Posts Tagged ‘American Nazi Party’

Graciela Carnevale shafted by The Pump House Gallery in London

Wednesday, June 10th, 2009

Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia were an ‘avant-garde’ group active in the Argentinian city of Rosario in the late 1960s. The ground floor of the show currently dedicated to them at the Pump House Gallery focuses on their Experimental Art Cycle, ten pieces executed over six months in 1968. Among other things, Eduardo Favario invited people to a gallery opening, then locked the space in order to create a large crowd waiting to get in. Given that the Argentinian military dictatorship had made street gatherings illegal, this was considerably more provocative than doing the same thing in Paris or New York at that time.

Meanwhile, Graciela Carnevale locked the audience who came to the opening night of her show inside the gallery (the exhibition consisted of this event); it was the initiative of a passer-by, who smashed a plate glass window, that allowed them to escape. The Pump House exhibition brings together photographs, manifestos, reports and documentation of such activities by a variety of artists, from Carnevale’s personal archives.

Among other actions covered on the ground floor of the Pump House are attacks on the Braque Prize and the disruption of a Romero Brest lecture about the avant-garde. During the latter action, the lecture theatre was deliberately plunged into darkness, and then a statement was declaimed that concluded with the following:

“We believe that art means active commitment to reality, active because it hopes to transform this class-based society into something better.

“So it should constantly perturb the structures of official culture.

“We therefore declare that the life of “Che” Guevara and the actions of the French students are greater works of art than most of the rubbish hanging in the thousands of museums throughout the world.

“We hope to transform each piece of reality into an artistic object that will penetrate the world’s consciousness, revealing the intimate contradictions of this society of classes

“Death to all institutions. Long live the art of revolution!”

“Although the invocation of Che Guevara rather sticks in my throat, Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia were definitely moving in the right direction.

The Artistas de Vanguardia work in two upstairs galleries is from Tucumán Arde (Tucumán Is Burning, 1968), an exhibition documenting life in the Tucumán region of Argentina and the ways in which the government’s repressive economic programme was exacerbating endemic poverty. Tucumán Arde was an effective piece of counter-government propaganda and, after being displayed for two weeks in Rosario, it was shown in Buenos Aires, where the cops closed the exhibition four hours after it opened.

I’d hoped to congratulate The Pump House Gallery for finally bringing an Artistas de Vanguardia show to London. Unfortunately the exhibition is completely botched, so while still worth seeing, it  is none-the-less necessary to denounce the curator(s) for presiding over an unmitigated disaster. The work is very badly displayed, and while it is possible to read everything, it is neither easy nor pleasant. However, far worse is the interpretive and press verbiage.

The Artistas de Vanguardia material is being exhibited alongside 140 books issued by the now defunct right-wing publisher Loompanics Unlimited. Lompanics was owned and run by Mike Hoy, who advocated an unregulated capitalist market in which people could freely trade in anything they wanted – ranging from drugs to nuclear weapons. Loompanics also sold how-to-do manuals on subjects such as interrogation, torture, murder and creating fake ID. They were primarily a mail order and latterly internet outlet using shock tactics to shift product. The following quote from a Loompanics online catalogue page dedicated to The Poor Man’s James Bond 2 edited by Kurt Saxon, gives an idea of the kind of material Loompanics pushed:

“Kurt Saxon strikes again! Five great works in one volume! This book includes the complete Poor Man’s Armorer, a unique work with a whole arsenal of improvised weaponry not in any other books. Homemade bazookas, silencers, booby traps, bolas, concealed weaponry, mines, full auto plans, caltrops, dart catapults, knife throwing, water pipe shotgun, smoke/gas grenades, zip guns, takedown rocket launchers, homemade missiles, and much more! The Poor Man’s Armorer is alone worth the price of Poor Man’s James Bond, Volume 2!

“Also included in this mammoth volume are American JuJitsu (1942), a comprehensive course that has every move illustrated and described; Improvised Munitions Handbook, TM31-210, written by the US Army for the Special Forces; Chemicals in War (1937), a comprehensive collection which includes formulas for every poison gas in use at the time; and The Chemistry of Powder and Explosives (1943), the bible of all those who want to assure themselves a supply of explosives.

“Kurt Saxon has done an excellent job of assembling hard-to-find information on mischief and mayhem – Sold for informational pur-poses only!”

The editor, Kurt Saxon, is a notorious white racist, survivalist, and former member of the American Nazi Party. In August 1970, he appeared before a Senate Investigations subcommittee holding hearings on bombings and terrorism. According to newspaper accounts, he suggested police and ‘concerned citizens’ use bombs to wipe out ‘leftists,’ and recommended that student demonstrators be machine-gunned in the streets. While I can comprehend why a misguided liberal might think it clever to juxtapose material from a mail order business sympathetic to the likes of Kurt Saxon, with an Artistas de Vanguardia show, the conceit is stupid. However, if the press and interpretive material issued by the Pump House Gallery is to be taken literally, then that is not what is going on here.

From the exhibition guide: “For both Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia and Loompanics Unlimited context, audience, language and meaning were all intertwined. Methods of information gathering and public distribution were critical. The audience was as important as the artists and writers involved: both were in a social relationship with questions about morality of practice and responsibility at their core. The works were an exchange with their audience mainly through informal and self-responsible networks. Both considered how art might operate outside of the market place, attempting to take away the mythical power of the artist.”

Loompanics were concerned with propagating the market place and capitalist social relations, the idea they were in any way interested in ‘how art might operate outside of the market place’ is completely ludicrous. The confused nature of the interpretive material apparently reflects the political and other illiteracies of those involved in making the Loompanics Unlimited section of this show (the Dutch ‘art wankers’ Bik Van der Pol and the Pump House Gallery). My guess would be that they’ve seen Mike Hoy described as an anarchist, and from this made an illogical leap to the idea that Loompanics was somehow ‘left-wing’, based entirely on the fallacious assumption that all anarchists are left-wing. After all, Bik Van der Pol and company are artists and curators, so they may well not have bothered to  read the material they’re displaying. Anarchism, of course, simply means fetishised opposition to any and all states, and those who adopt the label often hold right-wing views – for an elaboration of this see my essay Anarchist Integralism.

When I enquired at The Pump House, I was told that the show was the work of a temporary curator called Hannah Liley. I’d never heard of Liley, and if she is responsible for the mess I saw, I hope I never hear of her again.  I could find no online or printed credits naming her as curator; perhaps she is so ashamed of herself she wants to remain anonymous. Allegedly the resident curator is called Sandra Ross, but I don’t know if she had a hand in the current Pump House show.

The Pump House Gallery is in Battersea Park, London SW11 4NJ, and this show is on until 19 July. If you can’t make it to south-west London (Paradise on Earth AKA where I was born) in time to see the exhibition, then much of the Grupo de Artistas de Vanguardia material it collects together is covered in Listen  Here Now! Argentine Art of the 1960s: Writings of the Avant-Garde edited by Ines Katzenstein (Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2004).

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

Another take on The Process Church of the Final Judgment

Sunday, May 31st, 2009

Love Sex Fear Death: The Inside Story of the Process Church of the Final Judgment by Timothy Wyllie (Feral House $24.99) provides a curious history of one of the minor cults that flourished on the fringes of the counterculture. That said, The Process has remained very visible to this day, thanks in part to claims it was the hidden ‘evil’ force behind both the Tate-LaBianca and the Son of Sam slayings. Wyllie insists that these claims, as well as salacious stories about Process founder Mary Ann MacLean having been married to American boxing champion Sugar Ray Robinson and playing a role in the Profumo Affair, are false. All the available evidence would suggest Wyllie is correct on these matters, and while this adds to the credibility of his tale, it will probably do little for the sales of his book.

The book is a personal account of Wyllie’s time with The Process and the story he tells is more convincing than the portraits of the group found in books such as The Ultimate Evil by Maury Terry and the first edition of The Family by Ed Saunders, but it is also far more banal. Therefore, if you want to read sensationalist and ultimately fictionalised accounts of Satanic killing sprees, you’ll have to look elsewhere. There is plenty of that online, and a web search will also locate many Process writings and graphics.

The history of The Process is essentially this: in 1963 two former Scientologists Mary Ann MacLean and Robert de Grimston established a therapy business in Wigmore Street, London. Mary Ann MacLean was a former prostitute who grew up in poverty in Glasgow, while Robert de Grimston was from an upper class family and had served as an officer in the British army before becoming an architecture student and then dropping out three years into these studies. Wyllie first met de Grimston in 1959 when they both enrolled on the architectural course at Regent Street Polytechnic (renamed Polytechnic of Central London in 1970, with a further name change to University of Westminster in 1992). In 1963 McLean and de Grimston began using Wyllie as a guinea pig to test and develop techniques they’d learnt as Scientologists, adapting them to their own purposes.

Wyllie’s circle of student friends provided the initial recruits to what was then called Compulsions Analysis. In Wyllie’s account, those involved with MacLean and de Grimson recognised a sense of spirituality in their activities and the name of the group was therefore changed to The Process in 1965. My own impression is there was nothing spiritual about MacLean and essentially she conned the group into becoming her disciples and funding the luxury life-style she and de Grimston craved. Even from Wyllie’s rather misty-eyed account, it is apparent MacLean was a hard-bitten hustler who’d mastered the con game when she was working as a high class London hooker throughout the 1950s and into the 1960s.

While Process acolytes panhandled for money and lived in abject poverty, the group rented properties it could barely afford in an attempt to trick the outside world into believing they possessed wealth and power. De Grimston and MacLean were the only Process members to live in style. While de Grimston provided the theology, MacLean was the real power running this cynical money-grabbing hierarchy. Over the years the group expanded and at various times had chapters in Rome, Paris, New Orleans, San Francisco, Munich, Los Angeles, Amsterdam, New York, Boston, Chicago, Toronto and Miami. Chapters were sometimes moved from one city to another, and the membership never seems to have stretched beyond the very low hundreds, although The Process claimed to have tens of thousands of members.

Process theology was based on the unification of opposites, and a reading of the Bible that took Christ’s injunction to ‘love thy enemy’ to mean love Satan. Much of this gnostic garbage was confected in group sessions and then written up by de Grimston, and even Wyllie admits it didn’t read well on the printed page. After an Idris Shah book fell on his head in a Notting Hill bookshop, Wyllie convinced himself that de Grimston and MacLean were disguised Sufi masters, and like other members of the cult was also prone to viewing the latter as a human incarnation of the Goddess! The original core of The Process consisted chiefly of over-privileged and privately educated brats, and it seems to me that much remains to be written about how an upper-class upbringing renders individuals peculiarly susceptible to the brainwashing techniques of religious cults.

The Process fell apart when de Grimston and MacLean ended their marital relationship in 1974. De Grimston attempted to revitalise The Process without success. MacLean led the disciples who stuck with her into The Foundation, which adopted increasingly conventional Christian doctrines before reinventing itself as a secular animal charity called Best Friends. MacLean died in 2005, de Grimston is still alive.

Wyllie’s account of his 15 years with The Process is supplemented by the stories of various other members. The most shocking thing to come out of this is the criminal neglect of children whose parents belonged to the cult. The overall impression I’m left with is that life in The Process was very dull, and you had to be deluded to join it in the first place. The Process memoirs gathered together here also show that those conned by guru-figures are very slow to give up their illusions, and will often attempt to off-set the fact they were ripped-off with the desultory claim they enjoyed some kind of spiritual adventure in ‘the process’.

In addition to these memoirs, this book also contains a selection of unimpressive texts by de Grimston, and a very silly essay by Genesis P. Orridge about how he modelled Thee Temple Ov Psychic Youth on The Process. The image section in this tome is rather more interesting, since it illustrates the strong design sense and corporate-style marketing of The Process as a self-consciously totalitarian cult. From Wyllie’s account of the group it is clear why The Process chose to project itself as a totalitarian ‘elite’:

“Mary Ann (cult leader Mary Ann MacLean) never made any apologies, for instance, about having considerable sympathy and respect for the Nazi regime. Doubtless it suited her authoritarian personality. A story I have heard her relate more than once is of her as a small girl of nine or ten, who found herself leaving her physical body and being transported into Hitler’s bunker during World War II. There she would slip around the table in her astral form whispering into the generals’ ears. Whether she ever claimed to observe der Fuehrer’s legendary rages, I don’t recall, but if she had I can only imagine she would have egged him on in his carpet-biting frenzies.” (Page 56).

Elsewhere Wyllie recalls:

“Michael and I stopped in to visit George Lincoln Rockwell, the ‘American Nazi’, out of allegiance to Mary Ann’s interest in extreme ideologies…. Rockwell sat in the only armchair… He looked younger than I thought he was going to be, with a buzz-cut and a surprisingly open, pleasant, face, marred now by a fixed scowl that didn’t leave him while we were there… He had a military bearing but was clearly a frightened man… Later I found out that Lincoln Rockwell was killed in August of 1967 by a disgruntled ex-member of his party and only days after our visit. I should add that Michael is the scion of a wealthy Jewish family and I can only imagine that Mary Ann instructed him to visit Rockwell as a way of testing his mettle…” (Pages 80-81).

Elsewhere in his narrative Wyllie tells tales of counterculture figures like Timothy Leary, Abbie Hoffman and Simon Vinkenoog, assisting The Process. He also writes about a few of the celebrities the group attempted to shake down for donations; they range from Miles Davis to Salvador Dali. Sadly, he has nothing to say about Funkadelic frontman George Clinton, who okayed the reproduction of Process material on the art work to a couple of his albums. Mostly this is a book about the internal dynamics of The Process and as such it makes for curious but nonetheless extremely depressing reading; it appears that most of the ‘former’ cult members contributing to it are still deluded about their experiences years after the group broke up.

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