda Fregni Nagler’s
compilation of almost one thousand images of babies
being held by indeterminate figures, The Hidden
Mother, 2006–13, such works rely narrowly on typological and serial extension.
Yet the problems may not lie with the discursive
strategies that subtend the Enlightenment’s paradigm
of the modern museum—they may ultimately reside
in the museal model itself. Almost a decade ago, in
his landmark text “An Archival Impulse,” Hal Foster
persuasively argued that a consensus had emerged
that “the museum has been ruined as a coherent system in a public space.” Presumably mindful of this
debate, Gioni—who conceives his project of making
a “temporary museum” as nothing less than a pedagogical undertaking, though not “dry in a Germantheme-show kind of way”—turned to a methodology
that seems to acknowledge the long relationship
between the modern museum and anthropology, a
discipline whose mandate from its inception was to
Left: sharon Hayes, Ricerche: three
(research: three), 2013, Hd video,
color, sound, 38 minutes. From
right: artur Żmijewski, Blindly,
2010, Hd video, color, sound,
18 minutes 41 seconds. From
Gioni evokes, without necessarily
claiming confidence in, the
modern museum’s strategies of
organization and coherence.
find a “scientific” scheme for the display of material
artifacts, and whose history in fact cannot be separated from that of the museum. In the Arsenale, he
evokes, without necessarily claiming confidence in,
the modern museum’s strategies of organization and
coherence. In collaboration with architect Annabelle
Selldorf, Gioni has transformed the former ropemaking factory into an enfilade of luminous galleries. Generously and elegantly hung, these ample
white-cube spaces are interspersed with fully provisioned black boxes dedicated to films, videos, sound,
and computer-generated works. Following on from
loose groupings of exhibits that involve taxonomies
and archives is an anatomical theater of bodily images
assembled by Cindy Sherman, and a section largely
devoted to younger artists (Wade Guyton, Helen
Marten, Pamela Rosenkranz, etc.) who deploy contemporary technologies integral to our digital era’s
fusion of spectacle, information, and knowledge. A
sampling of veteran artists occupy the final spaces:
Stan VanDerBeek, Walter De Maria, Otto Piene, Dieter
Roth. Albeit in diverse ways, all—with the exception
of Bruce Nauman, an inveterate skeptic—tend toward
visions, worldly and otherworldy, that are encompassing or synoptic.
Among the show’s standouts are works by Sharon
Hayes, Artur Żmijewski, and Fischli & Weiss. Hayes’s
disarmingly modest documentary Ricerche: three
(Research: three), 2013, records a lively interview
with a group of young college women. Over the course
of the conversation, the students explore their shifting and often newly won views on gender and sexual
relations, and vividly evince the mutual support they
anticipate from their peer group for their experiments
in self-fashioning and self-definition. Żmijewski’s
eighteen-minute video Blindly, 2010, focuses on a
handful of adults whom he invited into a studio setting so that he could record them making paintings.
Their commentaries on the task at hand are interspersed with remarks on the difficulties they face
daily as a consequence of either losing their sight or
being blind from birth. As is so often the case in his
charged works, Żmijewski turns the camera metaphorically (if not literally) on the spectator, implicating her and rendering problematic any notion of a
dispassionate or disinterested spectatorship. Not
incidentally, this disquieting work skeptically probes
romantic investments in the value of creating “with
the eyes shut.” More laconic but no less provocative,
Peter Fischli and the late David Weiss’s enthralling
ensemble of some 130 small unfired-clay sculptures,
Suddenly This Overview, 1981–2012, appears to
have been produced by a group of children, naïfs,
amateurs, hobbyists, and vernacular craftsmen. The
Swiss duo’s comic, banal, sly, skeptical, salacious,
familiar, ersatz, and populist images touch on myriad
subjects, sayings, beliefs, speculations, prejudices,
values, and ideals in apparently arbitrary fashion.
Not only multiple hands but multiple minds might
have conjured this paean to the ungovernable profusion and vibrancy of the everyday world.
Though each can be related to the larger ideas
governing Gioni’s project, these three works are still
somehow anomalous in this context. Seldom found
elsewhere in the show is their level of critical reflexivity, their commitment to collaboratively driven,
socially engaged positions, and their timely groundedness in the world at hand. By default if not design,
they underline the limitations of a commitment to
ways of seeing that are resolutely hermetic, that softpedal the potential for knowledge to effect change in
the here and now. And, not least, they underline the
risk of obscuring the ideological mechanisms that
underpin knowledge production of all kinds.
For conceptual as well as practical reasons, Auriti’s
visionary model was doomed. Nonetheless, Gioni
counterposes it against the failed museal models that
are still the mainstay of our institutions today. While
acknowledging the impossibility of Auriti’s dream of
accumulating all knowledge, he casts his vote in
favor of a hermeneutics based on oneiric fantasies,
spiritual revelation, and cosmic speculation.
Visitors encountering the wooden model a second
time, on exiting the Arsenale, may find that the spell
it wove on first viewing has somewhat abated. A
specter, another tower of legendary repute, haunts
the gallery. Though conceived in a spirit of utopian
univocal harmony, the Tower of Babel, as Bruegel
revealed in his iconic depiction of 1563, ended in
ruins: a polyglot cacophony in which each voice was
destined to commune only with itself.
LyNNe COOke Is ANdreW W. meLLON prOFessOr At tHe CeNter FOr
AdVANCed stUdIes IN tHe VIsUAL Arts, NAtIONAL GALLery OF Art,
WAsHINGtON, dC. (see CONtrIbUtOrs.)
september 2013
305
Begin forwarded message:
From: Art-Agenda <[email protected]>
Subject: Review: Kito Nedo on abc art berlin contemporary
Date: 21 September 2013 00:00:08 CEST
To: [email protected]
Reply-To: [email protected]
September 20, 2013
Review
Follow us
Sharon Hayes, Yard (Sign), 2009. Installation of 152 lawn signs, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of Tanya
Leighton Gallery, Berlin.
abc art berlin contemporary
September 19–22, 2013
Download the art-agenda iPad App Share
Considering that Berlin's abc art berlin contemporary is only in its sixth year of existence, it already has a
colorful past. Established by a small group of Berlin-based galleries in 2008 as an alternative to the more
traditional (and waning) Art Forum Berlin art fair, it is now the center of the so-called Berlin Art Week, but still
struggling to define its inner balance between commercial and cultural ambitions.
Case in point: the organizers continue to cautiously avoid the term "fair," stressing the openness of the
exhibition format instead. As the newly-appointed director Maike Cruse put it in an recent interview: "We still
do not call abc an art fair as from the beginning it was our intention to develop an alternative more artist
centered format and because we are a private initiative run by a small structure and tight budget and are not
owned by a fair company or an investor." In the past, abc did work with curators, such as Ariane Beyn (2008)
or Marc Glöde (2011), but the engagement of Cruse marks another level of professionalization. The stamp of
this former communications manager for Art Basel and sometime curator is instantly recognizable: Cruse
gave the whole event, which takes place in an old industrial structure not far from Potsdamer Platz, a
performative edge. This year, galleries where invited to extend their presence at abc with all kinds of
performances, lectures, and artist talks, intended to form a flow of mini-events throughout the day, with each
announced by CNVIVIAL (2013), a site-specific sound piece by Pae White. The artist—who was presented at
the fair by neugerriemschneider with a series of works featuring pigment etched away with a laser (Carvings,
2013)—created an ethereal chime-play, which was subtle enough to be either noted or ignored.
A similar thing can be said of the stage-like exhibition space in the entrance area of the fair. For "Upcoming
Exhibitions" the project space Shanaynay (Paris) invited over a dozen other project spaces from all over the
world to stage temporary exhibitions within two-hour time slots. Despite the prominent placement of this mini
white cube, each time I passed by on Thursday during the preview, not much activity seemed to be going on.
Notwithstanding these efforts and the strong presence of the MISS READ book fair, taking place in parallel in
the same venue, the gallery exhibits in the main halls were still the focus of the event.
For her installation One Time, One Million (Migratory Birds – Romantic Capitalism (2009) presented by
Wilfried Lentz, Rotterdam and RaebervonStenglin, Zurich, Berlin-based artist Susanne Kriemann built a
circular display structure that shielded
theAgenda,
viewer fromSeptember
the rest of the2013
fair. On the inside of the wooden
Art
panopticon, the artist mounted a sequence of forty-six photographic prints that documented the results of
artistic research into the biography of Swedish inventor, entrepreneur, and ornithologist Victor Hasselblad
(1906–1978). Kriemann used a vintage Hasselblad camera from the 1940s as a starting point and tool to re-
A similar thing can be said of the stage-like exhibition space in the entrance area of the fair. For "Upcoming
Exhibitions" the project space Shanaynay (Paris) invited over a dozen other project spaces from all over the
world to stage temporary exhibitions within two-hour time slots. Despite the prominent placement of this mini
white cube, each time I passed by on Thursday during the preview, not much activity seemed to be going on.
Notwithstanding these efforts and the strong presence of the MISS READ book fair, taking place in parallel in
the same venue, the gallery exhibits in the main halls were still the focus of the event.
For her installation One Time, One Million (Migratory Birds – Romantic Capitalism (2009) presented by
Wilfried Lentz, Rotterdam and RaebervonStenglin, Zurich, Berlin-based artist Susanne Kriemann built a
circular display structure that shielded the viewer from the rest of the fair. On the inside of the wooden
panopticon, the artist mounted a sequence of forty-six photographic prints that documented the results of
artistic research into the biography of Swedish inventor, entrepreneur, and ornithologist Victor Hasselblad
(1906–1978). Kriemann used a vintage Hasselblad camera from the 1940s as a starting point and tool to revisit modernist heritage by renting a helicopter to document urban structures from above. But the camera's
eye isn't trained on just any buildings—we see aerial shots of a utopian housing complex in the suburbs of
Stockholm, which is now home to lower-income immigrant communities. It is the same location where riots
fuelled by youth unemployment and disenfranchisement broke out earlier this year, showing that even the
famed Swedish welfare state has cracks in its facade. There might be a certain nostalgia for the modern
here, but the piece also elegantly points to the contradictions of today.
Whereas Kriemann's works builds an almost intimate space around her audience, Sharon Hayes takes the
opposite tack. For Yard (Sign) (2009) the artist collected or recreated over 150 signs found in the suburbs of
American cities. Installed on private property, professionally mass-produced or hand-painted, they send all
sorts of political, commercial, and religious messages to passers-by: the viewer is confronted with calls to
support the U.S. military—or for ending the Iraq War; campaign slogans from the 2008 Obama election
campaign; foreclosure signs; religious adverts; and even praise of the power of sisterhood, as well as a
neighborly warning about a particular silver Mercedes: "Really bad driver!" In the work, presented by Tanya
Leighton Gallery, economy, politics, and the individual all pile up into one very particular public/private place:
the lawn in front of any old suburban house.
A different kind of monument can be found in artist Jan Peter Hammer's Gedenktafel für die Verlierer der
Wiedervereinigung / Memorial for the Losers of the Reunification (2013) at Supportico Lopez. The
commemorative bronze plaque, which is inspired by old socialist memorials that still can be found in various
public places in the former eastern part of Berlin, deals with the particular impact of gentrification in the city,
where a wave of privatization of former communal housing continues to force impoverished tenants out of
their flats to make way for people who can afford condo rents.
Perhaps the most fitting work in the context of the fair, whose architecture (by Manuel Raeder, for the second
year in a row) borrows heavily from the aesthetics of the bygone industrial era and elements familiar from
construction zones alike, is Maria Eichhorn's Eichhorn Absetzcontainer (2013)—a blue-painted steel
dumpster-style container, which is usually used for the collection and transport of large amounts of waste,
building materials, or soil. This behemoth sits in the center of the fair at Galerie Barbara Weiss like a
stubborn reminder of the outside world, the presence of heavy construction equipment elsewhere, and as a
placeholder or reference perhaps for working culture as such. On the other hand, this object appears as
dazzlingly new and untouched, bearing not a single scratch on its surface—a rational form, developed only
for use and not aesthetic contemplation. Adding an additional layer to the work is the fact that the company
emblazoned on its side shares its name with Eichhorn; this is not, as one would assume, a kind of artistic
signature, but in fact the actual name of a company in the artist's hometown.
The beauty of destruction is also to be found in the photographs of car wrecks by photographer Ricarda
Roggan (at EIGEN + ART). Her pictures (from the series "Garages," 2008) of crumpled cars are very
theatrical; set in stark contrast of brightness and darkness, Roggan recalls the romantic idea of the ruin in the
form of one smashed up auto body after another. The series is a beautiful work that has been shown on
several occasions before, but it is still worth a second or even third look. This is also the case with Thomas
Locher's still fresh-looking text-picture The World (1987) at Georg Kargl Fine Arts, Vienna as well as the gridbased, black-and-blue ballpoint drawings by Michael Deistler, a Hamburg-based artist born in 1949, who is
represented by Dorothea Schlueter Galerie. Between 1995 and 2007 Deistler, a collaborator of Sigmar
Polke, Albert Oehlen, and Werner Büttner who has a somewhat mythic standing as a reclusive living survivor
of the wild seventies and eighties, produced works with free geometric rhythm—on one panel this play is
arrested and the word Dreck (filth) appears.
Among the other cryptic, yet appealing works presented at this year's abc, a 10-meter-wall collage by the
English, Berlin-based artist Mathew Hale titled MARIA UND JOSEF: It becomes a morbid time (2012)
deserves a mention (it is on view in a space shared by Wentrup, Berlin; Galerie Michel Rein, Paris/Brussels;
and Ratio 3, San Francisco). It consists of, among other things, various newspaper clippings and
photographs that formulate a quasi-S&M narrative between Camilla Parker-Bowles, Prince Charles, Princess
Diana, and the 2011 youth riots in the UK. No less idiosyncratic is the presentation of Daniel Keller at
Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, which brings together three-dimensional CAPTCHA-tags (FUBU Career CAPTCHA
(Progresist Betworks, 2013), a showroom-dummy with a DIY survivalist-item once owned by Ted Kaczynski,
a.k.a the "Unabomber" (Freedom Club Figure, 2013), and a mirrored glass plate with words etched into it, the
grooves of which are then filled with water, which surprisingly results in a kind of low-brow smart phone/new
digital aesthetics. The individual words, however, relate to the ideology of the Seasteading Institute, an
organization that promotes autonomous communities on floating platforms in international waters (ZION+
Platform (Blue Ocean Strategy ERRC grid), 2013).
One Dutch curator told me, aside from looking at new art, she loves to visit abc for two reasons: firstly,
everyone she needs to meet is there, and secondly, everyone she is meeting in Berlin is relaxed enough to
talk. This must not be a bad thing. Indeed, when I spoke to a few gallerists at abc, some even seemed
surprised and delighted if a sale actually happened, almost as if this were not the focus of their participation
in the event. Perhaps this is proof that abc's dodging of the "fair" label, semantic as it may be, does hint at a
Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, which brings together three-dimensional CAPTCHA-tags (FUBU Career CAPTCHA
(Progresist Betworks, 2013), a showroom-dummy with a DIY survivalist-item once owned by Ted Kaczynski,
a.k.a the "Unabomber" (Freedom Club Figure, 2013), and a mirrored glass plate with words etched into it, the
grooves of which are then filled with water, which surprisingly results in a kind of low-brow smart phone/new
digital aesthetics. The individual words, however, relate to the ideology of the Seasteading Institute, an
organization that promotes autonomous communities on floating platforms in international waters (ZION+
Platform (Blue Ocean Strategy ERRC grid), 2013).
One Dutch curator told me, aside from looking at new art, she loves to visit abc for two reasons: firstly,
everyone she needs to meet is there, and secondly, everyone she is meeting in Berlin is relaxed enough to
talk. This must not be a bad thing. Indeed, when I spoke to a few gallerists at abc, some even seemed
surprised and delighted if a sale actually happened, almost as if this were not the focus of their participation
in the event. Perhaps this is proof that abc's dodging of the "fair" label, semantic as it may be, does hint at a
different kind of atmosphere it manages to create. On the other hand, if abc wants to establish itself as a
platform for young and experimental galleries and project spaces, it has to address the economic pressures
that they are under. Can a booming fair also work like an extended performance festival? If abc manages to
resolve this major contradiction, then it's on its way to becoming a very unique, very Berlin-ish affair.
Kito Nedo is a critic based in Berlin.
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News Briefs
T R A N S I T I O N S
■ Caroline Baumann has
been named director of the
Smithsonian’s CooperHewitt, National Design
Museum in New York. Since
2012, she had served as the
museum’s acting director.
Institute for Contemporary Art in Richmond, Virginia. She was senior curator
and chair of the contemporary art department at the Indianapolis Museum of Art.
■ Sharon Hayes has won
an Alpert Award in the
Arts, a $75,000 prize given
annually to five risk-taking,
mid-career artists working in
various fields.
■ Cornelia Butler is the
new chief curator of the
Hammer Museum in Los
Angeles. Most recently
Robert Lehman Foundation
Chief Curator of Drawings at
the Museum of Modern Art
in New York, Butler succeeds
Douglas Fogul. Additionally,
Aram Moshayedi, former
associate curator of the
Gallery at the Roy and Edna
Disney/CalArts Theater
(REDCAT), has been named
curator at the museum.
demonstrate a mastery of the
human form.
Goodman was a teacher at
the Pennsylvania Academy
of the Fine Arts for more
than 30 years. In 2009, the
school organized “Sidney
Goodman: the Man in the
Mirror,” an exhibition devoted solely to the artist’s
works on paper. He received
numerous awards throughout his career including a
Guggenheim Fellowship.
Goodman’s artworks are in
the permanent collections of
the Metropolitan Museum of
Sharon Hayes.
■ Stan Douglas is the winner of the Scotiabank
Photography Award, a
$50,000 prize given annually
to a contemporary Canadian
photographer.
Caroline Baumann.
■ Peggy Fogelman is the
new director of collections of
the Morgan Library & Museum in New York. She was
most recently Frederick P.
and Sandra P. Rose Chairman
of Education at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
■ Lisa Freiman has been
appointed inaugural director
of the new Virginia Commonwealth University
Lisa Freiman.
62
Sidney Goodman.
Cornelia Butler.
Art, the Whitney Museum,
the Art Institute of Chicago,
and many other institutions.
AWA R D S
■ Architects Michael
Sorkin and James Wines,
and graphic designer Paula
Scher are among this year’s
National Design Award
winners. Given annually by
the Smithsonian’s CooperHewitt, National Design Museum, the awards honor
achievements in American
design.
■ Darren Bader is the recipient of the Calder Prize.
The $50,000 award is given
biennially to an early-career
contemporary artist.
Stan Douglas.
O B I T U A R I E S
■ Sidney Goodman,
artist, 77.
Born in Philadelphia in 1936,
Goodman was a celebrated
painter, draughtsman, and
educator. Greatly influenced
by everyday life and images
in the news, his artworks
Summer 2013 ARTnews
ARTnews, Summer 2013
■ Wayne Miller,
photographer, 94.
Born in Chicago in 1918,
Miller was known for his
wartime photographs, as
well as his comprehensive
documentation of Chicago’s
South Side in the 1940s.
After attending the University of Illinois, Urbana,
Miller studied photography
at the Art Center School of
Los Angeles. He then became a photographer for the
TOP ROW, FROM LEFT: ©ERIN BAIANO; ERIC GARDNER/COURTESY HAMMER MUSEUM, LOS ANGELES; DAVID SMITH; PENNSYLVANIA ACADEMY OF THE FINE ARTS, PHILADELPHIA, ARCHIVE; BOTTOM ROW, FROM LEFT: NICK D'EMILIO; MICHAEL COURTNEY
N E W S
NW Briefs Sum 2013_Layout 1 6/17/13 5:00 PM Page 3
United States Navy, working
in Edward Steichen’s Naval
Aviation Photographic Unit.
After returning from the
war, Miller won two consecutive Guggenheim Fellowships,
which allowed him to complete his famed Chicago
photo series. He then worked
as a photographer for Life
JOAN MILLER/MAGNUM PHOTOS
magazine, before assisting
Steichen with the Museum of
Modern Art’s landmark exhibition “The Family of Man.”
Miller became a member of
Magnum Photos in 1958 and
served as the group’s president from 1962–66.
■ Jene Highstein,
artist, 70.
Known for his large-scale
sculptures, Highstein was
born in Baltimore in 1942.
He received a B.A. from the
University of Maryland in
1963 and went on to study
at the Royal Academy
Schools in London. Highstein
has had solo shows at the
Phillips Collection in Washington, D.C., and MoMA
P.S.1 in New York, among
other venues. In January, an
exhibition of his drawings
was presented at ArtHelix
gallery in Brooklyn.
—Stephanie Strasnick
A C E N T U RY O F
I N S P I R AT I O N
PROVINCETOWN ART ASSOCIATION
AND MUSEUM PAAM.ORG
PROVINCETOWN, MA
Edward Hopper, Untitled (Female Nude), n.d., Charcoal on paper, 18.5” x 10.5”. Gifted by the Herman Maril Foundation in honor of Herman and Esta Maril, 2013.
Wayne Miller.
ARTnews Summer 201311:15 AM 63
NEWS: Official Awards of the 55th International Art Exhibition 06 | 01 | 2013 The Jury of the 55th International Art Exhibition of la Biennale di Venezia chaired by Jessica Morgan (Great Britain) and comprised of Sofía Hernández Chong Cuy (Mexico), Francesco Manacorda (Italy), Bisi Silva (Nigeria), and Ali Subotnick (United States) has decided to confer the awards as follows: Golden Lion for Best National Participation to Angola Luanda, Encyclopedic City Edson Chagas Commissioner: Ministry of Culture. Curators: Beyond Entropy (Paula Nascimento, Stefano Rabolli Pansera), Jorge Gumbe. Venue: Palazzo Cini, Dorsoduro 864 Golden Lion for the best artist in the International Exhibition Il Palazzo Enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace) to Tino Sehgal (Great Britain, 1976; Central Pavilion, Giardini) Silver Lion for a promising young artist in the International Exhibition Il Palazzo Enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace) to Camille Henrot (France, 1978; Corderie, Arsenale) The Jury has also decided to assign four special mentions. Special mentions for artists of the International Exhibition Il Palazzo Enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace): Sharon Hayes (USA, 1970; Corderie, Arsenale) Roberto Cuoghi (Italy, 1973; Corderie, Arsenale) Special mentions for National Participations: Cyprus and Lithuania Cyprus Oo Lia Haraki, Maria Hassabi, Phanos Kyriacou, Constantinos Taliotis, Natalie Yiaxi, Morten Norbye Halvorsen, Jason Dodge, Gabriel Lester, Dexter Sinister Commissioner: Louli Michaelidou. Deputy Commissioners: Angela Skordi, Marika Ioannou. Curator: Raimundas Malašauskas. Venue: Palasport Arsenale, Castello (Calle San Biagio) Lithuania oO Gintaras Didžiapetris, Elena Narbutaite, Liudvikas Buklys, Kazys Varnelis, Vytaute Žilinskaite, Morten Norbye Halvorsen, Jason Dodge, Gabriel Lester, Dexter Sinister Commissioners: Jonas Žokaitis, Aurime Aleksandraviciute. Curator: Raimundas Malašauskas. Venue: Palasport Arsenale, Castello (Calle San Biagio) Japan abstract speaking -‐ sharing uncertainty and collective acts Koki Tanaka Commissioner: The Japan Foundation. Curator: Mika Kuraya. Venue: Pavilion at Giardini. The Awards Ceremony of the 55th International Art Exhibition took place today June 1st, 2013 at the Giardini, 11 am. The Board of la Biennale di Venezia, chaired by Paolo Baratta, also awarded Golden Lions for Lifetime Achievement under director Massimiliano The Venice Biennale, June 2013
Gioni’s proposal to Maria Lassnig (born 1919 in Kappel am Krappfeld, Austria) and Marisa Merz (born in 1926 in Turin, Italy). The awards of the International Jury are assigned with the following motivations: Golden Lion for best artist in the International Exhibition Il Palazzo Enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace) to Tino Sehgal for the excellence and innovation that his practice has brought opening the field of artistic disciplines. Silver Lion for a promising young artist in the International Exhibition Il Palazzo Enciclopedico (The Encyclopedic Palace) to Camille Henrot for contributing a new work that in a sensuous and dynamic manner is able to capture our times. A special mention for Sharon Hayes for making us re-‐think the importance of alterity and the complexity of the interplay between the personal and public. Another special mention for Roberto Cuoghi for the significant and compelling contribution to the International Exhibition. The Jury paid particular attention to countries that managed to provide original insight into expanded practice within their region. The collaborative nature of each of the chosen Pavilions was a palpable experience. Golden Lion for Best National Participation to Angola for the curators and artist who together reflect on the irreconcilability and complexity of site. A special mention to Lithuania and Cyprus for an original curatorial format that brings together two countries in a singular experience. Another special mention to Japan for the poignant reflection on issues of collaboration and failure. School
of Art Hayes
> NewsWins
> Prof.
Sharon
Hayes
Award
Prof. Sharon
Alpert
Award
in theWins
ArtsAlpert
| Cooper
... in the Arts http://www.cooper.edu/art/news/prof-sharon-hayes-wins-75k-...
PROF. SHARON HAYES WINS ALPERT AWARD IN THE ARTS
MAY 17, 2013
Professor Sharon Hayes. photo by David B. Smith
Sharon Hayes, Assistant Professor at the School of Art, has won the Visual Arts category of the 2013 Alpert Award in the Arts, with
a prize of $75,000. Granted by The Herb Alpert Foundation and the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts), the annual awards are
granted to "risk-taking mid-career artists working in the fields of dance, film/video, music, theatre and the visual arts," according to
the awards' website. “All of this year’s winners represent the essence of the Alpert Award. They take aesthetic, intellectual and
political risks, and challenge worn-out conventions. They’re unafraid of the unknown,” Herb Alpert, co-founder of the Herb Alpert
Foundation and legendary front man for the multi-platinum-selling Tijuana Brass, said about the winners that include Prof. Hayes.
"I was shocked," says Prof. Hayes, "pleasantly shocked. It's such a strong field of applicants. The award tends to focus on
mid-career artists of some stature. So you are always up against really great, provocative, dynamic artists." A panel of
professionals in the given field nominates recipients. Nominees must then apply for the award. The source of the funding is, "very
significant," Prof. Hays says, "because it is a grant that comes from the perspective of an artist. It was Herb Alpert's response to the
decision by the NEA to stop funding individual artists back in 1993." The awards began in 1994.
Prof. Hayes, who has taught film, video and performance art at Cooper Union for nine years, describes her award-winning work as,
"specific intersections between history, politics and speech. Formally, speaking, it is performance-based work that also materializes
as video, sound or slide installations." For example, in "Everything Else Has Failed! Don't You Think It's Time for Love?" a
performance from 2007, she stood at the corner of 6th Ave. and 51st Street with a microphone and small amplifier and spoke as if
to a lost lover, touching upon the hurt of that loss as well as the on-going Iraq war and the former New Jersey Governor Jim
McGreevy's "I am a gay American," declaration. (An audio excerpt of this performance can be heard as part of an extensive
interview with Prof. Hayes at the Alpert Awards website.) "Everything Else…" appeared as part of Prof. Hayes' 2012 solo exhibition
at the Whitney Museum of American Art, entitled "There's So Much I Want to Say to You." Her work has also appeared at the New
Museum, the Museum of Modern Art and the upcoming Venice Biennale. "Sharon visualizes and performs 'agency' in her work; to
me she's an artist who embodies how emotions take form and build civic society," said Dean Saskia Bos.
The $75,000 prize is unrestricted, except for a requirement for a weeklong residency at CalArts. "I actually haven't cashed the
check," Prof. Hayes says, "it will most likely be steered into production money and making work. I feel very grateful to Herb Alpert
and the Herb Alpert Foundation and also very honored and humbled by the responsibility to fill what it is that they see in my work
and the way my work engages with the world."
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1 of 2News from The Cooper Union
12/06/13 15:37
The Cooper Union, May 2013
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25/05/2012
21:10
PÆgina 8
ARTE
Sharon Hayes
“Escuchar es un
acto tan político
como hablar”
Encabezaba la lista de los 12 artistas más importantes
de la escena internacional que Hans Ulrich Obrist hizo en
2008, para celebrar los 10 años de El Cultural. Aquel año
había pasado ya por Documenta 12, la Tate y el New Museum de Nueva York. Desde entonces, lo ha hecho por la
Bienal de Venecia, la de Estambul y el Guggenheim, entre muchos otros espacios. Esta semana abre en el Museo Reina Sofía su mayor exposición en Europa, a menos
de un mes de inaugurar, también, en el Whitney Museum.
El mensaje lo deja claro en el título: Habla. A eso la invitamos.
36
EL CULTURAL
Es la mayor exposición individual que ha tenido en un museo
y la primera vez que vemos su
trabajo de manera tan completa en España tras pasar por varias
colectivas en 2010: Monumento a
la transformación, en el Centro
Montehermoso de Vitoria, Públicos y contrapúblicos en el CAAC
de Sevilla y Manhattan. Uso mixto, la exposición comisariada por
Douglas Crimp y Lynne Cooke en el Reina Sofía coincidiendo con PHE 2010. Fue ése el
primer tanteo de la subdirectora
del Reina con Sharon Hayes
(Baltimore, 1970), quien presenta ahora trece de sus proyectos, la mitad de ellos de 2012.
La artista recorre desde hace
días el museo trasladando consignas de un lado a otro, como
tantas veces hace por las calles
de Nueva York, ciudad en la
que vive, en la que se ha formado como artista y donde ha
realizado muchas de sus performances desde 1995. En ellas,
pronuncia discursos y escenifica marchas de protesta bajo la fi-
1-6-2012
El Cultural, June 2012
gura del manifestante; aquél
que reivindica sus derechos; el
que no teme hacer públicos sus
deseos; el que colabora por crear
una empatía colectiva; el que
pelea por cambiar el rumbo de
la historia. El que tiene algo que
gritarle al mundo...
A ello invita aquí con un título incisivo, Habla, mientras
bromea sobre el silencio que reina en los museos y lo flojito que
suele hablarse ahí. Ella elige un
tono crítico: “Esta exposición es
una invitación a la libertad de
palabra a través de preguntas
como ¿se puede hablar absolutamente de todo? ¿Cómo y
dónde? ¿Cuáles son nuestras limitaciones? Me interesa tratar
de entender cuáles son las posibilidades que ofrece el museo y
cuáles son las que excluye. Normalmente, pensamos que el
museo tiene restricciones y que
la calle está libre de ellas, pero
no es así. Mi trabajo se basa en
encuentros reales que ocurren
en la calle, un lugar lleno de limitaciones. Te sientes menos
pag 36-37.qxd
25/05/2012
21:10
PÆgina 9
ENTREVISTA ARTE
protegido, eres más vulnerable,
tu mente se ve bombardeada de
estímulos. Pese al fuerte componente histórico, político o cultural, el museo nos permite liberarnos de algunos de esos
mecanismos de protección para
percibir otras cosas. Propone un
espacio ‘de lo imaginado’, donde todo puede ser propuesto y
explorado. Es lo que más me interesa del museo, ese lado utópico, que lo convierte en un lugar que permite crear todo tipo
de posibilidades”, dice.
DISTANCIAS CORTAS
Ella lo hace mediante una mirada conceptual cercana al teatro, la danza, el cine, la antropología y el periodismo, para
reflexionar sobre la historia, la
política y el lenguaje. “Vivimos
absorbiendo información constantemente, incluso de manera
inconsciente. Como artista todo
lo mastico una y otra vez”, añade. Con sus obras nos invita a rumiar sobre la diferencia que hay
entre lo que decimos, lo que nos
dicen y lo que entendemos de
ese intercambio. A veces la distancia es mínima, otras abismal.
Lo puso en práctica el martes en
la performance que inauguraba
esta exposición, realizada en colaboración con el artista mexicano Pablo Sigg. Ver a Hayes hablando español sabiendo que no
entiende una palabra es “un canal para reflexionar hasta qué
punto controlamos el
lenguaje y hasta qué
punto el lenguaje nos
controla a nosotros”.
Sharon Hayes ofrece
anclajes, frases a las que
agarrarnos, aunque no
muy firmes, mientras se
pregunta cómo cuestionarnos esas identificaciones incluso cuando
las abrazamos. Tengo tan-
tas cosas que decirte, titula su próxima exposición en el Whitney;
Nada volverá a ser como antes se
lee en una de sus pancartas; Por
si no te has dado cuenta, por fuera
guardo las formas, pero por dentro
estoy en guerra escribe en una de
sus cartas. Hasta cinco componen una de sus nuevas obras,
Inesperadamente, cartas de amor
que esconden dobles lecturas
de conflictos, también, armados.
La artista las ha impreso en hojas de colores que el público
puede llevarse a casa. Dice Sharon Hayes que lo que le interesa de la performances es todo lo
que ocurre antes y después. Para
ellas son “como dos caras de una
hoja de papel”.
No es la única obra en la exposición que habla de amor.
Aunque vaya en el desfile de la libertad no seré libre hasta que te deje
de querer nació como una performance realizada durante ocho
días de la Navidad de 2007 en la
que la artista, megáfono en
mano, recorrió el Lower Manhattan lanzándole mensajes a
una amante anónima y a la política de Bush. “Como ciudadana americana quería ver si era
posible salir a la calle y hablar de
la guerra. Llevábamos cinco
años en conflicto con Iraq. Tenía
en mente un póster de 1967, en
el que un hombre sujeta una
pancarta que dice: ‘Si todo lo demás ha fallado, ¿no crees que
es el tiempo para el amor?’. Es
YARD (SIGN), 2009. EN LA OTRA PÁGINA,
IN THE NEAR FUTURE, (2005-2008)
curioso cómo en la cultura popular se piensa de manera simplista que amor=no guerra. Aquí
quería reflexionar sobre cómo la
guerra irrumpe en nuestras vidas pero, también, sobre el lenguaje con el que se hablan dos
personas que se quieren. Sobre
la construcción de la opinión pública. Habla de la diferencia entre hablar y escuchar”.
–De eso trata Parole (2010),
que, curiosamente significa libertad condicional en inglés.
–Sí, trata sobre cómo nos formamos como oradores y como
oyentes; sobre los diferentes
modos de entender el acto de
chos de los debates que comenzaron entonces siguen vigentes. Por decirlo de algún modo,
la herida sigue abierta. Mi obra
habla del presente desde el entendimiento de que está lleno
de muchas de esas heridas”.
POLÍTICA DEL DESEO
Entre líneas de estos fragmentos de discursos amorosos vislumbramos pasajes de De Profundis, de Oscar Wilde, así como
eslóganes de desfiles tempranos
del movimiento de liberación
gay en Nueva York. Ahí reside
uno de los principales referentes en las acciones de esta ar-
Normalmente pensamos que el museo tiene restricciones
y que la calle está libre de ellas, pero no es así. El museo propone un espacio donde todo puede ser propuesto y explorado”
escuchar. Pensamos que es algo
pasivo, pero es uno de los actos
más políticos que hay.
–Y el arte, ¿en qué grado
puede no ser político hoy?
–Todo arte es político. La
cuestión es definir de qué manera lo es. En el campo de la política la gente busca un mensaje,
sobre todo durante la campaña
electoral, en la que cada candidato te dice lo que hará por ti si
le votas. En el arte no hay promesas ni mensajes únicos.
Mucho de eso esconde uno
de sus míticos proyectos, Yard
(Sing), que refleja lo vulnerable
que es cualquier mensaje. Lo que a Sharon
Hayes le mueve a salir a
la calle, también a
entrar en el museo, son
“las urgencias que se
nos presentan en cada
momento”, explica.
“Parto de la idea de un
‘pasado cercano’ como
algo que no se ha cerrado todavía, ya que mu-
tista, que define como speech acts,
actos de comunicación: “Me
empezó a interesar ese movimiento cuando me di cuenta de
lo similar que es la política y el
amor, de cómo el inicio de dichos movimientos, a finales de
los 60 y los 70, eran la manifestación política del deseo”, dice.
Afirma estar al corriente del
movimiento 15M que, de manera indirecta, dice estar implícito en May 1st: “También es
una manifestación. Parte de la
discusión es sobre protestas
pero también refleja dos personas tratando de encontrarse a
ellas mismas. El mundo que
nos rodea es increíblemente pequeño cuando miramos nuestro
universo más íntimo y familiar,
pero infinitamente grande
cuando pensamos en el torbellino que nos engulle con la actual crisis económica. Mi fuente de estudio es ver cómo cada
uno lucha por no perder la libertad individual. Su voz particular”. BEA ESPEJO
1 - 6 - 2 0 1 2
EL CULTURAL
37
New York Times, June 2012
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ArtInfo, May 2012
Expropriating
the Voice
woman (h)as a voice
with meaning
A voice calls through the darkness. Filling a screen, a face
sings a strange lullaby to anyone who will listen, drawing us
down a dimly lit walkway. ‘So hold me mum, in your arms.’
(The artist appeals to her mother.) ‘So hold me, mum, in your
long arms.’ (The artist appears to have a tall mother.) ‘In your
automatic arms, your petrochemical arms, in your arms. So
hold me, mum, in your long arms, your petrochemical arms,
your military arms, in your arms, in your electronic arms.’
(No, it seems that having a larger-than-average mother is, in
fact, not the issue for the artist. This is no lullaby.)
These are the lyrics of Laurie Anderson’s O Superman,
(1981). Bridging the gap between high and low culture, O Superman peaked at number two in the UK singles music chart
in 1981. Nothing like the dub-step chart-toppers of today: the
grave tempo; quiet impeding tone; and even the melody of
the work, with its descending semi-tones (the ultimate signifier of melancholy in music), all work to represent a societal
sadness, the result of a feeling of alienation engendered by
Postmodernism. The postmodern subject becomes merely ‘an
other among others’ through his or her recognition of plurality
(a by-product of the loss of mastery experienced in the West
at this time). Anderson’s call in O Superman is her appeal
against and refusal of isolated existence, an example of her
being open to the other. Making this call enforces her precariousness as ‘other amongst others’, yet she does it nonetheless.
This would seem to represent the subject’s need for intimacy,
and its impossibility in a postmodern world which has corrupted the image of the comforting mother into the catastrophic (m)other whom one must necessarily be armed against. It
is through the singing voice that Laurie Anderson chooses to
translate this terrible dichotomy.
Historically, the voice is a tricky medium for women to work
with: it is attached to gender stereotypes, which date back
centuries. Medieval monks, for example, believed in Sirens
(mythological female sea-creatures) who lulled sailors to sleep
with their voices only to rip their bodies apart. Slovenian
cultural theorist Mladen Dolar describes the singing voice in
particular as the ‘voice beyond sense’, as mere superficiality; the voice as the most perfidious form of the flesh. And,
equated with the flesh, in the Middle Ages, it was also therefore analogous to carnal femininity - the temptress. The voice
as woman was seen at best to be the mere vehicle of meaning,
at worst to be the harbinger of senselessness; just another of
women’s tools of corruption. According to Dolar, the text or
meaning was to be understood, in this simple paradigmatic
opposition, on the side of masculinity. Now, we all know
that these were just threatened men: scared of God, scared of
women, and most of all, scared of themselves (hence all the
projection). But, nevertheless, throughout the ages the effects
of threatened men have had some catastrophic consequences.
If those scared men have any power, which they often do, then
centuries of gender stereotyping will take its toll. As a female
artist, the voice – understood as woman itself, a ‘threatening superficiality’ – is then somewhat more than a ‘tricky’
medium to work with.
Bearing this idea in mind, it is interesting to note that to sing
her call – to express her need for intimacy – Anderson adopts
an androgynous (even masculine) appearance and sound in
O Superman. In her video she is shown wearing an ill-fitting
suit-jacket with shoulder pads; a plain unfitted shirt, buttoned
right up; little or no make-up; and with cropped, spiky hair.
Singing into a microphone she has manipulated her voice
through a synthesizer so that it sounds an octave lower, electronic and robotic. There is something of a ‘masculine masquerade’ going on here. Craig Owens, on interpreting a work
of art, wrote: ‘In order to speak, to represent herself, a woman
assumes a masculine position’. Does Anderson’s masquerade
as man in fact deny women’s right to have a voice, relegating them to their traditional role as voice (the mere carrier of
meaning at best)? Does she conform to the medieval rule that
to translate meaning, one must speak as a man?
Sigmund Freud wrote of man as a kind of ‘prosthetic god’,
having conquered nature. The title, O Superman, speaks to
us of a god-like man, yet it is ‘mum’ Anderson constantly
appeals to. By ‘appropriating the phallus’ in her dress and in
voice, we can read the work, not as denying women’s right to
speak, but as mocking the ‘prosthetic god’ man has become.
Undermining the ideal through a double whammy of her
masculine masquerade, and actual lack of phallus, she shatters
the male dream of whole singular identity twice-over – as
woman, and then ‘as man’. Anderson ‘adopts the masculine
negative fantasy in order to expose the underlying precariousness of the identity of the male ego, which is threatened by
the uncanniness of the feminine’. You never said a truer word
Mary Russo. It could be said that Anderson not only refuses to
conform to the sexualised subject of popular cultural demand,
she actively becomes the (scared) heterosexual male’s negative fantasy – an almost-man – in her androgynous dress and
voice synthesization.
A more useful term in thinking about Anderson’s arrival at
the position of speaking subject might not be ‘appropriation’
(of the phallus) but ‘expropriation’ of it, however. Anderson
expropriates the voice (and the phallus implicitly) through
her appearance and sound; she dispossesses them from their
male owner. She claims the voice plus meaning for women,
just as she claims the gaze for women in her earlier work,
Fully Automated Nikon (Object/Objection/Objectivity), 1973.
This work involved her photographing men who had verbally
harassed her as she walked down the street, claiming her right
to mobility without the persistent objectification women suffer
daily. The photographs remain unedited except for the cool
but crippling obliteration of the men’s eyes with a white line,
expropriating their gaze as she does the voice in O Superman.
More than twenty years on Sharon Hayes is working with the
voice to a similar effect. She has been expropriating the very
words of men, however, rather than their surface appearance
or sound. Taking for her own phrases from Oscar Wilde’s De
Profundis and slogans from early gay liberation parades in
New York, she addressed the public with her ‘love letter’, her
‘song’, I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I
Line Magazine, April 2012
Love You I’m Not Free, from the street corners of New York –
commissioned by The New Museum in 2008. (Listen at http://
www.shaze.info/#.)
Her recital began, ‘My dear lover, I’m taking to the streets to
speak to you because there doesn’t seem to be any other way
to get through.’ She goes on using the words of Wilde, burning with hopeful sadness: ‘I need to speak to you, my love,
of your life and of mine, of our past and our future; of sweet
things that have turned to bitterness; and of bitter things that
still could be turned to joy.’ Her call grows from what sounds
like a simple love letter to her absent lover, to a speech act addressing the collective as her lover. Her address becomes one
of overwhelming love for her fellows, though most don’t stop
to listen. She migrates from speaking of how she feels like
she has lost a limb in losing ‘you’; to subtly address the issue
of the monopolization of the state of the individual’s inherent
violence; and the hope and disappointment she and ‘you’ feel
in the failure of collective political action; to the point that
she as a lesbian, and opposing the current wars, feels like a
‘stranger’ in her own country. She speaks of the protest ‘you’
and her went on, in which you were holding signs: ‘Mine read
“TOGETHER WE CAN CHANGE THE WORLD” which
you said was simplistic and cheesy, but by the end of the day
you were shouting it at the top of your lungs as if it were the
most important thing in the world to say.’
Well, isn’t it? Expropriating the voice of men, claiming the
voice as their own, women artists are going beyond the constraints and historical associations attached to this medium of
translating meaning. They are speaking or singing important
things about what some (often scared) men are doing to the
world in the hope of changing the path we have been on since
O Superman was made, and before. Both Hayes and Anderson
make themselves vulnerable in calling to the other in appeal
for love: but whereas Anderson postulates a catastrophic
future of impossible intimacy Hayes, though disappointed,
remains hopeful for change through this very call, this very
voice, this love. She simply waits to be heard.
‘I feel like I could talk to you for a very long time; like I could
stand here on the streets for hours, and hours; for days, and
days; for longer even; in the hope that some mere phrase,
some single word, some broken echo of love might reach you,
and find it’s way to bounce back to me. How many times can I
say this to you?’
By Sarah Hardie
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WERE YOU TALKING TO ME?
RREELLAATTEEDD AARRTTIICCLLEESS
by Michelle Weidman | March 31st, 2012
A RT I N ST I T U T E O F C H I CAG O · M U LT I M E D I A
MFA show 2013
Beyond Boundaries
Hungryman Gallery
Atom-R Performing at
Hyde Park Salon
“In the Near Future” (detail), 2005–09. Courtesy of the artist and Tanya Leighton Gallery, Berlin.
LVL3 gallery
Sharon Hayes is the epitome of what formalist and conservative aesthetes hate about
contemporary art. Her work is queer, political and feminist but these aren’t the only
reasons to love her.
Hayes also addresses the complexity of communication depending on the temporal
and social context in which it is located. She asks questions such as how many voices
can be heard at one time before the result becomes noise? Every utterance from a long
gone companion may be impossible to forget. Alternately, we may not hear a single
word from a Republican primary debate broadcast and re-broadcast through a
24-hour news cycle. Voice carries varying weight depending on who is speaking and
why, as well as who is listening. We may have never listened to Rush Limbaugh, but
we have certainly heard him lately.
Hayes’ first solo museum exhibition in the US at the Art Institute of Chicago (AIC)
closed on March 11. It addressed not only the convergence of public and private
speech, but also the potential of communication wrapped in various forms of political
affect. Hayes, a mid-career artist based in New York, was featured at AIC as a part of
the contemporary art focus series.
The exhibition was comprised of three parts, the video installation “Parole,” seven
digital chromogenic prints of spoken word record covers arranged thematically titled
“An Ear to the Sounds of Our History,” and finally, “In the Near Future,” a room of
slide projections.
“Parole” circulated thematically connected videos around four screens of varying size
that were embedded in an enclosure constructed from plywood and soundproofing
foam. The fabricated space acted primarily as a symbolic barrier from the rest of the
gallery. Included in the installation were diverse forms of speech – from a lecture and
F Newsmagazine, March 2012
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Venus Is On Fire!
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of Being Broken
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Being Broken
Nan Martini on
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Aurel Segundo iano on
The Internet Made me
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Were you talking to me?
http://fnewsmagazine.com/2012/03/w
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Baldwin, a letter to a friend, to some of the artist’s public performances.
In many of the videos, performer and artist Becca Blackwell travels through various
public and private spaces – a kitchen, recording room, public squares and outdoor
shopping malls (which are now often the same thing) – recording, listening,
justifying viewership through example, yet rarely reacting to the events and speeches
that are occurring. Her presence is formal, offering continuity, but also representing
a model of contact. She never speaks but she is not inactive.
The seven digital chromogenic prints of spoken word record covers that make up “An
Ear to the Sound of Our History” were individually organized to suggest sentences
comprised of the album titles. Along with their semantic suggestions they provide
miniature aesthetic historical snapshots. They are the visual equivalent of the DJ set
performed by Hayes in which she remixed her collection of spoken word albums.
The final room of the exhibition contained “In the Near Future” a collection of
projected images from Hayes’ protest sign performances that occurred between 2005
and 2009. In each projected image Hayes stands alone holding an emblematic protest
sign. It becomes obvious quite quickly, however, that many of the slogans don’t
function in the orthodox timely and persuasive style of political street language.
Some of the signs address the Vietnam War while others are declarations such as “I
am a man.” In this way the signs represent public address divorced from the urgency
and the impotence of timely political speech.
In one section of “Parole,” the voice of author James Baldwin considers the role and
motivation of a writer. He notes that there comes a time when “a writer realizes he is
involved in a language that he has to change.” In the discussion with theorist Lauren
Berlant, Berlant locates optimism in habitual acts of someone whose place in the
world has been annulled. The example Berlant uses is the businessman who, after the
financial collapse, would wake up every morning, put on his suit, take his suitcases
and leave his home with nowhere to go. In the context of these statements “Parole”
and the exhibition overall operates as a poetics of breakdown and hope in political
language.
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3/24/12
Aleksandra Domanović & Sharon Hayes | Art Agenda
by CATALINA LOZANO
March 21, 2012
Aleksandra Domanovi! & Sharon
Hayes
PROYECTOS MONCLOVA, Mexico City
February 4–March 24, 2012
Share
1 Aleksandra Domanović, 19:30, 2010/11.
Aleksandra Domanovi!’s practice analyzes socio-political transformations
through the production of images and narratives largely based on popular culture.
By decontextualizing and reconfiguring media content, Domanovi! delves into the
accumulative nature of information and its intrinsic indexicality. Like many
artists born on the communist side of the Iron Curtain, she is interested in the
difficult transition towards capitalism and the emergence of new social values,
and, in specific, in the case of former Yugoslavia (where she was born), how this
is all exacerbated by the outbreak of an ethnic and nationalist war.
At Proyectos Monclova, Domanovi! presents 19:30 (2010–11), a two-channel
video projection which articulates two heterogeneous sets of imagery: the opening
titles of several regional news networks of the former Yugoslavia and a stream of
shots of techno raves, which emerged in the same region, like in many other
places in the 1990s, as a strong part of youth culture. This unlikely marriage of
references is materially and conceptually made possible through the soundtrack, a
remix of the news jingles made by techno DJs. While the series of opening titles
evoke the socialist era of information distribution, the raves manifest forms of
collective social venting in this “new” society.
Watching the work, one becomes aware of the sense of expectancy which has
been increasingly built into news broadcast visual language everywhere. The daily
news here—of which Domanovi! never shows us specific content—represents the
rising tension which led to war, while the techno culture (which arose after the
signature of the Dayton Accords in 1995) comes to stand in for a nonnationalistic, free-spirited attitude towards a yet uncertain future.
Unlike other of her works, 19:30 refuses to communicate with language, the
contradictory environment of progressively glossy television design and frantic
dancing is missing here that one finds, for instance, in her video essay Turbo
Sculpture (2010) which traces the influence of Western culture by describing the
appearance of statues of Hollywood celebrities in many cities of the former
Yugoslavia as an attempt to represent ethnic cohesion in an otherwise deeply
divided society.
For her part, Sharon Hayes presents I March in the Parade of Liberty, but as
Long as I Love You I’m Not Free (2007–8), a piece composed of a sound
recording and a spray-paint drawing on paper. The sound records an action in
which Hayes addresses her unnamed lover through a megaphone in the streets of
New York during five non-consecutive days between December and January
2007/8. Similar to other recent pieces, Hayes connects politics to desire or,
rather, she articulates a politics of desire. Through a long exploration of the act of
public speech and the spaces of political self-representation, Hayes has
increasingly involved sexuality and intimacy in the configuration of political
discourse, unveiling the impetuous force of affection in the construction of a
political self.
4 Sharon Hayes, I March In The Parade of Liberty But As Long
As I Love You Iʼm Not Free, 2007/8.
In I March in the Parade of Liberty, but as Long as I Love You I’m Not Free, the
artist partly describes a situation in which political engagement against the war
both unites and separates two lovers. Beautifully corny at times, Hayes’s speech is
as idealistic—“There is no prison in any world into which love cannot force an
Art Agenda, March 2012
www.art-agenda.com/reviews/aleksandra-domanovic-sharon-hayes/
1/2
3/24/12
3/24/12
Aleksandra
Aleksandra Domanović
Domanović &
& Sharon
Sharon Hayes
Hayes || Art
Art Agenda
Agenda
entrance”—as
entrance”—as nostalgic
nostalgic about
about past
past common
common struggles—“…the
struggles—“…the ecstasy
ecstasy of
of being
being gay
gay
and angry.”
angry.” Hayes
Hayes speaks
and
speaks publicly
publicly about
about abandonment
abandonment and
and despair
despair in
in relation
relation to
to
both
both political
political representation
representation and
and a
a love
love affair,
affair, using
using the
the formal
formal language
language of
of a
a
demonstration, and
and thus
thus revealing
revealing a
a thin,
thin, porous
porous boundary
boundary between
between a
a private
private (in
(in
demonstration,
this
this case
case impossible)
impossible) communication
communication and
and public
public speech
speech in
in which
which communication
communication
is not
not necessarily
necessarily implied.
implied.
is
The
The drawing
drawing functions
functions perhaps
perhaps as
as a
a caption
caption (as
(as it
it features
features the
the title
title of
of the
the work
work
and the
and
the dates
dates the
the action
action originally
originally took
took place),
place), stenciled
stenciled on
on paper
paper with
with spray
spray
paint.
paint. This
This helpless
helpless call
call for
for action
action in
in such
such a
a personal
personal affair
affair prompts
prompts again
again the
the
intrinsic relation
relation between
between love
love and
and politics.
politics.
intrinsic
However
However gratuitous
gratuitous the
the combination
combination of
of Domanovi!’s
Domanovi!’s and
and Hayes’s
Hayes’s works
works under
under
such a
such
a small
small roof
roof may
may seem
seem (the
(the gallery
gallery collaborated
collaborated with
with Tanya
Tanya Leighton
Leighton who
who
represents
represents both
both artists)
artists) together
together they
they convey
convey a
a certain
certain tension
tension between
between the
the very
very
personal and
and the
the necessarily
necessarily collective,
collective, the
the amplified
amplified individual
individual voice
voice and
and the
the
personal
wordless shared
shared experience
experience of
of transient
transient liberation.
liberation.
wordless
Catalina
Catalina Lozano
Lozano is
is a
a writer
writer and
and curator
curator based
based in
in Mexico
Mexico City.
City.
5
Sharon Hayes,
March In
In The
The Parade
Parade of
of Liberty
Liberty But
But As
As Long
Long
5 Sharon
Hayes, II March
As II Love
Love You
You Iʼm
Iʼm Not
Not Free,
Free, 2007/8.
2007/8.
As
1
Aleksandra Domanović,
2010/11. Still
Still from
from HD
HD video
video
1 Aleksandra
Domanović, 19:30,
19:30, 2010/11.
with colour
colour and
and sound.
sound. 11
11 minutes.
minutes. All
All images
images courtesy
courtesy of
of
with
Proyectos
Monclova,
Mexico
City.
Proyectos Monclova, Mexico City.
LEAVE
LEAVE A
A COMMENT
COMMENT
2
2 Aleksandra
Domanović, 19:30,
19:30, 2010/11.
2010/11. Still
Still from
from HD
HD video
video
with
with colour
colour and
and sound.
sound. 11
11 minutes.
minutes.
Name
Name
3
3 Aleksandra
Domanović, 19:30,
19:30, 2010/11.
2010/11. Still
Still from
from HD
HD video
video
with
with colour
colour and
and sound.
sound. 11
11 minutes.
minutes.
Email
Email
4
4 Sharon
Sharon Hayes,
Hayes, II March
March In
In The
The Parade
Parade of
of Liberty
Liberty But
But As
As Long
Long
As
As II Love
Love You
You Iʼm
Iʼm Not
Not Free,
Free, 2007/8.
2007/8. Audio
Audio installation:
installation: 1
1 PA
PA
system.
system. Spray
Spray paint
paint on
on paper.
paper. 50.8
50.8 cm
cm xx 65
65 cm.
cm.
5
5 Sharon
Sharon Hayes,
Hayes, II March
March In
In The
The Parade
Parade of
of Liberty
Liberty But
But As
As Long
Long
As
As II Love
Love You
You Iʼm
Iʼm Not
Not Free,
Free, 2007/8.
2007/8. Audio
Audio installation:
installation: 1
1 PA
PA
system.
system. Spray
Spray paint
paint on
on paper.
paper. 50.8
50.8 cm
cm xx 65
65 cm.
cm.
Submit
Submit
Whitney
Whitney Biennial
Biennial 2012
2012
WHITNEY
WHITNEY MUSEUM
MUSEUM OF
OF AMERICAN
AMERICAN ART,
ART, New
New York
York
The
The Ungovernables:
Ungovernables: 2012
2012 New
New
Museum
Museum Triennial
Triennial
NEW
NEW MUSEUM,
MUSEUM, New
New York
York
Marjetica
Marjetica Potr!’s
Potr!’s “Acre:
“Acre: Rural
Rural
School”
School”
NICOLAS
NICOLAS KRUPP,
KRUPP, Basel
Basel
2/2
2/2
artforum.com / critics' picks
http://artforum.com/index.php?pn=picks&id=30015&view=print
Sharon Hayes
THE ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO
111 South Michigan Avenue
November 10–March 11
Love, like politics, longs to speak through us, and we, reciprocally,
long to be heard and to speak: to feel as though on some basic
level our hopes, fears, and desires register somewhere amid the
forces that bind us to history and to one another. Sharon Hayes’s
work negotiates this territory while effectively disrupting the
amalgamation of public and private identities. Her practice affords
us a pause to reflect on the meaning of the classic feminist slogan
“The personal is political”—both in a general sense and also, more
specifically, in relation to LGBT rights today.
Sharon Hayes, Parole, 2010, still from HD single-
In Hayes’s solo exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago, curated by channel video, 36 minutes.
Lisa Dorin, we are presented with a tripartite show that includes
Parole, 2010, first exhibited in the Whitney Biennial; In the Near
Future, 2005–2009; and An Ear to the Sounds of Our History, 2011. Together, the pieces are more than the sum of
their parts, and they reveal an artist working through various modalities of publicness in order to find the self and
selves, authentic or otherwise. In the four-channel video installation Parole, actress Becca Blackwell proffers a
countenance that is a near-blank slate; equipped with a microphone, she performs the work of a quasipsychoanalyst probing the world. Through vignettes of her listening in the street, a classroom, her apartment, and a
dance studio, the viewer is left to ponder how these encounters affect or construct her and, by extension, ourselves.
Hayes’s references and source materials here include James Baldwin’s 1974 lecture at Berkeley, Lauren Berlant’s
theorization of sentimentality, a 1904 Anna Rüling speech, a dancer rehearsing, and Hayes’s own declarations of
love. Throughout this exhibition, the audience is made to feel privy to that which, taken collectively, might be best
characterized as a type of prayer—one that is spoken against the odds that it will ever be answered but perseveres
all the same, defiant in its resignation
— Zachary Cahill
All rights reserved. artforum.com is a registered trademark of Artforum International Magazine, New York, NY
1 of 1
2/6/12 1:23 PM
Artforum, January 2012
Artlog / Occupying the Near Future
http://artlog.com/posts/298-occupying-the-near-future
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Occupying the Near Future
Alexandra Kleiman
Sharon Hayes, In the Near Future (performance), 2009. Courtesy the artist.
Sharon Hayes’s 2009 performance and installation In the Near Future virtually predicted Occupy
Wall Street. The artist sought to investigate the figure of the protester and the contemporary
conditions of public space and speech, all of which had to be seriously considered by Occupiers in
the context of a digital public sphere that could be mobilized for disseminating the protest’s
messages.
The artist’s work in video as well as performance and installation often speak to time periods past
and to come. Her focus on the construct of gender, political protest, and public speech have long
served as sites for discussion and will likely remain as such. The artist will have a solo show at the
Whitney opening in June. Below are images of several of Hayes’s works accompanied by her
descriptions.
1 of 6
Artlog.com, January 2012
2/1/12 3:51 PM
Sharon Hayes, We Knew We Would Go to Jail (installation shot), 2009. Courtesy the artist.
We Knew We Would Go to Jail is a two-channel video installation which examines the present
political moment through three quasi-fictional dialogues between pairs of 20 to 24 year-olds.
Positioned side-by-side, facing out at the camera, each pair converses with each other through the
filter of the camera/viewer. In this intentionally disjointed structure, the pairs discuss their
impressions of ’60s and ’70s radical politics, their memory of the ’80s as well as the possibilities
of radical action in a present moment. Directly opposing the image of the talking pairs, and
synched up to it in time, is another video image, this one a structured montage of shots of the
university. via
Sharon Hayes, My Fellow Americans 1981-88 (performance), 2004. Courtesy the artist.
In a 10-hour performance, Hayes read all 36 of Ronald Reagan’s official “Address to the Nation”
speeches, beginning with the Address to the Nation on the Economy, February 5, 1981 and ending
with his Farewell Address to the Nation on January 11, 1989. The Address to the Nation speeches
are a specific category of Presidential address. They are always given from the Oval Office and are
presumably spoken directly to the American people. via
2 of 6
2/1/12 3:51 PM
Sharon Hayes, Parole (installation shot), 2010. Courtesy the artist.
Parole is a four-channel video installation that is composed of semi-autonomous video “scenes”
that string together to form a narrative without a story. Focused on a central character who records
sound but never speaks, Parole teases out multiple relationships between politics and desire,
intimacy and estrangement, speaking and listening, voice and body. The video installation is
composed of footage of performed events in New York, London, Frankfurt and Istanbul, Turkey as
well as staged footage of this sound recorder in various private and semi-public locations. via
Sharon Hayes, Communiqué (installation shot), 2002. Courtesy the artist.
Using a 1983 Ronald Reagan presidential address to the nation as an absent center, Communiqué
investigates the collective authoring as well as the collective reception of the institutional rhetoric
of the U.S. presidential office. Situated inside a 4-foot-wide corridor, the sound score bounces
between a left and a right channel, between fragments of exit interviews with five Reagan
speechwriters and excerpts of interviews with people asked to read the October 27th address on
paper and then respond to questions about the text. via
Join Artlog
3 of 6
2/1/12 3:51 PM
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Artforum, May 2010
nymag.com, 11 December 2009
Frieze, Issue 118, October 2008
We Have a Future:
An Interview with
Sharon Hayes
JULIA BRYAN-WILSON
For the past fifteen years, New York–based artist Sharon Hayes
has used video and performance to question the politics of address,
to engage with histories of social movements, and to articulate
queer desire in the public sphere. She has stood on street corners
holding protest signs from the past (In the Near Future, 2005–
present), respoken every speech President Ronald Reagan delivered from the Oval Office (My Fellow Americans: 1981–88,
2004/2006), and recited letters to an unnamed lover through a
bullhorn while walking through lower Manhattan (I March in the
Parade of Liberty, but as Long as I Love You I’m Not Free, 2007).
On the occasions of the 2008 Democratic and Republican
national conventions, she traveled to Denver and St. Paul for her
two-part large-scale performance Revolutionary Love: I Am Your
Worst Fear, I Am Your Best Fantasy (2008) in which she recruited
large groups of queer people to read a scripted love letter in unison near the convention sites.1 In late October 2008, we sat down
to talk about that piece and its relationship to her other work.
Julia Bryan-Wilson: Let me start with a quote by the art historian
Christopher Reed: “There is something queer about archives.”2
This put me in mind of several signature aspects of your work:
first, your reuse of historical documents; second, your commitment to queer politics. By twinning these things, do you suggest
that our relationship to the past might be somewhat queer?
Sharon Hayes: That makes me think of an anecdote from
Revolutionary Love. I first encountered the subtitle (I Am Your
Worst Fear, I Am Your Best Fantasy) in the documentary The
Question of Equality (1995). In it is a still of a woman wearing a
protest sign hand-lettered with those words. That phrase captured what is interesting to me about gay liberation in the late
1960s and early 1970s, which was the total imbrication of politics and love, because for queer people to stand publicly in the
space of their own sexuality at that moment was a political act. I
was captivated by the phrase when I first encountered it as a sign
in a video. Later, while doing research into images from the 1970s,
I found an archive of Diana Davies’s photographs at the New York
Grey Room 37, Fall 2009, pp. 78–93. © 2009 Grey Room, Inc. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Grey Room 37, Fall 2008
79
Diana Davies. Donna Gottschalk
Holds Poster at Christopher Street
Gay Liberation Day Parade, New
York, 1970. Photograph © Diana
Davies. Manuscripts and Archives
Division, The New York Public
Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden
Foundations.
78
Public Library and saw the image again—
this time encountering it accidentally—and
decided to use the phrase in my piece. Shortly
before the performance in St. Paul, someone
at the Walker Art Center, Creative Time’s
institutional partner in St. Paul, told me that
an artist they work with named Michela
Griffo had e-mailed them to say she had seen
the still in their publicity. Griffo and Donna
Gottschalk, the woman pictured, made that
sign before the 1970 Christopher Street
Liberation Day parade.
I bring up that anecdote because on one
level it was a pleasurable encounter with someone who was located at the origin of the
photograph, and the archive is precisely what
threads me to her. On another level, photographs or other documents are the medium,
the line of transit between past and present,
and much of my work addresses such collapsed temporal moments.
Sharon Hayes. Revolutionary
Love: I Am Your Worst Fear,
I Am Your Best Fantasy, 2008.
St. Paul, Minnesota. Photo by
Gene Pittman for the Walker
Art Center.
JBW: A parallel queer charge or current runs between the photograph then and your use of it now, and between you and that
woman in 1970. In addition, for documents and images to be
stored in an archive, or to continue to circulate through time,
someone has to want to see them and save them. Recovering a
photograph from a dusty box is thus an act of desire. Collecting
is rooted in a possessive urge, and whole archives are generated
out of and depend on this desire. So much history gets disseminated, circulated, and uncovered because photos or letters produce a pleasure that exceeds their function as factual records.
The longevity of a lot of the documents you deal with probably
depends in part upon this libidinal exchange.
SH: For sure, there is something to be said for a photograph that is
sexy. I noticed another kind of desire when I went to the libraries
of gay and lesbian centers and looked through photographic collections; in particular, the collections of photographers who were
shooting specifically queer events from 1969–1971. There the
issue of desire is completely transparent, because if you look in
the files you realize one photographer is taking pictures of beefy
guys he’s attracted to. Or another is fixated on collections of people who are kissing and hugging. You see the desire of the documenter quite plainly. So one site of a desiring encounter is between
the photographer and the subject, and then there’s my desire
toward that desire. Because when I look at any of those images,
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Grey Room 37
I’m not looking at just the body in the image; I’m
looking through the desiring eye of the camera.
JBW: You bring another kind of desire to these
histories. I don’t think it’s nostalgia exactly, but
in Revolutionary Love you look back, perhaps
with a certain longing, to the birth of gay liberation for what it might tell us now.
SH: Revolutionary Love is an extension of a set of projects
I’ve been pursuing around love and politics where I’ve
been doing what I call love addresses. My interest is in
mapping political desire and personal desire on top of
each other. In this case, in response to Creative Time’s
invitation to participate in the Democracy in America
project, I intuitively gravitated toward the conventions,
which I like despite their somewhat shallow spectacularity. For Revolutionary Love, I invited seventy-five to one
hundred people in Denver and St. Paul to come out and
be flamboyantly queer with me on the street and to speak
a love address.
JBW: The performance functioned first as a live public act, but it
was also shown as a series of videos at the Armory in New York.
Likewise, your voice from the street performance I March in the
Parade of Liberty was played through large speakers at the New
Museum. You create installations, posters, photographs, and
other material related to your actions that are shown in art spaces.
Are you conscious when producing video documentation or
designing ephemera that you are creating your own archive?
What kind of afterlife do you anticipate for Revolutionary Love?
Top: Sharon Hayes. I March in
the Parade of Liberty, but as Long
as I Love You I’m Not Free, 2007.
Performance still. Photo by
Kristine Woods.
Bottom: Sharon Hayes. I March in
the Parade of Liberty, but as Long
as I Love You I’m Not Free, 2007.
Installation view, New Museum.
Photo by Collier Schorr.
SH: Revolutionary Love was a performance that had value and
legitimacy as a live act, but I was very precise in shooting it.
Always in my work I’m interested in the event of a performance
and then what I call the not-event of its document. I wanted to
generate an archival document that speaks exactly to what we’re
talking about, which is that it demonstrates a desiring camera,
something that shows how the camera seduces.
JBW: The camera has more work to do in Revolutionary Love than
in previous works of yours, because it must capture a diverse
crowd rather than a solo performer. Could you speak more about
your transition from performing by yourself to enlisting others to
join you? In both cases, the address is in the first person, but the
tone and tenor of a solo voice registers differently than that of a
collective chorus.
Bryan-Wilson | We Have a Future: An Interview with Sharon Hayes
81
Love: I Am Your Worst Fear, I Am
Your Best Fantasy, 2008. St. Paul,
Minnesota. Photo by Gene
Pittman for the Walker Art Center.
SH: To be precise, seventy-five to one hundred people spoke a
text three times that was written from the first person, from the
“I,” so those people were speaking as one body. The shift from
the “I” to the collective was partly intuitive. But I also was interested in the tension produced by a group of people speaking as
one, because it spoke to the impossibility of a collective, essential being.
JBW: You went to the convention sites ahead of time to make contacts with local queer groups and enlist people as participants.
How did you embark on this organizing process?
SH: In each place, I tried to meet as many people as possible. I
held meetings where I explained where I was coming from and
that I had a somewhat unusual request. In each city, I hired outreach coordinators to do local organizing. In St. Paul, I worked
with two incredible outreach coordinators and we ultimately
gathered about seventy-five to one hundred people. In Denver,
though they have an active queer community, it was challenging
to find people willing to risk being publicly queer as well as to
occupy a public space in a nonnormative way. We started with
twenty-five to thirty people, but we ended up with an amazing,
open encounter where people joined in.
On the one hand, Revolutionary Love appears to be a community project because I’m inviting people to participate. I chose not
to cast people or to hire actors, which was very important to me.
It had to be an open call. People had to be able to self-select, and
I had to entice people to participate. The process was an organizing
effort, but typically an organizing effort involves some incentive;
people usually respond to such efforts because they will be able
to make something or learn something.
JBW: Or speak their minds.
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SH: Right, that wasn’t what the performance was about either. I’m
not “giving voice to the community.” And sometimes there was a
fissure between the expectations a participant brings to a participatory project and the reality that they’d be speaking my text, my
words. So the event offered a funny kind of collision, which I was
up-front about. I couldn’t predict how the participants would
find their own relationship to the text, but I told them I hoped
they would. I also asked them to dress flamboyantly queer, but I
did not script what that meant.
JBW: Because you did not police that in any way, people interpreted flamboyance widely, as you can see in the photo and video
documentation.
SH: I was also extremely careful not to predetermine what queer
was. That was something that was vital to me. This strategy
ended up really working, producing an event-ness for Revolutionary
Love that is quite odd; something familiar, but not exactly identifiable.
JBW: It is not quite a performance, not quite a protest, not quite
totally intimate, not quite fully collective—it verges on each of
those. Was asking strangers to inhabit and vocalize your words
an audacious request? They didn’t cowrite the text; it was not
based on collective brainstorming.
SH: Some things were really interesting and challenging about
that. A couple of people memorized the script, but by and large
they read from it; still, they invested themselves in an incredibly
full way with a text that is not their own. It’s something we talked
a lot about.
JBW: The press release for Revolutionary Love stated that you
were intentionally creating a spectacle in response to the spectacle of the conventions. The word spectacle was deployed in that
context with great care, and it has a specific historical and
theoretical weight. I’m curious to hear what, if any, relationship
you might have with that word.
SH: I don’t really feel any of my work is spectacular. And I’m not
sure that this piece was really spectacular. Certainly it didn’t and
couldn’t match the spectacle of the convention; nor did I ever
intend it to. But, having said that, as soon as you arrive in a city
during a convention, you’re in the middle of a circus of wildly
competing desires. In Denver a series of art events took place
during the convention—the institutional partner was the group
Dialog:City, and they had ten other art projects going on. More- and
83
less-organized sets of protestors came
as attendants to the convention apparatus, and corporate philanthropic
groups came to host events. Many
things that were not at all related to
the election were claiming the site of
that audience.
JBW: Given the solo, micro-interventions that you’ve staged previously,
Revolutionary Love represents a shift
toward a drastically increased scale
in your practice. Did you feel you
needed to magnify the address and
amplify your voice as a way to command some small part of these dispersed attentions?
SH: As an artist, I’m not willing to
concede the space of politics to politicians and reporters and FOX News
and CNN. I’m not willing to relinquish
participation in the production of the
cultural imagination around politics.
I felt strongly that to do something in relation to the conventions
I had to magnify myself. I would get swallowed up if I were alone
in that chaos. I needed some pals with me.
JBW: By bringing many people together to read about love in
what was expected to be a space of protest and commercialism,
were you attempting to model some sort of provisional public
queer community, however fleeting?
SH: Maybe one answer to that can be got at anecdotally. In Denver
the performance took place at the Sixteenth Street pedestrian
mall, which is the only place I found a public—that is, people
who don’t intend to be on the street together: businesspeople,
homeless people, musicians, queer youth. All sorts of Denverites
were just going about doing what they usually do downtown on
the pedestrian mall. A set of extra people, roving groups of protestors who were there for the convention, people selling Obama
merchandise, and so on, were also present. The day of our performance, as we went to occupy the block and set up to speak, we
saw a right-wing band of protestors carrying very large vertical
banners. As we started to amass, we could see them coming. They
had all these huge police guys with them. Their banners read
“Fear God,” “Homosex Is a Sin,” “Homosexuals Are a Threat to
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National Security”—basic variations
on “Have Great Fear.”
JBW: A homophobic Christian group
was on the street coming toward you:
you couldn’t have choreographed it
better. Those slogans encapsulate the
bizarre combination of anxiety and
fascination that queerness can inspire.
SH: And there we were with pink and yellow balloons that said
“GAY” and were happy and festive. We hadn’t started yet, and
they surrounded us, and then the police were around them,
which caused a scene and a spectacle (to refer back to that term).
All these passersby stopped to watch. I was sure they felt they
had found their home and weren’t going to leave. The scene was
quite tense, but I decided, okay, fuck it, we’re going to start. I got
out a bullhorn and did a little countdown, and, right as we started
speaking, they waved on. By and large we weren’t interacting
with them. We weren’t shouting them down. Maybe because they
couldn’t find anyone to spar with, they left. More likely, we were
bigger than they wanted.
I never could have predicted this, but when they left an enormous sense of victory or relief swept over us. It was ecstasy; we
were exuberant. And that was not constructed. Was it world
changing? Did it ripple beyond that moment? No, but it was palpable. You could physically feel this claim to a sort of power. In
addition, as we spoke the text three times, all these people joined
in, many of them the queer and trans youth who hang out on
Sixteenth Street. They had no idea we were going to be there, and
suddenly we validated that space for them and marked it as an
affirmative queer place.
Opposite, top and bottom:
Love: I Am Your Worst Fear, I Am
Your Best Fantasy, 2008. Denver,
Colorado. Photo by Andrew Clark
Photography.
Above: Sharon Hayes. In the Near
Future, New York, 2005. Detail.
JBW: That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t decided to be in
that exact location. This emphasis on place takes me to some of
your past work, such as In the Near Future, where site plays a significant role. In this work you are interested in rupturing a triangle of coherence around historical protest slogans. That is, you
disarticulate the three elements that normally converge around
slogans: first, the words on the sign that you are holding—such
as “Ratify ERA Now!”; second, the body that holds the sign; and
third, the place and the time in which the body is situated.
SH: In the Near Future functions differently than Revolutionary
Love in that there is an action. I actually don’t call it a performance; I call it an action. I invite people to come and document
that action of me standing on the street for an hour at a specific
85
site with a specific sign. None of them are reenactments. I never
stand in the same site as the sign was originally held, but the sign
is almost always a specific citation of a past moment.
JBW: So, In the Near Future is site specific and cite specific.
SH: Yes. Each place has a history as a site of public speech or
protest. For instance, in one action I chose to hold the sign “I Am
a Man,” which is from the 1968 Memphis sanitation strike, at St.
Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City, which was the location of
the Stop the Church action and a lot of the ACT-UP agitations in
the late 1980s and early 1990s. That was an intentional mapping
of those two places onto each other. That piece functions curiously because the action is completely quiet.
JBW: No surrounding demonstration legitimates what you’re
doing. It’s rare to see a single protestor disconnected from a
larger mass. That singularity has the potential to make you
seem slightly crazy.
SH: Particularly because the places have by and large been urban
sites, people do a small double-take when they see me. The texts
are anachronistic. They don’t match the current situation. When
you see somebody out on the street with a sign, you expect that
you’re being addressed. But the current passersby aren’t being
addressed by these signs.
The assumptive ground that I operate on is that there’s trouble
in the site of public speech, a trouble that probably has always
been there but in this present moment has a particular set of elements to it. A city like New York has much more private space
now than in the past. I also think there is an exhaustion on the
part of the listening public, because they know or they think they
know what they can expect from people speaking publicly, particularly around politics. So, when they see me, they see a protestor, and they think that they know what that is, but then the
incongruity of the sign belies that.
JBW: How important to you is it that you are the person standing
with the sign?
SH: This is foundational to my work, particularly the work I’ve
been doing over the last four years. It is not possible to plan what
the work is until I am actually doing it. At the same time that I am
doing the work, I am also rehearsing the work. So, the performance is also a place of labor for me. How can I possibly ask
somebody else to do that work? If I did, then I wouldn’t get to
understand what it is from the perspective of that encounter.
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Grey Room 37
JBW: Several other artists working today are returning to past
moments of political protest;
for example, Andrea Bowers
and Sam Durant. Mark Tribe
had performers reenact historical speeches from the 1960s
and 1970s in his Port Huron
Project (2006–2008). Do you
connect what you are doing to
those practices?
SH: Revolutionary Love worked as a reference to gay liberation;
it was not a reenactment of gay liberation. And with In the Near
Future, I don’t have an interest in the protest sign as an aesthetic
object or in it circulating as a separate piece in the space of art. To
make a return to a past political moment by taking the sign and
putting it on a wall is problematic. My interest is in the act of
protest as a speech act.
Sharon Hayes. In the Near Future,
New York, 2005. Detail.
JBW: Photos of you performing holding the “I Am a Man” sign do
circulate in art spaces, however. How does that differ from, say,
Glenn Ligon’s work that is based on the same sign (Untitled [I Am
a Man] ; 1988)?
SH: With Glenn Ligon’s piece, there was a conscious and specific
translation of that sign, a filtering. He took that slogan and reconstructed it through a process. He importantly reimagined it.
Similarly, I can’t just cut out the protest sign and put it on a wall
in this present moment, because history for me cannot be accessed
that way—it just becomes style. That excision is not actually an
investigation; nor does it tease out how history is rupturing in a present moment. Instead, it becomes an anesthetizing of the conflict.
My interest was to actually work with protest and protest signs
by putting myself in the space of enactment. In this work, I
understand myself as a demonstrator, not only in a political sense
but also in the theoretical and methodological sense that Bertolt
Brecht describes in his essay “The Street Scene,” in which actors
are replaced by demonstrators.3 In Brecht’s epic theater, demonstrators propose that the event has taken place; what you are
watching is a repeat. To think through my actions in In the Near
Future as a certain kind of demonstration that asks for a form of
critical viewership is helpful.
JBW: There’s also something pedagogic about it, which puts me
in mind of another aspect of Brecht: the Lehrstücke or learning
plays. You engage with the people who see you on the street who
87
stop and talk to you. You explain that you are
an artist standing there to ask questions about
the space of historical political protest and its
function in the present.
SH: I don’t say I’m an artist. That’s the only
thing I don’t say. I say I’m interested in protest.
I say everything but I am an artist.
JBW: I didn’t realize that. Why don’t you identify yourself in that way?
SH: Because then they think they know what
I’m doing.
Sharon Hayes. In the Near Future,
New York, 2005. Detail.
JBW: But you do otherwise describe your
process: you tell people where the signs come
from and what their roles in history have
been—so the work has an educative component. And you’re also learning things—
you’re educating yourself about what it feels
like to be associated with the words you hold,
with all the possible risks and assumptions and complications
that entails.
SH: I think that is true; it is not didactic, but it is pedagogic. The
demonstration is a communication and a telling: it’s a narrativizing that recognizes the position from which it’s narrating. I’m not
trying to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes. It’s a very privileged
space to be in.
Sometimes the understandings are very small. The first action
I did with In the Near Future was at Union Square, and the sign
said “Actions Speak Louder Than Words.” I was standing there for
twenty minutes with the sign in front of my stomach, watching
people interact with me. And then I raised the sign over my head.
That gesture made a huge difference. Maybe this is minimal, but
in the space of doing In the Near Future, which is still ongoing, I
became very aware of the body and the limits of the body in relation to the sign. That isn’t a small matter, actually, because
whether you hold the sign at your stomach or over your head is,
on the one hand, a question of performance technique, but on the
other hand, it also points to the critical import of the body to an
act of protest.
JBW: It also raises some of the canonical issues of performance
art, such as physical exhaustion, duration, and ability.
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SH: In this way, of course, it is an aesthetic question, but it is an
aesthetic question that is totally bound up in content as well,
because it relates to intelligibility. How does protest become
intelligible? Why and how can my specific body—versus other
bodies—make this sign intelligible?
JBW: Some intelligent theoretical work has recently been done
about art and historical research; for example, Hal Foster’s “An
Archival Impulse,” Mark Godfrey’s “The Artist As Historian,” and
Okwui Enwezor’s 2008 exhibition Archive Fever at the International
Center of Photography.4
SH: Historians and artists are alike in a certain sense. One of the
biggest challenges is how to embark on a search and truly not
know where you’re going. Often an archival investigation will
lead you toward what you knew or expected to begin with; so,
you’re only uncovering and finding material to literalize and concretize the search that you’ve already mapped. That’s not the case
across the board, however, and a lot of artists who have been
talked about in the space of the archive or history are working in
very complicated ways.
JBW: Although you’re somewhat connected to the artist-as-archivist
issue, what you’re doing is a bit different in that you also pointedly conjecture about the future. You invoke time travel by inserting yourself into the space of possibility or speculation. Some of
the slogans you use, for instance, do not come from the past but
are invented—leaps of imagination, assertions of wishes for
protests that might happen but have not yet; for example, “The
American President Might Have to Call in the National Guard to
Put This Revolt Down.” The title itself, In the Near Future, indicates that you’re intentionally Janus-faced: looking back and
looking ahead.
SH: The present for me is a moment that is both reaching backward and forward, and it does so simultaneously. In a certain
way, I haven’t yet reconciled with the term archive. My work is
intensely research based, but “the archive,” particularly in the
way that it’s been taken up over the last ten years in discourses
around contemporary art, has tended to become quite solidified.
JBW: Well, that gets us back to the quotation that we started with.
Maybe the intervention that you make around archives is specifically about queerness—that is, the unruliness, instability, and
eccentricity of historical documents. How you approach the past
and think about the future is inflected by your queer commitment
to understanding how history might warp or distort given different
89
subject formations, different ideas about community, and different relationships one has to the sweep of normative or official
history. We’ve had to create our own alternatives. We’ve had to
piece together our own patchwork of histories from out-of-print
paperbacks or hidden documents or stashed-away love letters. A
lot of what queer history is interested in is precisely what has
fallen out of the singular “archive.”
SH: Competing desires have played out in terms of the relationship between queerness and history, especially the relationship
between queerness and visibility. What if queer studies didn’t
steer itself so intensely toward visibility but instead steered itself
toward questions of speech? What if, following Gayatri Chakravorty
Spivak, we were focused as much on hearing and speaking as
on seeing?
JBW: This takes me back to your stories about Denver, because in
part you were asking what it means to be a public listener. For
some of the people watching the action, the queer way to listen
was to join in. The invitation wasn’t explicit, but observers clearly
felt an implicit reciprocity or conversation that opened into a
broadly articulated “you.”
SH: Yes, and in English the singular and plural you are nicely the
same. With Revolutionary Love the site of listening is much less
in my control than it has ever been in my work. Because as soon
as you speak about love, as soon as you stand on the street and
say “I love you,” that enters into the listener’s psychosocial emotional space in completely unknown ways. When performing
Everything Else Has Failed! Don’t You Think It’s Time for Love?
(2007), on the third day I saw a woman cry. I thought, why is
she crying? I can answer that question to a certain extent. She
was crying because something had touched her. But how did
this work touch her, and what does it mean to me that it’s touched
her?
JBW: In that piece, you stood on a street corner in New York with
a small amplifier and spoke a series of love letters you wrote,
many of which refer to loss and longing in a time of war. What do
you feel is your responsibility for having sparked, or been the
catalyst for, that kind of emotional response?
SH: It is a conundrum for me. I don’t know what that means, and
I appreciate that I don’t know what it means.
JBW: Is it important that in these addresses the subject is queer
love specifically?
90
Grey Room 37
SH: Absolutely. In Everything Else Has Failed! I dressed as a queer
temp. I kind of butched myself up even more than usual because
I didn’t want the love to be read as heteronormative. Yet I want to
be clear that queerness is not some kind of idealized space of
political action. I am not positing queerness as the ultimate site
of radicality, but I’m also interested in the specificity of gay liberation historically and what makes queer people threatening to a
heteronormative political landscape.
Sharon Hayes. Everything Else
Has Failed! Don’t You Think It’s
Time for Love? 2007. Performance
still. Photo by Andrea Geyer.
JBW: We’re having this conversation one week before the 2008
election, in the midst of the raging Proposition 8 debate in
California. What will happen is unclear, but the proposition,
which seeks to ban gay marriage, seems increasingly likely to
pass.5 Even today, with the ostensible end of the culture wars,
something is still vexing or dangerous about queerness. And let
me say that gay marriage is not my issue; it’s not something I feel
politically galvanized around, particularly because “No on
Proposition 8” conversations interpolate all queer people as staunch
supporters of state-sanctioned marriage, which many of us are
not. At the same time, I recognize that gay marriage is a civil rights
issue and have been concerned about the homophobic campaign
tactics around it.
SH: I’m also not somebody who would stand as an activist for gay
marriage. And yet gay marriage is the route through which queerness is put into the mainstream political landscape.
JBW: Sexuality—as much as race, gender, and class—seems
foundational to the questions that are facing the American electorate.
SH: What makes me anxious is that people aren’t so good around
those terms. Sexuality can lag so far behind other political formations.
91
Rink Foto. San Francisco Gay
Parade, 1977. Photograph ©
Rink Foto.
JBW: I think we should wind things down before we get into a
frenzy about the election. I want to show you a photograph that
seems to encapsulate the issues you persistently deal with and
maybe leaves us on a hopeful note: in it, a group of men at a gay
rights parade in 1977 are standing in the back of a truck. They are
looking up and smiling at something just outside the frame of the
photo, almost as if in anticipation of something to come. The banner underneath them reads, “WE WERE HERE, WE ARE HERE, WE HAVE
A FUTURE.”
SH: I like that very much. The whole project of archiving, of
documenting that “we have a past” is, in actuality, a desire for a
future, no? What a nice way of evidencing ourselves.
92
Grey Room 37
Notes
1. The two components that together comprise this performance are titled
Revolutionary Love 1: I Am Your Worst Fear (performed in Denver, Colorado)
and Revolutionary Love 2: I Am Your Best Fantasy (performed in St. Paul,
Minnesota).
2. Christopher Reed, “Design for (Queer) Living: Sexual Identity, Performance,
and Decor in British Vogue, 1922–1926,” GLQ: A Journal of Gay and Lesbian
Studies 12, no. 3 (2006): 377.
3. Bertolt Brecht, “The Street Scene: A Basic Model for Epic Theater,” in
Brecht on Theater: The Development of an Aesthetic, ed. and trans. John Willet
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1964), 121–129.
4. Hal Foster, “An Archival Impulse,” October 110 (Fall 2004): 3–22; Mark
Godfrey, “The Artist as Historian,” October 120 (Spring 2007): 140–172; and Okwui
Enwezor, Archive Fever: Uses of the Document in Contemporary Art (New
York: International Center of Photography/Steidl, 2008).
5. Proposition 8, a popular referendum which amended the state constitution to define marriage as between a man and a woman, passed by a 52 percent
margin on November 4, 2008. Though the validity of the proposition was challenged in the California Supreme Court, it was upheld in a decision announced
in May 2009.
93
A Croatian Collective Takes Charge at Istanbul’s Biennial - Globespotters Blog - NYTimes.com
SEPTEMBER 12, 2009, 6:00 AM
A Croatian Collective Takes Charge at Istanbul’s Biennial
By SUSANNE FOWLER
Arzu Yayınta! The members of the Croatian collective WHW. The group, who are curating this year’s
Istanbul Biennial, are pictured in the Feriköy Greek School, one of the festival’s venues.
ISTANBUL | For WHW, the Croatian collective that is curating the 11th
International Istanbul Biennial, which opens today, one of the biggest challenges was
how to stay true to its creative philosophy of the past decade without being seduced by
being in the global spotlight.
And then there were the lures of Istanbul itself.
“It’s hard not to be mesmerized by Istanbul,” said Sabina Sabolovic, one of the
members of WHW — or What, How and For Whom — which also includes Ivet Curlin,
Ana Devic and Natasha Ilic. “But because this moment in history is so crucial for the
whole world, we wanted to get away from being Istanbul-obsessed and ask a question
that absolutely has global resonance.”
That question — “What Keeps Mankind Alive?” — became the title theme of the
festival, which runs from Sept. 11 through Nov. 8 and features more than 120 works by
artists from 40 countries, including Sanja Ivekovi! of Croatia, Nam June Paik and
Sharon Hayes of the United States, Hans-Peter Feldmann of Germany and Canan
Senol and Hüseyin Bahri Alptekin of Turkey.
The title comes from a much-covered song from Bertolt Brecht’s “The Threepenny
Opera” which examines conventional definitions of wealth and poverty. Such
questions of identity and economics have been central to the works of the
Zagreb-based WHW.
The artists that the group has brought together will be examining globalization and
the effects of the economic meltdown.
“A lot of our work and even this biennial are very much
Courtesy of the artist Jinoos
Taghizadeh’s “Paper, Rock,
about the struggles and questions of what is a European
Scissors” (2009), one of the
identity,’’ Sabolovic said. “Look at our own country,
works included in this year’s
Croatia. Our work is very much criticizing the blind
Istanbul Biennial.
obsession with being European that is shaping daily
politics and the daily reality of people, the idea that the road to EU membership and
liberal capitalism is the only path and a complete amnesia about any sort of socialist
path.’’
The New York Times, September 2009
1 sur 2
A Croatian Collective Takes Charge at Istanbul’s Biennial - Globespotters Blog - NYTimes.com
“Our collective,’’ she added, “always tries to deal with the social and political topics
which we feel are swept under the carpet.”
To help find the range of works, the members of the collective traveled for a year and a
half through Eastern Europe, the Caucuses, Central Asia and the Middle East. Many of
the included pieces grew out of this journey of discovery while others came from
artists and groups who have influenced and shaped the collective for the past 10 years.
Although WHW was catapulted into prime time when it was selected to curate the
biennial, its members have tried to resist putting on a show that might be more
market-oriented and less faithful to its core values of solidarity and collaboration.
“We really tried to resist reinventing ourselves,” Sabolovic said. “We are not doing a
loud, big, shiny overview of recent projects, but more really building of a thematic
exhibition bringing together different generations of work by artists ranging in age
from 27 to 76 and showing works from a very large time span, from 1965 to new works
created for this show.’’
“This is the most high-key, visible thing we’ve done and the pressure was on to
produce something new,” she said, “but it was really important for us at the same time
to remain stubborn.”
The biennial, organized by the Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Arts under the
sponsorship of the Koç Group, takes place at three venues on the European side of the
city: Antrepo, or warehouse, No. 3 in Tophane; the Tobacco Warehouse, also in
Tophane; and the Feriköy Greek School, in "i#li.
Ticket information can be found here.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company
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nymag.com, 11 December 2009
Frieze, Issue 120 January-Febuary 2009
Artforum, December 2008
Artforum, Summer 2008
Frieze, Issue 118, October 2008
artreview.com, 1 July 2008
WWW.DB-ARTMAG.COM, Special Print Issue N°3 2008
Deutsche Guggenheim Magazine, Issue 4, Summer 2008
Art - A Freedom Free-for-All at the Park Avenue Armory - N...
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/23/arts/design/23demo.htm...
September 23, 2008
ART
With Politics in the Air, a Freedom Free-for-All Comes to
Town
By HOLLAND COTTER
“Democracy in America: The National Campaign” at the Park Avenue Armory is a nonpartisan, nonelectoral
but intensely political convention-as-art-exhibition timed to coincide with the 2008 presidential race.
Like its Democratic and Republican counterparts, it lasts just a few days (it opened on Sunday and closes on
Saturday) and involves lots of speeches, music, funny hats and parties. But there are differences. The music
in this case is protest-song karaoke; the funny hats are on drag queens; the parties serve activist ice cream;
you get to give some of the speeches yourself. Got a gripe? Grab the mike.
One other difference is access. Normal conventions are up to their ears in security; admission is tightly
controlled. “Democracy in America,” which calls itself a “convergence center,” is open to all, no tags,
buttons, tickets, proof of citizenship or good will required.
Organized by Creative Time, which specializes in nonprofit public events, it is the final stage of a yearlong
project for which its curator, Nato Thompson, traveled the country, talking with artists about work that took
democracy, or freedom, as a theme. Creative Time commissioned several related performance-based pieces
on the subject that were presented in Denver and St. Paul during the conventions there.
The fruits, or traces, of all of this activity are installed at the Armory. And that late-Victorian pile, its wall
adorned with memorials to the Civil War dead, is an apt setting for art that addresses militarism, racism and
the contemporary divide between so-called red and blue states.
The show’s largest section is installed in the Armory’s drill hall and is dwarfed by the space’s hangarlike
vastness. The Center for Tactical Magic’s ice cream truck is here. Used in recent days to pass out Popsicles
and political fliers in parks in Brooklyn and Queens, it is equipped like a police command station, with
high-power surveillance devices and a media transmission studio, but it looks like a toy in this expanse.
A blinking, winking sculptural pileup of video monitors, cameras and motorized G.I. Joes by Jon Kessler
holds its own in the drill hall, as, less securely, does a mural by Chris Stain. But everything else is lost in the
space, particularly audience-participation projects that have no visual presence to begin with. To get off the
ground, these require lots of active bodies, and even then they feel forced.
Pieces assigned to individual rooms elsewhere in the building come across more strongly, and at least three
of them brilliantly. A few are archival displays, the most arresting by the collective called Critical Art
Ensemble and the Institute for Applied Autonomy, which for years have operated at the intersection of art,
science and politics.
In 2004 a founding member of Critical Art Ensemble, Steven Kurtz, was indicted under the Patriot Act,
accused of illegally obtaining bacteria samples, among other charges. The charges were eventually dismissed
by a judge. But outrage over the affair is still strong in the activist art world. And the piece at the armory
titled “Seized” is Exhibit A in its ethical brief: at the center of the installation is heaped-up trash, including
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24.9.2008 12:41
The New York Times, 23 September 2008
pizza boxes, left behind by government agents who commandeered Mr. Kurtz’s home.
The exhibition’s best work, though, is film. In the tour-de-force department, the duo Ligorano/Reese
projects vintage Hollywood propaganda movies onto the head of a pin. And Kenneth Tin-Kin Hung, in a
hilariously scabrous animation called “Residential Erection,” offers a take-no-prisoners approach to the
current American political lineup: everyone has to go.
This is more or less the approach of the show as a whole. Most of its thinking goes way beyond party politics.
It lives instead in utopian realms where the prospect of radical change is taken as a serious possibility with
epoch-altering implications.
The artist Mark Tribe finds this potential for change in recent history, which he resurrects in public
performances of New Left political speeches from the 1960s and ’70s: Angela Davis’s incendiary Oakland
address on political resistance and Stokely Carmichael’s speech at the 1967 “Spring Mobilization to End the
War in Vietnam” in New York.
The re-enactments of both speeches, which Mr. Tribe has produced with actors as speakers but with a “live”
local audience, appear in the show on film. The panoramic projections make you feel part of the listening
crowd. And the speeches, although 40 years old, have a startling pertinence to politics now.
Chris Sollars’s film “C Red Blue J” documents major changes in his family’s history as he moved back and
forth between a “normal” suburban childhood and a fraught adulthood that finds him with a born-again
Christian father, a right-wing sister and a mother who lives with a female lover. The film opens with Mr.
Sollars in bed, as if he would rather sleep through the familial confusion that follows, which he sets against
the background of the 2004 election campaign and the Iraq war.
But he also keeps exhorting himself to wake up and do something. And he does. He looks hard at his past,
talks frankly with his family and tries to accept that, for better or worse, and whether he likes it or not, all
involved are now free to be what they always wanted to be.
Free to be what they want to be is also the goal of the dozens of performers in Sharon Hayes’s wonderful
videotaped performance piece, “Revolutionary Love 1 & 2: I Am Your Worst Fear, I Am Your Best Fantasy.”
The piece, which was performed and filmed twice — outdoors at the Democratic National Convention in
Denver and at the Republican convention in St. Paul — consists of a kind of choral reading of a text Ms.
Hayes wrote, a strange kind of love letter.
The readers in both cases are members of the gay, lesbian and transgendered populations of their respective
cities. The text, which incorporates gay liberation material from the 1970s, seems to be addressed to a
potential lover, single or collective, gender unspecified, but a lover with power — a United States president,
maybe, or a political party or the American people.
The tone of the writing is by turns amorous, anguished, exasperated and defiant. The writer would like to
persuade the lover to see reality in a new way, to see that division between them doesn’t have to exist, that
mutual love is possible, and an offer is being made. And if the offer is rejected? So be it.
The writer’s voice is in fact many voices, all saying the same words, loudly and clearly, as one voice: “An
army of lovers cannot lose.” And, as Ms. Hayes’s passionately intelligent piece asserts, it is at the
conventions and everywhere else, and here to stay.
It is, of course, quite a different militia from the one envisioned by the Armory’s builders, one that suggests
that enormous cultural changes have taken place. To which the artist-activists in the show would respond:
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24.9.2008 12:41
“Enormous, but not enough.” Democracy — freedom, equality, all of that — still has a long way to go.
To help push it further along, Creative Time has scheduled a series of evening panel discussions and talks at
the Armory, which should help bring the drill hall to life. On Wednesday the Guerrilla Girls will scrutinize
the ethics of the quasi-democratic entity known as the art world. And Thursday night will be devoted to an
“open rant,” which means, I gather, that you arrive early, pull up a lectern (there are several to chose from,
all artist-designed) and stump for whatever mad dream you dream.
“Democracy in America: The National Campaign” continues through Saturday at the Park Avenue
Armory, 643 Park Avenue, at 67th Street; (212) 616-3930, creativetime.org.
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SCHIZOPHONIA Centre d`Art Contemporain La Synagogue de Delme

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