Venice Biennale 2013

Welcome to the second of a miniseries (although on saying that I think I’ve already gotten carried away writing) of posts on the Venice Biennale. This post looks at the experience of visiting the Biennale as a whole focusing on a few of my personal favourites and thoughts (pictured).

I’ve been to the Liverpool Biennial four times over the last eight years and can confidently say that when it comes to Liverpool I’m somewhat of a seasoned Biennial explorer. I love it! Armed with a map one hits the streets in search of artistic treasures ever searching in eager anticipation that the piece of art which is going to profoundly change or shape your life is around the next corner. The art, located in dozens of different galleries and locations showcases the best, 'the worst' and weirdest of contemporary national and international art. To me, the Venice Biennale is like the holy grail of biennials, the ‘mother of all art shows’ and such is its height on the metaphorical pedestal of admiration in my mind that the premise that one day I may actually go visit this hallowed place seemed almost mythical or some fantastical dream.

 On Tuesday 19^th of November that dream became reality.

 Thus ensued an almost biblical-like pilgrimage by coach, plane, boat and foot as we* plastic mac and welly-clad chartered our way through the flooded streets of Venice toward 'Il Palazzo Enciclopedico' translated as 'The Encyclopaedic Palace'...

Held across two permanent venues in Venice, the Giardini and Arsenale (as well as in dozens of temporary locations throughout the city) the Biennale features 88 participating countries each housed in their own pavilion/venue, hundreds upon hundreds of artists both professional and outsider, spanning all mediums, art forms, materials and scales making the Venice Biennale, now in its 55^th year, one of the biggest of its kind.

 The curator Massimiliano Gioni wanted this year's central pavilion to explore the ‘world of artists’ or particularly what it means to be an artist working in the world today. He says artists today are,  ‘Not satisfied by imagined realities but conceive global realities...moved by aspirations to an all-embracing knowledge and sensitivity’. The theme of the Encyclopaedic Palace was first created by American artist Marino Auriti who filed a design for, ‘an imaginary museum that was meant to house all the worldly knowledge, bringing together the greatest discoveries of the human race...’ It’s an appropriate theme for what did feel like a walk-in cabinet of curiosities, bursting with everything from the quietly considered and mystical, to the sublime, the loud and the ambitious. Each artist in this central exhibition explores individually their own or collective/global obsessions, imagination dreams and aspirations, aptly described in the catalogue as internal images ‘in an era besieged by external ones’. I particularly like that statement when wandering around noticing how many people are experiencing the art through their phones more than their eyes. And where does most of our history of human knowledge come from? Books of course, so what better way to open the encyclopaedic palace than with a book, in particular Carl Jung’s ‘Red Book’ an illustrated manuscript of self-induced visions and fantasies created by the psychologist. It sets the scene between the idea of internal images and self meditation as a way of acquiring knowledge (be that self knowledge or world knowledge) which each artist has created work that responds to that idea differently.

 Admittedly, I didn’t make as much effort to interpret this reading into any of the works I saw as I wondered round in a state of complete wonderment thinking, ‘that was the real Carl Jung’s ‘Red Book’, ‘I’m in Venice!’ and ‘My god this place is huge!’ Then again, maybe being in a state of rapt awe was exactly the right mindset to go investigate art works that have been curated around the inquisitive nature of knowledge and creativity...

How refreshing to be this excited about art!

Right from the start the Venice Biennale was not the gluttonous heap that I experienced at Frieze London. This was far more considered, less consumerist and more inclusive to a wider spectrum of both professional and outsider artists. It is a kind of showcase of the art world and human creative endeavour rather than trying to sell it to you or make it appear ‘cool/fashionable’. I was amused to find the layout of the Giardini, in its own park with over thirty individual permanent pavilions acted  like some sort of anthropological Disney Land for art,

‘See you later’ I’d say, ‘I’m off to Germany to go see the Ai Weiwei stools’.

Or, ‘Have you been to Spain yet? It’s full of piles of rubble.’

And, ‘Meanwhile in Russia it’s raining money!’

Of course it was a lot less kitsch (believe it or not) and corporate than Disney (not that I’ve ever been) but had a comparable layout by having many separate locations all in one area as well as a similarity to the wonderment that Disney has to children that art has to artists. There is definitely an air of spectacle in all of this and it is so difficult to retain a meaningful sense of focus on the situation and have a qualitative experience as to a quantitative one. I opted for the latter and indulged myself in a torrent of visual stimuli. This doesn’t mean I abandoned thinking altogether as for the art which really ‘struck a chord’, I’d hover around longer and revisited during the course of the day. A few of the many, many artworks that had that affect are presented below, but it would be near impossible to mention them all.

All of this and in the context of the mysterious and beauty soaked streets of Venice, it was sometimes hard during the day to tell the difference whether I was seeing art or whether I was in it!

Ai Weiwei 'Bang' 2013 ,886 wooden stools
The German Pavilion in the Venice Biennale features four artists from different countries (to reflect that contemporary artistic production relies on 'multi-layered forms of international production') one of whom is the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei. The problem with success is that the more well known you become as an artist, the more sometimes you're work/style of working can begin to become a bit of a cliché. Whilst, the ambition, use of repetition, local hand-made production and themes of 'the many supporting the many' (the work has the look as though remove one stool at the bottom and the whole thing may collapse) is becoming almost trademark Weiwei (think of the sunflower seeds in the Tate Modern) it is still exciting to see how that same idea can be re-presented in a different form. The political unrest that Weiwei contends with in his work is still present in 'the real world' so it makes sense that those themes still fuel the thinking in his art practice. Somewhere  in this suspended collage of wooden stools is a stool standing on its own, an act of defiance/liberation, the symbolism is easy to recognise but I think perhaps a lot more subjective to interpret. Unlike the sunflower seeds however, there is more tension in 'Bang' (as the title would suggest) as if to say that any moment all these stools (that you are invited to walk in around and under) may come toppling down on you. Visually, it reminds me of the collection-based art works of Arman (who would make large vitrines filled with collections of objects from typewriters, paint tubes, shaving brushes to cigarette butts), Cornelia Parker's exploded shed and Fischli and Weiss' balancing tables/objects. Again, whilst it sort of has an obviousness to it all, there is still something incredibly joyous at seeing it/being in it which makes it unforgettable.  

Jose Antonio Suarez Londono 'Franz Kafka Diarios II 1914-1923 (13 x 20cm each page)
On a personal note, one of the most exciting artists I found was in the 'Encyclopaedic Palace'. Quiet and understated in a horizontal glass case in the middle of the room lay hundreds of tiny drawings/paintings on paper, a different one for every day of the year. Regular Spanner in the Workz blog readers may remember that I am currently embarking on my own 'drawing a day' journal which is now a month from completion. It is almost impossible to photograph the whole of Suarez Londono's work because the 'whole' is lots of individual remarkable drawings that were arrestingly captivating. Things got even better when I read that the work was a drawing each day by the artist to a corresponding text, the work I was seeing in response to Kafka's diaries. 'Extra points I'm thinking for the use of Kafka and immediately go back to looking in the case for a drawing of a beetle or strangeness with a new dark, disturbing sense of wonder. I appreciate the photo above is hard to see, but I promise you, these drawings were exquisite (there was a drawing of a folded sheet of paper, how banal you say, but it was brilliantly drawn) and had all the makings of purpose and meaning that left me reflecting what I am currently lacking in my own drawings. [Note to self -think of ways to use text to create (not illustrate) images]
This is an excellent link to a book of his drawings: http://issuu.com/drawingcenter/docs/drawingpapers101_londono

Shinro Ohtake 'Scrapbook' 1980
Similar to the above, it figures that the things that excite me the most were bound (pun intended) to be book related. I had always thought my sketchbooks were huge as they are many but mine are mere pocket notepads compared to Ohtake's scrapbooks which fill an entire room and are completely bursting at the seams. They are a reflection of mass media and urban life and I particularly like the description of them referred to by the Biennale catalogue as being 'purposefully chaotic' which I also think is pretty synonymous of modern life generally. Presented in this way the books become like sculptures as well as a feverish documentation and collage of one person's interpretation of all the paper and 'stuff' we accumulate.

Laurie Simmons and Allan McCollum 'The Actual Photos' 1985 photographic prints (20 x 25cm each)
Take one small plastic model railway figure, one microscopic camera and what do you get? A series of disturbingly disfigured portraits that sheds an alternative light on the idealised world within the model railway. I can remember a photograph of a model railway figurine, an artist painting on his easel on a fabricated green mound beside an artificial river taken by my friend and local artist, Sue Palmer on a public art project we did in Taunton. It had a caption with it that commented on 'what will we see when we paint the river?' as a way of referring to the proposed redevelopments of Taunton's riverside. I admired the ironic humour to this little idealised railway world as a way of commenting or critiquing our own reality. This work has a similar affect.

Gianfranco Baruchello 'La Grande Biblioteca' 1976/86 Assemblage of six wooden boxes with glass mounted in metal frame (200 x 210 x 15cm)
Yet more 'bookish' related art now with Baruchello's miniature library installations of which the photo above is a small section of what was a much bigger whole. The books are artificial as are the shelves and have a sort-of amateur or 'low tech' feel to them as they are completely made from paper, sometimes rolled or folded. What is exciting about the work, for me, is the idea of 'the library' as a fort of collective human knowledge being condensed into a tiny replica that's part of the bigger whole that is the Encyclopaedic Palace. It has that macro/micro feel to it, knowledge within knowledge and the infinity of the bigger universe that we still have much to discover. Or in other words, the library becomes a metaphor for human knowledge, its limits, fragility and capabilities. Upon reading the faithful accompanying text, I learn he was friends with artist, Marcel Duchamp and writers, Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges (whom I'm reading at present and writes much on libraries and Babel) who influenced his work and planted the 'notion that art is a form of faith in the ability to transmute everyday objects and activities into something greater'. Amen!

Joao Maria Gusmao and Pedro Paiva 'Columbo's Column' 2006 film
Man attempts to stack eggs into a tower. What's not to love? Will he succeed? This is one of a series of mesmerising silent films by Portuguese artists Gusmao and Paiva on show in the Arsenale. It is ridiculous, amusing but also incredibly watchable. This particular film, takes the myth that Christopher Columbus proclaimed he had the ability to make an egg stand on its end and makes it reality, with the protagonist creating a column of stacked eggs on screen. I'm not so much interested in this one film as I am the collection of films that was exhibited by these artists as part of the Biennale, they all use traditional film (either 16mm or 35mm) and techniques such as slow motion or layering negatives on top of one another. I think you can tell the difference and the sound of the cinematic reel and slightly grainy quality of image and its speed have a distinct look that tells them apart from digital. In another film, an elephant's trunk reaches, slow motion, to pick up a peanut off the floor except it is moving so slowly it appears more like a giant hairy slug and it is not at all obvious as to what it is. The artists, who were heavily influenced by the Surrealists and writers such as Jorge Luis Borges, Victor Hugo and Rene Daumal (who wrote 'A Night of Serious Drinking' -I think I'll give it a read!) to create what they describe as "poetic philosophical fiction, suggesting that the world may not be simply more mysterious than it appears, but perhaps more inscrutable than we can even conceive."

Peter Fischli and David Weiss 'Suddenlt This Overview' 1981-2012 Unfired clay approx. 250 sculptures
More wit now from Fischli and Weiss in the form of, well, what it says above really, 250 unfired clay sculptures which depict events, phrases and objects in clay form. Cassius Clay after a fight in the hands of Fischli and Weiss becomes a mashed up lump of clay, the concept of theory and practice (pictured above) becomes more malleable, Brunelleschi invents perspective, a mouse emerges from out a clay mouse hole titled 'The Subtenant'. This is silliness taken very seriously and is quite literally a room of one liners.



Guillermo Srodek-Hart
Located in the Latin America Pavilion in the Arsenale is the work of Argentinian photographer, Strodek-Hart. The connection as to why I'm interested in his work should be pretty obvious least of all because this was virtually the only art work that contained any tools (the USA's Sarah Sze had a few but nothing to get too excited about). The images are always devoid of people so the work becomes about the stuff we leave behind, the places we live/work/make and the stories those places hold and 'makes us who we are'. This idea that objects leaving traces of human presence is something of a regular theme with tools, in particular hand tools or tools with a history and nostalgia to them. I'm glad to see that it is still topical! These images are great, but don't leave much to the imagination; I'm looking at them hoping that they are actually an animation and not just a photo and that at any moment the tools may spring to life and animate the stage-like scene depicted in the photo. Hmmmm...it does give me some ideas though...              



*'We', as in the fair and illustrious Fine Art degree students from Somerset College. To whom I'm incredibly indebted. Thank you to any of you reading this. 

Images sourced from: http://www.universes-in-universe.org, http://www.galeriagracabrandao.com, http://allanmccollum.net, http://zoltanjokay.de/zoltanblog, http://www.e-flux.com

‘I'm lost for words'

This is the first of what I aim to be a miniseries of posts on the Venice Biennale. Instead of trying to cover everything I’m going to attempt to break down my thoughts into more digestible morsels. This very short introduction outlines my decision to write about the diverse enormity that is the Venice Biennale and the challenge that writing about art brings.

When I write these posts it’s my time to think, time to reflect, consider and analyse my reactions and thoughts of artworks I’ve seen. My memory is pretty good but the first thing I have to do once coming back home from an exhibition is collate all those reactions as I challenge myself to try and understand and make sense of what I have just seen in words. It is a contradiction of sorts because at the time of viewing/experiencing the work, or in situations which are similarly overwhelming, of great occasion, importance and profundity I feel completely and utterly verbally constipated. I could probably (and probably have) come out with something to say but the stuff I’m really thinking, the stuff I’m really feeling is so often so in the moment, personal and instinctual and visceral I cannot find the words to say. It defies words. Surely that’s one point of art anyway, it functions to express/explore/communicate the things which sometimes cannot be articulated in words? And that’s one of the reasons why I chose to do art in the first place, as a visual way of communicating... I suppose the conflict arises when I feel as though I ought to be able to express things in words because I want to share my experiences with other people and to some extend I enjoy the challenge it brings.

Along with creating it, viewing art is the one activity where I am uncharacteristically at ease with just simply being, or in the moment, so to speak and when I’m there I don’t particularly want the distraction of having to take photos, draw or force myself to document the work in some way. Occasionally the tapping on my shoulder of self consciousness manifests and I think ‘I’d better perhaps take a couple quick photos for the blog’, but more often than-not all that stuff just gets in the way and I am more than happy to just experience. Maybe I’d drunk too much prosecco or maybe I hadn’t drunk enough but never before have I experienced such a barrage, a plethora, a cornucopia of outstanding shit, banal marvels and resonant works of art like I did during the Venice Biennale that it had forced me to think about how I look at art, why I do and why so many of us also go to experience it in our hundreds. And overall, how wonderful, humbling and gratifying that the desire to create, to make and to share that with others is something so universal, so human.              

Lead Soldiers : Royal Marines 40 Commando combat art at Taunton's Market House

‘Combat Art’ lays down its arms (pencil, pen, brush, paper) at Taunton’s Market House in its first exhibition of drawings, paintings and photography created by Taunton’s 40 Commando Royal Marines on their last tour of duty in Afghanistan.

Not out of lack of imagination but as somebody whose own drawing/painting experiences are relatively limited to working in the security and isolation of indoors, I find it almost impossible to truly comprehend the reality of how it must feel to be a Marine drawing ‘in the field’ so to speak, whilst serving duty in the unfamiliar and at times, hostile terrain of Afghanistan. Having to be constantly alert, in a state of anxious boredom, doing a job and the uncertainty one day may bring to the next; I can see the impending need and difficulties faced in order to occupy one’s mind, perhaps escape it, process and document the day’s events, express one’s thoughts or simply just doodle.

 This was the thinking behind ‘Art Kits’, created by Royal Marine widow Anita St John-Grey whose idea was to supply a compact art kit that could fit into the trouser pocket of Marines from all ranks as a way of therapy, documentation and combating the stress of filling ‘dead time’ whilst on/between operations. 500 bespoke made kits were supplied to Marines whose results can be seen in an exhibition of work (brought into fruition by non profit organisation, Art Kits Ltd. joint managed by curator Tim Martin, artist Jon England and arts educator Stuart Rosamond) at Taunton’s Market House for two weeks.

 What I can relate to, and perhaps what is more important in the thinking behind the Combat Art exhibition, is the overriding theme that is the human need to create. The desire to respond, process, document, express, escape (delete as appropriate) one’s surroundings/situation. On a fundamental level, it is a basic human urge to ‘make things’ whether that manifests itself in the form of painting, drawing, carving, photographing, cooking, planting or whatever, so having the facility (and when necessary) equipment  to conduct that creative impulse should almost be seen as mandatory. I'm in the opinion that creativity is both important at the time of its impulse to be fulfilled as it is after the event  and you’re left with a portrait, a series of marks, a landscape, a doodle, as a way of reflecting and communicating that experience/memory with others. Making it relevant in telling the stories and experiences of 'those who have been there' that this work is shown and continues to be seen long after its initial creation.

In honesty, I was left feeling a little underwhelmed by the quality of the actual work produced in this exhibition with the exception of Marine Thomas Harrison’s portraits (pictured) which are ambitiously big (for oil paintings created outside!) expressively painterly and poignantly haunting. Similarly his landscape paintings (often in muted greens/pinks/greys, assuming from night vision goggles/lack of light) remind me of Philip Guston’s paintings (which is slightly irrelevant, but I get very excited making connections in people’s work to that of other artists I admire and tend to do so out of respect rather than an attempt at denying either artist of a ‘lack of originality’, cough cough). In another room of the exhibition photos by professional photographer Rhys O’Leary provide an additional insightful context into ‘sense of place’ and atmosphere of Afghanistan. I do however, remind myself, that I’m not, ‘as the audience’ really being asked to scrutinise or critique the work, its merits are in the fact that the work exists and that these Art kits have enabled that work to happen and possibly help/improve the experiences of the individuals that created it whilst they were in these quite volatile situations. That and sometimes a ‘shit’ doodle (and I should know, I’m somewhat of a serial doodler, many of which are unashamedly shit) or cartoony sketch, humour; can say as much (if not more) about a person’s state of mind/experiences than a laboured, well thought out ‘masterpiece’.

 My personal thoughts of military art in general is I do not share an unquestioned patriotism that everything the military churns out in the way of choirs, calendars and art should be pedestaled in the way it often is, immune to or without criticism or debate.  If I were to take my personal and political views out of the equation however, I am a firm believer that great art can come from anywhere/anyone and what individuals have achieved in this exhibition is still remarkable and humbling; what I am saying is that I am not as interested in military as I am interested in the work created by a group of people working in difficult, unusual conditions.  I reiterate that what is important is that we acknowledge and allow for these opportunities to happen so people have the time, the means and the choice to create if and when they need to. And so for me, the great success of this exhibition is the kit itself and what it represents in allowing ‘art for all’ even if you don’t for whatever reason use what’s in the art kit, the fact that you’ve been given it/issued it is a recognition of the importance that is placed on art as therapy and art as a force for expression/communication; deservedly so the kit itself also has its own plinth on display as you enter the exhibition downstairs.

Which leaves me wondering, why stop at just the army? Maybe people from all occupations, farmers, doctors, nurses, patients, teachers, politicians, policemen, engineers, cleaners, managers, builders, retailers...would benefit from more access to art in their lives? I am by no means trying to compare any of those roles to the military and what they do (....), but I’d think most people, most  people who’ve ever  faced challenges and adversities head-on, battled with management or lack-of, been bombarded with essays, been on the front-line of retail/catering at Christmas, fought off the throws of monotony, boredom and depression and dealt with the post-traumatic stress of life in all its minor and major difficulties (I salute you) could also perhaps gain from having/creating a little Art Kit of their own. The results would be stunning (possibly also a little concerning) but having that opportunity to create is what is crucial.

Combat Art: Personal Reflections from Afghanistan, runs at the Market House (West Wing), Taunton, Somerset, from November 9 – 23, Wednesday to Saturday, 11am – 5pm.
http://artkitsltd.wordpress.com/

Not my type, but I love it anyway!

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 "It's like semiotics meets phenomenology," I enthusiastically told a friend as I was trying to explain why I was looking forward to catching artist, Mira Schendal's work at Tate Modern a few weeks ago. Retrospectively, I would still agree with that except I'd probably throw Dada and typography into the mix as well, making Mira Schendel at the Tate Modern, "semiotics meets phenomenology meets typography meets Dada". 

"Just who is Mira Schendal?" You ask.

Well, who was she, as apparently if you haven't heard of Mira Schendel by now then where have you been for the last fifty years (obviously not South America, where she is huge)? Zurich born (but grew up in Italy), Mira Schendel (1919 -1988) was largely self taught and fled to Brazil in the 50's to avoid the Fascist regime where she found her place within the Brazilian Modernist scene in the 50's-60's. In fact, not many people this side of the pond (least of all me) have heard of her which is why Tate Modern decided to change that and show a retrospective of the artist's work from September to January 19th 2014.

Schendel, described (like most artists I know) as an eccentric, complicated, passionate yet prickly character does present in her work a sense of playing with dualities, opposites and someone battling with some sort of internal conflict or 'trying to figure something out' which also, and I quote,

    

'...constitutes an experimental investigation into profound philosophical questions relating to human existence and belief, often addressing the distinction between faith and certainty, and examining ideas of being, existence and the void.'  (We shall see!) 

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Looking around the opening rooms to Schendel's exhibition at the very minimalist, flat  paintings (which also have a very neutral colour palette) it occurs to me, as though am incredibly out-of-place, as if to say, 'why on earth have I paid to see this?' These kind of works are aesthetically the type of work I'd personally, normally run a mile from, "This is not a 'Natalie' sort of exhibition! There are no tools, or 'things', puns or lashings of colour." Should any of that matter? But change is in the air.  Emerging from their chrysalises for the first time I feel new butterflies fluttering in my stomach and I am sensing an uneasy shift in my preference of my art tastes that was once filled only with a love for the representational. Strange, it seems I am beginning to find myself more patient and at ease with looking at seemingly flat surfaces, noticing their tiny details in the paint texture and brushstrokes. They are paintings that look as though they were trying to be perfectly flat whilst accepting that to achieve such a thing with the hand and brush is almost futile. I wouldn't go as far to say I could spend hours looking at them, but find myself blissfully at ease with the order and 'clean' simplicity of Schendel's early abstract paintings. Their muted browns, ochres, creams and blacks arranged in varying grid formations are very much more earthy versions of Piet Mondrian.

Alarmed that I am beginning to enjoy all this nothingness a bit too much I move further into the depths of the exhibition in search of some tangible, substance...perhaps I've come to the wrong exhibition...?

Turns out, that Schendel was one prolific artist and there's a healthy amount of it on show in this exhibition that really demonstrates not only her commitment (obsession) with art but also demonstrates the breadth of how her practice developed. In one room there are several large watercolour collages of bottles and glasses in a very cubist (overlapping) style. What is interesting about these works is that whilst they aren't wholly 'original' (in the sense they were made during the 60's and are likely to have been influenced by the Cubists) they show processes of thinking, of layering, fragmenting, revealing and concealing that are to extremely relevant in her later work.  

Rooms of book jacket designs and sketchbooks follow and their influence is beginning to make manifest in layered collages where Schendel has made her own rice paper and used transferred letraset type onto the paper's surface (Images 1 & 3). You can almost see Schendel's thought process as layering becomes pattern, becomes tone, becomes form, becomes composition. She combines different languages blurring the way in which we literally read the letters and how we read the overall image. I cannot help but think of phenomenology whenever I am faced with a transparent or permeable surface, it seems the perfect medium (perhaps other than air itself) to suggest the concept of phenomena, 'there and not there' and consciousness. Why is that exactly? For me, there is something kind-of 'breath-like' about the delicateness of the rice paper and the way the light hits it that makes me increasingly self conscious of my own breathing all of which is a bit too profound for my liking but then maybe that is exactly the desired affect (and does in its own way have a linking to the subjective experience phenomenology explores). I am far more comfortable with the semiotics, and these works are a graphic designers dream, letters become constellations, swirling vortexes and maps strewn across the paper. They are not too dissimilar to the early Dada or Futurist Manifestos for their experimental and playful/deconstructive use of language, but they are far softer and less direct and angry than the more politically charged Futurist typography of 'Zang Tumb Tumb'. In my view they begin to resemble palimpsests or ancient maps or mathematical equations that have all the intensity and franticness of somebody trying to work through something (Schendel was interested in Mandalas, precise geometric arrangements and the Catholicism she was brought up with conflicted with Western Philosophy and Eastern thought that she was interested in). With Schendel what that 'something' is exactly is never really revealed unless of course the searching for something is the 'something' she is looking for.....(raises one eyebrow).  

Aptly for this blog post that idea is presented again and to greater affect in one of the final rooms of the exhibition in the installation, 'Still waves of probability' (Image 2).   

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Thousands of transparent fibres hang from the ceiling creating a permeable curtain or veil that both disguises and blurs whilst being fine and transparent enough to still see through. Simple, but like her text based works the threads are a physical manifestation that creates an awareness of the visible and invisible, certain and uncertain. It feels like it ought to be an illusion in the way it tricks your brain, however the physicality of being able to see (and sneakily touch) the threads ground it very much in reality. It is a funny sensation. Alongside on the wall is an accompanying text from the Old Testament 'Book of Kings' which echoes the sensation of uncertainty present in the fibres hanging from the ceiling but ties the notion of uncertainty within the idea of faith, knowledge and doubt. The resulting reading of the installation is not necessarily a spiritual one or one of physics and unknown forces but is more of an experience that makes one question the nature of both of those things leaving it ultimately up to the individual which opinion they walk away with.

'Through this work she sought to express the aim of humankind to be , faithfully OF THIS world. And yet not be of this world. With all its love and joy and also the inevitable suffering, with devotion and without illusions.'

Personally, I always think a little illusion is always a good thing, it helps us distinguish what is real and what is fake, to dream, to have nightmares and to daydream. Don't get me wrong, I'm not done with representation in art yet, far from it, I just think it important that I'm becoming increasingly open to non-representational ways of working to compare it to. Not to go into all that now, but what was the overriding theme of this exhibition was one of quiet contemplation. As I continued to undergo my own personal journey into doubt within the exhibition so was the nature of the exhibition itself questioning the nature of faith and doubt. My only criticism is that Schendel explores these ideas in a fairly 'safe' way, that is always fairly controlled and thoughtful, never really giving-in to the darker, intense and unpredictable side of doubt and human existence that is perhaps more raw or more 'real' than what she presented (you cannot do everything, but I would have liked to have seen some opposition).  A slow burner, that I have sat and pondered and is rewarding in that it continues to reveal more ideas long after having actually seen/experienced the work.

Images from: 1 http://www.tate.org.uk

2 http://www.theguardian.co.uk

3 http://www.moma.org

On Paper

“Leonardo didn’t just think on paper: he thought through paper. Paper was not the pre-liminary to other work: it was the work.”

This post is a contradiction of sorts. Coming to you, sort of ‘live’ (in the sense that I am a living being, last time I checked) from the virtual pen, paper and ink that is my computer screen to yours. I’m sure you could see my point that it is not the most appropriate medium or convincing place to begin writing a post all about the joys and uses of paper. In fact the 'blog post' is actually a kind-of evolution of paper, the ugly (or not so) ugly stepsister of the good old papyrus minus the tree felling, mill and stationers’ shelves.

 

 Anyway I’ve done and continue to do so, consume my fair share of paper. For as long as I and many others continue to buy tickets, possess money, wrap presents, receive junk mail, draw, read newspapers, write lists, buy fish and chips, use loo roll, eat sweets, accumulate receipts we don’t need, then paper isn’t something that’s going to disappear anytime soon. And not to mention, of course when it comes to books I’m a self-confessed paper omnivore. The most versatile, light, durable, precious and yet throw-away of all materials; paper has a LOT going for it. Ian Sansom in his tactile papery book, ‘Paper: An Elegy’ quotes Derrida who remarked, “To say farewell to paper today would be rather like deciding one day to stop speaking because you had learnt to write.”

 

 In that vein, what this post lacks in actual paper it makes up for with plenty of pulp! When I came across an exhibition called, ‘Paper’ at the Saatchi Gallery in London a few weeks back, I could hardly resist.

 

‘Paper’ features over 40 National and International artists all of whom use some form of paper either as a construction material, surface or medium within their work. For some, the paper becomes the work itself; it is manipulated, folded, wielded, torn, cut and pasted and for others, paper becomes the surface from which the artist communicates. What was interesting for me personally was that there was a good variety of both the expected and unexpected and I walked away feeling that paper’s integrity as a medium for drawing on had been kept intact as well as having been presented some more innovative ideas in both how ambitious and creative some of the drawings were and seeing some of the more sculptural applications, innovations and uses of paper.

 

Josef Albers educated at the Bauhaus in the late 1920’s wrote on paper (on paper, hee),

 

“paper, in handicraft and industry, is generally used lying flat; the edge is rarely utilised. For this reason we try paper standing upright, or even as a building material; we reinforce it by complicated folding; we use both sides; we emphasise the edge. Paper is usually pasted; instead of pasting it we try to tie it, to pin it, to sew it, to rivet it. In other words we fasten it in a multitude of different ways. At the same time we learn by experience its properties of flexibility and rigidity, and its potentialities in tension and compression. We try to experiment, to train ourselves in ‘constructive thinking”.

 Ok, I know that’s all very Constructivist sounding in terms of art theory, but the nature of how Albers is describing the materiality of paper and its capabilities is still relevant today and I feel its influence is felt in the diversity of work in this exhibition. Below are a series of selected works from the exhibition and a few of my scribing's....

Dawn Clements (pictured here and in the image above) creates large scale pen and ink drawings as an act of remembering and documentation. They are incredibly detailed especially when you consider they are of remembered interiors, but it also explains why they are also staggered, fractured and in some places beams and doorways fade into nothingness. For me, what I found most interesting was the way she has used large sheets of paper, all different sizes, orientations and
overlapped them to create a work that has no fixed edge and inhabits the gallery space. It makes me rethink a habit, that I share probably with many others, of capturing space i.e. an interior within the rectangle of the paper (mostly because there's a practicality and manageability to doing it that way) when perhaps to really capture a 'sense of place' you need to leave the perimeters of the paper. As a result I viewed this work more like a stage set, or a sequence as the artist moved around the space she was drawing.

Spiralling bottles heading round and round in a seemingly never ending vortex. No wonder Tal R's drawings are described as 'visions of creative fecundity'. One of a series of relatively small line drawings which become ever increasingly depraved and disturbing. Looking at ideas of artistic genius the drawings are packed with distorted characters, featuring women giving birth to Picasso-like sculptures and more (you got one of the more boring images here, sorry!) Other than drawing I'm not sure this offers much of an insight into paper per sae but there was something in the cartoony, yet detailed nature of these crazed looking drawings that made me stop and think, 'Was it just rubbish drawing or was there something more going on here?' I'd probably side with the opinion that the 'quality' of the drawing becomes somewhat irrelevant and its actually more about the 'what' is being drawn that is more engaging.

It may be a bit of a 'one liner' but 'Fragments of Time' by Miler Lagos has been incredibly well made, with each of these forms (that look like logs or branches) has been made from densely stacked sheets of newspaper and then sanded at the edges giving them their woody-like colouring/markings. So however cliché you may want to get analysing this as being a statement on paper coming from trees, waste material, recycling, unprocessed information etc. its innovative manipulation of the material is really quite exciting. A sheet of paper on its own is very light but put it in a pile and it can become very heavy; take it back to being a tree and its enormously heavy. Except the point made here is that once you turn the tree into paper there isn't really any going back, just illusion.

Sometimes the quietest, smallest and most unassuming things can have the most impact. Yuken Teruya with delicate precision and sensitivity transforms paper shopping bags into viewing platforms from which a paper tree has been cut from the roof of the same bag. There's nothing like a bit of curiosity in art to get people's attention and upon seeing rows of people starring into shopping bags lined on shelves on the gallery wall I immediately wanted to go in myself for a closer look. Again, the connections between consumerism and the cycle of tree to paper is perhaps all too obvious but nonetheless they were a joy to look at. And in terms of affect, they are probably all the more memorable because of it.

Paul Westcombe draws on coffee cups. If I was the kind of person who drank tea or coffee I'd like to think I would have started doodling on a cup at some point, it seems like a fun thing to do. Westcombe's cup works originated out of boredom whilst working as a car park attendant in London. They depict intense drawings that depict the artists thoughts as a series of lines, networks and shapes. These kind of doodles done whilst thinking, often on the corner or a receipt or letter are almost meditative ways of thinking. What I enjoy about these cups is that they have that similar treatment as the receipt doodle but instead of being thrown away they've been kept and added to so that the 'art' we make when we're not thinking about making it becomes the actual art itself.

Hundreds of colourful paper kite-shaped forms float and collide gracefully in the centre of gallery seven. This work is Marcelo Jacome's 'Planos-pipas' no 17 (the title, translates as 'kite-planes'). A real advocate of the Saatchi Gallery stereotype, its big, bold and ambitious; the 'show stopper' of the exhibition. Despite my initial cynicism it is very difficult for this piece not to appeal to my inner child-like sense of wonder and pleasing design, geometry, execution and candy-like colour palette. The dynamic chaos of all the shapes met with the gracefulness of its overall swooping form is quite musical and I want to criticise its 'niceness' but somehow feel incapable of doing so from smiling too much.

Han Feng's 'Flaoting City' presents a fictional utopia that is as intangible and transparent as the tracing paper it is made from. Images of buildings have been printed onto tracing paper then folded into cuboid shapes of different heights and scales. These have then been clustered together in groups, streets, islands and fragments hung from the ceiling inches off the gallery floor; perhaps as a reminder of the precariousness of life itself. Taking time to inspect each unique building is mesmerising creating a sense of being 'lost' in the city.

The last time I was this excited about paper as art was at the Liverpool Biennal in 2010 watching Sachiko Abe performing 'Cut papers' in the Blade Factory. It literally involved the artist, dressed in white on a raised platform cutting very fine slithers of white paper. The cut threads created a curtain down from the platform and onto the floor almost like strands of hair. It was beautiful and poignant to experience it and reaffirmed my understanding of how most simple, mundane actions if repeated enough can become not only contemplative but deeply meaningful. As an artist now I still feel there is something reassuring and grounding and a warmth in holding/using/working with paper that I have never felt using canvas, board, metal or any other surface. I enjoy its contradictions depending on how it is manipulated; of being both cutting and used to wrap/protect, light yet heavy, flat or sculpted. It occurs to me now that I have long had an infatuation with paper which explains the care and time I spent over my sketchbooks often pouring more hours into them than my studio work. Could the reason have been something to do with the intimacy and reflection space of having a book? Or was it the joy of working on paper? Same thing, perhaps.

I haven't mentioned half the artists and works in this exhibition, but hope this has given you an idea of what you can expect from 'Paper', so that next time you're rolling a Rizla, lining your cake tins, making paper aeroplanes, writing a love letter, wallpapering the house or simply wiping your bum spare a thought for the brilliance and potential of paper!

'Paper' at Saatchi ended on the 3rd of November but the paper catalogue is still available.

http://www.saatchigallery.com/artists/paper/

Another fine mess

As far as the visual part of ‘visual art’ goes Mierle Laderman Ukeles’ retrospective of ‘Maintenance Art Works’ at the Arnolfini can only really be described as ‘boooooooooring’ (she said summing up every last reserve of maturity she had left). That is a sad (but also probably quite honest) opinion as I am, in fact, a fan and interested in Ukeles’ work; its the presentation of that work being shown in a gallery context that is boring (but more of that later). I initially learnt of Ukeles through Suzi Gablik's 'The reenchantment of art' and several times more from an environmentally conscientious tutor whilst studying my degree. It was the first time I'd come across an artist whose 'performance' wasn't really to perform in the stereotypical 'actor on a stage' kind-of-way I was (at that point in my younger naivety) familiar with, for Ukeles it seemed that life and all its everyday domesticity is an event and that everyday performances of work are as significant, if not more so in altering how we engage with the world particularly our relationship/impact on our environment. An American artist from Colorado working in the 70’s-80’s in New York (she described herself as an artist, a woman, a wife, a mother (Random order) and swept clean the streets of New York, heightened our attention to domesticity of everyday activities to be seen as important and essential processes, empowered the individual as a catalyst for change, sorted socks, dusted an artwork and attached a mirror to the side of a garbage truck to reflect the makers of the waste. Awesome.

Questions arise when one thinks about how to represent her work to today's audience. When what remains are the legacies from such events whose responsibility is it to ensure they are remembered, learnt from and documented? Does the ‘art’ begin with the actual, original event itself, the documentation of that event, the legacy of the event or (and most likely) a combination of all three?

*

 

I see the exhibition of Ukeles work at the Arnolfini struggle to inspire a new generation to become more environmentally/socially responsible in the way I can imagine the original event had when it began in 1977. The need for more positive community involvement and environmental awareness is still, of course, very relevant today (if not worryingly more so) which should make Ukeles’ work all the more poignant, but the exhibition at the Arnolfini  (bar a few documented photographs) fails to recreate any sense of the spectacle, the event and performance that, I imagine, made the original events so empowering and motivational. It takes more imagination (than perhaps I unfairly give audiences credit for) to be not left cold by a room full of manifestos and letters, it certainly left me feeling bored. For those not familiar with what I’m talking about, the exhibition at the Arnolfini presents the documentation, writings and manifestos of Ukeles’ work made between 1969 – 1980 including the ‘Maintenance Art questionnaire’, photographs of early community involvement as well as public and private maintenance projects, maps and copious documentation of ‘Touch Sanitation’ [1977] and the artists ongoing residency with New York City Department of Sanitation.

The fact is, that whilst the work shown is authentic and places an ownership on the work, ideas and events being very much Mierle Laderman Ukeles’ and sets it up historically etc etc. the ideas within the writing (and what is exciting) are as topical now as they ever once were. Hence, what I really have a problem with is that, in my opinion, the nature of the ‘event’ and the ‘performance’ translates so poorly in order to comply with the exhibition system which centres around the presentation of ‘stuff’, physical artefacts or environments of which doesn't have the same impact. Whilst letters, maps and writing are still capable of being 'art' in their own right, collectively they feel somewhat lost or redundant in the enormity of the Arnolfini gallery context. Does the work actually need the gallery in order for it to have an impact/communicate to a wider audience? What’s the purpose/what does the work gain by putting it into a gallery? Or do we [as artists] need the gallery as a voice of authority, mark of approval in order to give work like Ukeles’ credibility or exposure? I’d like to think not but realise it is a bit of a double edged sword and that there is something ironic in the way in which Ukeles’ work aims to question the hierarchies of different forms of work which (as  food for thought) could also extend to the hierarchies of the places that work takes place/is exhibited in.

 In defence of the exhibition one could argue what better way to present the ‘Manifesto for Maintenance Art’ than with a distinctly no frills, functional, utilitarian approach to documenting the performances/community involvement of sweeping streets, sorting socks, dusting objects and taking out the garbage? The exhibition itself has become a parody of the piece Ukeles’ once created titled; ‘The Maintenance of the Art Object’ which looked at the transference of a vitrine being cleaned by a maintenance worker and then as an art work would be cleaned by a conservator. The same thing has now happened with Ukeles’ work and her letters, notes and questionnaires that were once sent, like regular post, to officials and the public are now artworks and have to be preserved, dusted and maintained by art curators and their teams.

Hypothetically, if we were to recreate any given activity from Ukeles’ manifesto today, the fact is many of us already do by simply cleaning toilets, sweeping and removing our rubbish, would that not present Ukeles’ work more effectively and serve more purpose than a room full of documents of past events?  Or if we took 'taking out the rubbish' through the entire process instead of just leaving it on the curb outside our home. As Ukeles said herself, “My working will be the work”.  I think perhaps the Arnolfini missed the opportunity to give its building/surrounding area a thorough communal clean in the way of a performance working with the cleaning staff it already employs and community to create a 'real' event that would have both humour and make a point....

And if Ukeles had done this piece for the first time in 2013, then I’d like to think it likely that she’d be emailing, blogging and using social networking to demonstrate her cause which would instantaneously communicate her art to many people without the need of ever having to use the gallery. Would the material presented in this exhibition serve better/work as well in a book/digital format as it would in a gallery? Ukeles’ is an excellent writer and I have much admiration for her open, clear and honest ways of communicating that inspires and motivates,

“Mister Sanman! Actually, you are a model of the man of the 21^st century. You already work in the NEW way we will have to act on planet Earth since cities’ natural and fiscal resources are becoming increasingly limited, where there’s no more “out” space. We’re all “in” it together, and we must all take part in caring for our living places, and ultimately the whole earth. Or we will destroy it. YOU ARE THE BALANCING AGENTS.”

The act of writing, writing as protest, writing to persuade, writing to document are also part of the work, I just think it’s a little dry when its hung page by page on a wall in a gallery. I saw many of the same artefacts in an exhibition called, ‘Dirt’ at The Wellcome Collection in London about a year ago and because it was a small part of a bigger context about waste, dust, mess, detritus etc it was a lot more intimate and easier to focus your attention on than the Arnolfini show with its large white walls and vast space seemed to almost eat these documents and anyone that leaned in to have a closer read.

Anyway enough now of this written procrastination. Time for some real work, “it's time to take out the trash.” Literally!

Make up your own mind, Mierle Laderman Ukeles -Maintenance Art Works is on at Arnolfini until 17th November 2013.

http://www.arnolfini.org.uk/whatson/mierle-laderman-ukeles-maintenance-art-works

*Image from http://www.mitchellcenterforarts.org/

Bhaam, the corvids and the marvellous Magnet Man of Alma St

This week's action-packed episode sees our heroine reunited with the Combat Art Kid as they venture into the depths of uncharted Chard and further afield. Be prepared to gasp in awe as they do battle with the sat-nav, puppetry and the unexpected in search for the rare, beautiful and mysterious contemporary arts of the Somerset vale!

Or at least that's one way of explaining my Saturday afternoon spent visiting three Somerset Art Weeks venues...

What this post lacks in the way of images I hope to make up for in words. No mean feat when you've spent an entire Saturday afternoon seeing rich plaster-clad surfaces, painted and sewn into; 10ft charred wooden poles laden in Indian-ink dipped teasels, pots, hand woven fabrics, pantone chart poetry, corn dollies, wooden collages and rags transformed into wolves and women. It doesn't really quite do it justice! Where to begin? But then that's Somerset Art Weeks for you and I am pleased that once again there was the usual mixture of the weird and the wonderful on top of three fantastic locations in some of the remotest parts of Somerset that I'm sort of glad I'd probably never be able to find again!

Without further ado, whistle stop tour number one of the day was 'Corvids at the Jackdaw Studio' (Venue 67) in Wambrook, Chard. It's a diverse exhibition of photography, mixed media, pottery, paintings, drawings and books featuring the work of artists Alice Crane, Michael de Friez, Hilary Dixon, Sarah Hitchens and Nigel Vincent. It was exciting to see a theme used for this group exhibition. Each artist had work around the theme of corvids that were (in most cases) directly present in each of the artists work. Personally I particularly loved Alice Crane's mixed media pieces which were created on pillow cases with stitching and paint; the surfaces were mesmerising to look at and generated a few ideas of things I'd like to try myself. The playful addition to the outside of the gallery space (pictured above) created by a local shepherd, Nigel Vincent was also particularly charming and fun making for an overall good exhibition. If truth be told, I'd have liked to have seen as well as the more representational work some more challenging work that maybe presented a different way of thinking about corvids other than what they look like. Then, that's probably more a reflection of how I have changed in my art tastes over the last few years as I am always now kind of hoping to see something more from the representational or abstract painting that has become so familiar in Somerset. Alas, if you've not grown as cynical as me (thankfully few are) then you'll be in for a treat. 

http://www.somersetartworks.org.uk/venues/corvids-jackdaw-studio

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Onwards now and up, down and around several ever more labyrinthine country lanes and we arrive Bhaam! 'Skills Unearthed' (venue 66) is an exhibition from the Blackdown Hills Artists and Makers (Bhaam) in (an old favourite of mine) the spectacular, Cotley Tithe Barn. Intrepid Art Weekers' beware this ain't the easiest of places to find, but it is ALWAYS well worth the perseverance as when you do get there you're efforts are rewarded by a truly impressive exhibition venue and, perhaps more importantly, some researched, rewarding and contemporary art! Hurrah!

So what's the deal? You ask. Well,  ten artists received commissions to make work in response to the theme, 'Skills unearthed' exploring the crafts and industry of the Blackdown Hills encompassing the interests of those living and working in this area of outstanding natural beauty (in their words not mine). The chosen artists were, Carly Batchelor (Photography), Catherine Bass (Music), Ruth Bell (Contemporary Dance/Film), Louise Cottey (Textiles), Jon England Painting/Film), Sarah Hitchens (Ceramics), Tim Martin (Film/Drawing), Bryony Tidball (Sculpture), Andre Wallace (Sculpture) and Gillian Widden (Sculpture). Individually the artists created work around, nature in industry (teasel cultivation and hand weaving), local folk traditions (corn dolly making), farming history (managing the land), ecclesiastical architecture and World War Two (airfields past and present). The results make for a diverse and rich show which did an impressive job at filling and contending with the overwhelming presence of the Tithe Barn itself (and I should know, I exhibited in it twice for Art Weeks myself, it's difficult to not let the barn swallow your work whole!).

I was particularly interested in Louise Cottey's work, a hand woven fabric made using  traditional (nearly all but lost) techniques which showed great commitment, time and skill that to me represents some of the loss in our patience and dedication to making things that has been replaced by the demand and need for quicker, more economic means of production. Gillian Widden's teasel poles can really only be described as epic, because they are physically huge things and whilst I cannot get out of my mind the association that they look like gigantic burnt corn on the cobs are also completely fascinating sculptures. Historically they also educate about the lost art of teasel picking and I enjoyed looking to see where moths had emerged from the teasels seemingly surviving their Indian ink dipping (a testament to nature!). My patient and generous chauffeur for the day, Jon England presented new portrait works in this exhibition using his trade mark quality of finding authentic and poignant materials to create images of World War Two soldiers on bandages using iodine. The resulting image on the bandage, like the wounds it was once intended to heal, eventually fade away leaving a ghostly trace or scare of what was once there. The haunting process is also captured in a stop-motion film alongside the original work.    

http://www.somersetartworks.org.uk/venues/bhaam-skills-unearthed

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And last, but by no means least we come to 'Stitched' (venue 54) starring Gary Dickins, Nina Gronw-Lewis, Emma Riley and Susan M Wallis. Do you know the Magnet Man? He also goes by the name of Gary Dickins and is somewhat of a prolific (some might say obsessed) maker of unique hand collaged magnets made from magazine cut outs and accompanying (often subtlety subversive) text. In a conversation with the artist I couldn't quite make up my mind whether he is mad or a genius, but is perhaps a bit of both, for never have I spent so long looking through a box of magnets with such joy at their witty, surreal and plain bizarre juxtapositions of phrases with images. I love it! I only wish I had some photos to show you, but rest assured they are a cross between Dada and punk and are probably one of the funniest and most original things I've come across in Art Weeks in a long time. Such a joy to see so much work with an element of humour to it and all of Gary's work is witty but also demonstrating an enthusiasm for process (in this case stitching) as well. In the 'Cunning Cavaliers' (detail pictured above) series of works, Gary has used antique silk brocade that he has hand stitched over the wear and tear from behind which we see glimpses of a scene depicting the cavaliers plotting away.

In keeping with the wit and stitched theme, Nina Gronw-Lewis presents hand sewn and knitted works that are beginning to edge out of the frame and take on a life of their own inhabiting the wall and space that surrounds them as cloud-like forms rain down fabric raindrops directly on the floor and woollen jumpers unravel spelling out worn. Alongside these are  Emma Riley's ceramic, tessellated tiles that have been stitched together. Topping off an eventful day was a performance by Susan M Wallis done with great aplomb to her audience as she animated and told a story with her sewn-together puppet creations. Admittedly, watching a one woman wrestle with several puppets to create a performance was impressive and the heightened weirdness of it all (coming from someone, like me that takes themselves probably far too seriously) certainly made me smile.

And what more from Art Weeks could I ask for?
   

http://www.somersetartworks.org.uk/venues/stitched

Thus ended a remarkable day and indeed our tale for the time being.

* Image from Somerset Art Works : http://www.somersetartworks.org.uk/venues/bhaam-skills-unearthed  
** Image from Gary Dickins: http://www.garydickins.com