Featuring a Guest Post by James Pepper Kelly
The following article was originally written for and published by Chicago Artist Writers //Â Editor: Jason Lazarus
Acrostic, original formatting via PDFÂ here. Sources liberally appropriated from the Internet.Â
Walter Benjamin |Â Â At the center of this exhibition is man. Present-day man; a reduced man, therefore, chilled in a chilly environment. Since, however, this is the only one we have, it is in our interest to know him. He is subjected to tests, examinations. What emerges is this: Weird Dude Energy (WDE), a layering of men, a group perspective on masculinity.
Wilde, Oscar | Â Â Â Â But is WDE, as a meme/concept, actually on display in this show, or only in theÂ title and statement? Is GDBD curating a show of WDE, or instead the passion ofÂ oneâ€™s friends? Thereâ€™s crossover, and it may all be equalâ€”those passions are the fascinating things IRL anyway. For me, the highlight was Andrew Mausert-Mooney & Nicholas Wylieâ€™s performance of foot washing, massage, andÂ chantingÂ of â€œPoor Unfortunate Soulsâ€ from The Little Mermaid. It had the dignity of aÂ ceremony, as well as its unreality, and combined the insincereÂ character of aÂ romantic movie with the wit and beauty that make such moviesÂ delightful to us. IsÂ insincerity really such a terrible thing?
Weiner, Anthony | Â Itâ€™s passion thatâ€™s a terrible thing, and letâ€™s just forget about online WDE. Letâ€™sÂ recalculate, letâ€™s talk this show. Now Andrew Doakâ€™s photo: I don’t know whereÂ that photograph came from. I donâ€™t know for sure whatâ€™s in it. Â I donâ€™t know forÂ sure if it was manipulated. And Iâ€™m going to get to the firm bottom of that.
Eagleton, Terry | Â Â Â Donâ€™t know Doak? Itâ€™s a self-portrait as John Belushiâ€™s character in AnimalÂ House, from the artistâ€™s ongoing portraiture project. There are several orphaned pieces in WDE, but Iâ€™ll admit that this one does suffer the most for it. Oli Rodriguezâ€™s photographic portrait integrates well with the other work, evenÂ though it is de-linked from the S&M series itâ€™s part of. The problem is, what weÂ consume now is not objects or events, but our experience of them. We buy anÂ experience like we can pick up a GBDB beer coozie ($2.00 at the opening).
Immanuel, Kant | Â Â Â Sure, thereâ€™s no doubt that all knowledge begins with experience. Thatâ€™s why IÂ bought three. But reading about the Weird Dude Energy Tumblr that was theÂ inspiration for the show, I learned two things on the Hyperallergic comment thread: first, apparently no one reads my books anymore; and second, â€œYoungÂ people’s ideas about whatever is cool can have a conversation with contemporaryÂ art.â€ If you canâ€™t deal with merch and memes, fine, how about Mike Reaâ€™sÂ virtuosic wood installation: jail cell/microphone/and, inevitably, glory hole? OutÂ of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.
Rahm, Emanuel | Â Â Â Fucking retarded. Take your fucking tampon out and tell me what you have toÂ say. Best was Ivan Lozanoâ€™s installation of glowing blue hands on poles. ItÂ reminds me of when I sliced off my finger working at Arbyâ€™s, went swimming in Lake Michigan, and got gangrene. Thatâ€™s when I decided to become king ofÂ Chicago. Lozano fucked up his hand and made some casts based on not beingÂ able to move. Same idea, different goal. You should never let a serious crisis goÂ to waste.
Derrida, Jacques | Â Â Â Can we not talk about biography, please? Stick to the work! Look at how theÂ handsâ€™ blue glow syncs with Zak Arctanderâ€™s red tinted photo of the young man in a Vans cap, shown from his chest up. Whatever precautions you take so the photograph will look like this or that, there comes a moment when thatÂ photograph surprises you. Itâ€™s the other’s gaze that wins out and decidesâ€”whichÂ Arctander must be thinking about because look, he made sure the manâ€™s eyes areÂ covered by his cap! Rrose, with your own compromised intuitions, what did youÂ like?
Duchamp, Marcel | Â Â I just likeâ€”breathing. Itâ€™s so necessary that I donâ€™t question it.
Umberto, Eco | Â Â Â Â Â You are odd. Weird, I mean; but then, itâ€™s only petty men who seem normal.Â Didnâ€™t you like Alex Gartelmannâ€™s limp aluminum baseball bat, bent over a wooden peg? A mash-up of your own readymades and an â€˜80s sculptural phallus, a strong piece with good position.
Duchamp, Marcel | Â I donâ€™t believe in art, I believe in artists and the most interesting thing aboutÂ artists is how they live. All this twaddle are pieces of a chess game calledÂ language.
Eco, Umberto | Â Â Â Â Â Perhapsâ€¦. Maybe Iâ€™mâ€”maybe all this is not as wise as it likes to think it is. And if Jacquesâ€™s right about epistemic plurality, is this some eternal zugzwang, asÂ you chess people say? Itâ€™s true that the most interesting letters I receive are from people in the Midwest, people like the lone figure in John Operaâ€™s lovely, desolate Wisconsin landscape. So letâ€™s turn to their official sources instead!
Newcity Art (B. Stabler)| A variety of manly tensions are borne out by the juxtapositions in the group show â€œWeird Dude Energy.â€ In the end, thereâ€™s just nothing that says “competence” like a great curatorial concept enjoyably, even suavely, executed.
Rrose, SÃ©lavy | Â Â Â Â Â Fine, fine. You do have to have an official existence. Intermezzo. One more, back to the living, then the end.
Jason Foumberg | Â Â Â Weird Dude Energy, a concept and an exhibition, probes the unkempt desires ofÂ men. Â You know how guys act when theyâ€™re all together, without womenÂ around? Â This show amplifies that vibe with work from 17 male artists.
You + Yr Friends | Â Â Â _________________________________________________________________________
Sources: Â Walter Benjamin: â€œThe Author as Producerâ€, Reflections. Wilde, Oscar: The Picture of Dorian Gray. Weiner, Anthony: â€œGPS Speechâ€ to Springfield Community Church, et al.; Interview with Emily Miller, Washington Times. Eagleton, Terry: How to Read a Poem. Immanuel Kant: â€œIdea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purposeâ€. Rahm Emanuel: Comment on a liberal groupâ€™s concerns about Obamacare, Wall Street Journal; Response to a male staffer, New York magazine; Interview, Wall Street Journal. Derrida, Jacques: There is No â€œOneâ€ Narcissism, Interview with Didier Cahen. Duchamp, Marcel: Line for the character â€œMarcel Duchampâ€, The Mysteries and What’s So Funny, David Gordon (referencing Interview with Jean Antoine, The Art Newspaper); Interview with Jean Antoine, The Art Newspaper. Umberto Eco: The Name of the Rose; Duchamp, Marcel: The Writings of Marcel Duchamp; Letter to Jehan Mayoux. Eco, Umberto: Interview with Nigel Farndale, The Daily Telegraph; Interview with Adam Langer, Book magazine. Newcity Art (Bert Stabler): â€œReview: Weird Dude Energy/Heaven Galleryâ€. Rrose SÃ©lavy: Interview with Jean Antoine, The Art Newspaper; Jason Foumberg (Chicago Mag.com): â€œWeird Dude Energy Promises a Freaky Prelude to Fatherâ€™s Dayâ€. You+ Yr Friends: _________________________________.
James Pepper Kelly likes words, images, and the plants in his apartment. He serves as Managing Director of Filter Photo and is studying to be a pataphysicist. For a little while, back in the early â€˜00s, he was really good at Ms. Pac-man.Â
Chicago Artist Writers is a platform that asks young studio artists and art workers to write traditional and experimental criticism that serves under-represented arts programming in Chicago. CAW was founded by Jason Lazarus and Sofia Leiby in 2012. This is our first guest post on Bad at Sports.Â www.chicagoartistwriters.com
Several months ago, I was invited to share a blog with a stranger. On that blog, I was asked to write about art & reciprocity. I met Erik Hagoort that way. I read his posts and he read mine. Sometimes we responded to one another. The blog itself came from a larger project artists Kirsten Leenaars andÂ Lise Haller Baggesen were curating. That show, Mutualisms, (opens this Friday September 9th at the CoProsperity Sphere) features work made by artists paired together–half of the pair comes from the Netherlands, the other half is local to Chicago. Over the last six+ months, these pairs have been working together, building a dialogue more or less from scratch, in order to install work here. It’s a show about networks and relationships. It’s a show about community, and how that can arise with an ocean between us. In addition to the exhibit, CoPro is also hosting a symposium on Sunday (September 11th, from 1-5) to address the issue of art and reciprocity: an interesting question, given that so much of what we think about in terms of community building and art relies on expectations of return, or taking turns, or sharing. How do those themes also manifest themselves in a discrete work of art born from collaboration? In the following interview, Erik and I asked Lise and Kirsten some questions about the origin of the show, how to think about it critically, and even how its global perspective addresses arts funding strategies.
Caroline Picard: So often an exhibition is the culmination of work; while of course, MutualismsÂ is a culmination,there has been an on-going dialogue taking place on-line via blogs (both the one that you all keep as the Mutualisms site, and of course the blog you invited me to participate on with Erik). How did you think to frame the project via blogs and exhibitions? And what was it like pairing artists in different parts of the world?
Kirsten Leenaars &Â Lise Haller Baggesen: We had just met in Chicago last year, right before the Propeller Fund application was due. One of the things we had been talking about is that we at times had missed an international influx of artists in Chicago. The other thing that struck us is that while having both lived in Amsterdam and now in Chicago we had been part of quite different artistic and friend networks that only partially overlapped. Adding these elements up thought we could combine our networks to create an extended grid from which to organize a show. So, you could say that the show also came about as a mutual exchange between us [Kirsten and Lise], due to a need of expanding our own artistic and social horizons, the main idea being that the art world functions more or less through connections and relationships. We wanted to create a platform through which we could facilitate these relationships and form new connections amongst our combined networks.
Because we both are primarily artists, makers, and curators and thinkers secondarily, we curated the show very much from the point of view of the individual artistâ€™s practice, rather than as an illustration of an intellectual or theoretical idea (not that we are anti-intellectuals, far from it!). So, we tried to combine artists that we felt had a similar approach or a similar sensibility, hoping that the connections we observed were something they could see too, or that they might discover their own links through a dialogue with each other about their own practices. When we invited the artists to participate in the show we made very clear that the dialogue between each pair was an essential part of the concept and that they needed to be willing to engage in this what undoubtedly was at times-especially at first â€“ potentially an awkward exchange. Kind of like any first date can be. Some of the pairs readily jumped to the occasion and hit it off immediately, others definitively needed a little bit more time and coercing. Both and even the potential for a mismatch are part of concept of the show and we guess in some ways a risk we as the curators or organizers took. Our main objective really was to plant some seeds for potential mutual relationships that would grow and develop and extend beyond the scope of the Mutualisms project.
The blogs seemed to just be a very logic consequence of the fact that the artists were residing on different continents and the blog became a space where they could meet. Not just as a pair but also as the group on a whole. The blog allowed them to also see how the other pairs were connecting and what ideas were being exchanged. In addition we thought it would be make this process visible and public â€” often this kind of exchange often remains quite private â€“ because the dialogue can get quite personal â€“ but it gives great insight to the artistâ€™s practice and creates almost organically a context for the work and the show on the whole.
CP: Â There are some really incredible (and devastating, I think) movements in Europe (I guess I’m thinking largely about the UK) to cut funding for philosophy departments, art departments and even departments of literature. I understand from talking to you all the first day we met that a similar situation is taking place in Holland–and then too, I feel like some of the fears have twinged American consciousness as well (for instance, I’m thinking of what compelled Martha Nassbaum to write Not-for-Profit, which struck me as a defense of the arts). How do you feel this show might speak to that? In some ways, I’m asking because you’re relating two vastly different arts-funding strategies (the mostly private American version vs. the largely government subsidized (is that even the right way to think about it?)) and suddenly the work of those systems is materializing here in Chicago which is so interesting, I think. Maybe especially because you both have had such extensive experience in both worlds…
KL & LHB: To begin with, the show was curated â€˜organicallyâ€™, from a practice kind of view; it’s not really meant to illustrate a point about the proâ€™s and conâ€™s of arts funding, or anything like that. That kind of got thrown in the mix, because of the rapidly deteriorating situation in the Netherlands, which came about simultaneously to us curating the show and, ironically, receiving a considerate amount of financial support from the Netherlands, for the show. So it kind of both reinforced the cliche about the â€˜spoiledâ€™ European artists, while at the same time highlighting the possibilities and the fragility that kind of position affords. Through that government support, Dutch artists were able to all come to Chicago, allowing for the artist pairs to actually meet. We have noticed that these physical encounters fortified the connections and dialogue and are raising the show to the next level. Bearing in mind too that the show in Chicago is only part one. Next summer we hope to host a show in the Netherlands, and we are asking the current participating artists to continue their dialogue with each other. How we will fund this show will be our next challengeâ€¦
Funnily enough, both sides of the arts funding argument like to pull the â€˜qualityâ€™ card, as an argument for their stance. I.e. a private art market leads to â€˜better artâ€™ because the artists have to fend for themselves vs. art funding leads to â€˜better qualityâ€™ art because you have a â€™peer support systemâ€™ that is free of commercial interests. But, when you look around in the show, itâ€™s not lack of quality that characterizes either group, to the contrary! There are different sensibilities of course, that are typical of American vs. European works, that has to do with a sense of place and belonging to a certain cultural heritage, but just as often itâ€™s hard to tell off hand which is which, and quality wise they are certainly level pecking!
Erik Hogaart:Â Â Since the mid nineties of the last century the so-called relational tendency in the art world seems to prevail. This is not only referring to Nicolas Bourriaud’s famous statement of art being a state of encounter. The ‘relational’ has had a much wider impact, even extending into a feeling that networks of artists, curators, and audience not only surround the art work but become even artworks in themselves. This doesn’t exclude the appreciation of artworks of course, artists and curators involve other artists and curators on the basis of what they make and do. Yet, relations, even friendship seems to take a bigger part of the “art’s cake”. Russian curator Viktor Misiano has called it the tendency of confidentiality. And a project such as Mutualisms could, thinking along, also be called a confidential project. What do you, Lise and Kirsten, think of this? What is the balance for you between creating an opportunity for artists to make works, and creating an opportunity for artists to relate to one another. These two aspects of Mutualisms are of course connected, but in what way?
KL & LHB:Â Two things were very clear from the beginning. One, we wanted to be transparent about
the way we had curated the show and where these artists were coming from. Yes, these artists were selected from our pool of friends and acquaintances. This is perhaps often an unspoken given â€” something acknowledged behind closed doors â€” but being transparent about that is really at the base of our concept for the show. And in that sense never confidential. In addition these relationships are documented and visible for the public on our blogs. Secondly, yes, the primary reason for choosing each of the artists was based on their own strong practices, not on how much we liked the individual. One does not exclude the other, and what could be potentially more productive than fostering a relationship between a pair of driven practitioners? The dialogue ultimately has the objective to allow new ways of looking at each otherâ€™s practice, to inspire a dialogue about ways of thinking and making that ultimately find their ways back to an artistâ€™s practice. Of course if the match truly was a productive one, perhaps this can lead to other opportunities, further productions and collaborations etc. We do hope for these relationships â€“ as mentioned before â€“ to extend beyond Mutualisms. And if friendships are formed through this dialogue as well, than that is an added bonus.
EH: A question, which is philosophically triggered by Jacques Derrida’s statement: “the artwork is vertical, and slightly leaning.” This idea of the verticality of the artwork stresses confrontation, awe, being struck. Quite opposite is the idea of relationships and networks, which stresses horizontality, encounter between entities in the same/ equal position. Especially when artists connect to each other, and form mutual networks, how does these two models fit in? Mutualism, or reciprocity: how does it relate to these two concepts. Is there still space for the vertical within the horizontal?
KL & LHB:Â What you are implying here, is that inherent to an open â€˜democraticâ€™ curatorial process is the risk that the resulting product will also be â€˜democratic: i.e. not â€˜sublimeâ€™, a risk you are also touching on with your questions for the symposium when you state: â€˜in the arts a strong tradition has opposed reciprocity. Artâ€™s autonomy should prevail above exchange.â€™
Yes, that is a risk, and a risk we embraced as we were preparing for the show, because the encounter or the exchange that this structure entails, also invites the possibility of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. Just like the idea of democracy: â€˜together we are strongâ€™ this show was an open invitation to the artists to participate in a dialogue, in which they could make new art works that lay outside the boundaries of their own practice, or by pairing individual (existing) works that would allow the work to be contextualized in a new way. Some of the artists involved really stepped up to this challenge and engaged in a creative process, with an outcome that was surprising both to us, and to themselves. Others, you could say, â€˜played it safeâ€™ and are showing more in parallel.
Every art work implies an encounter, social relationship. Namely between the artÂ work and the viewer. Approaching art in this way implies an investigation of the social situation in which art takes place and encounters society. It focuses on the encounter in the moment of perception and communication, it underlines the role of projection in the exchange with a spectator, a public which is constantly being reconstituted. What does that ephemeral, individual or collective imagination bring forth? In what way does imagination not only produce the artwork, but also a social relationship? This question is the primary one. Each of the artists that participate, create work. They have different ways of engaging in this process. But for none of the artists is the encounter in itself the artwork. Neither do we as the curators of the show, see the encounter, or the relationship as the work. The show is a model for exchange, this exchange happens between the artists, the curators and ultimately between the viewer and the work that is on display â€“ a result of prior conversations. So with this show we also ask who participates in this process, and what does participation mean in this context? So the horizontal and vertical in our Mutualisms project are two axes in a grid where each of the artists individually and as pairs can be located on different positions within this grid.
“A question of repetition: a spectre is always a revenant. One cannot control its comings and goings because it beginsÂ by coming back” (Derrida, Spectres of Marx).
What follows is a longer correspondence that began as a casual conversation at the Hyde Park Art Center. After talking for a bit, I emailed Anthony Elms, “Can I interview you about ghosts?” That was several months ago and ever since, we’ve been emailing back and forth at various interim. Why might I want to ask about ghosts? How does that pertain to a website about contemporary art? Partly, my interest stems from a Q&A I witnessed not too long ago. The conversation centered on the ghost of Hamlet’s father. Consensus assumed the ghost a literary device on Shakespeare’s part. “What if the ghost is real?” someone asked. Blank stares darted around the room. There was an almost impalpable twinge of embarrassment mixed with misunderstanding, “Of course the ghost is only a metaphor,” silence seemed to imply, “ghosts aren’t real.” And the conversation went on to other things.
I got stuck on this notion; what did it mean to say the ghost isn’t real? There is no reason to think the ghost any less real than Hamlet; both characters share the same frame of reference for the audience. And then I began to wonder what it might mean for any ghost to be real. I started reading Derrida’s Spectres of Marx,Â which is when I encountered Anthony Elms. “I love that book,” he said. “I’ve only just started it,” I said. “Do you think ghosts are real?”
Anthony Elms is an artist, a curator, a writer and an editor of the wondrous press, White Walls, where he has curated a number of projects.Â His writings have appeared in Afterall, Art Asia Pacific, Art Papers, Artforum, Artforum.com, Cakewalk, May Revue, Modern Painters, New Art Examiner, and Time Out Chicago, but his accomplishments resist a concise sentence.Â For this and so many reasons, he seemed an especially good person to talk to. I have included the extent of our virtual conversation below. We talk about ghosts for their own sake, try to devise their locations and energetic habits while linking them (perhaps to Elms’ chagrin) to artistic experience.
Caroline Picard:Â When did your awareness of ghosts begin?
Anthony Elms:Â I cannot actually remember a time when I was not aware of ghosts. Some of the earliest encounters I can think of are in Looney Tunes and Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!, not surprisingly, and elaborate costumes my mother would make for Halloween.
CP:Â How did that process take place?
AE:Â I really don’t know. I did not grow up in a superstitious family. So it isn’t that there was an environment of believers. That said, when I was growing up we lived in a series of large houses that were empty a lot of the time, and I would often be left to myself, and I never felt alone. A friend in high school really believed in ghosts, and he lived in a house said to be haunted by many. I never saw anything there. Others did. In undergraduate I lived in a place where I was always seeing things. I was never sure. I have had moments over the years where I feel watched by the dead.
CP:Â How would you describe them?
AE:Â How would I describe ghosts, you mean?
As a presence that troubles, follows, affects, desires, drives and disturbs.
CP:Â Do you feel like particular cities have more ghosts than others?
AE:Â Without doubt. Some cities belong to ghosts more than to the people who live there.
AE:Â As you know Caroline, it has taken me almost a month to respond to youÂ questions. Most unhelpful to getting this conversation on track for aÂ proper back-and-forth. You were calling out to no response. No punÂ intended. In part because the questions and thoughts are difficultÂ ones. And, I’ll be honest, in part because of the turn of the
conversation, of trying to think about ghosts in the context of art. IÂ wasn’t particularly excited about trying to frame my thoughts relativeÂ to art–for me ghosts are so much larger and more interesting thanÂ their relation to aesthetics–but in time I found my way and madeÂ peace. It happened rereading filmmaker Raul Ruiz’s Poetics of Cinema.Â In the chapter “Mystery and Ministry” Ruiz sums up WesternÂ Civilization as basically a war between the two. He writes:
“Ministry’s police repression favors (if not actually creates) theÂ subversive function of Mystery; and in the very heat of battle, itsÂ hierarchical orders command the publication of Mystery’s secrets, andÂ therefore its conversion to Ministry. All this has happened manyÂ times. Ministry gains in secrets–which, for it, is a way of losing;Â while Mystery, whose substance consists only of shadows, cannot helpÂ but vanish as it comes forth into the light–therefore it loses asÂ well. These circles could have gone on spinning indefinitely, if inÂ this century the very nature of Mystery had not begun to change.Â Instead of discretion it now prefers public exhibition, and indeed itÂ never risks even that without clarifying everything beforehand; thereÂ is no longer a shadow zone where the mysterious players can marshallÂ their forces and practice their moves. We call this phenomenon aÂ ministerialization of Mystery: its immediate consequence is to affectÂ the nature of Ministers, who themselves become increasinglyÂ mysterious.” (p.102)
So first, I will get ahead of myself and answer that, yes, a seanceÂ can and should be art. Now, I did not see the piece you mention andÂ neither want to give it validation or critique. We are stuck with theÂ good, the bad and the ugly. However, it is important to always standÂ in potential, and with respect. One of my favorite moments everÂ witnessed was a lecture by artist/composer Carl Michael vonÂ Hausswolff. He talked about a work made in collaboration with AndrewÂ McKenzie of The Hafler Trio, Dale Travous and Annie Sprinkle. TheyÂ combined, in different locations but synchronized in time, attemptingÂ to marshall technological, magical and sexual energies to rid IcelandÂ of NATO. At the end of the gathering of forces the airbase was stillÂ there. However, during the time of their exorcism, a volcano eruptedÂ in the Philippines, smothering a U.S. airbase with ash, closing theÂ base. Hausswolff explained that their focus was right, but obviouslyÂ their aim imprecise. Â A student incredulously challenged, “Are youÂ serious?” Hausswolff responded: â€œSure. What is to be gained if Iâ€™m notÂ serious?â€ Case closed.
Back to the Ruiz. His assessment is correct: “there is no longer aÂ shadow zone where the mysterious players can marshall their forces andÂ practice their moves.” And still mystery does exist. Lurking in theÂ daylight. Art is one such realm. The space of art, much like theÂ screen of a moving image or the stage of a musical performance is aÂ zone where we don’t just allow ourselves to encounter the unknown, weÂ ready ourselves for a connection with the unknown. And this sometimesÂ happens in the classroom too. You can sit there with all yourÂ administrative powers: attendance requirements, assigned readings,schedule, lecture notes, project assignments, and still you can neverÂ predict what will be summoned when all the individuals come to theÂ table. And in fact it is those very structures and borders that set
the place for the unknown–good and bad–that does happen. It is theÂ platform from which risk jumps. And to follow Ruiz’s playfulÂ implication, anyone who has tried to get anything done that involved aÂ large bureaucracy (the post office, a university administration, aÂ city government all come to immediate mind) has witnessed underÂ fluorescent light just how mysterious things can seem when everythingÂ is presented before you in plain 12 point type.
By the way: I love to swim, run. I enjoy yoga and have an unhealthyÂ attachment to a rowing machine. What all these share in common is roteÂ activity: repetition and pattern. The actions don’t surprise me, IÂ know what I am doing, for how long and where my actions are leadingÂ me. But in these moments I usually find my mind explodes, struck by
something I had either overlooked, or had not even recognized as aÂ possibility. Or the unpredictable flow/feel of a limb, it has movedÂ that way a thousand times and yet now it has discovered something inÂ that movement it was never attentive to before. Or this does notÂ happen. And of course this doesn’t happen when I watch someone elseÂ swim, run, yoga, row. But maybe if someone shared with me theÂ unknowing experience of their swim, run, yoga, row I could get there.Â Let me witness for a moment the behaviors by which matter changes forÂ this other person. It is too easy to confuse facts for spaces ofÂ engagement in art: large amplifiers = heavy metal, or in your example,Â building an alter and lighting candles = spiritual evocation. Still,Â be generous. We would never say of a book that the cover ruins ourÂ surprise of the contents because it’s sturdiness is a parody of aÂ story’s beginning and end, we are likely to talk about bad cover
design and poorly told stories. A crucial element of your listedÂ troubles, and where the art seance chooses a path: unpredictable orÂ parody, is related by art critic Jan Verwoert in “Under the Sign andÂ In the Spirit of a Stoa: On the Work of Cerith Wyn Evans,” republishedÂ in his collection Tell Me What You Want, What You Really Really Want.
A passage, funny enough, that segues quite nicely from Ruiz’sÂ administered mysteries.
“Besides, you never know with spirits. There is no guarantee thatÂ they’ll come when called. They appear when they want to. So seancesÂ are a tricky technique for dealing with creatures from the past.Â Citations, conversely, are more controlling; the one who cites takesÂ possession of what is cited. Things work differently in a seance. WithÂ spirits you must negotiate. And if you lose the upper hand in thisÂ process you might end up being the one possessed. Power relations areÂ not predetermined; they are subject to negotiation. In contrast to theÂ act of citation, the ceremony of convocation remains perilouslyÂ performative and open ended. It cannot coerce a community (among andÂ with spirits) to come into being.” (p.213)
Perhaps the student lost sight of convocation and ended up inÂ citation. Ghost hunter Michael Esposito once remarked, “we likeÂ recordings more than we like to listen.” Or maybe the spirits wereÂ having a laugh at the student’s expense that day. For spirits toÂ survive, it is imperative to support Hausswolff and his request, “WhatÂ is to be gained if I’m not serious.” Which does not promise success atÂ every attempt. If Hausswolff didn’t help the wrong volcano to erupt,
what kind of a world do we live in? No world I’ll come home to.
AE:Â I referenced a chapter from Ghostly Matters: Haunting and theÂ Sociological Imagination, by Avery F. Gordon about the disappeared inÂ Argentina. Thousands were imprisoned, tortured and killed by theÂ dictatorship. Obviously people are dead. The government for a majorityÂ of cases never admitted to imprisoning the individuals, and never
issued death certificates. So yes, people basically vanished,Â preserved in an unresolved gap. A question with no sounded answer. TheÂ absence is palpable because a clean label cannot be applied: living,Â dead, employed, institutionalized, etc., and the desire we feel for aÂ name, a descriptive, is left wanting. French philosopher Jean-Luc
Nancy, in Â Being Singular Plural, shares â€œwilling (or desire) is not aÂ thinking; it is a disturbance, an echo, a reverberating shock.â€ It isÂ not trivializing the disappeared to say they were incompatible to theÂ existing dominant structures. That is why they were disappeared. AndÂ now the reverberating shock has no perimeters to catch and stop theÂ waves.”
I should resist, but I will now risk gross trivialization to somehowÂ thread the loose threads of our exchange together by drawing anÂ artistic analogy to the felt missing out there. Again, Verwoert, butÂ this time from his essay “You Make Me Feel Mighty Real: On the Risk ofÂ Bearing Witness and the Art of Affective Labour” from the sameÂ collection mentioned above.
“Except perhaps whistle a tune, like people do when they walk alone atÂ night. It’s a strange habit. You whistle to chase away the thoughtÂ that someone or something else might be out there with you. But forÂ whom would you be intoning the tune if not for them, whoever orÂ whatever they may be? Whistling in the dark is a way of relating toÂ something out there like it was both there and not there. It isÂ therefore a most suitable way of relating to ghosts; as the embodimentÂ of the unavowed, ghosts are what they are because they are there andÂ not there. Good art and thinking is always a bit like a tune whistledÂ in a manner that echoes the possible presence of something or someoneÂ out there.” (p.292)
This, ultimately, I am not sure why, reminds me: I think timing Â and aÂ tune is the key to ghosts.
AE:Â Underneath the plaster and lathe of the walls were denim jeans.Â Obviously used as a cheap readily available insulation. So many jeans.Â My friend Matt and I jumped when the jeans came for us, clinging toÂ our crowbars. Please do not feel embarrassed by my calling you out forÂ wrong details, we need to keep this goingâ€¦ misremembering is key to
the sense of missed time that unleashes ghosts.
Anyway, to answer if it is empathic imagination or something intrinsicÂ to the objects, the answer is both and neither, pending. Let’s beÂ distinct. Some objects hold my empathetic imagination: a somewhatÂ useless antique chair that pressed uncomfortably into my stomach inÂ the back seat of an economy car on a ride back from Washington D.C. in
the 70s, Â a vase I bought my mother for a Christmas gift once and nowÂ sadly own, a painted portrait my father made of me when I was aboutÂ four. These objects contain my attention, my care, my devotion and myÂ love. They do not hold any ghosts. There are objects that seemÂ haunted, my CD player that randomly turns off on its own accord, theÂ VCR player that at times has a display light and at times does not.Â These objects raise my ire. They do not hold ghosts. And the others: aÂ photograph I cannot imagine discarding, because I know some bad willÂ befall me if so, the novel that for some reason radiates love from theÂ shelf whenever my eye catches the spine, that album that exorcises theÂ bad demons from any untoward moment, the Christmas ornament–ownedÂ less than 24 hours–that fell and broke and elicited instant tears,Â the ottoman I never wanted to see again. These objects hold ghosts.
Can I prove any of the above? Absolutely not. This does not make theÂ above nonsense. This is precisely why we need to give these types ofÂ objects and responses more attention. And resist received wisdom. AndÂ I also wonder why we should require that our empathic imaginationÂ cannot be something intrinsic to the object? Verwoert appears here
again, and once again from his text on Cerith Wyn Evans, an artist whoÂ often references past texts and histories in his art, or arrangesÂ situations that call back to and bring forth pastÂ histories–Lettrists, Georges Bataille, W. S. Burroughs, BrionÂ Gysin–often without a clear reason for the recall. But they are notÂ puzzles for decoding.
“The mode in which Wyn Evans relates to Lettrist principle is thus notÂ so much a form of reference but of reverence. Instead of displayingÂ knowledge, he invests passion in the invocation of a spirit. HeÂ communicates the fascination inherent to a certain manner of freelyÂ engaging with cinema and literatureâ€¦. What counts is spiritualÂ affinity. It is through a gesture of reverence, therefore, that WynÂ Evans creates proximity between characters and evokes the spirit ofÂ their collective subjectivity.” (p.208)
Perhaps, when our empathic imagination rests on an object with whichÂ it shares a spiritual affinity, we see the ghosts?
AE:Â An artistic experience that does not bristle your arms, or at leastÂ shut off your self-assured all-knowing voice is not worth having.Â Simply put. In fact, maybe an artistic experience that does not putÂ you in touch with some form of spirit is not an artistic experience.Â And all this is possible in a photocopied booklet, paint and canvas, aÂ snapshot, 16 mm film, tape and cardboard, store-bought product,Â graphite, a rock. You name it. I must appeal for the eternal return of
Verwoert, to quote him again from his essay “You Make Me Feel MightyÂ Real: On the Risk of Bearing Witness and the Art of Affective Labour”:
“Spiritual as they are, if all spirits were exorcised, then art,Â writing, love and friendship would equally cease to exist. As artists,Â writers, lovers and friends, we are therefore not afraid of ghosts. OnÂ the contrary. Our biggest fear may be no ghosts. Without ghosts toÂ converse with, we would have nothing to do and no right to be. ButÂ since we cannot scientifically prove their existence, our vocation toÂ write, make art or love and be loyal friends will always remain questionable. â€¦
Still, there is evidence that sometimes magic tricks work, spells areÂ broken, curses lifted, and the load of unresolved emotions preventedÂ from being passed on, when the load is cast out from the body, notÂ onto another person, but openly transferred onto objects, pictures,Â gestures or words, to be arrested by and in them, not so that the loadÂ can be cast away and forgotten, no, on the contrary, so that the painÂ and joy it contains can be avowed and owned, together, by artist andÂ viewer, writer and reader, temporarily sharing an experience, andÂ freely avowing it, like lovers might.” (p.270)
AE:Â Impregnated does indeed seem a very funny choice. Imbued? Go back toÂ that comment “We like recordings more than we like to listen.” I thinkÂ we are–most of us–pretty bad at paying attention to the notions thatÂ we feel but don’t know why. Rarely do we stop to think and interrogateÂ these moments. Not interrogate to kill them, or rationalize them intoÂ an easy understanding, but to try to sharpen our ability to recognizeÂ things like love, avoidance, unease, or even that we are not byÂ ourselves in the room. Perhaps having many objects around a room isÂ kind of like billboards on the highway for our lazy intuition to catchÂ wind of the changes in the breeze.
AE:Â I don’t think it possible to prescribe a process for theÂ interrogation, because obviously there will be any number of methodsÂ for any number of types of moments. Being active and being attentiveÂ are both crucial to the process. Obviously a level of rationalizingÂ and discernment is crucial to taking an experience apart inÂ reflection. Or in being critical in the moment.
As far as the rationalâ€¦ I think it is important to look closely at theÂ cracks in any structure. To also look at the sweeping large-scaleÂ shapes and drives and to be prepared to be surprised, to not know, toÂ have an experience and be accepting of something that exceeds yourÂ current understanding. So in looking to learn from an experience,Â particularly of ghosts or haunting, do not work to explain away theÂ unjustified remainders, the parts that do not quite add up, theÂ details that seem unreal. Possibly treat these details as suspect, notÂ as meaningless or impossible or silly. Use attentiveness to acceptÂ something beyond what you expect can or should happen and that may beÂ even absurd. Nod. “Yes, this is a place I haven’t been before and I doÂ not know how I got here.” Accept that your own limits are far belowÂ those the world routinely offers. Be open. The desire to understandÂ can be a disturbance that creates the experience that is needed,Â particularly if the desire goes unfulfilled completely.
AE:Â Oof, I need to say I am always suspicious when objects are describedÂ as having “democratic disposition”, particularly when being held inÂ opposition to items that somehow lack “democratic disposition.” TheÂ frames need to be drawn very tight for that distinction to matter in aÂ meaningful manner that is not glib or carefree. To the topic at hand:
Yes, I too had interactions with Ouija boards…I suppose manyÂ American kids did, particularly when they became mass produced by aÂ gaming company and available at almost any toy store. To this day I’mÂ not sure what happened in those times spent with the Ouija board: didÂ one of the people at the table manipulate the direction? Did weÂ conveniently together somehow agree what answers should come our way?Â Or did the spirits appear. I don’t really care what caused theÂ experience, I’m more interested in the fact that an experienceÂ happened. And I think it important to recognize something happened inÂ a place with the intention to contact something beyond the assembled
group, even if some hood-winkery enters the frame. I do not doubt thatÂ some objects do indeed carry curious energy. But I think theÂ importance of thinking with ghosts or spirits is not just to treatÂ them as real, but to treat the spaces where the unexpected happensÂ seriously and to not try and explain away the particular, beyond cleanÂ explanation experience.
In this light, I myself am not interested in seeking an answering, orÂ even asking questions such as, “Do you think that common or sharedÂ mythologies create these instances?” I’d rather ask, “What commonÂ space did you share at that moment?” “What conflicting desires were inÂ the people around that table, and how did these mix?” “What did you
reach for–mentally, emotionally, physically–to help ground you whenÂ the experience moved beyond expectations?” “How does the preparationÂ for an experience focus the senses?” “What cannot be focused in such aÂ situation?” Any question that looks at the space created in theÂ action, rather than asking a sort of causal sociology.
AE:Â Of course, but we need not be able to recognize that history. Or evenÂ recognize it as a history.
AE:Â There could be an absence or there could also be too much presence.Â Something extra. Either way, there are many writers who would answerÂ this question much better, Maurice Blanchot, Jacques Derrida andÂ Jean-Luc Nancy all come to mind, and all at times attended themselvesÂ to notions of otherness and how to be with another and the other.
Let’s somewhat glibly gloss thoughts from these three, it is importantÂ to let the other be other, to not try to append our definitions andÂ rules to the other. To recognize the sovereignty of the other’sÂ position and begin to negotiate rather than to assimilate or absorb.Â This doesn’t mean to give up the ability to react, respond, disagree,Â judge or confront that other, but to recognize it as a distinctÂ presence (or absence) that may not play to our ways of being.
The importance of the issue of ghosts, haunting, and many of theÂ points touched on is also that there is no way out of a subjectiveÂ experience of activity. I cannot prove feeling of love or sadness orÂ fear or boredom in any way that would make the histories for thoseÂ feelings concrete or embedded in objects in a way that you wouldÂ necessarily have to experience the feelings in the same manner. StillÂ you might be able to sense, in a moment, that my relationship to an
object is based in some relationship that you do not share orÂ understand. You might even sense that an object sits in a way thatÂ doesn’t quite seem in line with the way the other objects around areÂ sitting. There’s just something offâ€¦
To wildly misuse a quote, British artist Victor Burgin in his essayÂ “Perverse Space” writes, “There is no objectification withoutÂ identification.” Closeness and detachment require each other. And whenÂ feeling one we should not pretend the other is not lurking. To notÂ recognize is to identify a difference and understand something is notÂ of your kind. And this lack of recognition does not prevent, to useÂ Verwoert’s wonderful phrase again, “temporarily sharing an experience,Â and freely avowing it, like lovers might.”
CP:Â Does anything else come to mind for you? Something we haven’t covered? In much of this I have been steering (a little wildly) towards answers, but I also can’t help feeling like I might not be asking the right questions. Not that I’m dissatisfied with your answers (on the contrary) but I still feel like I’m grasping at sand, something elusive and vanishing. Is there something I am missing in all this? Have you ever tried to hunt a ghost?
AE:Â Oh come now… I don’t think you’ve asked the wrong questions.Â I think we have covered a lot it seems, and without reading backÂ through anything I can’t think off the top of my head.
I have tried to hunt a ghost. 3 or so times. Never success. I findÂ them best when I’m not looking.