by Jen Delos Reyes
Two countries. Five conferences. Seven years. 14 partnerships. Over 700 presenters. Over 1600Â attendees. Since the ï¬rst Open Engagement conference in 2007 this event has become a keyÂ meeting point for people interested in socially engaged art. Open Engagement: Art After AestheticÂ Distance began as a hybrid project that used a conference on socially engaged art practices as itsÂ foundation and incorporated elements including workshops, exhibitions, residencies, pedagogy,Â curatorial practice and collaboration. I wanted to foster a different kind of conferenceâ€”one thatÂ worked in the way I wanted to see it work: with a sense of togetherness, putting emerging andÂ established voices side by side, highlighting different ways of knowing and learning, and serving asÂ a site of production, as well as reï¬‚ection. I wanted to contribute to the discourse on sociallyÂ engaged art in a meaningful way. When Open Engagement began it was a student project. I was aÂ graduate student. The conversations that I wanted to engage in were not happening at my schoolÂ in Saskatchewan, so I decided to create the situation that would allow for me to have theseÂ discussions with people doing similar work. Open Engagement was the basis of my education, andÂ now is a major foundation of my work as an educator.
This year as in most years my experience of Open Engagement happens mostly in the lead upâ€”inÂ conversations with students to determine the themes of exploration for the year, in the selection of keynote presenters, in the scheduling, planning, writing, partnerships, and all things organizing. InÂ the day to day of the event itself I get to attend very few sessions, usually only the opening andÂ closing sessions, keynote events, and a hand full of other projects and for a limited amount of time.Â My time during Open Engagement is mostly spent assisting and making sure things are runningÂ smoothly. But in that way of moving through the conference I intersect with people all throughoutÂ the day that I ask what they have attended, and what their thoughts are on the experience at theÂ conference so far. This idea of needing to talk to others to fully experience the conference isÂ intentional. Because of the parallel programming no one person can take in all of the projects andÂ sessions that form the event on their own. We need to work together, and see from multipleÂ perspectives to get a full sense of the ï¬eld.
In 2010 at Open Engagement Pablo Helguera said that he had always heard that a conference isÂ meaningful in as much as it generated new questions to follow up. If you didnâ€™t ï¬nd new questionsÂ then maybe it was not successful. I had a similar feeling about conferences, and it had been one ofÂ the ways I was measuring outcomes. The conference begins with a series of calls and questions,Â and throughout the course of the event and the conversations there are undoubtedly more that areÂ generated. At OE 2013 we were making a concerted effort to capture that questioning throughoutÂ the weekend, and on Sunday before Tom Finkelpearlâ€™s keynote talk were reminded by MichelleÂ Swineheart of one of Sister Corita’s “quantity assignments” of generating 100 questions whenÂ embarking on intensive work and research. With this in mind, as well as earlier feedback from theÂ day at a session between the Creative Time summit and OE where I heard from many participantsÂ that they wanted to work together to generate something during the conference and that in generalÂ there was a desire for sessions that allowed for formats other than being talked at, I decided thatÂ the ï¬nal event would be an opportunity for just that.
For the closing event of Open Engagement 2013 instead of having a panel discussion betweenÂ only keynotes and curatorial representatives we instead set out to collect 100 questions generatedÂ by the group assembled to further get a sense of what is emerging, what people are thinking, andÂ where this conversation is going. The Sister Corita assignment felt ï¬tting for a group of presumably invested individuals, who wish to continue to be involved in research and practice, to take this onÂ together. It was a hope that as we would move out into the world after the conference that weÂ could then reï¬‚ect on this list of the questions we are currently asking ourselves about sociallyÂ engaged art. The format was that each of our six panelists joined one of six seated groups thatÂ each had about 40 chairs (based on past years we were planning for between 200-300 people atÂ the ï¬nal panel), and we then had about 35 minutes to work together and for each group to write 17Â questions and then we reconvened and the panelists shared the group work. After the instructionsÂ were given, at least 20% of the assembled group left instead of joining the break out groups. As IÂ stood at the front of the room watching people choose to stream out, I wondered if I had made aÂ mistake. The people that remained formed groups and were led in discussions to generateÂ questions. There was one group in particular that voiced resentment, yet not enough resentmentÂ for them to have just left. This all came out in sharing of the questions at the end of the session.Â After many weeks I heard from someone who was part of that dissenting group how difï¬cult it wasÂ to contribute questions, to have a discussion, and to feel like they could share. Days after theÂ conference I heard some thoughts from Michael Rakowitz (who was the person facilitating thatÂ group) on the conference and the ï¬nal event in general and he said, â€œYou created a space forÂ people to get upset, and that opens up possibilities for things that havenâ€™t been done yet.â€ While IÂ had no doubt that we had created a place for people to get upset I wondered what else the spaceÂ was a possibility for. I thought of other conferences and their goals, Suzanne Lacyâ€™s City Sites:Â Artists and Urban Strategies (1989), and Mapping the Terrain: New Genre Public Art (1991), theÂ Creative Time summits that began in 2009, and the more recent Homework conferences organizedÂ by Broken City Lab. Lacey was trying to create a space to develop language for socially engagedÂ art that went beyond the limitations of forms like performance and conceptual art, and with theÂ latter intended that the activities of Mapping the Terrain would come together as a publication. TheÂ most simple way to describe the Creative Time efforts is an attempt to become the TED talks forÂ socially engaged contemporary art. The latest incarnation of the Homework conference takes aÂ similar approach to Mapping the Terrain with a end goal of a collectively generated publication, andÂ a similar format to Open Engagement with three keynote presenters and framing devices.
My last memory of Open Engagement took place at Boxxes, the club that hosted the wrap partyÂ for the conference. I showed up after a late dinner and took a seat behind the DJ booth where PaulÂ Ramirez Jonas was virtually spinning tunes for the party. I was approached by a woman I metÂ earlier in the day who is a funder at an arts organization dedicated to supporting socially engagedÂ art. I found myself captive behind the DJ booth during a moment of celebration hearing out herÂ frustrations with the conference. The parts of her dialogue that rang out the loudest in my mindÂ were, â€œI am not here to learn with you, I am not here to generate your content.â€ I noddedÂ throughout, and thanked her for so openly sharing her criticisms. I meant it. I still do.
This encounter made me think of who was present Open Engagement, and what they expected,Â and how at least for this person how much of a radical departure it was from what I thought peopleÂ were there for. I revisited some writing from 2007 that I had done after the conference:
What does it mean to be open? What does it mean to be engaged? What if one were to be both open andÂ engaged simultaneously? Openness is honesty, generosity, a sense of possibility, freedom, free of boundariesÂ and restrictions. To be engaged is a promise. It is a commitment, an obligation. It is also a sense ofÂ involvement and participation. To have an â€œopen engagementâ€ implies a commitment that is potentiallyÂ limited or short lived. But what if the two terms once united could keep their respective deï¬nitions makingÂ openly engaged a term that would embody an obligation to honesty, sharing and possibility?Â
It happened, we did create a place of possibility, a place for honesty and sharing, one where manyÂ boundaries and expectations were crossed and left behind. What should Open Engagement be?Â Who should it be for? How can we adequately capture what is generated? Over the last few days IÂ have been thinking about the possibility of an online community archive for Open Engagement thatÂ would be a collective effort that would be open for all to share their documentation, writing,Â thinking, and stories related to the conference.
I had always seen Open Engagement as a site of learning. In an online video conference with RenÂ Morrison from the Atlantic Center for the Arts weeks following the conference he off handedlyÂ referred to Open Engagement as being his â€œeducationâ€. The conference has for the past four yearsÂ been a site of convening for many of the MFA programs with a focus on publicly/socially engagedÂ art. The fact that this conference is so embedded in the structure of an MFA program makes theÂ very nature of it educational, as well as the fact that even the very beginning was in an educationalÂ framework. In my mind we were all working together, learning together, and teaching one another.Â How we organize this conference collaboratively echoes the spirit of our program and ourÂ approach to learning. An education in our program is emergent, unorthodox, and at times unruly.Â This translates into Open Engagement feeling slightly unkempt, and in ï¬‚ux. And while this might beÂ a point of criticism for some, I would not trade this instability for rigid professionalism or a setÂ structure. It is important that we remain open to this conference and this conversation shifting andÂ developing in unexpected ways. It is also important that we remain open to the realization that thisÂ may no longer be a site that is necessary, or that it might need to take a completely new form andÂ possibly a new grounding. I hope that whatever becomes of it, that Open Engagement can be aÂ site to work together, learn together and see what we are contributing to the ï¬eld of sociallyÂ engaged art from multiple perspectives. I am open to whatever comes next.
Jen Delos Reyes is an artist originally from Winnipeg, MB, Canada. Her research interests include the history of socially engaged art, group work, band dynamics, folk music, and artistsâ€™ social roles. She has exhibited works across North America and Europe, and has contributed writing to various catalogues and institutional publications. She has received numerous grants and awards including a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Grant. Jen is the founder and director of Open Engagement, a conference on socially engaged art practice and herself speaks widely on Art and Social Practice at conferences and institutions around the world. She is currently an Assistant Professor at Portland State University where she teaches in the Art and Social Practice MFA program.
Guest Post by Carolyn Okomo
Though Kansas Cityâ€™s Middle of the Map Fest ended this past May, the curators of the month-long salute to Midwestâ€™s arts scene are getting ready to make preparations for next yearâ€™s activities. The festival, which just concluded its third year, is not-so-slowly but surely becoming an important cultural staple in the Kansas City-metropolitan area, the Midwestern United States, and arguably the nation. Its fusion of music, film and technology dialogs could make it Kansas Cityâ€™s answer to the SXSW Interactive Festival, though Nathan Reusch — one of the festivalâ€™s founders — is caution in drawing too direct a comparison to the Austin event.
â€œI would say that we take plenty of notes from SXSW but I think we have tried to make it our ownâ€ says Reusch. â€œThings like spreading across multiple weekends have given each event a chance to have their own identity where SXSW has so much going on all at once.â€
Reusch, along with Mike Russo and Richard Robinett, run The Record Machine — a Kansas City-based independent music label thatâ€™s been releasing music for local and national acts since 2003. Since then theyâ€™ve assembled a heartily diverse ensemble of artists. At the heart of The Record Machineâ€™s mission is a desire to â€œmake an organic community of artists and help connect them with listenersâ€ according to the the labelâ€™s website. The rapid growth of the Map Fest — co-curated along with local lifestyle and entertainment weekly Ink Magazine — certainly serves as a testament to the labelâ€™s successes in realizing this objective. This yearâ€™s three-day music fest was headlined by Brooklyn-based outfit Grizzly Bear and featured 140 local, regional and national bands; its first year just 50 bands were showcased, according to Reusch. In 2012 the Map Fest also added a 50-speaker Forum component to provide a platform for local creatives, entrepreneurs and community leaders to discuss topics like social connectivity, curating responsibility and sustainable wellness.
For the first time since premiering in 2011, the Map Fest incorporated a five-day film event that featured over 25 films. Â The event kicked off on May 1 in Kansas Cityâ€™s Alamo Drafthouse with a screening of 1986 cult fantasy film Labyrinth (and opened with a David Bowie set by local band Soft Reeds). The film festâ€™s curator, Kansas City-bread filmmaker Mark Harrison, says he began the process of identifying films for the event at the beginning of the year after being commissioned by The Record Machine to help out. The process included building a dream list of films the planners hoped to screen during the festival then individually pitching either the filmmakers and movie distribution companies.
â€œAt the end of the day, I wanted to bring to films to Kansas City that I thought I could stand behind, that I personally wouldnâ€™t Â think twice about paying $25 to go see, and that I felt offered unique voices to the festival that could be discussed by any and all who attendedâ€ says Harrison.
Harrisonâ€™s own whimsically shot, self-described â€œfactumentaryâ€,Â Vanuary, chronicled the month-long adventure of its star, Dave Drusky, as he completed challenges whilst living in a 1982 Volkswagen Vanagon Westfalia camper van during the month of January. Both Harrison and Druksy fielded questions about their experimental film post-screening to get a sense of whether it could work as a feature length film and were met with positive responses from the crowd.
â€œThis was the first time people were watching it that didnâ€™t know me or didnâ€™t know Markâ€ says Drusky. Â And, itâ€™s one thing to say â€˜hey, friends and family, sit down and watch this hour and a half movie of me and Mark just having fun and doing Â all these activities in the van. But to have people not connected to us watch it and saying â€˜we want moreâ€™ was kind of an inspirational moment.â€
The filmâ€™s curatorial slant was unmistakably musical, Harrison admits (his band, Capybara, is a featured act on The Record Machineâ€™s label). Andrew Bird: Fever Year (2011, directed by Xan Aranda) — a film about about Chicago-based singer/songwriter Andrew Birdâ€™s return home after a year-long tour — was just one of the films showcased. Another music-doc featured was The Frames: In Deep Shade (2013, Conner Masterson), which chronicles the Irish band, The Frames, and their 20 year musical relationship; Â A Band Called Death (2012, Mark Christopher Covino & Jeff Howlett) shed an incredibly gripping light into the lives of the newly-discovered first all-black punk rock band out of Detroit.
Other documentaries that screened included Eating Alabama (2012, Andrew Grace), which recounts young coupleâ€™s attempt to eat only locally-grown food; Â Mincraft: Story of MojangÂ (2012, Paul Owens) looks into the company behind the hugely popular virtual game.Â We Are SupermanÂ (2012, Kevin Bryce), expounded on the struggles of a group of Kansas City residents working feverishly to revitalize several blocks of a long-ignored urban neighborhood.
The film festivalâ€™s roster also included a number of independent feature films. Campy martial arts-infused action Miami Connection (Y.M Kim, Woo-Sang Park, 1987) provided comedic nostalgia for fans of over-the-top 1980s action films. War Witch, a film that took its director Kim Nguyen a decade to complete, depicts the tragic pains faced regularly by African child soldiers through the story of 12 year-old Komona, played by a non-professional actressÂ Rachel MwanzaÂ and filmed over the course of a decade. Romantic drama Save the Date (2012, Michael Mohan) — a film loosely-based on the comics of graphic novelist Â and co-writer Jeffrey BrownÂ (readÂ interview)– also screened.
Reusch says he, Robinett and Russo are slowly easing into the planning process for next year, which patrons of the festival should undoubtedly appreciate given its steady successes throughout the years.
â€œWe have always tried to keep evolving the event organically and not trying to push things out that don’t seem to workâ€ says Reusch. â€œWe are still taking a little bit of a break and clear our heads start planning for next year.â€
The Map Fest was a much-appreciated introduction to region’s cultural landscape for this author (an admitted newbie to the area). For years,Â The Record Machine and others (Golden Sound Records, the Kansas City Film Fest and the Midwest Music Foundation, to name some) have buttressed Kansas City’s profile as a cultural hub amongst larger metropolitan regions like Chicago, Austin, and the obvious New York and Los Angeles. While one may not typically think to stay (or move ) to a place like Kansas City to make it big, the Map Fest could very well a spring board for many successful careers as it continues to expand and evolve in years to come.
â€œThe Cardinalâ€ by designer Jeff Laramore behind the Wishard Slow Food Garden near Washington & West St.
Greetings from Indianapolis, friends!
I spent the majority of June rolling up the west coast, visiting other lovely cities, giving out poetry broadsides, and spreading Indpls lore and legend.
Here are a couple of things that I was really looking forward to that I missed in June:
Image via Nuvo.netÂ
Independent Music and Arts Festival (IMAF)/ INDIEana Handicraft Exchange at the Harrison Center for the Arts: a yearly exchange of hand-made goods, visual art, and lots of music.
However, there were still plenty of artistic experiences to be had in the last two weeks of June.
When I arrived back to work at the Indianapolis Art Center I was greeted by a new exhibition called Under Construction that gets more fascinating every time I see it (which is every day). Giant wall “tapestries” made entirely out of duct tape by Garry Noland, paper cuttings of microscopic views of tree bark by Katie Vota, and objects handcrafted entirely out of pennies by Indianapolis-native Stacey Lee Webber.
The very next week at work I had an awesome experience of facilitating an Andy Goldsworthy inspired land art workshop with a group of about 80 urban teens. They made some seriously incredible stuff in just an hour and a half:
The following Saturday I joined a different group of teens on a public art bike tour in the city’s center.
This got me thinking that I should share a few of my favorite pieces of public art here in Indy!
This project is part of the legacy project that came out of Indianapolis hosting the Super Bowl in 2012. In just a few months, 46 new murals went up all over the city. Here are some of my favorites:
Image via Arts Council of Indianapolis
Indy’s Always on A Roll by Michael Cooper at the intersection of Virgina, Maryland and Delaware.
Image via Arts Council of Indianapolis
Trivergence by Carl Leck at the 10th st/Mass Ave gateway.
My absolute favorite mural in all of Indianapolis is a bit older though:
Color Fuses by Milton Glaser (1975) on the brutalist-inspired Minton-Capehart Federal Building. (corner of Penn and Michigan)
The mural is a giant rainbow that completely wraps the first story. The mural was recently restored to its former glory, and Glaser’s vision completed with the addition of a fully functional system of lights for enhanced viewing after dark.
I stopped by my friend Megan Hart’s show with Beth Eisinger, Archaeornithology – an Excavation of Urban Artifacts.
All of the objects and imagery included in the show were found in the neighborhood I live in on the near southeast side of Indianapolis – Fountain Square.
The show included Beth’s incredible (and affordable) handmade bird’s nests:
Including an enormous human-sized one:
Megan is fascinated with the act of collecting and categorizing urban artifacts (trash) to learn about the secret lives of her neighbors:
This show, coupled with homesickness from being out of town, has got me thinking a lot about art in Indianapolis, and how a lot of it celebrates our city, our neighborhoods, our streets, our friends.
And then, perfectly, this video about my favorite, wacky, DIY theater group, Know No Stranger was released! Video via our central Indiana contemporary art blog Sky Blue Window
Until next month!
Wendy Lee Spacek is a poet who lives and works in Indianapolis, Indiana. She likes her city veryÂ much. She is a core volunteer of the Indianapolis Publishing Cooperative (Indy Pub Co-Op), publishes small editions of handmade books under the name Soft River and is an arts administrator at the Indianapolis Art Center. She will be posting monthlyÂ all summer long about her encounters with art, culture, creative experiences and resources in her city.
Guest Post by Robert Burnier
Whence this creation has come into being; whether it was made or not; he in the highest heaven is its surveyor. Surely he knows, or perhaps he knows not.
Â From the Cosmology Hymn of the Rig Veda, c. 2000-1700 BCE
In the initial remarks of his recent lecture at Northwestern University, Tim Griffin offered as foundational that there is no timeless or natural state for art. G. Roger Denison, in his polemic on the Museum of Modern Artâ€™s exhibition, Inventing Abstraction, employs a cyclical view of history to reel in some of the statements made by that exhibitionâ€™s curators, suggesting that a â€œRe-â€ in front of the title would have gone a long way to calm his nerves. Richard Kalina writes of painting born from its perennial destruction, calling the prevalent cross sectioning and boundary exploration not a â€œstasis, but rather a new kind of growth.” These discussions can feel quite esoteric in a way, and yet if one pauses to consider the Sistine Chapel, for instance, and the way it sadly and slowly deteriorated over time, only to stir up an outrage at the garish colors produced after itâ€™s restoration, it becomes apparent that the public is constantly wrestling with its own expectations of artâ€™s duration. Additionally, Griffin spoke of a compressed, lossy JPEG image â€“ seemingly complete and yet missing most of its original information â€“ as a metaphor for spontaneous creation by art viewers and art historians; the radical necessity for reconstruction in the mind of someone observing. Denison takes a somewhat formalist approach as he draws comparisons among the art of differing eras, but nonetheless produces striking examples of historical syzygy, such as when he aligns the distant planets of Tantric and Supremacist painting two centuries apart or points out the sleek â€œmodernâ€ character of a Cycladic head carved perhaps 2,500 years ago. Kalina, for his part, seems compelled to fashion an outline of historical typologies as a kind of deck the artist can shuffle. He calls for â€œa non-judgmental format for viewing painting, and to allow for growth and expansion in a non-linearâ€ way. From this I take the author to mean that nothing is entirely off limits form the standpoint of art history and time; that we should think instead terms of consolidation and dispersion, linking and decoupling. Similar to what I said in an earlier essay about craft, when I suggested we look for â€œusage before material specificityâ€, we should look for the usage of an historical precedent in present terms. All of these views are reconstructions of history â€“ welcome ones for me. Even as the historical lines they push against are themselves constructions, they revitalize an openness in how a single work of art endures. But this also points toward how contemporary art production can have access to this shifting ground as a generative source. As things have come back around in the past, they can do so again for us â€“ the same but different. But this is not a merry-go-round, nor is it a journey toward some definite horizon. It is a widening field of activity expanding around us even as it reverberates and echoes the waves of the past. We can observe the freedom art and artists have had to loop and interact with, and not necessarily march through, history, even as they exist for the present and point toward the future.
Aside from any categories we might apply to our work, I like to think in terms of how things move; what dynamics keep us in the search, trying to create something, and trying to look critically at what is happening. There are aspects to life around the artist that change, like technology, politics, social tension and geography. These kinds of things morph at very different rates, some daily while others are fixed for millennia, which can create openings to explore as currents slide past each other. The artist can also look back and find a great deal unresolved, perhaps seeing something that was abandoned that could bear a lot more exploration. Alternately, in light of present circumstances, one can seek new meaning through an old, established idea. So in view of the approach to grappling with these issues as suggested by Kalina, I submit a few observations to consider in addition to the framing devices he offers us. I will touch on a few of these notions here, mainly focused on examples in painting and photography, knowing that they are only sketches or pointers toward a deeper investigation of these dynamics in future writing.
One steadfast source of change, as mentioned above, has been technological development. But as art observes this change it will necessarily index what came before as well. We can look far into the past, such as to the innovative oil painting of the 15th century Flemish master Jan van Eyck if we want to see the effects of a new technique or technology. He achieved a fidelity in surface and light that greatly added to the visual depth and presence of his paintings, enhancing the experience of story, idea and imagination in subjects that were themselves very well established. His Virgin of Canon van der Paele (1434â€“36) contains many of these innovations in the myriad facbrics, reflective surfaces and patterns, all bathed in a convincing light. And however utterly familiar the subject of Madonna and Child may have been, it is instructive how the artist could bring so much to it through his particular technique and vision, drawing it closer to the viewer than previously possible. And the cultural expectation to illustrate such subjects as the Passion of Christ, as exemplified in the Crucifixion and Last Judgement diptych (c. 1430â€“40) is fulfilled with new urgency and impact. The subject is reborn.
In our own day we can look at the work of an artist like Cory Arcangel, who has also tried to chisel something out of art history through new technological means. Although it got some mixed press, I thought there were a number of things to take from his 2011 Whitney exhibition, Pro Tools. There we saw a series of his Photoshop prints, which present themselves initially as machine-perfect geometric abstraction and color fields. On this level they speak plainly enough about modern art history, but more deeply they are conjugations of the character and limits of that digital medium on a most basic level. They seem to point toward a repeating, overarching pattern in history of medium exploration and technique discovery; of finding uses for them and expanding on the possibilities. Itâ€™s also worth considering that many of the functions and terms in Photoshop are themselves borrowed from other traditions that just werenâ€™t worth changing, so they stayed in the software. Iâ€™ve also always thought of Arcangelâ€™s work as both â€œfastâ€ and â€œslowâ€, liable to be obsolete in a year or sooner and yet connected to ideas that are truly glacial. An example would be his Paganiniâ€™s Caprice No. 5. It is resolutely about the way change affects us as we strive to remember who we are or were. Paganiniâ€™s romantic era composition is cut to ribbons by a software program that auto-tunes and selects the notes in the musical composition from a pool of amateur musical videos of mainly dudes on their couches playing guitar. The extremely short clips are reassembled back into a â€œsongâ€ of a decidedly estranged character.Â This double-facing view â€“ an old thing strained through new means â€“ is essential to the way the work speaks of loss (or lossy-ness) through a distorted nostalgia, but also issues of the democratization of esthetics through a DIY impulse and the technological dispersion of information, for better or worse. In the end, as with van Eyck, our relationship to a cannon of art has been forever altered, but not erased.
Besides generally contrasting with something prior exists the possibility of flowing with and redirecting it. Chicago artist Jeremy Bolen takes a position that mimics some prevalent aspects of the post-industrial age but draws radically different conclusions. He essentially hijacks the scientific method, but collates his â€œresearchâ€ in a way that produces more questions than answers. His alternate use of such a tried medium as photography â€“ whereby, in his words, he makes it additive rather than subtractive â€“ continues this line of redirection. The photographic plane is thus a base on which he accumulates rather than frames. Specifically, the images result from visiting the sites of particle accelerators throughout the world, and capturing echoes of the energy nearby on sensitive photochemical paper. It problematizes institutional research in the sense that it is not necessarily authorized (the scientists at the research facilities arenâ€™t always aware of where Bolen is working or what heâ€™s doing) and that the energy particles heâ€™s captured are arriving at locations they werenâ€™t ideally â€œmeantâ€ to go â€“ they are traveling beyond their preferred targets, such as in the series 350 Feet Above the Large Hadron Collider #1-4. Bolen not only captures the stray energy in these images, but re-situates them in a displaced representation of the location by layering a â€œconventionalâ€ photo of the site beneath. This also causes a rift in how results are obtained, as his are essentially esthetic, provocative and non-deterministic. It is as if heâ€™s running behind the scientists plucking out the seams of everything they try to sew up. Bolenâ€™s work not only expands on the possibilities of photography with his alternative approaches of imprinting an image but broadens our thinking about empiricism and knowledge acquisition in general.
Even going back to using some method of photography to simply record something, we can see how photographic reproduction causes shifts in meaning based on its place in time. Veroneseâ€™s The Wedding Feast at Cana (1563), now at the Louvre, Paris, was recently painstakingly scanned, duplicated, assembled and â€œreinstalledâ€ in Palladioâ€™s refectory at the San Giorgio Monastery in Venice Italy, where it originated.Â The reproduction of Veroneseâ€™s work is an expression of a longtime trend to â€œoriginalizeâ€ works of art from the past, either by restoring them to a location nearer their origins, in proximity to their original people, or by providing a context for them to be seen in a way somehow closer to what people in their time might have. The process by which this was achieved is fascinating enough; but almost like an artificial appendage, it is provocative to think about how it both provides a useful, educational facsimile even while it underscores loss and speaks to shifting world political power as a kind of prime mover.
If weâ€™re not necessarily breaking new ground all the time, does that mean weâ€™re only fussing with details and adding adornments, or is there another way to see this? As Kalina says, we can draw from these accumulations to â€œmake new spaces between existing areas, [and] reference new subject matter as the world around us changes.â€ I think of Robert Smithsonâ€™s Spiral Jetty as a fitting metaphor. He was very interested in the idea of entropy, but instead of focusing on its implications of dissolution and decay, I prefer to think about how a crystal forms by the same process of lowering its energy state and yet arriving at more structure than before. The jetty seems to disintegrate slowly, even disappears and reappears as the water level changes, but it is in fact also accumulating accretions of salt crystals. To this we could add more earth, continuing the outward spiral. From any point we are free to look toward the center or toward the open sea, but weâ€™d always be standing on its shore.
Â Formerly the editor-in-chief of Artforum and currently the Executive Director and Chief Curator of The Kitchen, a non-profit, interdisciplinary arts organization.
Â Critic, essayist, novelist and screen writer living in New York City who has written on art and culture for Art in America, Parkett, Artscribe International, Flash Art, Bijutsu Techo, Kunstlerhaus Bethanien, and numerous other international magazines and journals.
Â Colonizing Abstraction: MoMA’s Inventing Abstraction Show Denies Its Ancient Global Origins, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/g-roger-denson/colonizing-abstraction-mo_b_2683159.html
Â Painter and critic. He is a Contributing Editor at Art in America and is represented by the Lennon, Weinberg Gallery in New York. He is Professor of Art at Fordham University, where he teaches art history and studio art.
Â The Four Corners of Painting, The Brooklyn Rail, December, 2012, http://www.brooklynrail.org/2012/12/artseen/the-four-corners-of-painting
 Operations like cropping were, of course, previously quite physical undertakings with scissors or blades. Masks were just physical barriers to light in a photochemical process, and layers were simply layered negatives. The list could go on.
 Bruno Latour and Adam Lowe, The Migration of the Aura, or How to Explore the Original through Its Facsimilies, Switching Codes: Thinking through Digital Technology in the Humanities and the Arts, ed. Thomas Bartscherer and Roderick Coover (University of Chicago Press, 2011), pp. 275-97
ROBERT BURNIER is an artist and writer who lives and works in Chicago. He is an MFA candidate in Painting and Drawing at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and holds a B.S. in Computer Science from Shippensburg University of Pennsylvania. Recent exhibitions include The Horseless Carriage at Andrew Rafacz Gallery, Salon Zurcher at Galerie Zurcher, New York, the Evanston and Vicinity Biennial, curated by Shannon Stratton, and Some Dialogue, curated by Sarah Krepp and Doug Stapleton, at the Illinois State Museum, Chicago.
Over the past several years Spudnik Press has become a staple for Chicago printmakers and printmaking education. The space and scope of the project continues to grow; the latest expansion occurred about 6 months ago when an adjacent space in the Hubbard Street Lofts building became available. Spudnik director Angee Leonard jumped on this as an opportunity to have a more dedicated exhibition space and also to broaden the focus of the Printshop. This new space, called the Annex, is a center for writing, bookmaking, and self publishing. It houses a growing small press library, as well as a xerox machine, guillotine cutter, selectric typewriter (which I am a big fan of), hot foil stamper, long arm staplers, as well as a supply of bone folders, awls, linen thread, and other book binding materials. Programming includes writing, book making, paper making, and self publishing classes, as well as one day workshops, such as the zine making community workshop taught by Bad At Sports’ own Caroline Picard this past week. I have also been lucky enough to be involved in teaching classes and workshops at the Annex since it opened last fall.
As more of a “clean” space than the printshop next door, the Annex also provides an expanded exhibition space for Spudnik. Curatorial duties rotate between Spudnik coordinators. The most recent show, Charlie Megna’s Lost Tribes of Renni, which opened last night, was organized by Luke Daly – a Spudnik member who has been a driving force in developing the Annex. Luke co-edits and runs the small press arrow as aarow. I also co-teach a class with him at the Annex, which will be running for the third time in the fall. Charlie Megna is the director of the Peanut Gallery and a founding member of the Peanut Collective. His show will be up through early August.
Over the week leading up Charlie’s opening, Luke and I exchanged emails about his involvement with the Annex and the new show, which is the first in a series that creates small-press publications to accompany exhibited works.
Bailey Romaine: Tell me a little bit about how you came to be involved with Spudnik and about your current role there.
Luke Daly: I’ve been involved with Spudnik in one way or another since pretty early on, when it was still running out of Angeeâ€™s apartment in Ukranian village. We started doing a reading series there which we then transplanted to the new space when Spudnik moved over to the Hubbard building. Around that time I took a screenprinting class and started printing there. Then last summer I approached Angee with the idea for what would become The Annex, which she and I developed together and worked on translating into reality. Now my title is Book and Writing Projects Coordinator. In this role I work with Angee on classes and programing, I recruit teachers, teach, design classes, and work to include Chicagoâ€™s literary community in what weâ€™re doing and vice versa. Very recently a lot of my efforts have been directed towards programming for Printerâ€™s Ball which weâ€™re hosting at the end of July. I also curate our library of small press and artists books and curate three gallery shows per year, which like Charlieâ€™s show will all coincide with the making and publishing of an artistâ€™s book that somehow extends the work being shown in the gallery.
BR: It seems like things really came together in an amazing way with the Annex – it all happened within a really short time frame. There were classes being offered and a show up within a month if I remember correctly. The small press library is really exciting for me. It seems like what you are developing is pretty unique in Chicago, in terms of what is essentially a study collection in a small non-profit space for making.
Can you talk a little bit about this curatorial project you have undertaken – both in terms of the library and the exhibitions? Did you know before seeing Charlie’s work that you wanted to begin publishing books to accompany the gallery shows?
LD: Yeah, the library was an important part of thinking about what the Annex could be from the beginning. Mainly I was interested in having a physical home for small press, mostly very small-run and handmade literary books, since they are such an important part of the history of alternative or experimental writing in the US, and because they are so tactile and really need to be seen and held to be appreciated. Of course Chicago has places where similar things are available, like the Read/Write Library or Quimby’s, but the focus of the collection that I was interested in putting together at the start was slightly different in that it sought to foreground small, specifically literary publishing from around the US.
Since I’ve been putting together the collection, my interests have developed in an organic way, and I’m finding myself interested in the intersection that seems to be going on between comics, zine and literary cultures. It seems like those categories are learning from one another, and people are doing work that very interestingly exist at the intersection of those different conversations. I’m finding myself more and more drawn to work of this nature. And always work that looks beautiful but that is made simply, since in the end we are a space that’s built around making, and it’s great to be able to have this collection here to show students or to consult for ideas when getting started on a project.
As for the Book Arts Series, which is the series of exhibitions that I curate at the Annex, my idea to pair gallery shows with the publication of artists’ books started to come together while I was researching people who I thought would work well to show here. I knew that I was interested in work that was operating at the intersections of language work and visual work, but often the work that I was encountering that extended this as it’s main goal or focus never totally hit home for me, and I started to feel that placing work at a crossroads of visual and literary could very well be a slightly more involved and creative curatorial task than just seeking and finding artists whose work, as is, fit with my own conceptual goals of the Annex.
When I had the idea of doing a show of Charlie’s work, I think that these ideas clicked, and that his work helped me to articulate to myself what I was interested in doing curatorially. Charlie was really excited about creating physical artifacts, tools, symbols, alphabets, and languages for his Renni tribes, and I was really excited about the idea of creating real material things that have been retrieved from an imaginary, non-physical world.
It reminded me of one of my favorite writers Henri Michaux, who wrote factual travel writings of impossible imaginary places, or Borges, who wrote intensely detailed scholarly accounts of imaginary texts, places, histories, people, feuds, conversations, etc. I knew that a book would further the fact of having Charlie’s work existing in multiple planes, and it was exciting for me to locate his work in a place of literary imagination, and have that translation become the intersection that was being investigated or developed. I’m interested in doing books that extend the work that’s being shown somehow, or that translates it across, so that it exists in a different kind of space (physical space to literary/imaginary space perhaps), or in multiple spaces simultaneously. I like the way that the books can live on and grow and complement and play off of one another in a series after the shows are long past.