2012
9.1.12 - 27.1.12
Review: Kate Smith At Gallery North
by Kimberly Gaiger
“The blurring between image and object, between these and the territory the viewer occupies, is potentially a place where the space between fantasy and aspiration collapses.” Kate Smith, 2012
The solo exhibition at Gallery North by Kate Smith seeks to propose a set of questions, ones which endeavour to create an uncertain relationship between image and object, artist and viewer. An understanding and a disturbance are experienced at the same time through the mechanisms that Smith puts in place. A blurring of boundaries is created, where her works ask us to explore the changing notion of the self and the contradictions of how we situate ourselves within a multicultural and diverse urban environment.
The solo exhibition at Gallery North by Kate Smith seeks to propose a set of questions, ones which endeavour to create an uncertain relationship between image and object, artist and viewer. An understanding and a disturbance are experienced at the same time through the mechanisms that Smith puts in place. A blurring of boundaries is created, where her works ask us to explore the changing notion of the self and the contradictions of how we situate ourselves within a multicultural and diverse urban environment.
Images courtesy of the artist and Gallery North
Kate Smith’s exhibition follows on from ‘Two Peacocks’ (3 Nov – 24 Nov 2011), where an interest in consumer culture is continued. ‘Two Peacocks’ celebrated consumerism and branding through an insurgence of colour and controlled chaos. Globalisation and consumerism play a major role within this metropolitan environment and these influences can change the notion of the self, as explored through the works in this show. We try to rationalise ourselves in both time and space, to fit in with this modern environment. In doing so, our identities can change and, as Smith explains; “emerge’ as ‘other.”
The exhibition consists of the juxtaposition of objects and drawings as well as text based works. Levitation (1993), a previous work commissioned by Matt’s Gallery, is an object which looks very familiar; however, its original use-value has been subverted. This work will be exhibited alongside Work in Progress, an on-going series of portraits which began in 2005 consisting of drawings and objects. The drawings expand into the space sculpturally extending the physical space of the viewer, where the relationship between the image and the object are questioned. Drawing as object comes into play. Images of the artist’s torso wearing t-shirts depicting various images; which includes water, landscapes and animals, are juxtaposed alongside various objects as well as text based works. Colour and form are mirrored and similarities between images and objects are formed, which are then questioned when the perception slips between the object and image. This layering of drawings and objects, objects and text creates different ways in which the works can be experienced, “which have become progressively confused: the symbolic, embedded in empirical, verifiable reality with its assumed status as truth, and the imaginary, caught up in desire and fantasy.”*
Kimberly Gaiger is an artist, writer and curator currently living and working in Newcastle upon Tyne |
15.9.12
Review: FUTURELAND NOW
15 September 2012 - 20 January 2013
by Emma Hornsby and Lucie Chevallier
The Futureland Now exhibition has just finished its run at the Laing Art Gallery. Featuring work by John Kippin and Chris Wainwright, it was a project in collaboration with Liz Wells and the gallery.
Linked to Futureland, which happened in 1989, through a similar economical and social background, it meant that in some way, viewers were missing some of the context if they hadn't seen the previous exhibition. It would have been interesting to compare both as Futureland Now is Futureland's future, whether it was predicted in the latter or not.
Most of the photographs seemed to show our attempt to make sense of the mechanical world that surrounds us and of the machines we create. We are not truly comfortable with it: in some images, it was clear that as a society, we look at the past just as much as we look to the future.
‘Channel 14’, the moving image installation piece by Chris Wainwright and David Bickerstaff uses darkness and light to depict a desolate and ghostly urban landscape. The sombre dawn light creeping through industrial structures reflects this, as if we are at the dawn of something not quite known. Or could it be dusk and the end of an era?
At some point, the camera shows us a ripped sticker on a footbridge's pillar, a trace left by a man on a trace left by mankind on earth, which is sometimes what all of the structures in the video appear to be: simple traces of our time, so ultimately evidence of our past. This is the paradox of this exhibition: the content of the images are things of the past just as much as they are a part of the future. Even the act of taking these photographs freezes scenes of the present to remain memories of the past.
The image of a tunnel appears a few times along the way and beyond the mesmerising shapes and lights, we found ourselves wondering what was at the end of it. While this is a cliché waiting to happen, the tunnel itself with its sleek appearance and unsettling emptiness does not provide an answer and allows you to become lost in the ballet of moving lights.
Lofty and ethereal sound accompanies this piece, making it captivating whilst emanating a certain sadness. There is also a rather unsettling stillness, with little to no movement from the camera and so each scene depicted can be looked upon in all it quite strangeness. What results is a greatly evocative and engaging visual experience that envisages a desolate future landscape.
Channel 14 was one of the strongest pieces of the exhibition. One could easily sit through the entire video and watch it start over as if time had stopped for a moment.
Another strong point of the exhibition was the numerous images of people holding red flashlight marshalling wands, similar to the ones used by marshals in airports.
Linked to Futureland, which happened in 1989, through a similar economical and social background, it meant that in some way, viewers were missing some of the context if they hadn't seen the previous exhibition. It would have been interesting to compare both as Futureland Now is Futureland's future, whether it was predicted in the latter or not.
Most of the photographs seemed to show our attempt to make sense of the mechanical world that surrounds us and of the machines we create. We are not truly comfortable with it: in some images, it was clear that as a society, we look at the past just as much as we look to the future.
‘Channel 14’, the moving image installation piece by Chris Wainwright and David Bickerstaff uses darkness and light to depict a desolate and ghostly urban landscape. The sombre dawn light creeping through industrial structures reflects this, as if we are at the dawn of something not quite known. Or could it be dusk and the end of an era?
At some point, the camera shows us a ripped sticker on a footbridge's pillar, a trace left by a man on a trace left by mankind on earth, which is sometimes what all of the structures in the video appear to be: simple traces of our time, so ultimately evidence of our past. This is the paradox of this exhibition: the content of the images are things of the past just as much as they are a part of the future. Even the act of taking these photographs freezes scenes of the present to remain memories of the past.
The image of a tunnel appears a few times along the way and beyond the mesmerising shapes and lights, we found ourselves wondering what was at the end of it. While this is a cliché waiting to happen, the tunnel itself with its sleek appearance and unsettling emptiness does not provide an answer and allows you to become lost in the ballet of moving lights.
Lofty and ethereal sound accompanies this piece, making it captivating whilst emanating a certain sadness. There is also a rather unsettling stillness, with little to no movement from the camera and so each scene depicted can be looked upon in all it quite strangeness. What results is a greatly evocative and engaging visual experience that envisages a desolate future landscape.
Channel 14 was one of the strongest pieces of the exhibition. One could easily sit through the entire video and watch it start over as if time had stopped for a moment.
Another strong point of the exhibition was the numerous images of people holding red flashlight marshalling wands, similar to the ones used by marshals in airports.
‘Error’ by Chris Wainwright is one of them; although it was only after viewing all of them that we understood they illustrated some kind of code. While ‘Error’ is most likely the sign meaning error, other series of photographs had each letter from the title matching one image of someone holding the glowing wands. For example, with each ‘a’ the sticks were positioned a certain way, and after several of these, the code started to emerge as we tried to make sense of the otherwise obscure goal of the photographs. I do not know whether the code is real; however I can understand the intent to create a potential language of the future, using red flashlights instead of sounds. This echoes an underlying feeling that the artists are showing us a future where humans are second to machines. There are none in ‘Channel 14’, and apart from faceless red silhouettes in one series throughout the whole exhibition, the only grasps of a human presence in ‘Futureland Now’ are substitutes, the lights of fishing boats and ferries, cars, bicycles; in their future, would language be replaced by a simpler code?
Whilst the exhibition is a strong and inspiring one, and the quality of both the photographs and prints, there is one series of photographs we felt were odd: John Kippin’s series of photographs where subtly embedded text could be noticed in the middle of the image.
For example, ‘Nostalgia for the Future’ is embedded in one of the photographs. This particularly significant text can be diversely interpreted; the ship is similar to progressive industrial monuments of our time, like wind-turbines: they too will eventually become monuments of the past for future generations to embed their own nostalgia. Why someone would choose to set the caravan up on the beach, facing the rusty carcass of a once glorious ship illustrates to perfection what the caption says. However, in most photographs, the text is distracting. It is forcing the viewer to read the image in a certain way.
Anyone can imagine what lies beneath the surface of the sea when looking at ‘Beneath’ without the need for the text to suggest it. There are also many other possibilities to interpret the image, yet Kippin is pushing for this one. The fact that ‘beneath’ is both the text within the photograph and the title makes it even more reductive. Not to forget the unavoidability of the text almost prevents us from noticing the small silhouette by the shore, which makes the seascape even more impressive.
In all the photographs from the series, the text feels redundant, because the quality of the image itself, the composition, colours and atmosphere would have suggested the words to the viewer anyway. This was the weakest point of an otherwise superb photography exhibition at the Laing.
Whilst the exhibition is a strong and inspiring one, and the quality of both the photographs and prints, there is one series of photographs we felt were odd: John Kippin’s series of photographs where subtly embedded text could be noticed in the middle of the image.
For example, ‘Nostalgia for the Future’ is embedded in one of the photographs. This particularly significant text can be diversely interpreted; the ship is similar to progressive industrial monuments of our time, like wind-turbines: they too will eventually become monuments of the past for future generations to embed their own nostalgia. Why someone would choose to set the caravan up on the beach, facing the rusty carcass of a once glorious ship illustrates to perfection what the caption says. However, in most photographs, the text is distracting. It is forcing the viewer to read the image in a certain way.
Anyone can imagine what lies beneath the surface of the sea when looking at ‘Beneath’ without the need for the text to suggest it. There are also many other possibilities to interpret the image, yet Kippin is pushing for this one. The fact that ‘beneath’ is both the text within the photograph and the title makes it even more reductive. Not to forget the unavoidability of the text almost prevents us from noticing the small silhouette by the shore, which makes the seascape even more impressive.
In all the photographs from the series, the text feels redundant, because the quality of the image itself, the composition, colours and atmosphere would have suggested the words to the viewer anyway. This was the weakest point of an otherwise superb photography exhibition at the Laing.
19.10.12
'Death Animations' : Symposium
baltic, gateshead
'How far is too far?'
discussion: Death Animations, Symposium
by Jill Wann and Lucie Chevallier
The Death Animations Symposium held at BALTIC Centre for Contemporary Art on the 16th of October 2012 was a very exciting and unusual experience. Not only did we witness, first hand, the importance of critical cutting-edge debate between the highly knowledgeable panel of guest speakers, but with such contentious issues being raised, related discussions have been reverberating within our postgraduate communities long after the event itself was over. This not only enhanced the profile of the Symposium itself, but also underlines the benefits of staging events such as this at Baltic and elsewhere.
This discussion, between Lucie Chevallier (Gallery Intern) and Jill Wann (currently studying MA Fine Art) concentrates on one of the most controversial talks of the symposium, covering some of the issues raised in the lecture given by Francis McKee (Here We Are, the Forever Dead), which challenged the audience and panel alike, before carrying a resonant impact beyond the symposium itself.
Francis McKee (Director of Centre for Contemporary Art and Research Fellow at The Glasgow School of Art) presented work by artists operating at extremes, in order to demonstrate the boundaries currently being challenged within the role of contemporary art. He more than fulfilled this remit, presenting a range of the most intensely challenging work currently in existence around the world. We have chosen to discuss three of his selected artists, whose work had the most impact, and featured most frequently during the debates that followed the presentation.
Enrique Metinides, a Mexican photographer whose oeuvre is to chase violent deaths: i.e. murders, plane or car crashes etc. in order to photograph the victims at such an angle, and in such a way as to highlight the unexpected nature of death).
This discussion, between Lucie Chevallier (Gallery Intern) and Jill Wann (currently studying MA Fine Art) concentrates on one of the most controversial talks of the symposium, covering some of the issues raised in the lecture given by Francis McKee (Here We Are, the Forever Dead), which challenged the audience and panel alike, before carrying a resonant impact beyond the symposium itself.
Francis McKee (Director of Centre for Contemporary Art and Research Fellow at The Glasgow School of Art) presented work by artists operating at extremes, in order to demonstrate the boundaries currently being challenged within the role of contemporary art. He more than fulfilled this remit, presenting a range of the most intensely challenging work currently in existence around the world. We have chosen to discuss three of his selected artists, whose work had the most impact, and featured most frequently during the debates that followed the presentation.
Enrique Metinides, a Mexican photographer whose oeuvre is to chase violent deaths: i.e. murders, plane or car crashes etc. in order to photograph the victims at such an angle, and in such a way as to highlight the unexpected nature of death).
Image from http://oracionessucias.tumblr.com/image/29885827570
Jill: For me, the hardest of Metinides’ photographs to come to terms with was his 1979 photograph of the beautiful Adela Legeratta Rivas having been hit by a car on Avenida Chapultepec. I think Metinides carefully composed the shot at this angle to highlight the details he wanted us to observe: the strong diagonal of the post leads the eye towards the somewhat elegantly placed, immaculately manicured hand and on towards the tumbling, freshly coiffured hair and the beautifully made-up face… And then you notice the eyes. The beautiful - but stationary - lifeless eyes. And the blood … trickling from the corner of the mouth. Next, with a surge of panic, your eye flicks around the rest of the image, taking in the body, frozen at hideously odd angles, allowing a gradual comprehension of the violence to dawn. Suddenly, the sheer horror of the situation reveals itself as a sledgehammer to the senses. Here is death, portrayed as an unwanted, unexpected and unnecessary interruption. Metinides’ choice of colour imaging emphasises not only the sense of realism, but also the terrible ordinariness of the situation. I find it particularly disturbing.
Lucie: It doesn’t affect me that much. Why do you find it so disturbing?
Jill: Examining my reaction, I think my initial consideration of the photograph focused on the aesthetics (colour, composition, light etc.). Being faced with the point of death was delayed by some seconds. Whilst I internalised this interpretation, I think I subconsciously made links with my understanding and experience of death – projecting ideas of both the unexpected ‘end of being’ scenarios (for self) alongside empathy for the inevitable human trauma that would ensue for those left behind by the victim. Don’t you find yourself doing that?
Lucie: Not really: in my mind, the woman is already dead, and as tragic as it is, there is nothing you can do about it. It doesn’t affect me as much as it seems to do you because what I associate with this photograph are other images of death and corpses I frequently see in the media.
Jill: So perhaps you have been desensitised by an oversaturation of violent media imagery throughout your childhood? Certainly, there has been an increasing propensity over the years to expose the graphic details of the moment of death in the media. But we have both witnessed this - so why has it affected us differently? Perhaps you have become desensitised by your exposure having taken place during the formative periods of your life? So to you, this is just one more example of death…?
Lucie: For me this one is no different from any other, except that Metinides captures the scene from such an angle and such a short distance that it pulls you in, making you feel suddenly quite close to the woman, as if you were there.
Jill: Yes, you become an eyewitness - a part of the accident rather than viewing it from afar. You get the feeling that it affects you personally, and I think that’s what makes me link it to my own experience. The older we are, the more likely we are to have experienced the trauma of the moment of death first hand. Viewing such material can therefore evoke disturbing memories of this trauma, which deepens the sensory impact of the content of these photographs.
Lucie: That’s what makes the difference, then: I might view it differently if I had personal experience of coping with the death of someone close to me. Ultimately, for me, I feel that the pathos in this photograph relates to the unexpectedness of death, which I accept as a part of life itself. Whereas if you take the series of photographs Metinides took of people trying to rescue a man attempting suicide from the top of a stadium, I, like you, am initially drawn to its aesthetics qualities. Similarly to the importance of his use of colour in the image you mention, the decision to photograph these scenes in black and white create this stark visual impact. The composition creates, through the intersection of the girders, a direct path to the man’s frail silhouette that then takes you back to the edges of the image where you notice the rescuers. The story is then clear and the image becomes disturbing.
Jill: I agree, but why is it more disturbing to you than the previous photograph?
Lucie: Firstly, the outcome is undecided: is he going to jump before the others can catch him? This tension frozen in time creates an unsettling feeling. More importantly, he is seeking this interruption of life we mentioned earlier, unlike the woman. I can understand the distress of this man but not his decision that results from it, as I think of life as the ultimate reason to exist.
Jill: Do you mean in a religious sense?
Lucie: No, not exactly. These issues used to be mentioned mostly within the realm of religion, however nowadays they are discussed more widely in western societies where religious beliefs and practice have declined, which shows that as humans, as mortals, we are still considering concepts of life, its values and meaning.
Lucie: It doesn’t affect me that much. Why do you find it so disturbing?
Jill: Examining my reaction, I think my initial consideration of the photograph focused on the aesthetics (colour, composition, light etc.). Being faced with the point of death was delayed by some seconds. Whilst I internalised this interpretation, I think I subconsciously made links with my understanding and experience of death – projecting ideas of both the unexpected ‘end of being’ scenarios (for self) alongside empathy for the inevitable human trauma that would ensue for those left behind by the victim. Don’t you find yourself doing that?
Lucie: Not really: in my mind, the woman is already dead, and as tragic as it is, there is nothing you can do about it. It doesn’t affect me as much as it seems to do you because what I associate with this photograph are other images of death and corpses I frequently see in the media.
Jill: So perhaps you have been desensitised by an oversaturation of violent media imagery throughout your childhood? Certainly, there has been an increasing propensity over the years to expose the graphic details of the moment of death in the media. But we have both witnessed this - so why has it affected us differently? Perhaps you have become desensitised by your exposure having taken place during the formative periods of your life? So to you, this is just one more example of death…?
Lucie: For me this one is no different from any other, except that Metinides captures the scene from such an angle and such a short distance that it pulls you in, making you feel suddenly quite close to the woman, as if you were there.
Jill: Yes, you become an eyewitness - a part of the accident rather than viewing it from afar. You get the feeling that it affects you personally, and I think that’s what makes me link it to my own experience. The older we are, the more likely we are to have experienced the trauma of the moment of death first hand. Viewing such material can therefore evoke disturbing memories of this trauma, which deepens the sensory impact of the content of these photographs.
Lucie: That’s what makes the difference, then: I might view it differently if I had personal experience of coping with the death of someone close to me. Ultimately, for me, I feel that the pathos in this photograph relates to the unexpectedness of death, which I accept as a part of life itself. Whereas if you take the series of photographs Metinides took of people trying to rescue a man attempting suicide from the top of a stadium, I, like you, am initially drawn to its aesthetics qualities. Similarly to the importance of his use of colour in the image you mention, the decision to photograph these scenes in black and white create this stark visual impact. The composition creates, through the intersection of the girders, a direct path to the man’s frail silhouette that then takes you back to the edges of the image where you notice the rescuers. The story is then clear and the image becomes disturbing.
Jill: I agree, but why is it more disturbing to you than the previous photograph?
Lucie: Firstly, the outcome is undecided: is he going to jump before the others can catch him? This tension frozen in time creates an unsettling feeling. More importantly, he is seeking this interruption of life we mentioned earlier, unlike the woman. I can understand the distress of this man but not his decision that results from it, as I think of life as the ultimate reason to exist.
Jill: Do you mean in a religious sense?
Lucie: No, not exactly. These issues used to be mentioned mostly within the realm of religion, however nowadays they are discussed more widely in western societies where religious beliefs and practice have declined, which shows that as humans, as mortals, we are still considering concepts of life, its values and meaning.
Image from http://lejournaldelaphotographie.com/entries/6010/enrique-metinides-series
Jill: I think this is an example of artists creating a platform to discuss such ideas, which used to be examined mainly within the realms of religion. These issues do affect everyone, as we all have to face our own mortality… but is it OK to ‘use’ the tragedies of others to reach this end? I find the ethical considerations behind Metinides’ work disturbing: that he felt it necessary (or actually, even OK) to display the most personal and undignified moments of these unfortunate human beings to the world and that in doing so, he violated them for a second time: not only had they already suffered the most brutal of endings, but he then shamelessly brandished their horrific termination to the public in the full knowledge that the subjects were incapable of withdrawing their permissions.
Lucie: We have to take into account the fact that this was his job, that he was photographing these people for crime newspapers. Perhaps the problem lies elsewhere, back to the idea that media can shape your experience of death. This is why Metinides' approach is more journalistic than artistic, and his work is not unlike war photographers; although I believe that death is such a major part of our lives that it can't be overlooked by art, and that we have to confront the fact that it can sometimes be brutal, unfair or ironic.
Jill: Yes, I think this is where it differs … looking at Metinides’ work from the artistic point of view, rather than that of a documentary newspaper photographer: often such work can be viewed as merely chasing sensationalism, but I think looking at these particular works from the perspective of contemporary art, one can read meanings beyond the pure narrative of these individual stories to a new, universal level.
Lucie: Looking back at our discussion it seems that when viewing photographs, we are influenced by different factors. First, our own mental visual “library” of the many images we remember seeing in the past; then our personal life experiences, like the one that seems to affect your viewing of Metinides’ photograph of Adela Legeratta Rivas; finally the values we consider to be relevant, whether they be society’s or an individual’s. Perhaps all of these combined, since they appear inseparable from our reading of the image, making it wholly subjective, we should try to keep them at bay when doing so. Or do we admit that there is no such thing as an objective way of seeing?
The second (and most controversial) audio piece Blind Date (1980) by John Duncan (from ideas concerning the ultimate self-punishment related to Duncan’s Calvinist upbringing) is an audio recording of his act of necrophilia with a female corpse in Mexico, which was to be played alongside photographs of Duncan subsequently undergoing a vasectomy. However, McKee claimed that the commissioning gallery (once appraised of its content) refused to show the artwork and that, as a result of standing by his piece, Duncan was ostracised, subsequently moving to Japan with his artistic reputation in tatters (however further research has shown that he has since returned to the West and is currently living and working in Bologna).
The Symposium audience was, in general, shocked at McKee's decision to play the audio piece (although, in fact, he played only the first few minutes which, to the audience’s relief, didn't appear to present the sounds one might have imagined). A few left when McKee announced his intent, and a multiplicity of heated discussions ensued both during and after the short break that followed. The official debate was led by the final speaker Simon Woods (of Newcastle University), who felt unable to give his presentation (The Art of Death: Ethics, Governance and Censorship) until this consternation had been addressed and McKee found himself under quite an attack from Woods, Dr. Richardson and some members of the audience (in particular the non art-based minority) who expressed genuine shock and some displeasure at his decision to subject them to the most ethically challenging of the artworks, claiming that that it would have been enough simply to be told about its existence. However McKee (supported by others) held his ground, hotly defending his decision to do so, claiming that one could not, reasonably, pass judgement until one had witnessed it. McKee insisted that it was reasonable to have assumed that we would be faced with some challenges given the nature of the symposium to which we had all signed up.
Lucie: I was getting extremely uncomfortable when McKee was mentioning what the piece was about. I braced myself to what I was about to listen to, and in my opinion, that anticipation was much worse than the actual listening of the audio piece. It felt like a performance was being played out, that our reaction as an audience was an integral part of the piece; maybe because Blind Date is nothing more than unidentifiable noise.
Jill: I think the shock of the piece comes not from what is, or is not, heard from the tape, but from one’s own speculative imagination via the suggestion of its subject. It is clear to see that this utterly appalling, contemptible act at first induces such revulsion that it’s difficult for many to get past this in order to assess its potential as an artwork. A knee-jerk reaction assumes that it is the unethical act of an amoral, possibly insane individual who perhaps requires psychological help.
Lucie: Indeed, many people expect art to remain moral, or at least to avoid certain taboos. Such an act is considered immoral in society, so to create a piece about it only highlights its immorality.
Jill: I find it interesting that after the last discussion, the medical humanities and general public contingent of the audience could not accept the concept that this could, in any way, be considered as art but rather, that it represented the act of a depraved individual. One might think that the general public is desensitised to death as suggested previously, with medical students especially so, after earlier speaker Alan Bleakley pointed out the desensitisation of taught dissection methods, and that they might thus be more ‘immune’ from the shock factor. That they weren’t, makes me think that the revulsion for this act comes purely from the ethical boundaries involved: i.e., regardless of any religious belief in a spiritual soul, there remains an over-riding reverence for deceased human flesh.
Lucie: I fully agree, and therefore I believe complete desensitisation does not truly exist. In my opinion, Duncan was only partly desensitised when he carried out this action, as confirmed by his very planning of it. He may not have been, but it is the only way I can come to terms with his conscious decision to create Blind Date.
Jill: To see the potential of Duncan's work in being an artwork therefore depends on an understanding of the role of art in our society. We must first understand that it is, as it always has been, the artist’s remit to push boundaries beyond the known. Here, Duncan can be seen to have done exactly that. He not only pushed society’s boundary; he completely transgressed it - to the point that it was viewed as completely unacceptable.
Lucie: Yes, although I do wonder whether, judging from the audience's reaction, such a transgression was necessary.
Jill: Yet on this level, it could perhaps be read as a moral piece, since his transgression not only reveals the fact that the boundary exists, but also highlights exactly where it is. Rather than removing a barrier, it could therefore be seen as upholding one. In fact, Duncan claims
the work resulted in his own empirical learning: “my perception of all existence, including my own, has permanently and fundamentally changed” and that all subsequent forms of his work have been created in order to raise questions.
Lucie: So have all of society's boundaries been defined by people pushing them, or are we able to determine what is too far without having to go there?
Jill: I think fixed boundaries in themselves do not exist: as a society, we have to set them. Since the challenges we face in western society are continually evolving, with new possibilities constantly presenting themselves, we live in a process of continuous adaptation. We have to consider alternatives. I think the difference in reaction to Duncan’s work between those of the artistic community and other individuals or groups at the Symposium perhaps highlights the gulf between the interpretive communities of the academic art world, and those of other academic institutions or the general public.
Theresa Margolles, ‘What else could we talk about?’ from the Mexican Pavilion, 53rd Venice Biennale, 2009. An installation/performance piece where visitors could wander through Palazzo Rota-Ivancich, during the exhibition the floors and walls were washed daily by the relatives of people who had been murdered there, in relation to the drug trade in Mexico, with a mixture of water (used to wash the corpses) and blood (collected by hydrating fabrics that had been used to clean the execution scenes) of these victims. A blood-stained flag flew outside the Palazzo, whilst the rags themselves were hung on the lower floor.
Lucie: We have to take into account the fact that this was his job, that he was photographing these people for crime newspapers. Perhaps the problem lies elsewhere, back to the idea that media can shape your experience of death. This is why Metinides' approach is more journalistic than artistic, and his work is not unlike war photographers; although I believe that death is such a major part of our lives that it can't be overlooked by art, and that we have to confront the fact that it can sometimes be brutal, unfair or ironic.
Jill: Yes, I think this is where it differs … looking at Metinides’ work from the artistic point of view, rather than that of a documentary newspaper photographer: often such work can be viewed as merely chasing sensationalism, but I think looking at these particular works from the perspective of contemporary art, one can read meanings beyond the pure narrative of these individual stories to a new, universal level.
Lucie: Looking back at our discussion it seems that when viewing photographs, we are influenced by different factors. First, our own mental visual “library” of the many images we remember seeing in the past; then our personal life experiences, like the one that seems to affect your viewing of Metinides’ photograph of Adela Legeratta Rivas; finally the values we consider to be relevant, whether they be society’s or an individual’s. Perhaps all of these combined, since they appear inseparable from our reading of the image, making it wholly subjective, we should try to keep them at bay when doing so. Or do we admit that there is no such thing as an objective way of seeing?
The second (and most controversial) audio piece Blind Date (1980) by John Duncan (from ideas concerning the ultimate self-punishment related to Duncan’s Calvinist upbringing) is an audio recording of his act of necrophilia with a female corpse in Mexico, which was to be played alongside photographs of Duncan subsequently undergoing a vasectomy. However, McKee claimed that the commissioning gallery (once appraised of its content) refused to show the artwork and that, as a result of standing by his piece, Duncan was ostracised, subsequently moving to Japan with his artistic reputation in tatters (however further research has shown that he has since returned to the West and is currently living and working in Bologna).
The Symposium audience was, in general, shocked at McKee's decision to play the audio piece (although, in fact, he played only the first few minutes which, to the audience’s relief, didn't appear to present the sounds one might have imagined). A few left when McKee announced his intent, and a multiplicity of heated discussions ensued both during and after the short break that followed. The official debate was led by the final speaker Simon Woods (of Newcastle University), who felt unable to give his presentation (The Art of Death: Ethics, Governance and Censorship) until this consternation had been addressed and McKee found himself under quite an attack from Woods, Dr. Richardson and some members of the audience (in particular the non art-based minority) who expressed genuine shock and some displeasure at his decision to subject them to the most ethically challenging of the artworks, claiming that that it would have been enough simply to be told about its existence. However McKee (supported by others) held his ground, hotly defending his decision to do so, claiming that one could not, reasonably, pass judgement until one had witnessed it. McKee insisted that it was reasonable to have assumed that we would be faced with some challenges given the nature of the symposium to which we had all signed up.
Lucie: I was getting extremely uncomfortable when McKee was mentioning what the piece was about. I braced myself to what I was about to listen to, and in my opinion, that anticipation was much worse than the actual listening of the audio piece. It felt like a performance was being played out, that our reaction as an audience was an integral part of the piece; maybe because Blind Date is nothing more than unidentifiable noise.
Jill: I think the shock of the piece comes not from what is, or is not, heard from the tape, but from one’s own speculative imagination via the suggestion of its subject. It is clear to see that this utterly appalling, contemptible act at first induces such revulsion that it’s difficult for many to get past this in order to assess its potential as an artwork. A knee-jerk reaction assumes that it is the unethical act of an amoral, possibly insane individual who perhaps requires psychological help.
Lucie: Indeed, many people expect art to remain moral, or at least to avoid certain taboos. Such an act is considered immoral in society, so to create a piece about it only highlights its immorality.
Jill: I find it interesting that after the last discussion, the medical humanities and general public contingent of the audience could not accept the concept that this could, in any way, be considered as art but rather, that it represented the act of a depraved individual. One might think that the general public is desensitised to death as suggested previously, with medical students especially so, after earlier speaker Alan Bleakley pointed out the desensitisation of taught dissection methods, and that they might thus be more ‘immune’ from the shock factor. That they weren’t, makes me think that the revulsion for this act comes purely from the ethical boundaries involved: i.e., regardless of any religious belief in a spiritual soul, there remains an over-riding reverence for deceased human flesh.
Lucie: I fully agree, and therefore I believe complete desensitisation does not truly exist. In my opinion, Duncan was only partly desensitised when he carried out this action, as confirmed by his very planning of it. He may not have been, but it is the only way I can come to terms with his conscious decision to create Blind Date.
Jill: To see the potential of Duncan's work in being an artwork therefore depends on an understanding of the role of art in our society. We must first understand that it is, as it always has been, the artist’s remit to push boundaries beyond the known. Here, Duncan can be seen to have done exactly that. He not only pushed society’s boundary; he completely transgressed it - to the point that it was viewed as completely unacceptable.
Lucie: Yes, although I do wonder whether, judging from the audience's reaction, such a transgression was necessary.
Jill: Yet on this level, it could perhaps be read as a moral piece, since his transgression not only reveals the fact that the boundary exists, but also highlights exactly where it is. Rather than removing a barrier, it could therefore be seen as upholding one. In fact, Duncan claims
the work resulted in his own empirical learning: “my perception of all existence, including my own, has permanently and fundamentally changed” and that all subsequent forms of his work have been created in order to raise questions.
Lucie: So have all of society's boundaries been defined by people pushing them, or are we able to determine what is too far without having to go there?
Jill: I think fixed boundaries in themselves do not exist: as a society, we have to set them. Since the challenges we face in western society are continually evolving, with new possibilities constantly presenting themselves, we live in a process of continuous adaptation. We have to consider alternatives. I think the difference in reaction to Duncan’s work between those of the artistic community and other individuals or groups at the Symposium perhaps highlights the gulf between the interpretive communities of the academic art world, and those of other academic institutions or the general public.
Theresa Margolles, ‘What else could we talk about?’ from the Mexican Pavilion, 53rd Venice Biennale, 2009. An installation/performance piece where visitors could wander through Palazzo Rota-Ivancich, during the exhibition the floors and walls were washed daily by the relatives of people who had been murdered there, in relation to the drug trade in Mexico, with a mixture of water (used to wash the corpses) and blood (collected by hydrating fabrics that had been used to clean the execution scenes) of these victims. A blood-stained flag flew outside the Palazzo, whilst the rags themselves were hung on the lower floor.
Image from http://art4collectors.wordpress.com/2010/01/04/teresa-margolles-une-artiste-engagee/
Lucie: I am particularly fascinated by this piece: again, uninformed of the context, the audience can miss the point of the piece. The fact that Margolles avoids using the striking visual impact of blood and prefers a more subtle -yet as equally unnerving- mixture emphasises how the human side of these deaths was ignored by the mistreating of the corpses. You can be unaware of it, but in these rooms, death is all around you. I find the contrast between the splendour of the space and the gruesome act these people are performing interesting.
Jill: I agree that this is a very effective piece that would make most viewers shudder, once aware of the content and context. I think the work is enhanced by its situation: the dilapidation of this once treasured building implies contemporary neglect of a valuable asset, which seems to echo the public’s apparent disregard of these victims, whose lives, one could argue, should also still be precious. The viewer could walk through, oblivious and unseeing, which would reflect the whole basis of the work. The fact that the piece is, for the most part, ‘hidden’ (i.e. there to be discovered by the viewer) demonstrates that sometimes, deliberate concealment can be more potent in focusing attention than more obvious, open exposure.
Lucie: When talking about Metinides and Duncan's approach we mentioned how they strip the dead of their dignity, so is Margolles doing the same?
Jill: I think this is slightly different … here we see neither the sensationalist visual of an easily identified subject (seen in Metinides’ work) nor the artist’s own transgression (as with Duncan). On the contrary, Margolles avoids individual identification and uses the residue of others’ violations, to allow us to ‘see’ the violence and neglect implied by her evidence. For her, it appears to be about highlighting the violations surrounding these deaths rather than her compounding the issue, or capitalising on the deaths themselves in some way. To me, she preserves her subjects’ dignity through non-identification of the individual; moreover, her work may be seen as a protest to (posthumously) reinstate some of the dignity that these victims lost at the hands of the perpetrators by focusing the viewers’ attention on their plight: they have now, in some way, not gone unnoticed.
Lucie: So she uses the victims to protest against their killers and the idea that the Mexican society is unable to prevent these murders from happening… Still, within the performance piece, I fail to see the idea that the victims’ dignity is being restored, even if their anonymity is preserved. However, I understand Margolles’ intention to condemn their murderers through ‘What else could we talk about?’ and she is successful in doing so! Since her message is obviously political, is it then more acceptable to create art using death when the result is a political piece?
Jill: I feel quite ambivalent here. Perhaps it depends on the intent? Artworks such as this piece by Margolles can sometimes be more effective than documentary presentations in concentrating public attention on certain issues. If this leads to some kind of social reform or improvement, then many might argue that it ought to be morally acceptable, since it becomes a force battling for the common good. So is it the virtuous intent that appears to validate this work’s acceptability? Perhaps. So where does that leave Metinides’ and Duncan’s work, both of which we suggested might appear more contentious? Let’s look at their intent … Metinides’ photographs (since they intentionally carry strong narratives) emphasise the violence of urban life in Mexico City, so doesn’t he also intend to open viewers’ eyes and bring about change for the better? Maybe, but his presentation of identifiable individuals shifts the weight towards his use of them, rather than focusing on the universality of the problem.
Lucie: This is where I disagree: some of Metinides’ photographs show the brutality of death but not always caused by man.
Jill: Perhaps not directly, but they usually involve some element of the ‘artificial’ environment, or situations shaped by man….
Lucie: Some are unfortunate accidents but the inhabitants of Mexico City are well used to all these casualties documented by the photographer, given their frequency. In my opinion, his work brings some pathos and emotion to scenes they are unmoved to and probably overlook in real life.
Jill: Yes, I think Metinides highlights the need for empathy that frequently becomes lost in the blank acceptance of such events as the routine occupational hazards of human existence in the modern world, since he makes it clear that each victim is an individual. Duncan wanted “to show what can happen to men that are trained to ignore their emotions"
(i.e. he intended to reveal the dangers of an existing human angst to save others from ever having to follow his lead). Yet, despite his ‘good’ intentions, his transgression was so repugnant that many still find the work unacceptable. So I think it is neither political nor altruistic intent that validates the acceptability. The pivotal point, to me, seems to be the extent to which the artist appears to ‘use’ the death of the subject: i.e. where there is reverence and dignity for the deceased, the level of acceptance is likely to be higher and, conversely, where there is indifference or disrespect, it is more likely to engender feelings of unacceptability. In addition, the repulsive nature of such work might be more likely to focus viewers’ attention on the repulsiveness itself, rather than any issue behind it.
Lucie: Therefore, unlike its use by the media and sometimes the politicians, artists are expected to maintain a certain level of respect when dealing with death and the deceased. It seems to give the artist the role of a moral figure, in charge of showing us society’s boundaries as well as our own.
Jill: Perhaps the public does expect an element of moral guardianship in this area, but this is incompatible with what I believe to be an artist’s true remit in any field. That is, to examine, question and challenge the experience of existence and what it is to be human, to notice and reflect upon his own and others’ interactions with the world and each other, to investigate and test current parameters, inevitably in perpetual flux; and finally, to release his work based on these avenues of enquiry out into the world - where it will be judged by all - in order to elicit some response, positive or negative, which may further our understanding of the human condition. So rather than the artist taking the moral lead, his role actually seems to be in prompting society to reconsider and affirm their own parameters: thus, ultimately, any moral and ethical governance exists via public consensus.
All of these artists, highlighted the ethical minefield associated with combining art and death. They use it not simply to provoke the audience, but as a means to raise issues, whether existential, political, moral or sociological. Since death remains, or has become, such a taboo within our present society, exploiting the discomfort it unleashes, offers artists a powerful route for evoking deep and resonant reactions amongst their viewers. All because we would rather not face the antithesis of life: the absolute certainty of death.
Duncan, J. quoted in Peralta, S (2011) John Duncan Available at: http://neoaztlan.com/issue-three/art/john-duncan/ (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
Duncan, J (1997) Essays on Blind Date Available at: http://www.johnduncan.org/blind_date.html (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
Duncan, quoted in Stiles (1998) Uncorrupted Joy: Forty Years of International Art Actions, Commissures of Relation. Available at: http://www.johnduncan.org/bd-essays.html (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
Jill: I agree that this is a very effective piece that would make most viewers shudder, once aware of the content and context. I think the work is enhanced by its situation: the dilapidation of this once treasured building implies contemporary neglect of a valuable asset, which seems to echo the public’s apparent disregard of these victims, whose lives, one could argue, should also still be precious. The viewer could walk through, oblivious and unseeing, which would reflect the whole basis of the work. The fact that the piece is, for the most part, ‘hidden’ (i.e. there to be discovered by the viewer) demonstrates that sometimes, deliberate concealment can be more potent in focusing attention than more obvious, open exposure.
Lucie: When talking about Metinides and Duncan's approach we mentioned how they strip the dead of their dignity, so is Margolles doing the same?
Jill: I think this is slightly different … here we see neither the sensationalist visual of an easily identified subject (seen in Metinides’ work) nor the artist’s own transgression (as with Duncan). On the contrary, Margolles avoids individual identification and uses the residue of others’ violations, to allow us to ‘see’ the violence and neglect implied by her evidence. For her, it appears to be about highlighting the violations surrounding these deaths rather than her compounding the issue, or capitalising on the deaths themselves in some way. To me, she preserves her subjects’ dignity through non-identification of the individual; moreover, her work may be seen as a protest to (posthumously) reinstate some of the dignity that these victims lost at the hands of the perpetrators by focusing the viewers’ attention on their plight: they have now, in some way, not gone unnoticed.
Lucie: So she uses the victims to protest against their killers and the idea that the Mexican society is unable to prevent these murders from happening… Still, within the performance piece, I fail to see the idea that the victims’ dignity is being restored, even if their anonymity is preserved. However, I understand Margolles’ intention to condemn their murderers through ‘What else could we talk about?’ and she is successful in doing so! Since her message is obviously political, is it then more acceptable to create art using death when the result is a political piece?
Jill: I feel quite ambivalent here. Perhaps it depends on the intent? Artworks such as this piece by Margolles can sometimes be more effective than documentary presentations in concentrating public attention on certain issues. If this leads to some kind of social reform or improvement, then many might argue that it ought to be morally acceptable, since it becomes a force battling for the common good. So is it the virtuous intent that appears to validate this work’s acceptability? Perhaps. So where does that leave Metinides’ and Duncan’s work, both of which we suggested might appear more contentious? Let’s look at their intent … Metinides’ photographs (since they intentionally carry strong narratives) emphasise the violence of urban life in Mexico City, so doesn’t he also intend to open viewers’ eyes and bring about change for the better? Maybe, but his presentation of identifiable individuals shifts the weight towards his use of them, rather than focusing on the universality of the problem.
Lucie: This is where I disagree: some of Metinides’ photographs show the brutality of death but not always caused by man.
Jill: Perhaps not directly, but they usually involve some element of the ‘artificial’ environment, or situations shaped by man….
Lucie: Some are unfortunate accidents but the inhabitants of Mexico City are well used to all these casualties documented by the photographer, given their frequency. In my opinion, his work brings some pathos and emotion to scenes they are unmoved to and probably overlook in real life.
Jill: Yes, I think Metinides highlights the need for empathy that frequently becomes lost in the blank acceptance of such events as the routine occupational hazards of human existence in the modern world, since he makes it clear that each victim is an individual. Duncan wanted “to show what can happen to men that are trained to ignore their emotions"
(i.e. he intended to reveal the dangers of an existing human angst to save others from ever having to follow his lead). Yet, despite his ‘good’ intentions, his transgression was so repugnant that many still find the work unacceptable. So I think it is neither political nor altruistic intent that validates the acceptability. The pivotal point, to me, seems to be the extent to which the artist appears to ‘use’ the death of the subject: i.e. where there is reverence and dignity for the deceased, the level of acceptance is likely to be higher and, conversely, where there is indifference or disrespect, it is more likely to engender feelings of unacceptability. In addition, the repulsive nature of such work might be more likely to focus viewers’ attention on the repulsiveness itself, rather than any issue behind it.
Lucie: Therefore, unlike its use by the media and sometimes the politicians, artists are expected to maintain a certain level of respect when dealing with death and the deceased. It seems to give the artist the role of a moral figure, in charge of showing us society’s boundaries as well as our own.
Jill: Perhaps the public does expect an element of moral guardianship in this area, but this is incompatible with what I believe to be an artist’s true remit in any field. That is, to examine, question and challenge the experience of existence and what it is to be human, to notice and reflect upon his own and others’ interactions with the world and each other, to investigate and test current parameters, inevitably in perpetual flux; and finally, to release his work based on these avenues of enquiry out into the world - where it will be judged by all - in order to elicit some response, positive or negative, which may further our understanding of the human condition. So rather than the artist taking the moral lead, his role actually seems to be in prompting society to reconsider and affirm their own parameters: thus, ultimately, any moral and ethical governance exists via public consensus.
All of these artists, highlighted the ethical minefield associated with combining art and death. They use it not simply to provoke the audience, but as a means to raise issues, whether existential, political, moral or sociological. Since death remains, or has become, such a taboo within our present society, exploiting the discomfort it unleashes, offers artists a powerful route for evoking deep and resonant reactions amongst their viewers. All because we would rather not face the antithesis of life: the absolute certainty of death.
Duncan, J. quoted in Peralta, S (2011) John Duncan Available at: http://neoaztlan.com/issue-three/art/john-duncan/ (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
Duncan, J (1997) Essays on Blind Date Available at: http://www.johnduncan.org/blind_date.html (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
Duncan, quoted in Stiles (1998) Uncorrupted Joy: Forty Years of International Art Actions, Commissures of Relation. Available at: http://www.johnduncan.org/bd-essays.html (Accessed 9th Dec 2012)
13.12.12-19.12.12
'Forgotten Spaces'
Review: 'after the Dust Has Settled'
Hoults yard, newcastle upon tyne
by kimberley gaiger
There is a well-established history of artists taking over unconventional, empty spaces for temporary exhibitions. For a short interlude, non-traditional, abandoned and unique spaces such as restaurants, retail stores and warehouses are brought back alive to be used for a different purpose. Especially in the economic recession with shops and businesses closing, landlords will often let artists have the vacant spaces for free or at a reduced cost to promote the space and attract an entirely unique audience. It allows for experimentation and keeps artists creating and being able to showcase their work. Each location allows visitors to encounter works of art in a number of diverse and often familiar settings and atmospheres. These small happenings are advantageous to artists in a society where councils are drastically cutting arts funding and it becoming increasingly difficult for to become noticed and accepted to display in a gallery.
On a cold afternoon in mid-December, I found myself walking up a cobbled road of an office complex at Hoults Yard, on the outskirts of Newcastle in search of an art exhibition. Surrounded by red bricked warehouses, trying to remember the location of the exhibition, the number 42 on the side of the building caught my eye. With just a small poster on the door, I assumed that was the location of the exhibition. Formerly an old pattern shop the building had been used for storage for years. For a brief period only, life would be brought back into the dormant building and the dust unsettled by the placement of exciting new contemporary art works.
Climbing up the stairs, there was no escape from the freezing temperatures. I hastily fumbled for my gloves. The air was just as cold inside as it was outside. The light was starting to fade and I was surrounded by an eerie quietness with just the creaking of the wooden steps under my boots. The stairs eventually lead to the exhibition After the Dust Settled. The show, which displayed works by visual art students and graduates, was almost a follow-up to the previous exhibition in the same space, One Thing After Another. Curated by Gallery North interns, the exhibition “aimed to use the bare, unrefined aspect of the building to complement and highlight certain pieces of work” (Lucie Chevallier, one of the curators of the exhibition).
The hard wood flooring and stained, white bricked walls was the backdrop for a mixture of attention grabbing and delicate paintings, photographs, sculptures and installations. Displayed in an environment other than those sterile, clean spaces with the intention of displaying works of art. After being confronted with the trashy, over saturated use of colour and glitter in We Pleased Ourselves Together by Lindsey-Dee Usher and Charlie Snow, your eyes naturally rested on the beautiful glass windows that looked out over Hoults Yard. A distraction? Maybe, but steeped with the past, the architecture was just as intriguing as the works of art. In many instances you were left wondering what constituted to the exhibition and what did not. “Using pared-down forms combined with common-placed materials”, Jo Hutton’s Dead Air almost went unnoticed. Delicate remains from the patterns of the grating lay on the floor, like they were part of the wood work and may have been carelessly swept away.
On a cold afternoon in mid-December, I found myself walking up a cobbled road of an office complex at Hoults Yard, on the outskirts of Newcastle in search of an art exhibition. Surrounded by red bricked warehouses, trying to remember the location of the exhibition, the number 42 on the side of the building caught my eye. With just a small poster on the door, I assumed that was the location of the exhibition. Formerly an old pattern shop the building had been used for storage for years. For a brief period only, life would be brought back into the dormant building and the dust unsettled by the placement of exciting new contemporary art works.
Climbing up the stairs, there was no escape from the freezing temperatures. I hastily fumbled for my gloves. The air was just as cold inside as it was outside. The light was starting to fade and I was surrounded by an eerie quietness with just the creaking of the wooden steps under my boots. The stairs eventually lead to the exhibition After the Dust Settled. The show, which displayed works by visual art students and graduates, was almost a follow-up to the previous exhibition in the same space, One Thing After Another. Curated by Gallery North interns, the exhibition “aimed to use the bare, unrefined aspect of the building to complement and highlight certain pieces of work” (Lucie Chevallier, one of the curators of the exhibition).
The hard wood flooring and stained, white bricked walls was the backdrop for a mixture of attention grabbing and delicate paintings, photographs, sculptures and installations. Displayed in an environment other than those sterile, clean spaces with the intention of displaying works of art. After being confronted with the trashy, over saturated use of colour and glitter in We Pleased Ourselves Together by Lindsey-Dee Usher and Charlie Snow, your eyes naturally rested on the beautiful glass windows that looked out over Hoults Yard. A distraction? Maybe, but steeped with the past, the architecture was just as intriguing as the works of art. In many instances you were left wondering what constituted to the exhibition and what did not. “Using pared-down forms combined with common-placed materials”, Jo Hutton’s Dead Air almost went unnoticed. Delicate remains from the patterns of the grating lay on the floor, like they were part of the wood work and may have been carelessly swept away.
Joanna Hutton, Dead Air. Image by Emma Hornsby.
With a change in direction I stepped into a passageway of a collection of tiny rooms, a Pandora’s Box waiting to be explored and each with a different character. In amongst the Danger No Smoking signs, brass piping and high beamed ceilings, hung 14, rue de l’Ecole by Lucie Chevallier. Through exploring hidden stories, rituals and feelings, the concept behind the quiet yet poignant photograph also reflects the forgotten stories and hidden history of the exhibition space. The last two rooms contained a site-specific work by Sarah Riseborough. Chairs entangled in clear plastic lining, suffocated the walls. Everyday objects spilled out into the corridor like the rooms had been turned upside and left mid-moment. What had previously gone on here? Had I interrupted something?
Upstairs, the attic offered a startling contrast to the breezy, open spaces of the previous encounter. More reminiscent of entering a cave than an art exhibition, the temperature further dropped and a pungent musky smell filled my nostrils. A wave of hesitation intruded my experience. Forced into the centre of the room, I was attracted to a strange, undistinguishable form in the darkness. Strung to the ceiling, Effigy by James Watts, resembled a heart, wired to the space, unable to move.
Closer inspection revealed a bulbous hessian entity, dripping an equally mesmerising yet dark substance from its base. Journeying back down to the lower level, reality resumed and I was reminded of the outside world again.
After the Dust Settled offers a small insight into artists clustering together in an example of a forgotten space. Through using their initiatives and showcasing just a glimpse of their practice, this reveals the potentials of an unconventional art environment.
Although an exciting exhibition of works by early career artists, I could not help but think apart from a close tight-knit artist community, who else would know about After the Dust Settled and other exhibitions located in unused spaces? Are these hard-to-reach spaces exclusive to the artistic community? Independently run, often with a limited budget, it can be difficult for less established artists to gain recognition.
In another part of town, Drawers, an exhibition at Park View shopping centre in Whitley Bay showcased a number of conceptual works by graduates. Hidden in an empty shop, Drawers was stumbled upon by the general public who are often unfamiliar with contemporary art. Individuals did not necessarily understand the works on show but it allowed for the opportunity to interact with art in a familiar situation. Unlike the art gallery that remains for many an intimidating experience demanding a quiet perception of the works and their awe inspiring spaces.
Upstairs, the attic offered a startling contrast to the breezy, open spaces of the previous encounter. More reminiscent of entering a cave than an art exhibition, the temperature further dropped and a pungent musky smell filled my nostrils. A wave of hesitation intruded my experience. Forced into the centre of the room, I was attracted to a strange, undistinguishable form in the darkness. Strung to the ceiling, Effigy by James Watts, resembled a heart, wired to the space, unable to move.
Closer inspection revealed a bulbous hessian entity, dripping an equally mesmerising yet dark substance from its base. Journeying back down to the lower level, reality resumed and I was reminded of the outside world again.
After the Dust Settled offers a small insight into artists clustering together in an example of a forgotten space. Through using their initiatives and showcasing just a glimpse of their practice, this reveals the potentials of an unconventional art environment.
Although an exciting exhibition of works by early career artists, I could not help but think apart from a close tight-knit artist community, who else would know about After the Dust Settled and other exhibitions located in unused spaces? Are these hard-to-reach spaces exclusive to the artistic community? Independently run, often with a limited budget, it can be difficult for less established artists to gain recognition.
In another part of town, Drawers, an exhibition at Park View shopping centre in Whitley Bay showcased a number of conceptual works by graduates. Hidden in an empty shop, Drawers was stumbled upon by the general public who are often unfamiliar with contemporary art. Individuals did not necessarily understand the works on show but it allowed for the opportunity to interact with art in a familiar situation. Unlike the art gallery that remains for many an intimidating experience demanding a quiet perception of the works and their awe inspiring spaces.
The show was only open on certain days at particular times, of which a different dialogue between viewer and space was observed. The exhibition always welcomed passers-by to peer in through the murky glass windows from the shopping centre whilst on their way from their weekly Iceland shop.
An area that may appear dead gets the benefit of the life of creativity from exhibitions held in unconventional spaces. These ad-hoc shows are well-worth a look, but be warned, they can be unpredictable; there one minute and gone the next.
An area that may appear dead gets the benefit of the life of creativity from exhibitions held in unconventional spaces. These ad-hoc shows are well-worth a look, but be warned, they can be unpredictable; there one minute and gone the next.
After The Dust Settled was organised and curated by Lucie Chevallier, Emma Hornsby, Kirsty Jackman, Enfys Mabley, James Routledge and Sam Wall.
Drawers featured work by Tim Croft, Rachel Errington, Emma Fawcett, Dick-James Hall, Sarah Hilditch, Joanna Hutton, Mark Lyons, James Routledge, Charlie Snow and Lyndsey-Dee Usher, Michy Walker, James Watts and Jayson Woolmington. Going further: Platform-A, an art gallery set in Middlesbrough railway station. http://www.platformagallery.net/ |
Fledgling Arts Collective
By Christopher Barnes
What do people with mental health issues, addictions, eating disorders, Asperger’s and physical disabilities have in common? Some of us don’t experience the world with the same constraints that people in the mainstream seem to. The expression of individuation is the dynamo behind Fledgling Arts Collective (FAC), a group of creative artists based in London who meet, work together and show artworks in various physical art spaces. With a positivist attitude that artistic effort can engender change, they maintain a platform for ‘outsider’ art.
FAC has a Facebook page where the following three art pieces can be easily accessed. In contemporary art practice, cynicism, shock, or moments of crisis seem to dominate. FAC goes against this trend. Many of their films have a complex relationship with time. An animated film by Charlie Mounsey, presented by Unwelcome Human Guest plays with time sequences. At 58 seconds long, the shortness of the piece has the effect of condensing energy, and focusing into a tight powerful space. A bird drawn onto an easel in a yellow heart-shape is the central motif. The heart-shape is roughly delineated, as if it’s been pecked. A series of changing colours and background patterning, in a split box-scape, distinguishes imaginary terra firma from vertical space. Tin-foil like crinkled patterns mutate to resemble tweed, then woollens; they are very finely drawn. The intricacy of the detail makes the space temporarily seem bigger. A focal point behind the easel pulls revolving templates of blackbirds. Red circles float at a faster visual tempo, and yellow/orange shapes at a slower one. The film has a highly effective quirky, beating, electronic soundtrack which squeaks and trembles. The whole piece is sophisticated, integrated and buoyant.
A painting entitled Summer Rain, Cadley by Patricia G. McParlin, illustrates the emotion- affecting qualities of the best of FAC’s abstract artists. It has the explanation that it is based on an old farm door on the island. A central belt of detail cuts the background in two. Blue/grey stone-like shapes covered with browns applied in the Pointillist mode, suggest rain which leaks into the background plane. At the top it is muted grey, at the bottom colours of mud. Memory wants to associate this image with jewel stones and grit, each one thoroughly individual. Tension between movement and stability is even more effective because the central belt slopes. The background has a scratchy effect, only producible by the physical reality of paint.
FAC has a Facebook page where the following three art pieces can be easily accessed. In contemporary art practice, cynicism, shock, or moments of crisis seem to dominate. FAC goes against this trend. Many of their films have a complex relationship with time. An animated film by Charlie Mounsey, presented by Unwelcome Human Guest plays with time sequences. At 58 seconds long, the shortness of the piece has the effect of condensing energy, and focusing into a tight powerful space. A bird drawn onto an easel in a yellow heart-shape is the central motif. The heart-shape is roughly delineated, as if it’s been pecked. A series of changing colours and background patterning, in a split box-scape, distinguishes imaginary terra firma from vertical space. Tin-foil like crinkled patterns mutate to resemble tweed, then woollens; they are very finely drawn. The intricacy of the detail makes the space temporarily seem bigger. A focal point behind the easel pulls revolving templates of blackbirds. Red circles float at a faster visual tempo, and yellow/orange shapes at a slower one. The film has a highly effective quirky, beating, electronic soundtrack which squeaks and trembles. The whole piece is sophisticated, integrated and buoyant.
A painting entitled Summer Rain, Cadley by Patricia G. McParlin, illustrates the emotion- affecting qualities of the best of FAC’s abstract artists. It has the explanation that it is based on an old farm door on the island. A central belt of detail cuts the background in two. Blue/grey stone-like shapes covered with browns applied in the Pointillist mode, suggest rain which leaks into the background plane. At the top it is muted grey, at the bottom colours of mud. Memory wants to associate this image with jewel stones and grit, each one thoroughly individual. Tension between movement and stability is even more effective because the central belt slopes. The background has a scratchy effect, only producible by the physical reality of paint.
A photograph by India Maccabe entitled Madhatters tea party, has a central image seen through a hole either cut or burned into what looks like photographic paper. Around the edge, the hole has been coloured green and silver. This is suggestive of the camera’s eye searing through to find the image. The central focus is of a man hugging another man, at the corner of a wooden table with various alcoholic drinks cans and polystyrene cups. Trade names on the cans create an interesting tension between commercial reality and the otherworldly. There is a Bohemian feel to the photograph, emphasized by the way the men are dressed. One has dyed green hair, the other a black hat and large white sunglasses. In the right upper corner, we see that the party has other guests. In the foreground of the table, an acorn, perhaps accidental, reminds us of growth, nature and rebirth. What does the photograph say? I think it is about being our natural selves – having that right. Through the hole we can be seen, but we are who we are, therefore the photograph embodies all the elements of FAC’s positivism.
FAC are a creative powerhouse, branching into other media practices such as the written word, music composition and puppetry. The shared event of art production works as mentoring. An emphasis on emotional support is invaluable to the members, and the FAC encourage participant feedback, crucial to maintaining high standards. |
Madhatters tea party, India Maccabe, images courtesy of the artist
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