Posts Tagged ‘Tate Modern’

International manifesto of the left-bourgeoisie

Friday, October 30th, 2009

1. Flying around the world, attending art biennials and eating expensive meals puts us in touch with the wretched of the earth – by underlining exactly what it is that peasants and workers are missing out on.

2. Like the lumpen-proletariat, the left-bourgeoisie is a distinct class fraction and cannot be conflated with its bourgeois and lumpen enemies. Since the proletariat has failed to act as a class for itself, we have no choice but to lead it to taste and discernment via our elevated aesthetic principles (viz, if you liked Damien Hirst, you’ll love Takashi Murakami – and don’t forget that the current Tate show featuring both of them takes its name from the 1991 album Pop Life by Bananarama!).

3. Since Art Review currently ranks Hans Ulrich Obrist as the single most powerful person in the art world, we look to him as our ‘man of steel’. He’s faster than a speeding bullet and susceptible to nothing but an unfortunate tendency to be distracted in the middle of a conversation by his BlackBerry! Obviously Obrist isn’t really the most powerful man in the world – but with the art market collapsing, Art Review couldn’t place a collector or dealer in pole position, or hand this accolade to Nick Serota (who having massively expanded the Tate franchise is now merely adding an extension to Tate Modern). That said, the left-bourgeoisie prefers illusion to reality, and so we are more than willing to risk our all on a rather arbitrary Art Review ranking!

4. Because long manifestos are so last-century, and we are on our way to another networking opportunity disguised as an expensive meal, we’ll restrict our ‘international manifesto of the left-bourgeoisie’ to four points: but if we can think of any more we won’t hesitate to add them later. For us, knowing lots of famous people is way more important than being theoretically coherent.

5. Art is like an over-masticated piece of chewing gum and the more tasteless it becomes the more we like it! The future of world culture will emerge from the dialectical synthesis of this and point one (above). With a little help from Mike Stanley of course!

6. Did we ever tell you what Hou Hanru said to us in Venice? If not ask about it next time we see you…

7. It is impossible to beat our enemies at their own game. Likewise, to participate in a system that is inherently corrupt gives credence to the Labour Party and trade unions (we always knew they were our enemies). Art, on the other hand – what we discretely refrain from calling elite high culture – is a necessary evil that must be used in the self-defence of the left-bourgeoisie and progressive proletariat! All power to the curators’ and collectors’ councils! Forward with Vasif Kortun!

Paul McCartney, Charles Tompson and Pi Li on behalf of The Left-Bourgeois Club of Great Britain (formerly The National Satanist Movement of Europe, the Americas, Australia, North Africa, the Middle East, the Northern Fringes of the Indian Subcontinent and related dependencies including New Zealand and the Solomon Islands).

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

Flying Lizard tribute to Tony Sinden at Tate Modern

Wednesday, October 28th, 2009

Last night I went to the celebration of the life and work of Tamara Krikorian and Tony Sinden at Tate Modern’s Starr Auditorium. The event was a tribute to two pioneering UK based video artists who died earlier this year; among other things, Krikorian also played a major role in setting up London Video Arts. Unfortunately, I find Krikorian’s work boring, and neither the talks about her nor the screening of her 1977 video Vanitas did much for me. In Vanitas, Krikorian stands in front of a mirror with a TV and many other objects reflected in it, the audio cuts between the artist talking about art and TV news reports. It is an understatement to say this failed to rivet me.

Tony Sinden wasn’t afraid to experiment, and I find his work hit and miss, but went it hits it nails me to the floor. The first screening last night was This Surface (1973) by David Hall and Tony Sinden. The 12 minute short kicks off with a pub scene: a right tasty geezer with a not quite full pint of beer balanced on his head dances, while guys and gals in groovy flares and sporting fabulous seventies hairdos look on in disbelief. As the dance goes on the reveller tilts his head further and further to one side in order to keep the beer balanced on top. The soundtrack is Mouldy Old Dough by Lieutenant Pigeon. After this, the film cuts to a tracking shot looking out to sea and moving from the east towards the Palace Pier on Brighton Beach. The words ‘this surface’ is written in marker pen on either the camera lens or some plate glass in front of it. The camera movement creates the impression the viewer is on one of the mini-railways that were a common feature of British seaside resorts in the 1960s and 1970s.

This Surface runs through various fragments of text relating to filming, cameras and cine-projection; both ‘interrupting’ the filmed ‘scenery’, and as ‘subtitles’. Having not quite reached the Palace Pier, the camera jump cuts to a reverse shot, and facing inland we trundle past the various boat houses and sheds located immediately beneath Marine Parade as we head back east. Next comes another jump cut to what looks like Western Road, and the camera tracks west to east along the shops immediately north of what is now Churchill Square. The next cut apparently takes us back to the seafront, and a static shot shows a Pit and The Pendulum type scenario, with a blade swinging over the body of a human dummy (displayed in the window of one of the many seaside attractions). Finally the action cuts back to the man dancing with a glass of beer on his head (still to Lieutenant Pigeon), but shot from a different angle to the scene that kicks off This Surface.

One of the things I find curious about Sinden’s work is the chance serendipities that can sometimes really enhance its effects. In the case of this particular collaboration with Hall, the setting is for me an example of this. Although I’ve never lived in Brighton, I know the town well, and as a child in the sixties and early seventies I’d be taken on day trips to Brighton Beach in the summer. Thus This Surface is jolting for me, because once the text is stripped away from it, it could almost be my own memories. Likewise, Mouldy Old Dough was a huge hit when I was a nipper, and takes me right back 1972. Sitting immediately behind me was currently London based but north American raised artist S. E Barnet. She told me afterwards she’d never heard the tune before, so although she found it striking, it had no associations for her; and I assume she doesn’t have childhood memories of Brighton in the early seventies which render This Surface even more strangely familiar to me. S. E. was obviously as grooved by the short as I was, but given it carried for her few of the associations it held for me, was she watching the same movie?

The other highlight of the night was David Cunningham (a former member of seventies one-hit wonder band/collective Flying Lizards), Rob Gawthop, and Alan Baker, performing a 1977 sound piece from Sinden’s Functional Action series. They each rubbed a couple of pots together and the resulting music was a groove sensation! The Functional Action series is where my fascination with Sinden began. I was vaguely aware of his video installations when in mid-eighties London I was doing something or other with a gallery (possibly Chisenhale in Bow) and I came across a pile of his album Functional Action Parts 2 & 3: Swing Guitars/Drift Guitars (Piano, 1980). Asking why the albums were leaning against a wall with rubbish piled up beside them, I was told the gallery were throwing them out and if I wanted the record I was welcome  to take one. When I got the vinyl home and played it, I thought one side was fabulous and the other dreadful. After that I paid attention whenever I came across Sinden’s name.

Last night the Tate Modern was filled with Sinden and Krikorian’s friends and colleagues, who were paying tribute to them. It would be nice to see parts of Sinden’s Functional Action series and 16mm collaborations with David Hall reaching a new and younger audience. I trust that will happened in due course, with the best of his film and music reissued in appropriate formats. Despite an at times understandably sombre tone, the Tate tribute nonetheless provided a very useful overview of Sinden’s creative endeavours. Minimalism and conceptualism can rock, you just have to do it right!

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

Is Mark Waugh’s “Bubble Entendre” banned in the USA?

Saturday, October 24th, 2009

Two weeks ago I received an email informing me that an attempt to sell titles in my Semina series at the New York Art Book Fare had descended into farce because the books had been impounded by US customs. Book Works told me they’d flown from Europe to America to sell  the novels, but ended up manning an empty table. The publications have now disappeared and may have been destroyed; from New York any unsold copies should have gone on to a distributor in Los Angeles, but there is still no sign of them on either the east or west coast. I was reminded of this a couple of days ago, when the following message from Bubble Entendre author Mark Waugh turned up in my inbox:

“Hi, could you expand on the rumour that Bubble Entendre has been impounded by US customs? In a week when the Tate flirted with showing Spiritual America, and then withdrew the work, I am curious about a conspiracy to regulate the flow of subversive literature into the homes of bourgeois America? Best wishes, Mark.”

Word on the grapevine is that the Semina books were impounded because a US customs official took a look at Bubble Entendre and decided it was a blue-print for a terrorist attack on the 2012 Olympic Games. The novel does contain a narrative about an entirely fictional kidnap incident during this event; but I’d like to stress that I only accepted the text for publication because it was, in my opinion, critical of terrorism.

For the benefit of customs officials and cultural cops around the world, I’d like to clarify that I am 100% opposed to all forms of terrorism – regardless of whether it is committed by the US and British governments (as is currently happening in the Middle East and Afghanistan); or by religious fundamentalists (Christian, Islamic, Buddhist, Hindu or any other variety). It should go without saying that terrorism is always vanguardist and can never be justified.

To reiterate, I do not write, edit or endorse books that in any way condone terrorism. I’d also like to know what happened to the missing Semina books – Index by Bridget Penney, One Break, A Thousand Blows by Maxi Kim, Bubble Entendre by Mark Waugh and Rape New York by Jana Leo. I trust that the several hundred missing copies of these works have not been mindlessly destroyed by US customs, and that they will be delivered to Book Work’s LA distributor in the very near future.

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

The Zanzibar Films & The Dandies Of May 1968 by Sally Shafto

Friday, September 18th, 2009

For a couple of years at the end of the sixties hippie heiress Sylvina Boissonnas financed a series of films by a group of young artists and writers with little to no cinematic experience. The end result was the French equivalent of US underground movies, which is hardly surprising when you consider that Andy Warhol and The Factory had been a big influence on this informal group of around a dozen hipsters. When I saw the Zanzibar short Vite by Daniel Pommereulle screened at Tate Modern as part of a 1968 movie season in London last year, I got the impression that very few of those in the audience were aware of Zanzibar films: most seemed to have turned up to see the 1968 newsreel shorts that were screened alongside Pommereulle’s fabulous 37 minute freak out that takes you from the north African desert to outer space.

When I first heard of Zanzibar, quite a few years ago now, it was via whispered tales of a freaky heiress who would write cheques for hippies who wanted to make films, and then never asked them to account for the money she very freely handed out. Vite is actually the shortest Zanzibar flick, most are an hour to two hours in length, and with one exception they are filmed in 35mm, not the cheaper 16mm format that was so typical of American underground movies. Likewise, little effort was made to distribute Zanzibar material, so it isn’t nearly so well known as transatlantic improvisations by directors such as Maya Deren, Stan Brakhage, Ken Jacobs, Bruce Connor, Jim McBride or Jack Smith. Reflecting Warhol’s Factory aesthetic, Zanzibar films are full of beautiful people, non-actors, a number of whom were high-fashion models. Likewise, the technicians and directors who made these movies were predisposed to formal experimentation because they had little if any film training. The results are on the whole much more interesting than the self-consciously commercial recuperation of letterist cinema by the earlier and older French ‘new wave’ of Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut (but not as good as Alain Resnais or Chris Marker when they were firing on all six cylinders).

It has always been difficult to see Zanzibar movies outside Paris, and at least four of the sixteen Zanzibar titles Shafto lists in her pamphlet appear to have been lost. Philippe Garrel is the only film-maker from this group still working as a director today, and he is now well known for more ‘mainstream’ material such as his 2005 movie Regular Lovers, starring his son Louis. Garrel Senior had a ten year relationship with Nico, the model turned drug-icon and pseudo-singer (she also appeared in seven films Garrel directed), and so his name should also be familiar to those with an interest in mock-rock and substance abuse.

The Zanzibar group took their name from a part of Africa that boasted a Maoist regime in the late-sixties, and which some saw as a crossroads between the ‘orient’ and the ‘occident’. An attraction to Maoism is merely one factor that makes it difficult to take the group’s political and mystical pretensions seriously. It should go without saying that despite their deployment of ‘communist’ rhetoric, virtually everyone whose political inspiration can be traced back to Lenin is a moderniser attempting to effect a shift from the formal to the real domination of capital in societies still largely characterised by agrarian modes of production. However, and as I’ve already said, aesthetically Zanzibar represent a real continuation of letterist experimentation in the cinema. Likewise, the fact that two of the Zanzibar films were made by women directors (Un Film by Sylvina Boissonnas and Deux Fois by Jacqueline Raynal) at a time when it was unusual for women to helm French movies, serves to further underscore the way in which the group’s practice ran ahead of its theoretical positions.

Sally Shafto’s pamphlet on Zanzibar consists mainly of an extended essay about the group and its dissolution during a journey through Africa that fell far short of its original geographical and artistic goals. This is appended with a ‘who’s who’ of the group, credits for sixteen Zanzibar films, and sleeve notes for an album of music recorded on the trip that put an end to this loose collective. There are a lot of really groovy photographs illustrating the text too, so despite an ungainly academic prose style quite an odds with the elegant subject matter, this is a good introduction to the Zanzibar group. What I’m reviewing here is a 64 page pamphlet put out by Zazibar USA (AKA Jackie Raynal-Saleh and Joseph J. M. Saleh) in 2000: there is also a dual French and English language book of this material with additional interviews issued as Zanzibar: Les films Zanzibar et les dandys de mai 1968 by Paris Experimental Editions in 2006. Neither publication appears particularly easy to obtain but if you put a little work into getting your mits on this shit your efforts will be well rewarded!

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

Chicks On Speed piss all over the dead futurists at Tate Modern

Saturday, July 4th, 2009

Yesterday I went to see the Futurism exhibition at Tate Modern. The first thing in this display is a large blown-up poster of F. T. Marinetti’s Manifesto of Futurism, which included the following: “We will destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind, we will fight moralism, feminism, every opportunistic or utilitarian cowardice… we establish Futurism, because we want to free this land from its smelly gangrene of professors, archaeologists, ciceroni and antiquarians. For too long Italy has been a dealer in second-hand clothes. We mean to free her from the numberless museums that cover her like so many graveyards.”

Tate Modern interpretative material reiterated the importance of these lines: “With the publication of the Founding and Manifesto of Futurism in February 1909, Filippo Tomasso Marinetti laid out the blueprint for an avant-garde movement. He was deliberately provocative in his wholesale rejection of the past: ‘Turn aside the canals to flood the museums!… Take up your pickaxes, your axes and hammers and wreck, wreck the venerable cities, pitilessly!’ Beginning with Italy, which he saw as artistically complacent, he proposed a total modernisation of contemporary culture in line with the advances in technology, philosophy and anarchist politics.”

But instead of destroying the academies, Marinetti and his chums became active participants in Italian fascism. Not only was Marinetti a rich scumbag, he was a seriously sad skunk to boot. Despite the far-Right trajectory of the movement Marinetti instigated, the hack work it churned out is now the stuff of which museum exhibitions are made; tatters from a rotting corpse that are displayed at Tate Modern like so many ‘holy’ relics to be venerated by credulous fools. Today Marinetti’s Futurist manifestos are about as relevant as the British monarchy; they come across as long-winded and terminally outdated in a world dominated by the strap-line, advertising jingles, twitter and spam email. Futurist visual ‘art’ by the likes of Boccioni, Carrà and Balla, is even worse; it is an academic exercise in ocular boredom that totally lacks the dynamism which is supposed to be its raison d’être.

After viewing the spaces dedicated to Italian Futurism, it was a minor relief to hit a room given over to the work of Picasso and Braque. Their Cubist slop looked somewhat more advanced than the sickly romantic street scenes of the Futurists; nonetheless Picasso isn’t ripe he’s rotten! He’s followed by the three Duchamp brothers – Moe, Curly and Larry. Oops, Moe and company are The Three Stooges! What I meant to say was Jacques Villon, Raymond Duchamp-Villon and Marcel Duchamp. Then you get Orphism, Russian Cubo-Futurism, nearly a whole room given over to publications (wow, is that dull!), Vorticism, and finally Futurism and war. Much of the material is familiar and all of it is completely superannuated. I found some of this stuff interesting when I was 12 years-old (35 years ago), but in the intervening period it has decomposed badly. Enough of that old Futurist rubbish, we want something new! How about post-aestheticism and a world-wide proletarian revolution with unlicensed pleasure as its only aim?

Wandering through this inert Futurist display, I remembered that Marcel Duchamp once remarked works of art die, and that museums and art history are their graveyards. The pieces by Duchamp and his brothers looked as dead as those of everyone else, and no more likely to get up and start moonwalking than Michael Jackson. The week before I went to the Futurism show, Chicks On Speed kindly sent me their new album Cutting The Edge, and although I’d only managed to listen to the CD a couple of times, some of the tunes started floating through my head while I was at Tate Modern. Art Rules, previously out as a single, whirled around my brain with the greatest aggressive persistence: “Brush it up, art star recipe, it’s two cups of gelatin, mix it well, stir in a concept, technology as well, whip in some finance and a pinch of cocaine, add a harmless scandal, a media plan all cooked up by your right hand man… Always modern, whose on top the artists or the dealers? Where are all the women, underneath the men! Invest in a collection or buy credibility…” This says it all really. You don’t need to bother with old farts like Marinetti when you’ve got Chicks On Speed. Art Rules has to be heard to be believed, it’s a super-retro lo-fi hi-energy dance tune that rocks like it’s 2099!

So rather than wasting any more time on the Futurism show, I raced off to groove to some Chicks On Speed records. And incidentally, more than 25 years ago I was already parodying the tedium of Italian Futurism by writing things like: “We will sing the love of hot running water and colour television…” For more of that see my Neoist Manifestos.

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

Art Is Dead Baby: The Tate Modern UBS ‘Long Weekend’

Wednesday, May 27th, 2009

After its sponsor UBS AG went into near financial meltdown, Tate Modern named this year’s UBS Long Weekend ‘Do It Yourself’ (22-25 May 2009) and based it around an Arte Povera exhibition. UBS is both a private and investment bank, as well as an asset management corporation. In the past it has been a major sponsor of the arts, but is unlikely to remain so for much longer.

After incurring huge losses on subprime mortgage securities in 2007, UBS only survived after it secured a multi-billion dollar bail out from the Government Investment Corporation of Singapore (GISC) and an unnamed source in the Middle East.  At the end of last year, after even more disasters, UBS managers pledged to return bonuses and shareholders voted to accept financial aid from the Swiss government. This is supposed to restore trust in UBS. It won’t in the long term. UBS made advance commitments to its Tate sponsorship, but given the financial shape this corporation is in, it seems unlikely it will be renewing them. UBS has already cut back on its own art collecting activities, and has let go of its collections curator Joanne Bernstein (who is now doing some far more interesting freelance work, see my earlier blog that summarizes her contribution to Performing Localities).

The art world is part and parcel of the financial world. When high finance catches a cold, local art scenes react as if they’ve got the plague. An institution like The Tate is particularly vulnerable because it has few resources beyond its brand. It has no real money, its art collection is full of holes and its director Nick Serota is committed to ongoing and massive expansion without the resources to sustain such a programme. The maths simply doesn’t add up, and every day it seems more likely that the unstable stack of cards that is The Tate could collapse.

In an attempt to cover up this fragile state of affairs, Serota is attempting to attract ever larger crowds to Tate Modern. The big draw this year during the UBS Weekend was a recreation of the 1971 work Bodyspacemotionthings by Robert Morris. Tate Modern promoted this as art you can touch. It got a lot of media coverage. I even heard it reported on local London radio news but without the name of the artist or his work mentioned. Bodyspacemotionthings looks remarkably like a commercial soft play space aimed at small children, but without the padding one might expect. Nothing wrong with that, and there were loads of kids in Tate Modern having a lot of fun. Art is dead baby and Tate Modern is now an adventure playground.

So rather than waiting for The Tate’s money to run out, let’s allow kids to run riot through all its Bankside galleries, taking the canvases down from the walls and treating them as toys. As for the curators, I’m sure most of them would rather be doing something useful – like running a nursery that gives kids a good time – than handling art. Duchamp suggested using the Mona Lisa as an ironing board, but actually it makes more sense to use old and modern ‘masters’ as den walls and capes…. And once the kids have gone home, as suggested in an earlier blog, we can have nudist nights at Tate Modern.

The entire Tate Modern treated as a play space would have been much more fun than the UBS Weekend as I experienced it. There were a lot of people sitting on the grass by The Thames, not really listening to the bands playing on a stage. I spent most of the time I was there talking to people like Laura Oldfield Ford and Dan Mitchell. I was introduced to a shed load of new faces by their first names, so beyond Paul Sakoilsky – who gave me a copy of his newspaper The Dark Times – I can’t properly identify them here. The event was very much a case of create your own entertainment, and while all those around me were downing beers, they didn’t appear to consider what they were doing ‘drinking sculptures’. That said, since we did ‘do it ourselves’, that is create our own entertainment, The Tate’s ‘anti-corporate’ arte povera shindig simply proved the obvious – the institution of art is utterly redundant. Given this, it is hardly necessary to add that Tate director Nick Serota would make a much better clown if he donned face-paint and a red nose.

After writing the above, I picked up the following email from Selina Jones: “I hope you all had a fab time at The Long Weekend. Over 100,000 people came down! For those of you who didn’t make it or who want more, I have good news! The amazing Robert Morris installation will now be opened for an extended period – until 14th of June. That is 3 more weeks of having an excuse to play, even if you are technically a fully grown adult.” Yes, Tate Modern no longer even attempts to cover up the fact that art is infantilising. Who needs an excuse to play? It’s time for some ‘serious’ redecoration at Bankside!

If you haven’t done so already, you might like to check out my posts about the low quality of recent events at Tate Britain too: Bourriaud’s ‘Altermodern’, an eclectic mix of bullshit & bad taste and 5,494 Linda McCartney Vegetarian Sausages For Nicolas Bourriaud.

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

Why we need a weekly nudist night at Tate Modern in London!

Tuesday, May 19th, 2009

Is it possible to enjoy modern art with your clothes on? Not if you are Mavis Artlover of the Art Lovers Network. According to promotional material you can find online: “This group is for everyone who likes to romp around naked with works of art. Sex with art is even better than masturbation!”

Mavis Artlover is a 25 year-old hotel chambermaid who moved from Totnes in Devon to Dollis Hill in London five years ago. She told me that she discovered she was sexually excited by art as a teenager when she was visiting the Arnolfini in Bristol: “I was looking at this Anselm Kiefer work and I felt a wave of pleasure washing through me. I discovered later I’d just had my first orgasm. Since then I’ve always felt an overwhelming urge to strip-off when I’m looking at great works of art.”

Despite 47 arrests and 23 convictions for nude and disorderly conduct in art museums, Mavis has never looked back since the Kiefer knicker-wetting incident. “I’m sexually fulfilled,” she told me, “and although the price of that has been several months of jail, it was worth it. That said, I don’t want to do any more porridge, which is why I’m campaigning for all major world museums to introduce regular clothes-optional days.”

Mavis has even got together with several like-minded aesthetes who share her passion for viewing art in the buff, and they are demanding a weekly nudist night at Tate Modern. And I’m with Mavis on that, since I can’t see why those who are so inclined shouldn’t leave both their clothes and their inhibitions behind in the Tate cloakroom while they enjoy a finger or three of the old Bill Viola.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve made the beast with two backs in an art gallery that you and your humping partner are sharing with stone-to the-bone contemporary masterpiece such as Santa Claus with a Buttplug by Paul McCarthy or The Great White Way Goes Black by Katharina Sieverding!” Mavis told me.

I agreed when she told me this, but mainly because I wanted to get into her pants. Then I realised Mavis wasn’t wearing any knickers, she was as naked as the day she was born. I thought I was in luck, but Mavis made it clear there was no way she’d let me ram my French stick into her her fuzz-box until The Tate Modern agreed to a weekly nudist night

So there you have it, two really good reasons you should join the campaign to demand that Nick Serota introduces regular naked art appreciation sessions at Bankside: 1) You’ll never look at Mike Kelly’s work in the same way again after experiencing it buck naked; 2) Mavis isn’t going to let me shag her until Tate Modern give in to her demands!

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

Holy Armageddon Batman! A Richard Grayson Opening at Matt’s Gallery in London!

Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

I went to the Sunday afternoon opening of Richard Grayson’s The Golden Space City of God at Matt’s Gallery (42-44 Copperfield Road, London E3 4RR) on 10 May. Some drapes and stacked chairs, designed to make the gallery look like a community space, formed a minor part of an installation. The main item was a 45 minute film of a choir singing a libretto that had been assembled by Grayson from writings he’d found on the website of Christian fundamentalist cult The Family International (formerly The Children of God And The Family of Love). The music is composed by Leo Chadburn.

The content of the libretto is bog standard Christian fundamentalist bollocks based on The Book of Revelation. Given that The Family started out as a hippie cult you get a few space-age trimmings, but nothing that would surprise anyone who knows the first thing about the forces that potentially threaten the liberty of those who aren’t dyed-in-the-wool religious nuts. The Family view current events as demonstrating that Tribulation has arrived; i.e. the period when Christians are persecuted and the Anti-Chirst rules. According to those that believe this rot, following on from this comes the Battle of Armageddon, at the conclusion of which Christ defeats the Anti-Christ and faithful Christians are rewarded with everlasting life in heaven in the form of The Rapture. The insane beliefs which form the core of Grayson’s libretto are well known outside Christian circles; hence, for example, the jokey title of Blondie’s huge 1981 hit single Rapture.

Despite widespread allusions to Christian fundamentalist eschatology in both popular and underground culture (see also, for example, the books and films of The Church of The SubGenius), Andrew Brighton in an essay accompanying the Matt’s Gallery exhibition suggests: “Richard Grayson’s shocking achievement is to bring into the cultural and institutional frame of modern art such a dangerously hostile set of ideas, values and prophecies as offered in The Golden Space City of God and persuade us to hold or consider or at least comprehend them…”

Aside from the blatant stupidity of this statement – since anyone with an interest in the world around them or even just recent American popular culture,  should be familiar with Christian fundamentalist beliefs – it is also rather rich coming from an ignoramus like Andrew Brighton. This former Senior Curator at Tate Modern is a complete tosser with a long history of blocking from entry into the institution of art anything that disturbs his bourgeois views. Like most liberals, Brighton claims to be defending enlightened and democratic values, which in practice leads to the suppression of free and open debate. To give just one example, he personally blocked an essay about me by Richard Marshall from appearing in Critical Quarterly on the grounds that I stand for the destruction of everything he holds dear. If you want to read the essay, it was subsequently posted on the 3AM Magazine website.

Returning to Grayson, his libretto certainly amused one of the women who sang it, you can see her lips curling upwards and her eyes twinkling when she doesn’t have to sing. I’m sure many other members of the choir felt the same way about the work they were performing, although most are so focused on their singing that they aren’t able to smile. Since I didn’t have to do anything more than watch the film of this choir, I was able to give vent to a good belly laugh while I was at Matt’s Gallery. And I’m sure many other visitors to Grayson’s installation will laugh long and loud too.

The installation set-up resulted in it being difficult to spend much time speaking to people at the opening. I clocked the likes of Andrew Brighton and Mark Wallinger but didn’t exchange any kind of pleasantry with them and wouldn’t want to. I did say ‘hi’ and little else to Andrew Wilson and Ingrid Swenson, among others.

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

Performing Localities: Recent Guatemalan Performance Art On Video

Friday, May 8th, 2009

There were two evenings of screenings and talks about Guatemalan live art at Iniva in Shoredtich on 5 & 6 May (2009). On both nights six videos lasting around 40 minutes in total were followed by a talk that went on a little longer. The panel on the first night consisted of London-based curator Joanne Bernstein and her Guatemala City counterpart Rosina Cazali. Among other things, they outlined the political background to contemporary cultural production in Guatemala. This might partly be summarised by explaining that mid-twentieth century land reforms in Guatemala led to a CIA sponsored coup in 1954; then after a presidential assassination three years later and other internal troubles, there followed a civil war that only ended in 1996.

The neocolonialist exploitation of Latin America by the United Fruit Company, whose economic interests were being defended by the United States government when it intervened in Guatemala was not mentioned, presumably in the interests of keeping the session relatively short and simple. What was outlined was the policy of genocide towards the mainly rural native American population, the destruction of hundreds of Mayan villages, and the systematic murder by the US supported Guatemalan regime of thousands of civilians who became known as the disappeared.

On the Tuesday night three videos by Regina José Galindo, probably the best known contemporary Guatemalan artist, were screened. The first of these We Loose Nothing By Being Born (2000) was the best of them. In this Galindo lies naked in a clear plastic bag (with holes in it to allow her to breath) at a landfill site on the edge of Mexico City; the soundtrack is simply ambient city noise captured as the piece was filmed. As with many of Galindo’s works, a strong and deceptively simple image is created. On the one hand Galindo in the bag might be taken as a representation of a baby in its mother’s womb; on the other, she is simultaneously invoking the unidentifiable bodies of the disappeared that are found abandoned in many parts of Latin America and bagged up before being buried. Aside from the obvious birth/death dialectic at work here, the setting and surreality of the image also reminded me of those Jeff Keen movies (particularly White Dust, 1972) set in the Whitehawk landfill dump on the edge of Brighton in England.

Performing Localities was billed as consisting entirely of videos screened ‘for the first time in the UK’, which put the curators of this event at a major disadvantage as far as Galindo was concerned, since a mid-career retrospective of her work, The Body Of Others, was hosted by Modern Art Oxford from 31 January to 29 March this year. Thus the pick of her work had already been shown in the UK, and as a consequence two of the three Galindo pieces screened on the first night of Performing Localities could be viewed as second-rate. That said, what these screenings also brought home is that a bad Galindo piece is often better than the most outstanding work of her contemporaries on the Guatemala City live art scene.

Weight (2005) documents a four day performance in the Dominican Republic during which Galindo ate, slept and performed all her daily tasks shackled by heavy chains. Given Galindo’s encasement in slave manacles, the work is first and foremost concerned with colonial exploitation, although the programme notes suggested the piece is also more generally about: “the limitations placed on women… in Central America’. The video contains some nice images but is ultimately unsatisfactory. The majority of films showing Galindo’s actions are straightforward point and shoot exercises, and often they are very grungily framed. There may be time lapses but in part their effect depends upon the viewer believing that any editing has been minimal. I wasn’t surprised when during a talk she gave at Modern Art Oxford, Galindo insisted that it is her actions which are her art, while the videos and photographs of them are simply something she sells to sustain herself. This accounts for their rough documentary feel; on the whole – despite a very different content – they don’t look much different from thousands of home videos you can see posted on YouTube.

With Weight there is self-evident manipulation of the filmed material. For example, Galindo is shown singing, the video then cuts to her walking in her manacles while the singing on the soundtrack continues, and finally we see her singing again. Clearly these images have not been run in their original chronological sequence, and their clumsy manipulation completely undermines the deceptive sense of simplicity that gives her work so much of its power. The imagery within Weight made me think of Spanish exploitation director Jess Franco’s women-in-prison movies such as 99 Women (1969), Devil’s Island Lovers (1974), Barbed Wire Dolls (1975)  and Ilsa, the Wicked Warden (1977). I doubt that this is a connection Galindo was looking to make, but given Franco’s ongoing popularity it is inevitably one that is going to crop up in some viewers’ minds. Another possibly inappropriate association that occurred to me is the use of harnesses to tie members of the British performance art collective Ddart together during their durational works of the 1980s.

The third Galindo work screened on Tuesday night was Bitch (2005). In this, Galindo sits on a chair and carves the word ‘perra’ (bitch or whore) into the flesh of her left thigh with a knife. I understand the intention is to invoke the disfiguring of women that is part and parcel of male sexual violence in Guatemala. From the video it is evident that Galindo finds cutting herself painful, and while I’m left impressed by her determination to follow through on ideas she has for her actions, I end up thinking more about this than the general situation of women in Guatemla. Likewise, the performance is too obviously premeditated, whereas sexual violence more usually has the appearance of being spontaneous – even when it isn’t, and despite the fact it springs from a long-established patriarchal culture. This particular work also struck me as being little different in its ultimate effect to talentless rock idol Richey Edwards using a razor blade to carve the phrase “4 REAL” into his arm as a publicity stunt to promote his group the Manic Street Preachers. Fans of Marina Abramovic will probably love both that and this piece by Galindo, but since I think Abramovic and The Manics suck, I am unimpressed.

Moving on, Your Tortillas My Love (2004) by Sandra Monterroso did nothing at all for me. It showed the artist making tortillas and looking almost as bored as I felt watching it. Something may have been lost in translation, because within it Monterroso speaks some Mayan, and this was accompanied by both Spanish and English subtitles, with the latter being at some points completely scrambled and very clearly not the work of a native speaker. According to notes circulated to accompany the screening, the ‘artist appears to be in an obsessive trance’. I’m not convinced by this and see the entire thing as a piece of fakery, despite the assertion by the curators that Monterroso’s work is a ‘magic incantation’ to evoke ‘the gap between Latin and Mayan cultures’. Her video was easily the worst thing screened over the two nights, and at 16 minutes it was also the longest!

Detachment (2007) by Maria Adela Diaz showed two women in matching red dresses that had been stitched together, and as they attempted to move in different directions, the stitching came apart. This created a colourful image but even if as the notes available on the night suggested, this was a daughter seeking independence from her mother, the women should have donned matching slips and bras to take it a little closer to formalist perfection. Personally I’d have preferred the work if the women had been more evenly matched in stature, rather than one being large and the other small. The last film of the first evening was Angel Poyon’s Litanies (2008), a recitation of names of disappeared persons interrupted by questions and a plea for one of them to return from the dead. For non-Spanish speakers such as myself, the work would have been more effective if the names of the missing had been subtitled alongside the other pieces of speech, then I could have been more certain I wasn’t missing anything during those portions of the video that weren’t subtitled.

Wednesday night kicked off with films from Anibal Lopez who was born in 1964, rather than the early to mid-1970s like the rest of those featured in Performing Localities. Lopez is a crucial connection between the younger artists and the preceding generation, and in their earlier days also between this younger generation and the wider international art scene. Lopez acted as a mentor to many of the younger artists and after Galindo, he is probably the best known among them. The first of his films, Roll of 120m x 4m Black Plastic Hanging From The Incienso Bridge (2003), showed a long ribbon of plastic being attached to a bridge and then floating in the air above a valley. It looked like Christo on crack to me, and that is praise indeed!

Another video by Lopez, One Ton Of Books Dumped On Reform Avenue, was the single best piece screened during Performing Localities. It showed a dumper truck halting in the middle of a busy street, discarding its load of used books and moving off; local traffic is disrupted and has to manoeuvre around this pile of rubbish, and before long pedestrians are in the middle of the road, picking through the abandoned publications and taking anything that interests them. This work reminded me of the largely unrealised plans George Maciunas laid out for disrupting high cultural activities and harassing middle class commuters in his Fluxus New-Policy Letter No.6 (dated 6 April 1963).  In this, Maciunas famously advocated the disruption of the New York transportation system via pre-arranged break-downs at strategic points on the city road system during the rush hour.

One Ton Of Books also inclined me to the view that Lopez is probably an unreliable guide to his own work; books are extremely dense and heavy objects, and from my experiences of moving large quantities of them, I’d guess that the weight of books dumped on Reform Avenue was far more than the rhetorical ton used in the title of the piece. This, of course, also made me wonder whether the length of plastic used in the previous piece really was 120 metres, or if it was some other length. On reflection, I figured the length given looked about right for the plastic shown in the film.

The title of the final Lopez film screened on Wednesday night appears to have been inaccurate if its English translation is correct: Sculpture Composed of 500 Boxes of Contraband Transported from Paraguay to Brazil (2007). For this, Lopez paid smugglers to transport empty boxes into Brazil, there was no contraband inside them and it looked to me like there was a lot less than 500 of them. Unless this was a double bluff, and Lopez hid drugs in some of the boxes or used his art piece as a decoy to fool the cops while some real smuggling went down, the work is slight and silly. That said, it brought to mind the activities of British artist Francis Morland, who in the 1960s smuggled hash inside his fibre-glass sculptures (but he pursued this as a money-making criminal activity, rather than as art). No doubt the smugglers Lopez employed are more than happy to be paid to participate in no risk operations but that hardly makes for riveting viewing, and what I saw looked weak in comparison to the other Lopez videos screened during Performing Localities.

Far better was Dario Escobar’s 12 Minutes, 8 Seconds (2008), which consisted of a fixed shot of a lit cigarette placed on a public fountain and filmed until it had burnt down to the butt and the remains were blown away by the wind. Like We Loose Nothing By Being Born and  One Ton Of Books, this piece was a real groove sensation! You knew there would be a pay-off when the ash fell from the cigarette, and the way this was stretched out proved a real gas. And again, like One Ton Of Books, this piece made me think of Fluxus, and  in particular of its simple instructional performances that were theorised by Maciunas as the ‘monomorphic neo-haiku flux-event’ and which he counterposed to the self-indulgence of the ‘mixed media neo-baroque happening’. Needless to say, the soundtrack to 12 Minutes, 8 Seconds was simply ambient city noise captured as the film was made!

A further Galindo video, Survival Skills Course For Men & Woman Preparing To Travel Illegally To The United States (2007), was screened on Wednesday. The film was shot in Mexico and showed a survival instructor hired by Galindo teaching useful skills to a group of people planning to enter the USA illegally via its southern border. This piece had definitely been shown in the UK before since it was included in the recent Galindo retrospective at Modern Art Oxford. But that said, as far as I can tell it was the only video to have had a prior UK outing, although at least one of the other films shown has been available for viewing online.

The last video screened was a 5 minute extract from Jessica Lagunas’ 120 Minutes Of Silence. Unlike all the other artists included in these two nights of screenings, Lagunas was born in Nicaragua rather than Guatemala. She currently lives in New York but was included both because she makes work explicitly about Guatemala, and likewise when she lived in Guatemala City she worked at the same advertising agency as Galindo and Diaz (obviously this was before Galindo became a professional artist). Lagunas has described 120 Minutes Of Silence in the following way: “From one-yard of camouflage fabric, a person cuts along the solid shapes for two-hours, honoring the 40,000 disappeared victims during the 36-year civil war in that country”. The audience at Iniva was extremely restless during the projection of this brief extract; coughing, knocking over drinks and shuffling in seats, therefore at the time it was impossible to determine whether Lagunas (or the person performing the piece for her if it was not Lagunas) was attempting to make as little noise as possible while snipping at the fabric, or if the sound had simply been stripped off the video footage. To me the work would have been more powerful if the former had been the case, but online searches led me to conclude that the film is simply silent. From Lagunas’ description as quoted above, the similarity of these pieces to Fluxus works and scripts once again becomes evident, this is a simple live event that anyone – not just the artist who wrote it – could perform.

The panel talk after the Wednesday screenings was between Professor Oriana Baddeley from Camberwell School of Art in south London, Julian Stallabrass from the Courtauld Institute of Art in The Strand, and Rosina Cazali. Unfortunately the discussion was completely moribund because Baddeley began by challenging the curatorial premise of  a Guatemalan art upon which the screenings were based, suggesting that perhaps the pieces we’d seen had a more universal validity. While someone else might have turned this into an interesting argument, Baddeley was unable to do so and it appeared she knew virtually nothing about the work she was on stage to talk about. She made a couple of tenuous and completely generalised comparisons with currently fashionable artists – Cildo Meireles from Brazil who recently had a big retrospective at Tate Modern, and the pathetic Santiago Sierra (the subject of an April Fools Day hoax on this blog just over a month ago). Baddeley is apparently an ‘expert’ on Mexican art, particularly murals and painting, but evidently doesn’t understand that in order to deal with the general one must also address the specific; and in this instance that would mean referencing both the works that had been screened and knowing something of the history of live art – she said virtually nothing about either. Having pushed the discussion up a blind alley, Baddeley was absolutely determined to keep it there, and thus the Wednesday talk was very dull in comparison to the discussion the night before.

Overall Performing Localities was still an exciting event, highlighting work that would be ignored by the London art world if it was being produced in Europe but that can find an audience here – although it doesn’t have much of one Guatemala – because right now Latin American (and particularly Mexican and Brazilian) culture is fashionable. Successful European artists tend to make slicker but duller work than Galindo and Lopez, and most have had their mind shackled by a formal art training. None of the artists featured in Performing Localities attended art school, they are autodidacts who created a scene through mutual support. Possibly that is why academics like Baddeley are presently incapable of talking about this work, they are so trapped inside the bourgeois art box that they simply don’t understand anything that comes from outside it. Only once this work, its historical precedents and the scene around it, have been more fully mapped out, will the likes of Baddeley suddenly discover a way to understand it. In the meantime, Baddeley – who evidently didn’t even know that it wasn’t the Guatemalan label that held these artists together, but rather the fact that they’d created their own small scene in that territory – remains an impediment to more interesting cultural developments.

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

Since New York is The Big Apple, let’s re-brand London as The Toilet!

Tuesday, April 28th, 2009

Following on from my blog at the weekend detailing how Iwona Blazwick has turned the Whitechapel Gallery into a truly horrid mini-Tate Modern, I’m now going to focus on the pointlessness of her appointment as chairwoman of the Mayor of London’s Cultural Strategy Group. According to a promotional blurb on Boris “The Spider” Johnson’s local government website: “The London Cultural Strategy Group is a high-level advocacy group aimed to develop and promote London as a world-class city of culture, bringing together representatives of the key agencies that support culture in London.” Apparently a ‘world-class city’ doesn’t require world-class copy-writing; the sentence I’ve just quoted is clumsy, for instance in its deployment of the word ‘aimed’ and repetition of the term ‘group’.

NEWSFLASH FOR CULTURAL TRASH – LONDON WOULD BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU! Yes indeed, ordinary people are more than capable of coming up with their own strategies for making London a better place, and this needn’t cost a penny! So what follows is my own modest two point proposal for flushing rich people out of London, and thereby re-branding the city I am very proud to have been born in as The Toilet!

1. While the London Cultural Strategy Group wish to maintain London’s alleged position as number one travel destination in the world, what is actually required to make it a better place is the running down of the tourist industry. Excessive tourism is a blight on any city and those of us who aren’t blinded by greed couldn’t give a shit about the billions of pounds it generates annually. To facilitate a decline in tourism we should abolish the monarchy and demolish popular tourist destinations such as The Tower of London, St Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace and The Queen’s House in Greenwich. We should also cancel the 2012 Olympics and abolish The London Cultural Strategy Group.

2. Introduce progressive local taxes that penalise the wealthy and thereby discourage rich scumbags from visiting, working or living in London. We should have sliding scales of taxation on catering and hotels; heavily penalising those who wish to spend more than £20 a head on a meal or stay in anything other than very basic accommodation. The private motor car and the black cab should also be banned from the city.

Strategies as simple as this would enable London to live up to the name The Toilet, by flushing thousands of unwanted rich parasites out of the city. For Iwona Blazwick, the abolition of The London Cultural Strategy Group would have the added advantage of leaving her free to concentrate on using the ongoing expansion/ruination of the Whitechapel Gallery to prove that she really deserves to be appointed as next director of The Tate. Having chummed up to both Nick “Wagstaff Prime” Serota and his buddy Sandy “Don’t Call Me Andrew” Nairne, she is presumably aware that the current Tate incumbent doesn’t want to retire until he’s seen the institution through its next phase of expansion, and given the recent financial climate that may take a long long time…. So Blazwick really needs to focus on making the Whitechapel even more horrendous in order to remain in the front rank of contenders for “Wagstaff Prime” Serota’s job when he finally steps down.

Likewise, the abolition of The London Cultural Strategy Group would give other members such as Sandy “Don’t Call Me Andrew” Nairne the opportunity to spend more time networking on behalf of his siblings; and afford Jude Kelly the opportunity to appear as Freddy Krueger in an off-Broadway stage version of the film A Nightmare On Elm Street.

It is high time we made London into a people’s city by kicking out the Oxbridge educated scum who dominate its culture and its politics! Both Sandy “Don’t Call Me Andrew” Nairne and Boris “The Spider” Johnson attended Oxford, while Nick “Wagstaff Prime” Serota went to Cambridge. Since they have proved incapable of dismantling their own old boy network, Oxbridge graduates should be barred from all publicly funded jobs.

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