December 25, 2013 · Print This Article
Linda Mary Montano, reproduced with permission, lindamontano.com
Since the mid-1960â€™s Linda Mary Montano has been steadily eroding the boundary between art and life through her pioneering work in performance, video and sculpture. From dealing with personal trauma, performing multiple identities, durational projects, feminist issues, and coming to grips with spiritual life, Montanoâ€™s influential work often involves aspects of ritual, humor, and healing properties. In 2013, Montano had a concentrated survey at SITE Santa Fe, Linda Mary Montano: Always Creative, in which she exhibited over forty years of work, including: Mitchellâ€™s Death (1977), Fourteen Years of Living Art (1984-98), and a new, two-part performance, Singing My Heart Outâ€¦Singing My Heart In for which she sang seven straight hours at both the opening and closing of the exhibition.
For your Christmas-day reading pleasure, Montano graciously lays out her thoughts on the holiday season, anxieties about aging, and bringing her work in video to an end.
Can you start us with a Christmas blessing?
We are bliss eternally. If we feel it, we experience joy; if we experience joy we experience ecstasy; if we experience ecstasy the next step is union.Â May we all beÂ happy in the way we need and be kind to ourselves also.
Were you good this year?
I was able toÂ travel into the dark this yearÂ and that’s a good thing.Â I made three tapes that plunged into the depths.Â My infancy:Â Mom Art (on my fear of learning too much about my childhood),Â Nurse!, Nurse!,Â (on my fear of “catching”Â dementia)Â and My Pope Dream: (onÂ my need to reform the Catholic Church).
Art is so kind. She lets us be afraid aesthetically!
All videos will be on YouTube in January 2014.
It was so good to look atÂ the dark but scary to see myself being so transgressive. IÂ shocked myself this year. The little girl is now in cahoots with an older Linda.
My next-to-almost-last video will beÂ Death in the Art/Life of Linda Mary Montano, 2014.
It is from a text I wrote for a slide lecture in 1996 and opens all of the death doors which then was radical thing to do. Now that the elephant of death is in the room, it’s no big deal.
You have been living by the Art=Life philosophy for decades. Youâ€™ve also gone back to the Catholic faith after having not practiced it for many years. So, when the holidays roll around, do you have a particular way of performing/living the season?
I play the typical neurotic yes/no games many others play. Gift? Who to? What?Â The shoulda, coulda woulda games. I also think I should watchÂ A Christmas Carol every year, and Iâ€™m glad when I do.
This year I am practicingÂ being anÂ infantÂ as a secret performance and this is helping me get into the atmosphere of no-mind, baby-mind, innocence.
Hotly debated topic: multi-color lights or white lights?
Inner lights. Let me share my Poland poem with you, so you know why. I was just there in November 2013 and “became light.”
Linda Mary Montano 2013â€¨Â â€¨Dedicated to my mother, Mildred Montano
Mom: “Linda, turn some lights off. This room is lit up like a Polish church!”â€¨Â â€¨
Bulleted buildings:Â CHECK
Booted marching:Â Â CHECK
Anne Frank attics:Â Â CHECK
Death provoking winters:Â CHECK
Five keyed entrances:Â CHECK
Historical litanies:Â CHECK
Embodies memories:Â CHECK
Hourly cappuccinos:Â Â CHECK
Gilded angels:Â Â CHECK
Whispered nightmares: CHECK
High pitched smiles:Â CHECK
Bundled grief:Â CHECK
Now my room-heart is lit up like a Polish church.
Recently you produced one of your last videos,Â Nurse! Nurse!, an incredibly moving work about aging, acceptance, caring and gratitude. Is this close to your personal situation?
At almost 72, the curtain between the world of being here and not being here gets thinner. While I’m stillÂ out of adult Depends,Â I decided to look atÂ my worst aging fears, as art, and I found it so refreshing to practice faux madness in this film. The prerogative of the artist, the vocation of the artist isÂ to go into the underworld and come back or not! I donâ€™t want to beÂ upset in case I have to be sentÂ toÂ the nursing home-penitentary of dementia or Alzheimerâ€™s. Iâ€™m practicing now to taste losing my mind via dementia. It is homeopathy. Cure like with like?Â Maybe. But the bottom line for me has always been, Repress not. And if things go in the direction of radical madness, at least I am familiar with howÂ loss of this present ego-danceÂ looks/feels/smells!
Meditation is another method designed to help lose the mind but videotaping meditation is not as much fun as videotaping myself resisting being diapered in a nursing home!!!!!!
Youâ€™re in a period of phasing out your video work. Why this deliberate move away from the medium?
I listen to my voices and I heard, “Linda, you are becoming a greedaholic, thinking “OhhhhhhhhhhhÂ I have to make a video aboutÂ _________ and one about————and another about___________.” The voices said, “Wow it will be so wonderful to makeÂ 82388449Â more videos.”
That scared me because this is not how I wantÂ to think.Â It’s the wall street of art mentality. More, bigger, better, another, higher, grander, winner, originator, first, brighter…the shopping listÂ of consuming inspiration is endless.
So my inner, better voice-guide said: “Stop!!! You mustÂ stop producing until your attitude changes.”
It might never change and maybe I am to justÂ beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeÂ now,Â and not do.Â
Whatâ€™s the best gift youâ€™ve ever received?
The song I am hearing right now as I email this to you, Juliana. It is called,Â SadhanaÂ and a woman from India is singing. Sorry, I meant chanting.
This is the bestÂ gift I have ever received because I canâ€™t remember the past or the future.
But I’m sure that in a few minutes, something else or someone else will beÂ the best gift I ever received or gave.
Thank you for asking me to share, like and comment with you.
Guest post by Lise Haller Baggesen
IN THE YEAR OF THE SCAVENGER, THE SEASON OF THE BITCHâ€¦
â€¦ in the fossil fueled states of American gloom and doom, we are headed south on LSD, a donnerwetter looming on the horizon as a tic in the corner of our left eye. Shot-size raindrops splatter against the wind-shield from the sky turning from gunmetal grey to violaceous to petroleum green behind the silhouetted skyscrapers, swaying gently in the balmy November breeze as the wind picks up and a tornado warning ticks in on the mobile device, interrupting Kanye West suggesting that this would be a beautiful day forÂ Â jumping out the window/letting everything go/letting everything goâ€¦
Indeed it is a beautiful day!
This apocalyptic weather, reminding us that the doomsday prophets were probably Â right, that this is not the 11th hour, that we are already fashionably late, makes it the perfect day for checking out a couple of shows in Chicagoland contemplating our speciesâ€™ self-destructive impulse.
Hamza Walkerâ€™s modern day vanity Suicide Narcissus at the Renaissance society reads like a visit to the menâ€™s department at Barneyâ€™s: tight and tasteful grey-tones with a splash of lush jungle green thrown in. Not unlike, in fact, its 17th centuryâ€™s Dutch counterparts careful rendition of bridles and soap-bubbles, tulips and skulls, reminding us that the world is forever coming to an end.
The super symmetrical show is arranged on both sides of a corridor leading up to Katie Patersonâ€™s All the Dead Stars, a map of said stars corresponding to the place on earth from where they were discovered laser etched into a matte black anodized aluminum sheet, creating an eerie map resembling a burnt out earth as observed from space. Observation posts glow-in-the-dark with the half-life luminescence of radioactive material, our radio signals still on their way to infinity and beyond long after weâ€™re gone. From here we can turn left or right (or right and three quarters or maybe not quite) but either route will coil back on itself into a cul-de-sac, a dead end from where we can only retreat the way we came.
Each of the works in the show display the mechanics and dialectics of their creation in plain view, if not front and center to our reading of the works, like the endlessly similar variations of rope, pulley and mirror of Thomas Baumannâ€™s perpetuum mobile Tau Sling or the dead pan unedited single channel registration of Nicole Six and Paul Petritschâ€™ Spatial Intervention, showing a lone figure hacking his way through the ice, in a circle surrounding himself. Not really sure if this unromantic reference to Kaspar Davids Friedrichâ€™s Eismeer (the Sea of Ice from 1824), is going anywhere outside of its own hermetic picture plane, but whether we are witnessing a painfully slow suicide attempt here, or just some Sisyphus slow-motion slapstick, as a viewer you feel as frozen in time as the lonely man on the ice.
The row of vitrines that make up Harris Epaminonda and Daniel Gustav Cramerâ€™s Infinite Library display a collection of reappropriated books -by the looks of it European post war encyclopedias and reference books with faded color reproductions of artworks and plants, painted over with geometrical figures that seem to suggest some obsolete world order, while Lucy Skaerâ€™s Leviathanâ€™s Edge, a whale skeleton boxed in a drywall space, opened up in three narrow slits, through which we can only partially admire the brittle grandeur of the beastly remains would not be out of place in a gentlemenâ€™s explorers club, that other society, where adventurers who come back to tell the tale can compare their booty- Jolly good!
In a darkened cinema space, similar to a home entertainment den, Daniel Steegmann Mangraneâ€™s 16mm, 2009-2011 the exhibitions only truly juicy work, is contained -as if its lush Amazonian green would otherwise spill out and contaminate the rest of the show in a toxic spill of unbridled fertility. Like decorative kale in a millionaireâ€™s front yard its nutritious value is rendered void, and we are left with eye candy. This is our reward. The five minute 16mm film loop leaves us ample time to contemplate the cable running near the top of the picture frame along which the camera pulls itself still further in to the heart of darkness, the whirring of the projector behind us competing with the dense cacophony of jungle sounds on the soundtrack of the projection before us, until the movie without further ado comes to a dead stop and the screen goes black. The End.
On the surface, Suicide Narcissus mainly examines and admires its own elegant rhetoric. Initially I considered this the exhibitionâ€™s demise, but on reexamining it I have come to think that perhaps this is exactly its point: Like Nero playing the fiddle as Rome burns, you find yourself confronted with your own disengagement, as you consider the aesthetic possibilities and fashion choices of the world going to hell in an evening clutch. It is an uneasy notion, like deleting yet another petition appeal from you e-mail inbox.
As an antidote to this tasteful ennui may I suggest a visit to Dana DeGiulio @ The Suburban, which will tear you out of your inwardly spiraling anxiety attack and throw you right back into the real with the welcome catharsis of your friendly neighborhood suicide bomber.Â The battered backed-up Buick sedan is ramrodded into the cinderblock structure that makes up the central exhibition space at The Suburban with a precision that sits in the sweet spot between demolition and embellishment.
The curious fact that the car is damaged front and rear gives the impression not so much of a drunk driver swerving out on control, tearing through the front yard in the early hours of a sleepy suburban Sunday morning, but more of the feel-something- anything of a soccer momâ€™s revenge, later same morning, her anniversary.
And the shattered head answers back And I believe I was Loved I Believe I loved Who did this to us?
Because we can only contemplate art from our personal vantage point, just like we can only imagine Armageddon in our own time, I will approach this from the angle of Burn Out with their totaled car park in the center of Copenhagen and their smashed up ticketing booth for DeÂ Appel’s Crap Shoot (-a memorable show that culminated for my own part in a visit to the ER after a visit to the exhibitionâ€™s socially (un-)engaged Absolut-free-for-all-vodka-bar and a subsequent act of cycling under the influence ending abruptly when my front wheel got stuck in an Amsterdam tram rail and sent me to a dead stop against the wet asphalt). Curiously, these works originated round about the time when the 1996 LeSabre was still a classy car, but seem almost quaintly didactic now, in their 90s engagement with institutional critique, compared to this work which points only to its own calibration of annihilation through acceleration, suggesting that we are all flying solely by our instruments by now, no line on the horizon: In a godless universe you need to rely on your own moral compass, or perhaps some secular religion. Art for arts sake can be just that. It can be itâ€™s own means and end.
It is an appropriation and an approach, but how do you approach appropriately, being in a banged out car and your aim the feel of not to feel it?
This is subtle and has to be premeditated. Premeditation is available in the form of a brochure which contemplate the estimated market value of the Buick before and after impact as compared to a circular silverpoint painting by Michelle Grabner, as consigned by Dana DeGuilio to James Cohan gallery and sold before the Buick hit the brick wall, perhaps to offset the costs of a second hand car and a cinderblock shed? The end is a zero sum game.
On the 10th anniversary of the suburban, this will be that last one for this building where it all began. Now structurally unsound, It will be torn down at the end of the show, or when the Oak Park police and zoning inspectors step in and say that it is time to clean up the mess, whichever comes first.
In Michelleâ€™s own words: â€œThis is the end of the suburban as we know it!â€
Credits: Dana DeGiulio would like to thank her pit crew. I would like to thank you for reading.
Lise Haller Baggesen (1969) left her native Denmark for the Netherlands in 1992 to study painting at the AKI and the Rijksakademie. In 2008 she relocated to Chicago with her family, where she completed her MA in Visual and Critical Studies at the SAIC in 2013.
In the meantime, her work evolved from a traditional painting practice toward a hybrid practice including curating, writing and immersive multimedia installation work.
Â Her book â€œMothernismâ€ will be published on Green Lantern Press and The Poor Farm Press in 2014.
Yes. It is true! We rocked Miami this year! It was an epic good time… Lives were changed. Bad decisions were made, but we all survived! Three cheers for the art carnival that is the Miami Basel weekend.
Dana has already done a great job of sharing the gonzo good time that is Miami andÂ you yourself will get a chance to hear what Bad at Sports did with Cannonball and PULSE, but probably not till February. Â In the mean time you will have to be contented with the knowledge that we made 6 gig posters with 6 incredible artists, we rocked the local air waves at 91.1 fm, knocked out 14 interviews over 4 days, and partied like rock stars.
Thanks go out to…
Chuck Loose and Iron Forge Press
Christian Kuras and Duncan MacKenzie
Dan Grzeca for making great posters!
(we sold a bunch but we have a few left which we will sell to you in January when everyone is back from the break. They are outstanding.)
INTERVIEWS with… (in order of appearance)
Rachel Adams and Jennie K. Lamensdorf – Curators
Mary Mattingly – Artist
TM Sisters (Monica and Tasha LÃ³pez De Victoria) – Artists
Frank Webster - Artist
Josh Rogers and Lesley Weisenbacher – Collectors
R&R Studios (Roberto Behar & Rosario Marquardt) – Artists
Dawn Kasper - Artist
Sharon Louden – Artist/Author
Sylvie Fortin – Director or the Biennale de MontrÃ©al
Tatiana Hernandez – Knight Foundation
Adler Guerrier - Artist/Gallerist
Patti Hernandez and Domingo Castillo – Artists
Christy Gast - Artist
Jillian Mayer – Artist
The show would not have happened with out the help of these three cats… (hug them next time you run into them…)
The following images were taken by Vinson Valega
Sure. 91.1 fm seems like a strange band width but we will never forget, you shouldn’t either.
Guest post by Virginia Konchan
Photography must annihilate itself as medium to be no longer a sign, but the thing itself.
Ben Gestâ€™s photorealist photography, comprised of stark, neo-classical tableaux, depicts alienated subjects engaged in workaday and domestic tasks, and carries a full fetishistic load in an image saturated cultureâ€”that of the evacuated figure, from painting, as well as the signature of the â€œauthor,â€ as declared dead by structuralist critics.Â The “surface reading” strategies of Sharon Marcusâ€™ and Stephen Best, Francois Dosseâ€™s call for the â€œdescriptive turn,â€ and Bruno Latour and Erving Goffman practice of â€œflatâ€ reading based on actor-network theory (the game model of human interaction) connect to the â€œflatâ€ or two-dimensional evacuation of depth fields, suggesting that as the text is now being â€œreadâ€ like a screen (the orthographic significance of the word alienated from semantic, affective, and cognitive percepts), so too are the visual images (in figurative art, the appearance of the other), we consume.
For Roland Barthes, this surface quality was a limitation of medium (the photograph is undialectical, as a denatured theater where death cannot be contemplated, reflected and interiorized: Â the foreclosure of the Tragic excluding catharsis), yet this slickness of surface is also a function of the occluded depth of capitalist subjects, wherein intimacy, futurity, and affect, because unable to be represented (priced, and sold), ceases to exist first as a cultural value, then, as a cultural experience (temporally, of duration rather than instantaneity). Â Â A privatized market first commodifies then distributes the sensible (Marx’s dream of the Â ‘liberation of the senses’ of unalienated individuals in unalienated communities) fueling desiring-machines to demand, yet never receive, aporias of meaning: Â presence, aura, soul.Â [i]
The digital reproduction of the photograph and the text share an analogous relationship, foremost in hierarchies between the word (letter, or sign) and image (symbol, or referent). Â Today’s medium specificity (Clement Greenbergâ€™sÂ belief that â€œthe unique and proper area of competenceâ€ for an art form corresponds with the ability of an artist to manipulate those features specific to a medium) is now metaphorized in the relationship between a reader and a text, or a viewer and an artwork, not as an encounter or relationship, but an interfacing, between user and electronic text, or screen (N. Katherine Haylesâ€™s media specific analysis in “Print is Flat, Code is Deep”). Â Barthesâ€™ descriptions of photography as “messages without a code”Â describes the limitation of the medium, for the photograph, yet this obviation of meaning has become an conscious aesthetic in post-structuralism, evacuated of content and intention. Â For Hegel, â€œartâ€ was only art in subordination to meaning:Â modern art, in a post-Reformation world, for Hegel, wasnâ€™t therefore â€œart,â€ but rather abstracted potential.Â Â [ii] Â Â The desire to decode photography’s â€œmessage without a codeâ€ Â may be what constitutes the dream of absolute (not reified) presence (Barthesâ€™ Winter Garden Photograph):Â the â€œthe text of pleasure” or sublime (dynamic or technological, wherein perceptual synthesis temporary collapses in experiencing the material force of a supersensible idea, whether of beauty or horror).
Affect theory provides aÂ rational-empirical account ofÂ what we know intuitively: Â the sublime has a life of its own.Â The jarring quality of paintings such as Edward Hopperâ€™s â€œNighthawks,â€ Edvard Munchâ€™s â€œThe Scream,â€ Francis Bacon’s apocalyptic friezes, and Frieda Kahloâ€™s self-portraits, fix such images forever in our collective imagination, for giving form to a mediated, yet still felt, aspect of human experience.Â Just as CÃ©zanne sought to capture the â€œapple-ness of apples,â€ and Russian formalist Victor Shklovsky the â€œstony-ness of stone,â€ any discussion of the sublime returns us to logos (language’s ability to embody, and evoke, objects).
(Francis Bacon, “Study after VelÃ¡zquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X,” 1953)
The absence of meaning in photography is its power, conveying its â€œmessageâ€ through semiotic rather than semantic means. Â In writing, an absence of meaning can take, according to Derrida, three forms:Â mathematical meaning; agrammaticality (â€œabracadabraâ€); and the social contexture of meaning (preestablished symbolic and linguistic codes), implying that the limitations for what one can “say” are scripted, in photography, by medium, and in the text, by culture as well as genre: Â the associative logic of poetry requiring a different reading strategy than that of linear prose.
Modernist paintings, like Egyptian hieroglyphs or the intricate symbology found in the Lascaux caves, complicate the boundary between image and text (Cy Twomblyâ€™s abstract expressionist paintings were inspired by texts from StÃ©phane MallarmÃ© to Alexander Pope, incorporating baroque themes and titles, such as Apollo and the ArtistÂ and traces, or erased marks of textual inscription). Â Belgian surrealist artist RenÃ© Magritte, of course, creating the watershed moment in art history when the act of visual representation was, in his 1928 â€œCeci nâ€™est pas une pipeâ€ rendered counterfactual (ironic) through the insertion of text.
Flatness is not always the imageâ€™s refusal to yield meaning:Â it can be its apotheosis.Â As AloÃ¯s Riegl says:Â â€œBas-relief brings about the most rigid link between the eye and the hand because its element is the flat surface, which allows the eye to function like the sense of touch; furthermore, it confers, and indeed imposes, upon the eye a tactile or rather haptic, function . . . ensur[ing], in the Egyptian â€˜will to art,â€™ the joining together of the two senses of touch and sight, like the soil and the horizon.â€Â [iii]
During the 1920s, Russian film director Sergei Eisenstein and Dziga Vertov explored the technical potential of montage, developments new media theorist Lev Manovich claims to underlie the aesthetics of contemporary video.Â Eisenstein believed montage could create ideas or have an impact beyond the individual images (two or more images edited together create a â€œtertium quidâ€ or third thing making the whole greater than the sum of its individual parts). Â Â How is this â€œtertium quidâ€ experienced in a photograph, or, for that matter, a text? Â Gestsâ€™ figures are â€œall endâ€ (terminal subjects, trapped in contingency) and flat to the point of disappearing from the surface of the plane.Â To say, however, that flat images are a â€œrealistâ€ or photorealist art, or that visual art depends upon language to enter signification has troubling implications, refusing to consider the bounds of perspective (from the artist, the medium, and the spectator). Â Yet, in exploring photographyâ€™s medium (indexical and reproducible), we can begin to understand how the assignation of â€œpost-photographyâ€ relates to that of â€œpost-literacy.”
EvenÂ Dickinson understood depth perception (phenomenologically, and politically, in the granting of subjecthood, rather than treating the other as an object or manipulable industrial machine – vending, milking – in the service economy) to be predicated upon metaphoric hierarchy:Â â€œ . . . We can find no scar,/ But internal difference,/ Where the Meanings, are–“). Â Â The rise of the image and subsequent degradation of language to emoticons is a function of technocapitalism, advertising and marketing blitzes, and bipartisan racketeering, whereby independent thought is crushed by neo-fascist fears of the unknown (the wizards behind the screen?)
Rather than aspiring to the denotative powers of text (a Gordian knot, interpretatively), highly stylized photography (Gest, Thomas Struth, David LaChapelle) suggests a desire for the image to become purely connotative, appropriating the iconicity of the mirror (the only purely indexical object). Â Struth: Â â€œPhotographs that impress me have no personal signature,â€ and yet this depersonalized aesthetic doesnâ€™t impede the sheer pathos of his museum photographs, juxtaposing spectators at the Louvre with, for example, the shipwrecked figures in ThÃ©odore GÃ©ricaultâ€™s Raft of the Medusa. Â Struth’s museum-goers observe rather than participate in history (religious and mythological narratives), formalizing Western Artâ€™s debt to Christian symbolism, but not attempting to subvert or parody this tradition.
(Thomas Struth, Hermitage 1, St. Petersburg, 2005)
Reading demands, as Guy DeBord says, making judgments at every line; Â how does this description of literacy accord with an accurate perception of the imago, as a two-dimensional object?Â [iv]Â Modernists’ dream to find forms of representation adequate to experience of phenomenal â€œreality,” once declared a failure, in morphing from the rejection of authority, the subject, and meaning, to a worship of the object, now worship the frame (material context) itself. Â For visual art the context of the image is doubled:Â the literal frame, as well as the cultural space in which the work is displayed, distinguishing it as an objet dâ€™art, worthy of consecration in a public space.The shifts, in constructivist and futurist movements, between art’s use-value (e.g. painter Alex Rodchenkoâ€™s poster art, furniture, wallpaper and fabric), to lâ€™art pour lâ€™art, had aesthetic and economic implications (the feared aestheticization of politics and politicization of aesthetics): Â today, conceptual art trumpets its value-lessness as a form of waste aesthetics: Â resistance to cooptation by the market, and utilitarian ideals.
Following suit, Gest’s figures, while ranging in age, largely white and middle class, are pictured in nuclear family couplings, or alone, tending to tasks in well-appointed homes and state-of-the-art kitchens, en route to work, or at the workplace itself.
(Gest, â€œJoe Finishing Lunch” 2005)
In Gest’s work, these quotidian scenes (shaving, shelving books at a library), are a form of anti-epic: Â representing the habitus of daily living. Â In â€œBen and Dawnâ€ (below), the couple is preparing dinner:Â Dawn manifesting the vacuity of non-presence, and Ben, absorption in his task (forming meat patties). Â How to read these allegories in which narrative is supplanted by the gaze (either off-center or vacant)?Â Â Gest heightens the post-Enlightenment collapse of progress narratives and a unified self by refusing the viewer a vanishing point or horizon line: Â his subjects’ expressions are frozen in shock or ennui. Â The unmitigated solitude of many of Gestâ€™s subjects also suggests the impossibility of self-knowledge or consciousness, particularly of class.Â Mired in transitional situations, and rarely facing the camera directly, these subjects, as they water the lawn, or pause before exiting a brand-new SUV, manifest an innocence of themselves as complicit agents in or victims of commodity cultureâ€”or, as posed subjects. Â Sentience is indeed on display in Gestâ€™s portraits, but this sentience is often in the service of material entrapments rather than the subjectâ€™s experience, shown benumbed in these portraits of status quo maintenance without the promise of deliverance (through class ascension, religion or theater). Â As Baudrillard says, we live in a â€œjungle of fetish-objectsâ€:Â in order for an art object to free itself from fetishization it must first emerge as a â€œnewly victorious fetish,â€ then work to destroy itself as a familiar object by becoming monstrously unfamiliar.Â â€œThis foreignness is not the strangeness of the alienated or repressed object,â€ he adds.Â â€œIt excels through a veritable seduction that comes from somewhere else . . . by exceeding its own form as a pure object, a pure event.â€Â Â [v]
The fantasy of art qua object is a desire for it to eventually become, in a Zarathustrian sense, Â event: Â Brechtian theater, Jerzy Grotowskiâ€™s â€œtheatre laboratoryâ€ (Teatr Laboratorium), the Opernhaus Wuppertal of Pina Bauch. Â Michael Fried opposed art and objecthood in his 1967 essay relating objecthood to theatricality, wherein the reader or viewer is necessary to bring the interpretive act to completion: Â in other art forms, however, the line is easily blurred. Â A wholly intentioned work of art, or Frankensteinian, bioengineered production of human life (dramatized in movies such as Synechoche, New York, The Truman Show, and the Tom McCarthy novel Remainder) enact the fantasy of a subject with the power to micromanage contingency (i.e. weather), creating others as a pure extension of the author-producer’s will (the sinisterÂ sine qua non of formalist aesthetics)? Â FromÂ Remainder:Â Â â€œOpening my fridgeâ€™s door, lighting a cigarette, even lifting a carrot to my mouth: these gestures had been seamless, perfect. Iâ€™d merged with them, run through them, and let them run through me until thereâ€™d been no space between us. Theyâ€™d been real; Iâ€™d been real without first understanding how to try to be: cut out the detour.â€ Â Â McCarthy contemporizes the Wagnerian dream of the â€œtotalâ€ work of art, by attempting to solve for indeterminancy in plot, language, nature: Â the post-industrial spectacle of by which citizen-consumers, are already, albeit unconsciously, enthralled.
Fried turned to photography with the 2008 publication of Why Photography Matters as Art as Never Before, Â exploring works by Bernd and Hilla Becher, Jeff Wall, and Andreas Gursky, asserting that the poles of anti-theatricality and absorption are central to the turn by recent photographers towards large-scale works â€œfor the wall.” Â The tableaux vivant of these photographers, and the work of Gest in particular, attenuates the politics of spectatorship by rendering the viewer complicit in the subject’s performance not of self-consciousness, but the lack thereof. Â In Gest, we observe, voyeuristically, subjects in media res, orÂ engaged in repetitious labor (domestic and corporate): Â these scenes may be â€œfor the wallâ€ but their very nature is theatrical (constructed), forecasting the transition from art as object, to event.
(Gest, Kate Fixing her Earring, 2005)
Narratives of subject formation (or, in painting, a reconstitution of the figure, whether rendered as grotesque by Dana Schultz, or pornographized, in Egon Schiele), continue to be elided by the neoliberal death of extra-aesthetic context, heralded by Francis Fukuyama as the end of history (therefore allegory, Manichean and otherwise, and narrative): Â the fracas of the negative sublime (eco-catastrophes, Warhol-inspired readymades, appropriated and digitally reproducible art).
Art-as-event (the â€œrevised sublimeâ€) has the potential to loosen the hypnotizing Â inertia of the image, encouraging passive spectatorship, and the dangers of pure formalism (the reduction of art to ornament, or frame, and language to citational and ironic metacommentary, ceasing to exist in or interpolate with the world) allowing space for critical reflection, eroticism, and presence-as-grace.
Whether all art is reification, as Hannah Arendt said, or whether the war is still being waged between aesthetic reification and the counter-concept of aesthetic use value (both prey to commodity fetishism, whether by cognitariat aesthetes and/or the market), the final criteria for artistic “value” or proof of art’s autonomy may not be decreed by the moral majority (popular or critical opinion) or its price tag (floating or fixed), but its participation in a sacrificial economy, for the purposes of extirpation: Â to reject the bankrupt calculus of credit economies and fiat aesthetics to risk annihilation, so as to rise from the death of ontological and literal debt (posthumously, for Van Gogh) into the shock ofÂ signification (G.H. Hardy’s aesthetic criterion marrying unexpectedness to inevitability): Â the real.
[i]Â Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida (New York:Â Hill and Wang, 1980), p. 90.
[ii] Roland Barthes, Image-Music-Text, trans. Stephen Heath (New York:Â Hill and Wang, 1978) p. 45.
[iii] Â Qtd. in Gilles Deleuzeâ€™s Francis Bacon: The Logic of Sensation (Minneapolis:Â University of Minnesota Press, 1995).
[iv] Â Guy DeBord, Comments on the Society of the Spectacle (Verso Press, Brookyn, 1998), p. 29.
[v]Â Jean Baudrillard,â€œSimulation and Transaesthetics: Towards the Vanishing Point of Artâ€ (International Journal of Baudrillard Studies), web, Vol. 5, No. 2:Â July, 2008.
Virginia Konchanâ€™s poems have appeared inÂ Best New Poets, The Believer,Â The New Yorker,Â andÂ The New Republic, her criticism inÂ Workplace: Â A Journal for Academic Labor,Â Quarterly Conversation, New Madrid,Â andÂ Boston Review, and her fiction inÂ StoryQuarterlyÂ andÂ Joyland, among other places. Â The recipient of grants and fellowships to Scuola Internazionale di Grafica, Ox-Bow,Â and Vermont Studio Center, Virginia is co-founder ofÂ Matter, a journal of poetry and political commentary. Â She lives in Chicago.
Miley Cyrus is growing up in a fishbowl, where every awkward moment and undeveloped thought is on display for the world to see, react to and comment on, endlessly. As a country, we construct the cult of Miley sometimes even more than she, her publicist or record label does. Miley Cyrus has become an avatar, just as Hannah Montana was, as customizable as a Scion and as real as an American Girl doll. As we have a hand in creating her personae, her personae is a reflection of us, or our fantasies. Therefore, no matter how much she rebels against the mainstream, she can only help define it. The more she destroys her past image as teenage Miley, the more she canonizes it. The more she rebels, the more rebellion we want, even as it looks a lot like Low Sodium Rebellion in a can. We act shocked though we really arenâ€™t, because we too are playing a role, just as she.
We love celebrities who represent the idyllic American: Beautiful, powerful, strong, intelligent, talented, with the same moral standards as us. We shower them in wealth in order to see how they use it, and so we can have it vicariously. We want these celebrities to act out roles in their real lives, not just in films. They appear on late night interviews promoting their films, on the Red Carpet and charity events as they pose for us. This isnâ€™t enough, so thankfully, we also see them walking their dogs, eating out, drunk at clubs, entering and exiting Hollywood parties. We see them grocery shopping without makeup, with their kids, with other celebrity lovers, in court, hungover, and having sex in grainy cell phone videos. We have so much footage of their lives â€œoff the screenâ€ that they donâ€™t need to exist otherwise.
When we actually come face to face with a celebrity, it is a collision of our lived world and our media world. It is a revelation of mutual existence: that they exist in our space, they can see us as we can them, and so we exist as well. Needing proof for ourself and our friends, that they exist, and that we exist too, a cell phone photo of them is imperative. This must get uploaded to the internet immediately, and now we have returned them to their natural habitat: the media world. Just as they primarily exist in the media world, we only exist in their world as long as we tweet, post, like, share and comment. By uploading a selfie to our facebook feed, we are attempting to insert our lived reality into the media world, used as a mirror to prove our existence, to define our character and how it fits within the pantheon of American myth. It is pedestrian cosplay and hipster role playing.
Its human nature to internalize our faults and dwell on them until they manifest into something larger and looming overhead. The past decade has seen serious changes to our countryâ€™s image: warmongering, weakened, bankrupt, obese, fragile, homeless; as well as a growing rift between the working class and the capitalist class, almost completely obliterating the middle class, which is far smaller than any politician will ever admit. While these perceptions have been there since the 80â€™s and 90â€™s, it took until 9/11 for us to see them. Global media, 24/7 coverage of war and a need to understand why anyone would want to â€œattack our freedomâ€, has led to a breathtaking reflection and reassessment of who we are as a culture, through the Biggest Loser, RuPaul’s Drag Race, Extreme Couponing, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, Lost, Breaking Bad, Weeds, etc., etc. We donâ€™t even consciously understand it, but we have seen ourselves as theÂ underdogs, the unabashed scum, those who can break free of their past, those who can overcome and those who will crumble. Ordinary people who set out with good intentions but became greedy and selfish monsters. Yet as we assess ourselves through the entertainmentÂ we consume, we lose a true basis for assessment. It is calculated recycling of American myths, regurgitation of roles and tropes, filtering of current events that are replayed as fiction in order for us to learn how we feel about them. As we gravitate towards the fiction to teach us, and blur the lines of what is real and entertainment, it all starts to become real, in some way.