Closer to the object

Anarchitekton is a project by Catalan artist Jordi Colomer.

anarchitekton is the generic title of a video series made as a work in progress: Barcelona, Bucharest, Brasilia, Osaka are the first stops on this journey.
A peculiar character, Idroj Sanicne travels the city contaminating the streets with fiction. The models of the buildings are like grotesque banners, utopian provocations, or playful flags. Idroj runs to the broken rhythm of the cross disolve static images which, paradoxically, reflect a sense of unflagging movement.
A multi-projection in which each city is presented on a screen and everything happens simultaneously.

What is it about? Is it about the city, about its character, its space, about introducing fiction into reality (as the above statement would have it)? Or maybe it's about "On the one hand, the dream of edification in front of its reality; on the other, the dream of destruction facing its accomplishment. "? It certainly looks like a statement. A Manifesto (says Jean Pierre Rehm). "But a manifesto of what?" - he quickly adds. "Criticism? Is it a matter of appreciating the difference between this scaled-down model and the ponderous constructions of our cities? Or on the contrary their similarities?"
It is clear from the material on the page that the artist came into this well-prepared. He knows his art history (studied it at university), his architecture (university as well) and above all, he knows everything he needs to know about the specific places he goes to: their history, background, problems and solutions. This gives us a feeling of depth. It allows us to travel a bit further. But at the same time, it nearly imposes the idea that "he knows what he is doing". Does he really? And, above all, does he need to know? I have been recently captivated by the capacity good artists have of creating things wiser than themselves. This has recently become an actual ideal for many creators: don't control too much, let go of the kite just in time to see what the wind has to say... This might seem as a very slippery ground: after all, what is this Anarchitekton thing: an irony, a protest, a criticism, a proposal? If the apparently clear answer is "all of the above", it only deepens the problem. To put it bluntly, these interpretations are not only different, but they often contradict themselves. And if we demand some clarity of thought from people doing other activities, why shouldn't we expect that from artists?
Maybe today artists don't even want to interpret. They move closer to the object, to the reality they "express" or just "touch" or "double-see", and move out of the zone of personal opinion. It has been an unexpected discovery for me (although I do it when I create, too), since the ever-more subjective point of view seemed to be heading in the exact opposite direction, of "free", personal and voluntarily biased opinions and (mainly positive) discriminations. Instead, here we are, with artists simply, and gently, ever so gently underlining this or that segment of all this strange stuff we're made of. I get the feeling this process is much more difficult than it may appear to an unaware onlooker. You may disagree - but watch the artists. They pay their price, as they become increasingly transparent, light, ephemerous, nearly disappearing behind the copy of a bulding, letting the stuff speak by itself. Almost by itself. The cardboard building still needs someone to make it fly. And us.

Take a picture, make a film

Until recently, photographs have been the predominant form of performance documentation and a key reference for historians attempting to cobble together the more than one hundred year history of performance art.

Nowadays, film and video of performance, both historical and contemporary, is readily available . Previously inaccessible archives of mostly unedited documents, known to a privileged few writers and researchers, are being transposed to DVD, and suddenly, an entirely new element has been introduced into performance studies, as well as into museum display. We now get to watch a performance in real time that was originally intended for a live audience. This shift in perception is much greater than one would at first think.

Take a series of startling black and white photographs of Joseph Beuys’ “I like America and America likes me” (1974) for example. We know well the sequence showing Beuys, his head covered in a blanket, in a confined space, in close proximity to a coyote. We know too the near legendary story that goes with it; Beuys, as symbolic representative of the invading European, dedicating a work to the American Indian (symbolized by the coyote) in recognition of the decimation of a people by ferocious colonial excursions. The resulting still image is a deeply poetic, even iconic one, given that it stands for so much history. Its dramatic impact is assured by the shape of Beuys’ body, bowed over a stick which he holds in front of him to keep the animal at bay, but also in apparent supplication, while the small animal, ears raised and on the alert, which seems to gain confidence as he studies the quiet apologist in front of him, is a touching counterpoint to Beuys’poised presence. Now see the film, which was recently screened at an exhibition (“Art, Lies and Videotape,” at Tate Liverpool in 2003, and can be seen on various websites), and a very different picture emerges. Reverence is replaced to some degree by absurdity, as we watch Beuys arriving at J.F.K airport in New York wrapped in his signature felt fabric, being placed by assistants in an ambulance, which is later stopped on the highway by police requesting a permit, and being led up the stairs of a building in SoHo, where he is introduced to the coyote with whom he will share the small gallery space for seven days. In some ways the elegance and stark eloquence of the still photograph are lost in the documentary footage of the event.

This is a fragment of a small article about the impact of video footage on the way we remember - and see - performance, by Roselee Goldberg, probably the most renowned performance theorist, analyst and critic today.

Getting it right every time

I was talking to a writer a while ago, who's a little older than me. He was saying how, you know, he now had become technically better. He could write more quickly. He knew when things weren't working. He'd acquired technique. And I had to realise when I was talking to him that I still don't know how to get that presence on stage, that every time I go down for a new piece it's the same battle as it was for [my first show] Sakonnet Point in1975. That I had not gotten any clearer about how to get that presence, how to keep it, how to make the form balance with the -

- Elizabeth LeCompte (1944-)
"Founder and director of the Wooster Group (1976-), the New York based performance company, which broke away from Richard Schechner's Performance Group (1967-80). It grew out of a long tradition of rejection of American commercial theater, redefining the position of the 'performer' and 'role', and the function of previously written playscripts, in particular plays by the established American and European writers, whose work often constitutes a base for the group's performance explorations. " (from The Twentieth-Century Performance Reader)

A few months ago the Wooster Group created Poor Theater, a show where the performers reproduced (among other things) Apocalipsis Cum Figuris, Jerzy Grotowski's most famous work, from a film recording projected on large screens. Apparently (from what friends told me) the show was welcomed as a scandal in Poland, where Grotowski's original performance had taken place. It's good to know quality scandals still happen somewhere.

Blog vs. Web Page

During my (2-day) absence, the number of visitors dropped dramatically. Which made me think. It's clear that the large majority of the visitors don't know the whole blog - that is, haven't been reading since the beginning or looking at all the previous posts. What's more, it seems normal that only the new posts are valid. The very structure of a blog suggests that it's about news, about what's happening - and so, what tomorrow will be out-of-date. Something like a newspaper. On the other hand, a classical web page does not give that feeling. It's always nice when it's updated, but the non-linear structure gives the idea of something deep, something that resists well in time. Now that I think of it, I react that way myself - the blog will interest me mainly for its latest additions, while a classical web page will attract my attention for a longer time, and make me come back even without the added value of news. You never know what you can find on a web page - there might be something interesting right around the corner. In a blog, on the other hand, what's gone becomes covered by the dust of nowadays. As if the fourth or fifth layer of Troy wasn't as interesting as the newest addition... Yes, I would most definitely change the structure of the blog. Add some categories, tabs, something to encourage a more in-depth look. If I knew how to do it, that is.

Generous Art

How to discover Tomoko Takahashi's latest work (and understand a little about the ways contemporary art scene can be presented).
1) Go here
2) Then go here
3) Finally, go here
4) Share your impressions.

The jacket is the perfect organ

I have just stumbled upon Carolyn Zick's blog, a fine fine arts blog (for specialized eyes only, though, with loads of inside jokes and comments on comments on comments on art). (I later discovered this "work" section I found more lively and hands-on, so to speak). What intrigued me was the series of drawings and paintings by Zick, mainly composed of jackets. Why would somebody want to draw jackets and abandon the rest of the world? Where lies the jacket beauty? What is it in a jacket that fascinates Carolyn Zick? I've asked her the question on her blog, and will keep you updated.
Zick's blog also has an amazing, very impressive art links section. In case you just want more and more (which you probably do, considering you're here).

PS: I found some information (like the artist statement of Zick's previous series, which I prefer) suggesting that the jackets might be hearts, or organs, or orghearts. What is the distance I must travel to get to the heart of it/ a heart of it?

Art as a Commodity

Luis Gispert, Untitled (Chain Mouth, a.k.a. Muse Ho), 2001

Art is a fairly risky affair: you can work hard, create things that are original, beautiful, interesting, but still struggle to make a good living. What's more, you have no security - you never know when a wave of success will stop, and you have no retirement plan. Why would you want to think of a retirement plan as an artist? Well, for one, you don't still believe the artist is a machine creating work after work after work until the batteries run out, do you? Wired published an article about an original idea for giving artists more security (and making money while doing it, of course):

The idea was simple: Create a pension plan for artists by gathering a collection of their works and gradually selling them off to build a cash account.

But can art make real money? According to this study (quoted in the article), it can:

In 1998, NYU business school professors Michael Moses and Jianping Mei began an unusual experiment. They would track every transaction involving objects that had sold more than once at auction at the major New York houses since 1875. By creating a single database, they could see how art performs against traditional investment vehicles like stocks and bonds. (...) The index revealed that fine art was a far more reliable investment than is commonly thought. Moses and Mei also disproved the hoary maxim that masterpieces make the best investments. They showed that lesser-known (and thus cheaper) works appreciate at a higher rate. Finally, the index suggested that the art market floats independently from the stock market, giving it resilience against boom-and-bust cycles. (...) In theory, fine art could be used to minimize volatility in an investor's portfolio.

All this is theory, but here comes the bottom line:

Of course, the best way to manage risk is to reduce it as much as possible - even if that means tilting the market in your favor. The goal is for the trust to work as a sort of seal of approval. And so the APT will aggressively promote its collection, lending to museums and galleries to enhance the reputations - and market values - of its members. There's a name for this sort of manipulation, and it's no compliment: prospecting.

Shocking? Manipulative? Degrading for art? David Ross, former director of the Whitney Museum of American Art and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, doesn't think thinking of art as a commodity is bad, even for an artist:

"What's wrong with that?" Ross asks. "People are going to manipulate the market, for better or worse. Why shouldn't the artist, or someone representing him, be doing it?"

And if you still think this puts a dark shadow on the once-pure figure of the artist, think again. And meet Luis Gispert, a fairly renowned artist who "pulls in about $100,000 a year from the sale of photographs and sculptures" and was one of the first to join the retirement fund:

"The idea of 'artist' is less sacrosanct than it once was," he says. "I could have easily gone into commercial photography or the movie business. Why should I suffer because I make art instead?"

Louis Gispert Untitled (Car Toes), 2002