In February I initiated the process of cataloguing my late Uncle Chris Holme's many artworks, most of which are currently stored at my aunty and uncle - his brother and sister's - house in Preston, my hometown. He had been a prolific painter, but never exhibited the vast majority of his work, and suffered from health problems which meant he was never able to complete an art degree. Luckily my mother, Bernie Velvick and my step-father Dave Curry have volunteered to help, and we have been photographing, documenting, numbering, wrapping and labelling the works whenever I can make it to Preston for a day. Dave takes responsibility for cleaning; wiping each painting with a soft brush, and hoovering the back, whilst Bernie and I wrap, measure and label the works.
For the first couple of days in February I had been photographing the works, and uploading them to a Tumblr straight away; it seemed imperative to have them seen as soon as possible, when they had been hidden away for so long. The pictures were uploaded in a completely arbitrary order, which was perhaps foolish, but hopefully worth the trouble it caused later for them to have been accessible on line. Now we have begun to number and document each painting and drawing in a spreadsheet, with details of size, material and a thumbnail image, it makes sense for the tumblr to correspond. Thus, where once there were 90 images, there are now only 48, because that's how many we've managed to wrap and label so far, but with more detailed descriptions - the project is slowly starting to take shape and make sense.
At an Islington Mill Art Academy 'crit' on the 5th of April I presented the project, via the Tumblr blog, and three works brought from Preston, receiving some good feedback and inspiration for how to progress. It was really helpful to get perspectives and opinions from people outside of my family, and who didn't know Chris personally - I think it would be disingenuous to pretend that my opinions of, and interactions with the works aren't affected by, and interlinked with my particular relationship with the artist. It has been an incredible experience to spend time sorting through and interacting with such a huge body of work, and it can't help but feel like an investigation; examining each work from every angle to find signatures and dates, discovering pictures on the back of other pictures, and what appear to be acrylic paintings over older oil ones. Fellow I.M.A.A member, Rachel Newsome, who's writing evokes contemporary mythologies and fables, expressed an interest in writing an essay about Chris's work, with a particular interest in his many and varied self portraits.
In-keeping with the spirit of investigation, I'm hoping to compile a biography of Chris J Holme through interviews conducted with his Mother - my Grandmother - along with his brothers and sisters, and any friends that we can contact. I had been debating how to go about producing a biography, which I feel is necessary if the works are to be exhibited, and would make an on-line archive comprehensible, but which could easily be misinterpreted. I am hoping that by conducting interviews, and perhaps presenting them as interviews, rather than prose, I can avoid fictionalising Chris's life, whilst still providing a context for the works. Some information about the artists' life will, I think, be necessary to understand why the paint is has a dark patina of dust - although we have attempted cleaning - and why so many works are painted on corrugated cardboard, and the boards that back sketchbooks.
slugs
My name is Lauren Velvick and I want to understand everything, here is where I document my curatorial and written projects.
Friday, 24 May 2013
Monday, 6 May 2013
Objects for a Studio: an essay on three aspects
Introduction
Objects for a Studio is an on-going
project by Manchester based artist Jessica Longmore, the traces of
which are documented and displayed in a series of intriguing
pictures. As part of her process, Longmore constructs temporary and
often precarious sculptures, capturing each of them with a single
photograph. As with so many aspects of this project, the sculptures
exhibit a contradiction in that they appear to be almost homogenous
with their environment, formed and built as they are from found
objects and materials mined by Longmore from the active studios
within which she works. Yet whilst these sculptures have been
assembled from the ephemera of one artist's practice, they are the
work of another artist altogether; it is for this unstable
intermingling of artistic identity that they verge on the uncanny.
Appearing out of place only for a brief moment, their precarious
nature signals that these leant and balanced assemblages could at any
point be absorbed into the debris from which they have been wrought.
In the course of Objects for a Studio
Longmore spends an entire single day within an Other Artist's studio,
producing one piece of work as a stranger within the space.
Describing the time she spends in these studios as residencies,
Longmore keeps within a rigid timeframe and structure - one day, one
photograph, purposefully fabricating a specialized situation within
which she can react to her surroundings and create work with a
necessary intensity. The studio itself is defined as a dedicated
space, thereby sidestepping historical and canonically ingrained
stereotypes about what it should look like, and what it contains. For
Longmore, a studio is simply a space that has been purposed for
making art, and as such they can take many forms, existing as
legitimately in large airy warehouses as in the corners of rooms
within homes.
As Longmore states unequivocally, "The
project is not intended to survey the hidden studio practice of
artists, but rather to stimulate the production of [her] own work
within an unfamiliar environment" 1,
and it is vital to recognise the intention here, even whilst the
figure of the Other Artist and the mystifying space of the studio
loom large. She is not inviting the audience in to a studio in order
to make artistic practice transparent and accessible, or to glorify
the eccentric practices of artists at work. It is inevitable,
however, that the studios which she works within are in some way
shown and represented, whether simply through her pictures (which
can’t help but reveal a fragment of the site) or in the imagination
of the viewer, who is aware of the existence of an unknowable ‘other’
studio via knowledge of the process.
The work that Longmore has produced
and documented as part of Objects for a Studio is necessarily site
specific, and verges on the collaborative, albeit without
acknowledgement. Residencies, site specific artworks, and any project
where some form of contact, or negotiation is prerequisite, are bound
to be cooperative to some extent, but not necessarily collaborative.
Here, due to the intimate and personal nature of Longmore's
particular form of residency, it can be argued that a strange type of
collaboration is present. These collaborative traces are compelling
and enigmatic; simultaneously subverting and enacting traditional
notions, whilst exemplifying the ponderous ubiquity of collaboration
within contemporary art practice.
Intentional constraints as a catalyst
Whilst Objects for a Studio is a
self-contained project, Longmore utilises techniques that not only
allude to her wider practice, but can also be seen to communicate a
working ideology, referring to particular movements in art history,
as well as commenting on conventions in contemporary art. At base,
the project is a generative technique formulated by Longmore to act
as a catalyst within her practice, by way of devising a set of
constraints and rules to work within and against. This is referred to
by the artist in her statement of intent, describing the project as a
way "to stimulate the production of [her] own work within an
unfamiliar environment"2.
It may seem counter intuitive, to try and inspire new work by
developing boundaries, instead of aiming for complete freedom,
However, rules and constraints are an inevitable part of art-making.
The idea that admitting, probing and exploring boundaries can
generate ideas and new works is not a new one, and one can trace this
methodology to specific groups and movements in art history, such as
Fluxus (specifically in terms of event scores produced during the
1960's) and Oulipo (Ouvroir de Littérature Potentielle, or Workshop
of Potential Literature), a still-in-existence group founded in 1960
by Raymond Queneau and François Le Lionnais, who produce works of
literature using constrained writing techniques.
Within the aforementioned historical
groups, such procedures were usually specified in directives and
manifestos, with written rules being a requirement of generative
techniques. Similarly, in Objects for a Studio, the rules are
outlined as part of Longmore's publicly available statement, paying
particular attention to the emotional impact of the studio as a site
of production. The rules and constraints that Longmore has chosen are
not arbitrary, and Objects for a Studio is not an exercise in
automatic creation, or mechanical production. These rules have been
carefully chosen and developed, in order to amplify the intimacy and
intensity of the Artists’ chosen site, and to necessitate the
production of work, expounding a belief that by following
pre-determined maxims, we can unlock new and experimental forms of
creativity.
As well as the constraints of time,
space and material, which Longmore has chosen, Objects for a Studio
is also subject to obligatory practical constraints, which can be
seen to refer to the generality of making. There is a slippage here
between artistic intention and the influence of physical and temporal
context, in that, to some extent, all artists are working within
constraints that will have an effect on how their work develops.
However, Longmore takes this inevitability and deliberately utilises
it, rendering recognisable contemporary logistical pressures, such as
the necessity for forward planning and careful organisation of time,
fruitful rather than frustrating, whilst simultaneously operating
within the same systems that make this way of working unavoidable.
Objects for a Studio is not the first
of Longmore's projects to incorporate intentional generative
constraints. Her interest is initially apparent in the 2009 group
show IV, whereby Longmore and three other artists; Tom Baskeyfield,
Julie Del’Hopital, and Sarah Sanders wrote and adhered to four
maxims, in order to produce four works - one each - which would be
shown at Manchester's Rogue Project Space, in an exhibition with the
tagline “4 maxims, 4 artists, 4 works” . Each maxim, referred to
one of four "basic elements in the production of work"3,
defined by the artists as time, material, scale and thought or
systems of belief. Longmore describes how such constraints provided
the work with a context, and aided her ability to focus during the
making process, indicating that, for Longmore, the use of generative
techniques and the methods described above is definitively practical,
as well as ideological.
Returning to the discussion of Objects
for a Studio specifically, Longmore carefully manages her working
environment, which in turn becomes an intrinsic part of the temporary
sculptures which she produces and photographs. Within these
parameters, the artist also leaves room to manoeuvre creatively, and
it is clear that her intention is not to invite other artists to
follow her rules, and to produce their own Objects for a Studio.
Longmore describes herself as having been inspired by Sol Lewitt's
'sentences on conceptual art'4
in her use of rules and structures, however she does not go so far as
to fabricate systems whereby the actual work can be created by
anybody other than the herself. In his 'Paragraphs on Conceptual
Art', which was published simultaneously with 'Sentences...' Lewitt
declares that in the case of conceptual art "the execution is a
perfunctory affair. The idea becomes a machine that makes the art"5.
To some extent Objects for a Studio conforms to Lewitt's definition
of conceptual art, the process and technique of seeking out willing
artists, travelling to studios and spending exactly one day working
within them can be seen as the machine which makes the art. Yet,
there is a remaining contingency and subjectivity inherent in this
project, ensuring that each expression of the process cannot be
repeated, and this is a symptom of Longmore's chosen site.
Access to Other Artists' Studios
Referring once again Longmore's own
statement of intent, the artist describes the studio as a site of
intensity and feeling, declaring she "[hopes] to provoke the
extremes of emotion that the studio creates" 6.
By remarking upon the abstract and subjectively experienced
properties of the site, Longmore insinuates that by conducting these
residencies within studios, she will be able to produce spontaneity
and unknown outcomes, regardless of the predictability of repeated
actions generated by constraints. Thus, although Longmore uses a wide
definition of the studio, she still indicates that there is something
peculiar to these spaces, a quality which enables and inspires the
production of artwork. As well as defining the studio as a dedicated
space, Longmore also refers to studios as containers, playing a part
in forming the work which is produced within them, further
emphasizing the way that these sites have been selected, according to
a belief in their power to influence the formation of objects.
For the non-artist viewer, there is
also a level of mystery associated with the studio, a place of
privacy and genesis, which is only to be viewed by invite or at well
organised open studio events, and only then when the artist chooses
to take part. Paraphrased by Brian O'Doherty, in his preface to the
Salon of 1846, Baudelaire explains how the bourgeoisie might
"[consign] it's alienated imagination not only to the artist,
but to the magical space where art is pondered and brought into
being", expressing the concept of an arcane, and necessarily
confounded voyeurism around the public desire to see inside artists'
studios. The treatment of the studio in the process, and
documentation of Objects for a Studio, admits this mystical
voyeurism, whilst also managing to approach the site with sensitivity
and understanding, somewhat maintaining its' concealment from public
view. Thus, whilst expounding that studios are not public spaces,
Objects for a Studio offers a tantalising glimpse of the many studios
within which Longmore has worked, but makes no pretence to be showing
them in completeness. Instead, these other studios are presented
through a lens of artistic production, as a piece of Longmore's own
work in the form of a photograph.
The photograph as a mode of
representation presents only a snapshot, one angle of a wider, and
more nuanced situation. Therefore, the photograph is an appropriate
form for Objects for a Studio, as the audience is aware of unknowns
lurking beyond the frame. In this way, within Longmore's photographs,
studios are pictured as honestly as they can be, and are represented
as changing spaces of fluidity and temporality, by virtue of the
medium through which they are shown, and the nature of the sculptures
which have been photographed. This shifting form of representation,
which attempts to confound voyeurism through gestures appropriate to
the space, belies a deep and firsthand understanding of the nature of
studios, and is in clear contrast to other contemporary methods of
studio display. For instance, at The Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin,
artist Francis Bacon's studio has been catalogued and relocated from
London, to be displayed in what appears to be its' original state,
but is in fact "a carefully constructed artifice"7.
Bacon's Studio in Dublin is not the
only example of the studio being recreated in the gallery, whether by
curator or artist. In 1964 Lucas Samaris installed Room, a recreation
of his studio/bedroom at The Green Gallery in New York, presented for
public consumption as an artwork in itself. His reconstruction of a
studio, his treating every splatter and mote of dust as a vital part
of an artists' oeuvre, wilfully overlooks the fundamental privacy and
mutability of the studio that Longmore consciously attempts to
preserve in her representations: Brian O'Doherty refers to the nature
of artworks, whilst they remain within the studio, as aesthetically
unstable, a description which is applicable to Longmore's temporary
sculptures in a literal sense. Her works illustrate the instability
of time within the studio, with their very obvious physical frailty
and precarity.
Longmore's determined preservation of
the Other Artists' privacy emphasises the importance of studios as
confidential spaces, where artists' can experiment away from the
critical gaze. Given that Longmore is clearly interested in
respecting this requirement, it is interesting to consider her
process in gaining access to so many of these non-public spaces. In
practical terms, Longmore has found that gaining access to multiple
studios is much easier with the help and backing of an institution.
For instance, at present she is working as resident artist at Salford
University, which has allowed her to utilise the institution's
influence and networks in order to make contact with groups of
studios, and therefore to gain access to individual studios. This
detail once again raises the issue of how a high level of
administration and vigilant planning are often necessary for
contemporary artists: in this way, the structures which Longmore must
work within in order to accomplish her objectives affect in macro the
structures which she has consciously designed.
As discussed above, when Longmore
arranges to work for a day in an Other Artists' studio, she is not
proposing to present that studio to the public, or to invite the
audience inside. Instead she could be said to be proposing a
collaboration of sorts, whereby she treats the studio as she would
her own, using the space only as it has already been dedicated; as a
space in which to make work. Then, working within the knowledge that
this dedicated space, this studio, actually belongs to somebody else,
Longmore utilises paraphernalia of the Other Artists' practice both
as a point of inspiration, and as her medium. By her treatment of
studios within Objects for a Studio, Longmore is enacting a complex
form of cooperation and portrayal with the Other Artist and their
workspace which, as previously outlined, utilises a form of
representation which is appropriate to subject, thereby avoiding a
problematic fictionalisation of the site.
Collaboration
When Longmore goes to work for a day in
the Other Artist's studio, they are only sometimes there during the
process, and as such, it is not necessary for Objects for a Studio
that the two artists must work together in a literal, tangible way.
However, regardless of whether they are physically present or not,
the work which Longmore has produced and documented during Objects
for a Studio, could not have existed without the Other Artist's
practice. In this way, Longmore's practice in Objects for a Studio is
dependent on the Other Artists', and therefore a somewhat skewed form
of collaboration is implicit in the project. This peculiar
collaborative aspect is not directly addressed by Longmore, which
could be taken to indicate that it is not - at least not
intentionally - an integral part of the project. Yet, the spectral
figure of the Other Artist haunts Objects for a Studio, their
semi-anonymity in the process, confounding traditional conceptions of
collaboration.
In his discussion of contemporary
collaboration, The Third Hand, Charles Green posits the groupings of
the late 1960's as the beginnings of the sorts of self-consciously,
ideologically complex collaborations that we are familiar with today.
He also traces a trajectory for these practices, whereby
collaborations, and the collaborative theories which were abandoned
in favour of postmodernism in the 1980's, enjoyed a resurgence in the
late 1990's, indicating a belief that the current ubiquity of
collaborative practices, is part of a sweeping historical trend.
Green frames collaboration as an attempt to rethink artistic
identity, to either erase, or to somehow fundamentally alter the
signature of the artist. The process and results of Objects for a
Studio certainly approach the concept artistic identity in usual
ways, but there does not seem to be any ideologically inspired
erasure of the artists's signature. Instead of substituting the
identity of two or more artists for a separate, purely collaborative
'third hand' identity, Objects for a Studio is presented as a part of
Longmore's practice alone. Yet, the Other Artist is sometimes named,
or remains anonymous only by choice, and their existence is always
presented as being of central importance to the project. In this way,
the identities of two artists, Longmore and the Other Artist, are
simultaneously, but distinctly represented, and combined only
partially, and momentarily. This temporary synthesis being what
Longmore documents in her photographs.
Whilst both Longmore and the Other
Artists' actuality and identity are unquestionably represented here,
by working exclusively with the ephemera of the Other Artist's
practice, Longmore is generating an unequal relationship which can
seem to confound a traditional understanding of collaboration. It
seems that only one member of the team, Longmore, is conscious in the
production of work, and the other artist is acting as a
found-archive, opening up their practice to be used as the raw
material for somebody else's. Longmore's Objects for a Studio
effectively raises questions of artistic authorship, in how far the
Other Artist, the archive, is acknowledged, bringing to mind the
artistic use of found objects, where the original maker, or designer
will often go uncredited. Although, despite the apparently unequal
relationship between artist and archive, within Objects for a Studio,
consent is sought from participants, who can be assumed to understand
what it is that they're involving themselves with. This issue of
consent is crucial in seeking to understand the relationships which
are formed in the course of Objects for a Studio, indicating that
rather than exploitative and one-sided, they are multi-faceted and
consensual, which de-problematises the issue of attribution.
Objects for a Studio can be seen to
exist in two experientially distinct parts. For the Other Artist, and
anybody else involved with administration of the project, it would
happen as a kind of participatory performance, whereas, for the
viewer, Objects for a Studio exists as a series of documentary
photographs, and some copy explaining the process. This dual ontology
is typical of temporary and performative artworks, especially those
that cannot be repeated. Considering this experiential rupture, it
becomes clear that when we take the experience of the Other Artists
and other actors into account, Objects for a Studio can be perceived
as a form of temporal, interventionist, performance art. By
presenting the project via a website, a standing document of copy and
pictures, Longmore is communicating the importance of the process, of
what happens outside of and around the pictures, that capture just a
moment of the entire performance which goes to make up the work. The
extent to which Longmore explains Objects for a Studio to the
audience can be taken as intentional, and as an example of how much
we are supposed to know about the project. Longmore gives us a
general sense, and a broad description of the process, but few
details. Details and interest are saved to be expressed in the
photographs, the only opportunity for the viewer's curiosity to be
visually sated, which infuses the pictures with possibilities and
projected meanings, appropriately expressing the aforementioned
intensity of the site.
It has already been established that
the collaborative aspects of Objects for a Studio are not calculated,
they appear intrusive, or to have been unavoidable, and this
apparently inadvertent form of collaboration raises the issue of
whether collaboration has become somehow embedded within contemporary
art practice. The structures and habits which are now noticeably
pervasive within contemporary art making - residencies, networking,
collectives, and a striving for diversity of voices - are clearly
appropriate to the practice of collaboration. Perhaps collaboration
is now synonymous with so many of the common practices within
contemporary art that its manifestation within Objects for a Studio
is inevitable. A striking commonality between Objects for a Studio
and other contemporary collaborative practices is the fact of
pre-planning and administration, acts entirely consistent with the
nature of the project. This administration necessitates communication
and cooperation with others as an integral part of the artwork, which
can perhaps be considered as a form of collaboration, within which
these other helpers and performers have become part of a transient
collective with Longmore.
As Andrea Thal explains, when two or
more artists work together there is a level of discussion and
planning which takes place prior to the actual production of any art
work, which can be seen as a work in itself, and is in fact typical
of collectives, which are then typical within contemporary art
practice; "this communication, the exchange leading to the
production of something, is a collective's very first, and probably
most typical work"8.
In the case of Objects for a Studio the communication, discussion,
planning and admin that takes place prior to the actual studio day is
of a particular pre-determined type, wrought out through trial and
error over the four years that the project has run. Longmore has
taken Objects for a Studio to a number of different geographical
locations, working in over sixty studios, inferring a significant
amount of discussion, planning, and indeed work, before anything
recognisable as art-work can take place. However, in terms of Thal's
analysis of collaborative practice, this arrangement, which has
become typical of the project, could be taken as a form of art work.
Conclusion
The temporality that
is inherent in Objects for a Studio resists straightforward analysis,
and the ways in which Longmore attempts to play with the conventions
of contemporary art from within art-world structures, creates a fluid
and shifting aesthetic, which hints, but does not pronounce. The
photographs form a coherent body of work, communicating the
particular qualities of the studio as a site in which time and space
behave unusually, by virtue of the kind of work that is conducted
within. These photographs form a document of the project, and refer
to it in the same way as a sign, signifying the amorphous and
fluctuating whole, which exemplifies and enacts common practices, and
necessities associated with working as an artist.
Longmore does not seem to be offering
an argument or manifesto, or even a judgement on the structures which
this work traverses, and yet the project raises a plethora of
questions including but not limited to; what constitutes artistic
collaboration in a situation where working together is often
essential, although not necessarily an intentional device? In the
context of Objects for a Studio this gentle, non-judgemental exposure
is sufficient. Were aspects of the project, such as behind-the-scenes
administration, to be documented along with Longmore's assemblages,
their ontology would be altered, losing their status as real and
turning the whole process into pure performance.
Longmore avoids this, explaining only
what she considers to be necessary for the audience to appreciate the
work, and refusing to offer an analysis of the situation. There is a
sense of rightful privacy expounded by Longmore - whilst her
photographs depict beautiful but unsettling moments in which objects
bristle with the energy of things being other than they should, of
rearrangement, of experimentation. The studio is, perhaps, the only
dedicated space where such incidental experimentation is allowed, but
any site could be a studio, and it only takes a dedication. Thereby
the assignation of function to spaces becomes like a mystical spell,
just as ground can be consecrated, so a space can be dedicated. It is
with these hints pertaining to abstract concepts and magic that
Longmore counteracts what could be an otherwise unequivocal
experience for the viewer, of repeated actions resulting in pictures.
Bibliography
Crawford, Holly.
Artistic Bedfellows: Histories, Theories and Conversations in
Collaborative Art Practices. University Press of America (2008)
Grabner, Michelle &
Jacob, Mary Jane Eds. The Studio Reader: On the space of artist.
University of chicago Press (2010)
Green, Charles. The
Third Hand: Collaboration in Art from Conceptualism to
Postmodernism. UNSW Press (2001)
LeWitt, Sol,
"Paragraphs on Conceptual Art," in: Artforum (1967),
79–83; A. Legg (ed.)
Longmore, Jessica.
Jessica Longmore: artist. URL:
http://seabrookhost.com/jessica/?page_id=83 [2012 - 2013]
O'Doherty, Brian. Studio
and Cube. A FORuM Project Publication (2007)
1http://seabrookhost.com/jessica/?page_id=83
2http://seabrookhost.com/jessica/?page_id=83
3http://seabrookhost.com/jessica/?page_id=88
4Lewitt,
Sol 'Sentences on Conceptual Art', Art Forum 1967
5Lewitt,
Sol 'Paragraphs on Conceptual Art', Art Forum 1967
6http://seabrookhost.com/jessica/?page_id=83
7David
J. Getsy, “The Reconstruction of the Francis Bacon Studio in
Dublin”, The Studio Reader: On the space of artists p.102
8Thal,
Andrea, "Complicity", Artistic Bedfellows: Histories,
Theories and Conversations in Collaborative Art Practices, ed:
Crawford, Holly (2008)
Interview: Rosa Barba and Henriette Huldisch
Rosa
Barba's new work, filmed in Manchester's grandiose, but dilapidated
Albert Hall, forms half of Subconscious
Society;
a joint commission between Cornerhouse and Turner Contemporary,
Margate. Also on show as part of Barba's current exhibition, Subject
to Constant Change,
are Coro
Spezzato: The Future Lasts One Day
(2009) and Time
Machine (2007).
Lauren
Velvick: What interests you about abandoned places, and obsolete
technology?
Rosa
Barba: I'm generally interested in how little histories are inscribed
in landscapes, in buildings; sometimes they're inscribed in people.
That's why I never really work with actors, I try to find people
around a subject I'm researching that are carrying this inscription
with them.
LV:
Do you think there are messages to gleaned from this process?
RB:
Yes, I hope that there are new possibilities brought about by
collecting these kinds of messages, that aren't manifested anywhere
else. Usually we build our society, and base our future plans on
things that have been sorted out for us by politicians, or whoever,
but I think that with art we can try to collect other messages, and
archive them in a different way and offer other solutions.
LV:
I wonder if by searching for histories in this way, what you find
might seem more genuine than conventional discourses?
RB:
Genuine isn't the right word. My research goes into a micro world,
and of course there are millions of micro worlds. But I'm choosing
just one of these worlds.
Henriette
Huldisch: It seems to me that you're getting these personal stories,
and little anecdotes, which seem open and enigmatic. It really shows
that there's more than one way to tell a story. I don't know if it's
more genuine or not - there are lots of facets to a bigger picture.
RB:
It's kind of like a geological approach as well, not just focussing
on what people say but rather the sounds that spaces have, and
material has. Stories of the material, of the people, of the sound
are all orchestrated together to try and make this other archive.
LV:
Relating to your use of analogue film equipment; would you agree that
technology takes on something of the art object as it becomes
obsolete?
RB:
Well, the thing is with film, it has always been so close to a
market, and technologies and markets, of course, change all the time.
So we're moving into a digital world, and film seems nostalgic, but
in a way it has always been an independent medium, and now I think it
is able to be recognised as such within the arts, like sculpture, or
like painting. I'm happy that film isn't so much connected any more
to the business of TV and movies, because as it is taken out of
'use', It is becoming more able to be viewed as an independent
medium.
LV:
In line with that, how do you feel about your work which utilises
film in this way, being shown in the same building as traditional
cinemas - do you think that this will affect the reception, do you
want it to?
RB:
I was always interested in fragmenting how a film can be seen, in my
work the viewer becomes quite active - for instance in Coro Spezzato:
The Future Lasts One Day
you are an editor as you walk through. My wish is to bring research
back into the cinema again, with new approaches, so I guess it's nice
to have these things in the same house, and it has actually never
happened to me before.
LV:
How do you go about gaining an understanding of place and history in
the different locations where you work - for instance, Manchester and
Kent for 'Subconscious Society' - do you have a particular method?
RB:
I had quite a few weeks of research time, intense research time, and
I had previously stayed in both [Manchester and Kent] for quite long
periods of time. I also use a lot of aerial views, which has often
been part of my work.
HH:
It seems to me that your process is very intuitive, and there's never
a script. A lot of it happens whilst shooting; improvising whilst on
location.
LV:
What particularly drew you to The Albert Hall, with it's grand sense
of decay, instead of other remnants of industry in Manchester?
RB:
I liked that it has had different uses, it was first a church and
then it was a theatre; it was a cinema in between as well, and then
it was used for political elections, it was used for education, and
it was kind of reflecting a whole period of time and of memories.
Also, striking was that everybody said it was the most 'haunted
house' in the city, and it made me think a lot about the
relationships between England and ghosts.
LV:
How are the two sides of 'Subconscious Society' linked?
RB:
The idea is that they come together in a feature film later on, and
I'm also making these publications; Printed
Cinema,
which I see is a kind of 'pre-screening' that happens in different
places. With these two exhibitions, you could travel to both sides,
and I like this idea that you have to travel for a few hours to put
these two parts together, and so we see parts of the Kent locations
here, and parts of the Manchester locations appear in the film there.
In Kent the film is much more Landscape based, entering the
subconscious in a meditative manner, and here you are with people,
and in an interior space.
LV:
Could you talk a bit more about your choices to talk to people in
Manchester, but focus on the landscape in Kent? Was this to do with
what you already knew about each place?
RB:
Yes, Manchester was more striking to me as a really habited area,
here it feels totally natural that you should meet with people.
Whereas in Kent it was these objects in the landscape that had been
built to protect England that I was drawn to, and they are the
protagonists of the film.
LV:
Whilst you work in very different geographical locations, do you tend
towards places that you have been to before, or have a connection to?
RB:
Not always, for instance I made a film on an Island in Sweden; I had
been invited there to propose a project, and then as I spent some
time there I heard stories, and I read about another tiny Island
close by that was drifting every year which inspired me.
LV:
You mention the Printed Cinema publications, text also features
prominently in your sculptural work, how do you see text and reading
as linked to film?
RB:
It started nearly 10 years ago, when I wanted to translate film into
printed matter. With Printed
Cinema
they're always based on one project and I use the surrounding
research material kind of like a secondary literature to the project
- including all the notes I take, and the photographs. Not that I'm
'showing' photographs, but more using them as a research material -
and as such they sometimes end up in the Printed
Cinema.
LV:
Do you then see this accompanying documentary and research material
as part of the art work?
RB:
Yes, it becomes an object, but is ongoing and never finished. I see
them as screenings, so ideally each one would only appear in one
city, like a little film festival, and you would be able to collect
them.
LV:
Is travelling between cities something that you would like to
encourage?
RB:
Yeah, I think it's important to have this time, it is a way of
editing something over different cities, as you have time in between.
LV:
Editing as travelling is a concept I've not really encountered
before, can you elaborate a bit on that?
Yes,
it comes out in the way I approach filming and also making sculptural
pieces; I like to create gaps by using white, blank images or black
images, and these are designed to help you navigate into a different
time or a different narrative and so I would see this travelling time
as another gap, where you can travel into a different narrative and
then arrive in it.
HH:
I have been thinking about how it's going to be for people who only
see one side of the project, and how that might change when they see
the two films together. Whilst the two exhibitions are stand alone
shows, I think perhaps you will get the most out of the project if
you see them both; particularly the differences in emphasis.
LV:
Can you tell me a bit about the future plans for the project; are you
planning an edition of 'Printed Cinema'?
RB:
Maybe, we hope.
HH:
We're planning.
Review: Rosa Barba 'Subject to Constant Change' (26.1.13 - 24.3.13)
Rosa
Barba: Subject
to Constant Change,
Cornerhouse (26.1.13 - 24.3.13) Review
In
Rosa Barba's current exhibition at Cornerhouse, it is made evident
how the medium of film can fill a space like no other. The noisy,
dark but glowing, and at times industrial atmosphere which is
constructed by Barba, and curator Henriette Huldisch, subsumes
Galleries 2 and 3. The focal point of this exhibition is undoubtedly
Subconscious
Society,
a new film which forms part of a joint commission between Cornerhouse
in Manchester, and Turner Contemporary in Margate, and can be found
in a blacked-out Gallery 3. Meanwhile, situated within Gallery 2 are
two of Barba's slightly earlier works; Time
Machine
(2007), a glowing silkscreened script, and Coro
Spezzato: The Future Lasts One Day
(2009), a carefully choreographed multi-projector installation. Shown
in conjunction with Subconscious
Society,
these two works provide an ideological and aesthetic framework for
the new commission, but are also compelling in their own right.
In
both galleries there is a distinct sense of being 'behind the
scenes', and
although this is certainly a product of the work itself, it can't
help but be emphasized by the site, considering that Cornerhouse is
perhaps best known as an independent cinema complex.
It is unusual as a viewer, and consumer, to be privy to the inner
workings of the machines and structures which deliver culture, and
there is a curious excitement in being allowed experience this.
Indeed, due to the way in which Subconscious
Society
is back-projected on to a huge screen in the centre of the gallery,
it is possible to walk around the screen, to walk behind the screen,
and to therefore be 'behind the scene'. Then, again, with Coro
Spezzato: The Future Lasts One Day
(2009), whereby modified 16mm projectors are arranged to mimic a
spatially separated choir, bodily movement between and around the
work is crucial, and exhilarating.
In
the official copy, Barba's new commission is described as 'taking the
industrial age as its' subject', a subject which I found to be
exposed and illustrated strikingly well with sound. On entering
gallery 3 the visitor is greeted by the rattle of three projectors
running simultaneously, and whilst parts of Subconscious
Society are
accompanied by edited voice-overs from the local protagonists of the
film, there is also a brutal, but musical soundtrack which clangs,
drones and squeals; blending in with the live sound of the
projectors. The way in which these mechanical sounds are accentuated
is indicative of Barba's concern with, and exploration into the
physical properties of analogue film, exposing how narratives are,
and can be constructed, deconstructed and represented within the
medium.
As
part of Subconscious
Society, as
well as one large projector behind a central screen, there are two
smaller projectors which beam uneven quadrilateral shapes at
intervals on to the lower left, and right hand sides of the screen,
over-writing the film with blank creamy light. This act of
overwriting, or multiple exposure is used throughout the film, with
ghostly figures clambering, or stained glass windows hovering,
serving to further fragment the narrative, whilst representing the
inevitability of multiple viewpoints and diverse memories, through
the use of techniques and effects particular to the medium.
Similarly,
with Barba's two earlier works; Time
Machine
(2007) and Coro
Spezzato: The Future Lasts One Day
(2009) the expectation of linear narrative in film, of being told a
story, is blatantly confounded. Text it utilised within both of these
works, either printed or projected, and it is near impossible, or at
least highly impractical to read every word, here Barba purposefully
impairs objectivity, meaning that the viewer is unable to perceive
what is shown as a whole. Throughout Subject
to Constant Change
the viewer consciously edits their own experience, and it is
intriguing to encounter film in this way, to be invited in and left
to explore. Through her careful fragmentation of narrative and
emphasis on multifarious viewpoints and voices, Barba draws attention
to the plurality of individual experience and memory. She advocates
the value in seeking out and taking notice of unconventional or
ignored histories, by way of personal accounts and mysterious ruins,
chiming in with how the clattering materiality of film is revealed in
her sculptural installations.
Saturday, 12 January 2013
Interview: Helen Collett and Lois Macdonald of Lionel Dobie Project (extended version)
Lionel
Dobie Project is an innovative residency project developed by
Manchester-based artist/curator duo Helen Collett and Lois Macdonald,
providing a dedicated space for research and curating, and revealing
the dynamic nature of these practices through unusual events and
live-tweeted conversations. Collett and Macdonald have been working
in partnership since 2009, with an emphasis on research and
discursive interactions. They also continue to jointly undertake
artistic and curatorial projects outside of Lionel Dobie, most
recently with ‘YouI
fig. (iv)’ the
continuation of a series of performances reflexively examining their
working relationship.
LDP
is based in an enclosed railway arch near Deansgate station, opposite
Castlefield Gallery, and contains one of the specially designed
chalets from Jane Anderson and The Office for Subversive
Architecture's summer project Atelier Zero. However,
whilst physically situated firmly within the established Manchester
art scene, Collet and Macdonald aim to offer something which they
feel is not catered for by the existing institutions, and to engage
new audiences.
Lauren
Velvick: How did you meet?
Lois
Macdonald: We met when we were studying at Manchester Metropolitan
University, on the Interactive Arts programme there. They have a
student gallery space, the Holden Gallery,
which we both wanted to curate, and we were given the opportunity to
do so together. At the time neither of us wanted to work
collaboratively, and it was difficult at first, but we soon realised
that we have similar methods and we learnt to trust each other.
LV:
How did your reflexive focus develop?
LM:
The YouI project (2009) was
the first performance we did that was about how we work together, it
was very visual and explored how in working collaboratively you have
to learn how to respond to other people, in order to get what you
want or need out of a situation.
Helen
Collett: Our performances have changed with our working relationship.
As we have started working on bigger projects we've been thinking
about how we brand our partnership, and how we are perceived through
social media.
LV:
So, you reflect on the nature of working relationships, but not
necessarily your own?
LM:
Yes, I'd never worked collaboratively before we met, and have been
interested in the dynamic between people as they learn to
productively work together, overcoming initial misgivings.
HC:
I hadn't previously collaborated either, and I think it's because of
this that we constantly question each other, in a competitive, but
productive way.
LM:
In our most recent performance, where we re-created Youl, the
progression of our working relationship over the past three years
meant that we were much more concerned with our context. We now have
to consider how we fit into the scheme of things, rather than being
safe in our identities as students.
LV:
LDP is based in a railway arch, with the occasional low rattle of a
train going overhead - how did you come to be working in such a
striking space?
LM:
Soon after we met we developed Free For Arts Festival, an important
part of which was to source as many venues as possible, for free.
Through our enquiries, we made a contact at the company which owns
many of these arches.
HC:
We approached her about this project, and have negotiated mutually
beneficial deal.
LV:
On your website, you describe LDP as a venture “Allowing
curators the same freedom of exploration that is commonplace for
artists”. Do you feel that curating, as a practice, is otherwise
neglected?
LM:
It's not that it's neglected, there just aren't the same
opportunities for graduates as there are in visual arts, and we want
to bring some of that variety of opportunity to curating. We found
that when we were approaching graduation and were thinking about what
to do next, there were no opportunities to help us take the next step
with our curatorial and research practice, no stepping stone between
graduation, and owning your own space or working as a curator. We
felt that the best way to tackle these difficulties would be to start
up a project whereby we could ask what curating is, how important it
is, and how change it, whilst facilitating and promoting independent
practice.
LV:
Do you have any criteria that define a curating practice as opposed
to an art practice? Considering how contemporary art forms such as
installation and performance can sometimes seem to blur the two?
HC:
The difficulty in defining curating is central this project. Our own
research is based on observing how the LDP resident curators approach
their practice, and how they define curating for themselves. Curating
is so vast, and the reality of contemporary curating can differ
wildly from traditional notions.
You
might want to call yourself an Artist because then it feels like you
can do anything, but the title of curator is considered much
narrower. With this in mind, we've wondered what our title should be,
eventually making a conscious decision to call ourselves the 'project
managers' of LDP.
LM:
We don't call ourselves the curators of the project because we try
not to have too much creative input, or control over what the
residents do here.
LV:
Do you see yourselves as providing a service?
HC:
There are so many residency opportunities for Artists that are really
open, and something I want to do is provide a similar space for
curators, where they can ask questions.
LM:
We're supporting research, and have said that we aren't going to have
any exhibitions here unless they are a part of the research. So far
everything has been participatory, with conversations and
performative events. We think of it as a 'think tank' as opposed to a
gallery space, but because the space looks like a gallery a lot of
people think that's what it is!
LV:
In terms of being a service provider, how do you see yourselves as
distinct, or linked to alternative education projects, and the arts
courses at the Manchester universities?
LM:
There are educational elements to the project, in that the curators
who are resident here have hosted open seminars. Helen and Myself
also work at Manchester School of Art, so we're linked in that sense.
HC:
I think it's important to keep Lionel Dobie very separate from my
work as a tutor, we want students and graduates to engage with the
project, but as something separate to their course. It can also
function as a link between the different local Universities.
LV.Could
you tell me about your current resident curators at LDP?
LM:
There's the Lionel Dobie Project Collective, whereby we have
fortnightly meetings and an events budget, and then there's Mike
Chavez Dawson, who's our first resident. He's looking at performance
and curating; where an artwork actually exists.
HC:
We've been talking a lot about whether his work is curatorial or
artistic.
LM:
He has been doing lot's of projects outside of this residency, but he
sees them as all part of the same thing, under his name. It's been
really interesting working with him, as he is quite name-driven and
highly motivated.
LM:
Then we've got Conway and Young, who are actually based in Leeds but
are doing an MA here, and they come from a design background – they
look at the design of space.
HC:
They have been considering curating in a traditional sense, as
'taking care'.
LM:
Our third resident is Toby Huddlestone, who is based in London and is
interested in archiving. He is working towards an exhibition, which
he is trying to predict beforehand, by archiving it before it
happens.
HC:
We really like his work, but as he's based in another city we mostly
work with him on line.
LM:
We wanted to pick up on the idea of 'active research', so whilst the
curators are working they get feedback as they're going along, so
instead of working towards one big show at the end, we thought it
would be better for them the host a few small events throughout the
duration of their residency.
LV.
Do you take applications for residencies, or do you seek out curators
to work with?
LM:
It's been a combination, for the first few we did choose people to
invite because we were interested in the way they worked, and now
we're hosting an open submission. Anybody can apply, and we'll select
somebody who's work contrasts with the previous three. There will
also be a sixth residency, which will be chosen based on what we've
done so far; we wanted to leave the last few open because the whole
project is an experiment, and we want to leave room for it to grow
and change. The residencies are six months long, with each starting
two months after the last so that they overlap. It started at the
beginning of July 2012 with Mike's residency, and will finish at the
end of August 2013.
LV:
Outside of the LDP residents, do you have an audience in mind – are
you seeking to engage local creatives, or a wider public?
LM:
We want the audience to be as broad as possible - not just people who
are already involved with art, which is why some of the events won't
be held here. Discussion is really important to the project, and
hopefully we'll be able to engage people who aren't necessarily art
fans to begin with.
LV:
Is your use of terms like 'think tank' and 'project managers' part of
this?
LM:
I did some interviews on the opening night, asking people about
curating with questions donated by people associated with LDP. The
questions were things like; 'do curators have a social
responsibility?', which I felt were fairly straightforward. However
when I was typing up the answers it seemed like people were quite
daunted, perhaps because they are used to considering art in terms of
individual pieces of work, but not how and why the work is there.
There is a gap there, and that's something we need to think about.
HC:
We're also really interested in ideas around inclusivity and
exclusivity at the moment, which has arisen from deciding who we
should invite to events.
LM:
Some of the conversations and debates we've hosted so far have been
really intense and focussed on specific ideas, and we haven't wanted
to invite people who're just going to be bored. Whereas now we're
looking at hosting events which still ask questions about curating,
but are perhaps easier to engage with.
LV:
Whilst the LDP website (http://lioneldobieproject.com/) doesn't have
a huge amount of information on it, anybody can follow what happens
here in great detail via your twitter (@lioneldobieproj).
Why have you decided to engage so heavily with social media?
LM:
We're using them for different things, it has been a time issue as
well, but the website is there as a standing document of what we're
doing here, but [LDP] is developing all the time, and we can't convey
that on a website; it wouldn't be the right way to do it, it would be
too much information.
HC:
When we first started using twitter it was quite promotional. Then
when we got the rest of the collective in and they all had the login
codes, we got more of a conversation going, which is what we needed
to engage properly.
LM:
We wanted to focus a bit more on audience participation in this
project. Not coming to watch what the artist and curators are doing,
but actually being involved, and that follows through into social
media; we don't want people just to agree with us and pat us on the
back, we're asking questions, and we want to hear as many questions
and constructive criticisms as possible. We're not hear to say we're
right, we're here to get to the bottom of things.
http://lioneldobieproject.com/
http://www.lioneldobieproject.org/
@LionelDobieProj
This interview is also available in a shorter version here: http://www.corridor8.co.uk/online/interview-helen-collet-and-lois-macdonald-of-lionel-dobie-project/
Friday, 14 December 2012
Review: "How Are You Feeling?" David Shrigley at Cornerhouse
Review: David Shrigley, How
Are You Feeling?
This review is also available here: http://www.corridor8.co.uk/online/review-david-shrigley-at-cornerhouse-manchester/
This review is also available here: http://www.corridor8.co.uk/online/review-david-shrigley-at-cornerhouse-manchester/
David
Shrigley's new solo exhibition, How
Are You Feeling?, takes
over the upper floors of Cornerhouse, to the extent where certain
works are even visible from outside the building. Curated by Mike
Chavez Dawson, How Are You
Feeling? comprises a
participatory journey into the artist's world, mirroring reality with
mordant wit, and offering advice along the way, whilst satirically
replicating aspects of the self-help industry.
In
Gallery 1 it becomes obvious that we are expected to play our part.
The sculptures, props and video work on this floor nod to
psychological techniques, whilst the ubiquitous silliness of
Shrigley's work emboldens us to write down our feelings in public,
and to make loud noises. Many of the works boast healing properties,
and in the exhibition guide you will find instructions on how to
'use' or interact with them. For example, The
Burden (2012),
a comically immense rucksack which forces the wearer to bend double,
is worn by gallery staff or other visitors whom you are instructed to
ask about it because; “it's good to talk about this kind of
thing”1.
Up
another floor in Gallery 2, along with Napping
Station II (2012),
the walls are pasted with an overwhelming number of drawings. Given
that a precedent for participation has already been set, this
illustrated chamber is unexpectedly affecting, as Shrigley's
disturbingly accurate depictions of the human condition seem to
reflect us wherever we look. This sense of being reflected and
subsumed is amplified as the space unexpectedly tapers to a tight
corner, absorbing the viewer in a superabundance of Shrigley's
hilarious portrayals of shame, brutality, and foolishness.
A huge
animatronic sculpture dominates gallery 3, resembling one of the ugly
men from Shrigley's drawings, but in full colour and made solid. The
giant is surrounded by an art-class set up, and here again you will
find instructions in the exhibition guide – to make your own
life-drawing which will be added to the many which already hang on
the surrounding walls. On this third and final floor, the invitations
to participation demand more of us; to your right as you walk in
you'll notice the empty 'set' of a play called Self
Portrait, and
a screen on the wall
playing a performance of it, which a gallery attendant offers to turn
off, if we'd like to perform the play ourselves.
How
Are You Feeling
claims to be a form of 'Art therapy',and
even though much of Shrigley's work invokes humanities' wretchedness,
he also reveals the joy in our ridiculous state of being. It's rare
for there to be so much giggling in a gallery, and with the
intermittent sound Gong
(2012) echoing from gallery one, it can't help but feel like the
therapy is working.
1Quoted
from the exhibition guide.
Hoist by Our Own Petard - introductory essay
To be hoist by your own petard means to
be blown up by your own bomb, and that's a risk that we are willing
to take. HbOOP is an experiment with 'art' as the subject, and with
'money' and 'every day life' as variables, but there are no
guarantees that 'art' as we know it will survive the process. HbOOP
firstly takes the form of an exhibition, where objects and pictures
of stunning complexity and gross candour invite you to consider the
nature of skill, effort and creativity. Of the individual artworks
which go to form HbOOP(the exhibition), the majority were constructed
within the creators home, and the concept of 'home' is a concern
within much of the work on show. This is made evident with familiar
and perhaps comforting shapes, textures, and colours; to some extent
the gallery is made domestic. However the home is as much a site of
disgust as it is of comfort, and if there is a boundary between the
two, it is impossible to define.
In the work of Darren Adcock,
cancerous cellular patterns coalesce into dystopian cityscapes, which
appear at once distant and magnified. Adcocks pictures are
meticulously hand drawn, with patterns that seem to have germinated
instinctively. Similarly, in the work of Pascal Nichols, bulbous and
irregularly limbed sculptural forms purposefully emphasize the
base-ness of clay, whilst sitting snugly on household shelves,
displayed (or stored) in their intended situation as part of a room.
Suspended centrally, Susan Fitzpatrick's mutant, overdeveloped
creature-garments confound with their sinister, cute, woolliness.
Knitting is a richly connotative technique, and is
employed by Fitzpatrick without strict
patterns or traditional 'grandma' skill, yet cheerfully bright
'hats' seem as though they would
protect the wearer from more than just the cold. Meanwhile, Kerry
Hindmarch paints with oils, making pictures which seek to expose the
perversities which underly social conditioning. Hindmarch's interests
lie in the abject and maternal, expressed via violent daubings of
colour, which congeal into raging figures, and non sequential
narratives. Joincey's is the largest body of work on show, whereby a
superabundance of incidental photographic images give a baffling, but
honest, account of a life. Hunker down in a curtained grotto to view
the world through pictures taken on a whim, created in a moment,
which are now archived, arranged and projected for your pleasure.
Hboop takes place as part of Free For
Arts Festival, a week long series of exhibitions and events which
seeks to “provide
inventive and unique experiences for the public “on the house”,
and it is within this context that we will question the 'Free-ness'
of art. The five artists who's work features do not consider
themselves to be 'professional artists', as is evidenced in their
first hand accounts. Here, art happens in between and as part of
'work' and 'leisure', it does not have it's own distinct space set
aside, with equal status. This means that time spent doing art can't
help but be perceived as time lost from 'work' and 'leisure'. Art is
the co-opted, and becomes part of both; which is discussed in more
depth by Susan Fitzpatrick in; Art
and uneven development's cause is one: reflections on art and
'regeneration'.
For
art to flourish, and to be a way of experimenting, is it necessary to
carve out a third space of “action” as defined by Hannah Arendt1,
whereby thinking, making and experimenting 'for the sake of it' would
be vital? In order to explore this question, and others, you are
invited on Sunday the 21st
of October 2012, to take part in a microcosmic badge-making economy,
where you must put a price on your own creativity. Meanwhile, in
conjunction with the 'Free for Arts Publishing Fair', musicians will
peddle their songs for whatever you are willing to pay. Songs being
an extreme example of how ubiquitous it has become to acquire
commodities, for prices which do not reflect the labour that created
them, and how it is essential that we examine our spending habits to
work out how, and if, art can be 'free'. We will also be holding a
'Sumi Ink Club Meeting'2,
whereby you, and everybody else, are invited to contribute to a
collaborative ink drawing. 'Sumi Ink Club' was founded in 2005 by
artists' Sarah Rara and
Luke Fischbeck, as a kind of accessible social therapy, and will form
a much needed counterpoint to the individualistic, and speculative
nature of badge-making-business and human jukeboxes.
1Arendt,
Hannah the Human Condition (1958) The University of Chicago
2http://sumiinkclub.com/
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