Archive for August, 2009

One week of art strike activities in Alytus, Lithuania, 18-24 August 2009

Monday, August 31st, 2009

The central HQ of the 2009 Art Strike Biennial switched constantly between Alytus Art School, Hotel Dzukija about five minutes walk away, and a bar-cum-restaurant located between these two venues in downtown Alytus. At the art school a lot of coffee was consumed, at the hotel innumerable bottles of wine, and in the bar industrial quantities of beer and cold beetroot soup. The Dzukija was an old school Soviet hotel, a concrete shell with stained glass in some of the public areas and cantilevered stairs between the floors. The building was absolutely crammed full of original oil paintings by official Soviet artists of yesteryear. In keeping with the Dzukija’s theme of Soviet nostalgia, the maids would leave overflowing bins in the bathrooms and failed to replenish toilet paper; all of which created a very relaxed bohemian atmosphere.

Perhaps the most interesting innovation art strikers brought to the Dzukija Hotel was the introduction of an ‘anarchist orgy suite’ on the second floor. This was a bedroom that had been assigned to a visiting anarchist from Vilnius (much of the Vilniaus Anarchistai group was present), that was put to collective use. The keys to this room were left permanently in the lock on the outside of the door, and according to unsubstantiated rumour anyone could go inside for ‘fun’, but  in doing so risked being locked-in. As far as I’m aware the only person to end up trapped in the ‘orgy suite’ was the Italian autonomist Franco ‘Bifo’ Berardi, and when he was finally freed he announced casually in English: “I’ve just had an adventure’. He was locked in on his own, so this incident provides no evidence to back-up the endlessly whispered rumours about ‘orgies’ taking place in the room.

Aside from the Vilnius anarchists, Saulius Užpelkis was perhaps the individual most involved in engaging Bifo in ongoing political debate over beers. Although originally from Vilnius, Saulius has been living in London for the past year and he numbers among those recently denounced in The Sun for holding orgies on the roof of their squat in Poplar. I had a long discussion with Saulius about this and came away with the unsurprising view that the tabloid coverage I’d seen was not very accurate.

Bifo gave a couple of public talks during the Art Strike Biennial, but I found his bar room conversation even more enthralling than his lecture style. The first of Bifo’s official talks dealt with the development of radical media strategies from the seventies to the present: he stressed the difference between the serving up of information by the mass media, and his own desire for real communication. The second talk was based around precarity ‘theory’, and since I’ve argued against Alex Foti’s version of this ridiculous notion elsewhere (with regard to the Copenhagen riots a couple of years ago), I won’t go into it here. That said, while Bifo has taken up precarity ‘theory’, I nonetheless see his thinking as being way superior to Foti’s overall; and he is also a charming, delightful and very likable guy.

The key figure in leading discussion at the art school was Redas Diržys, and he worked hard at integrating the out-of-town strikers with the local teenagers also in attendance. What finally united the various factions was not so much theoretical debate, as practical activities. On Wednesday afternoon there was supposed to be a propaganda workshop. However when I turned up for it with my old friend Lloyd Dunn, the anarchists ‘running’ it had disappeared. I hauled Redas Diržys out of an office and we had a discussion about whether or not there should be an approved set of slogans for demonstration banners. In the end we agreed that those making the banners could use any slogan they wanted, but that all slogans would be translated into Spanish. Among the slogans I contributed was ‘Fly LSD’.

The Spanish banners were used on both a demonstration and a monstration, with around 50 art strikers marching around Alytus to the sound of banging drums and chanting in Lithuanian. The demonstration stopped in the town square for political speeches and a song in Estonian from Reiu Tüür. On the monstration art strike balloons were handed out to passers-by, and the march stopped in the town square for a game of Simon Says orchestrated by Charlie Citron. The demonstration and monstration were organised on consecutive afternoons and at both events marchers wore special art strike picket line clothes designed by Stephanie Benzaquen and Rotem Balva; these had been run up by local tailors. Meanwhile local sensibilities were simultaneously flummoxed by street paintings that had been executed by Nathan Crothers and Reiu Tüür.

After the demonstration on Thursday, there was an unofficial boating trip at a local lake that had lost most of its water, resulting in rowers frequently running aground. Martin Zet and Stefan Bohnenberger played leading roles in these almost water-borne activities.  Following the monstration on Friday, a scratch orchestra came together to play improvised music outside Alytus Art School. This was followed by an after dark film screening on the outside wall of a derelict cinema.

On Saturday morning there was a game of three-sided football, with three teams and three goals. The triolectical anti-sport was followed by Mantas Kazakevicius demonstrating how to use a Reichian cloud buster, then the strike wound down with a wine tasting organised by Kurt Ryslavy and Natalie Yalon. Naturally Saturday night concluded with an over-the-top party in the Hotel Dzukija, which is a good way of reminding ourselves that while we’re demolishing serious culture we should have a smile on our lips and a song in our heart.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Blog strike – 17 to 30 August 2009

Sunday, August 16th, 2009

We call on all bloggers to turn off their computers and cease to post from 17 to 30 August 2009.

Blogging is an indulgence of a self-perpetuating elite; those who can afford regular access to computers and the internet. Those bloggers who struggle against the reigning society find their work either marginalised or else co- opted by the bourgeois net establishment.

Blogging creates the illusion that, through activities which are actually waste, this civilisation is in touch with ‘higher sensibilities’ which redeem its exploitation of those who live outside the overdeveloped world. Those who accept this logic support the bourgeoisie even if they are economically excluded from the class.

To call one person a ‘blogger’ is to deny another the equal gift of vision. What a blogger considers to be his or her identity is a schooled set of attitudes; preconceptions which imprison humanity in history. Show solidarity with the wretched of the earth, those who cannot afford regular access to computers, don’t blog between 17 and 30 August 2009!

Blog Strike is a side project to the Art Strike Biennial, 18-24 August, Alytus, Lithuania.

And if you can’t keep your computer switched off during the blog strike, don’t get too sucked into text, watch the following film which explores the aesthetics of boredom instead: The Worst Video On YouTube Ever!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Manituana by Wu Ming

Friday, August 14th, 2009

Following on from Q (authored as Luther Blissett) and 54, comes a new novel Manituana by the Bologna fiction collective known as Wu Ming. Verso are publishing Shaun Whiteside’s English translation, the proof copies were circulated last month, and the book will be available in both the UK and the US shortly. Like the earlier tomes by the same authors, Manituana is a heavily researched historical novel that speaks as much about a future we have yet to make, as the past in which it is set. The main action takes place around the ‘American War of Independence’, with the focus on the alliance the Iroquois Indians made with the English.

The Iroquois way of life was destroyed by the development of capitalism, and this entailed the exploitation of both Africa and the Americas, as well as the European working class. The diseases that accompanied European traders and their goods decimated the indigenous American population and thereby opened the way for their conquest. The Iroquois were caught between a rock and a hard place and mostly chose to ally with ‘perfidious Albion’, rather than the equally barbarous French or – slightly later – the genocidal armies of George Washington. However, for me the real ‘heroes’ of this novel are not the characters who take up the bulk of its pages (some are  actual historical figures), but rather those shadowy proletarian figures who attempt to make an alliance with the Iroquois when some of their leaders visit London.  From page 199 of Marituana:

“For the sake of clarity let us say straightaway that we Mohocks of London – with the exception of him who writes to you – have not a drop of Indian blood in our veins, but we feel similar to you in every way. The so-called honest men, in fact, see us as savages and like to attribute to us the most cruel misdeeds, before remembering us when they need cannon-fodder for their armies… The Mohocks of London, weighted down for centuries by deprivation and abuse, never had the opportunity to establish a pact with a sovereign. But they do have one advantage over their American brothers, which is that they live in the heart of the Empire, a few streets away from the house of His Majesty, and that they can raise a loud voice of their own. Imagine the Indians of the Colonies and those of the Motherland joining forces to form a single great nation….”

This band of rebels are a real prefiguration of the future. They are called ‘Sohocks’ in Marituana but they might as well be referred to as ‘Metropolitan Indians’ – a name attached to those segments of the 1970s  Italian autonomist movement who favoured Indian imagery and names, and who attacked the ongoing commodification of culture by tearing down fences at pop festivals and expropriating luxury goods. Marituana’s Metropolitan Indians rough up the rich and free those who have been imprisoned and abused in the Bedlam ‘lunatic assylum’. A continuation of this short thread will hopefully form the basis of a future Wu Ming novel, since in the one under review we follow the Iroquois leaders back to the Americas, where they meet defeat with dignity.

At the end of the book, a character called Esther (another prefiguration of the autonomists of the 1970s), views the future as a return-at-a-higher-level to earlier modes of human existence: “There is no destruction for those who understand the law of time. She thought of what she had seen in her sixteen years and the world that had collapsed around her. She thought of the life that awaited her and the new world they would build in the Garden in the middle of the Water. The Thousand Islands. Manituana.” This, of course, is the world we must win!

It has been a long time since English language readers had a new Wu Ming book, but when y’all get yo mits on this tome, you’ll see it was well worth the wait! Manituana is a groove sensation!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check - www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Buck naked in Bergen!

Wednesday, August 12th, 2009

Although I’ve been to Bergen four times in the past five years, I’ve never pulled the classic tourist move of arriving on a cruise ship. Known locally as the city of the seven hills, Bergen is in the language of love and tourist hype ‘the Rome of the north’; as are also Riga, Tallinn, York and Sutton Scotney. Bergen’s development as a Hanseatic trading port is a historical groove sensation, but today most visitors are more impressed by the bar prices; hot tip – take a bank loan before buying a round.

This time around I discovered some cute local customs while sitting outside The Calibar (Vaskerelven 1, Bergen). I’d had a few beers and wanted a whisky chaser. There were no Islay malts, so I had to settle for a Macallan – one of the better examples of Speyside Scotch. Anyway, as I brought the elixir to my lips, a couple of huge bouncers came over and told me I had to drink inside – it is illegal to drink spirits on the streets of Bergen, even if you are sitting at a table outside a bar! So inside I went, where I was forced to groove to eighties pop tunes. If you think UK or US laws about ‘street drinking’ are draconian, then you ain’t been to Bergen.

You have to be over 24 to get into the Calibar, and there is virtually no room to move on the downstairs dance floor. But if you’re looking to pull a thirties-something grinding partner who does the frug by waving their arms in the air and singing along to Boney M hits, there is nowhere better to go in the whole of Scandinavia. Also very much in evidence in this nightclub is some over-the-top lighting in shocking shades of pink. Still, I’m not complaining when the end result is getting to meet a heaving sweating mass of thirty-something Norwegian stunnas. Which has got to be better than listening to 30 year-old punk rock by the likes of Norgez Bank in whatever passes for a dirty squat on the west coast of Norway. BTW: I didn’t even clock any vintage Norwegian punk slop in local record shops, although I came across a few Ebba Grön CDs from across the Swedish border!

However, as everyone knows, the best reason for visiting the Norwegian coast is to go skinny dipping in various lakes and fjords. Since the best places for public nudity are out of town, I got a bus all the way to Anglevik on Lille Sotra (you can go direct but on some services you have to change at Straume). I know a nice little lake that takes less than an hour to swim all the way around, and provides local houses with drinking water. The water is cool but refreshing, and unless you have ‘a nose’ as big as mine, you can look a bit shrivelled when you come out if you’re a bloke. A lot of houses and flats have been built around Anglevik since I started going up to this lake, and I’m pleased to report that the population out on the island is now more ethnically mixed.

There are even a few houses overlooking ‘my’ swimming lake and while I was in the water an awful noise drew my attention to a man with a lawn-mower on the roof of one such dwelling. I suppose that if you have a turf-roof you need to mow it in the summer, but did he really have to spend four-and-a-half hours doing so on a weekday afternoon? Since there’s a law prohibiting drinking spirits on the streets of Bergen, surely the local council could introduce one against spending more than an hour mowing the roofs of houses on Sotra?

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!