Showing posts with label criticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label criticism. Show all posts

Saturday, August 21, 2010

REPORT: BULLSHIT! CALLING OUT CONTEMPORARY ART, Joanna Fiduccia



Joanna Fiduccia examines the refusal of meaning as artistic strategy in the work of Eric Duyckaerts, Jimmy Raskin, Benoît Maire and Falke Pisano

Horsepucky, poppycock, baloney, bull butter, bull feathers, humbug – as many names for what philosopher Harry Frankfurt called one of the most salient features of our culture: bullshit. If it is true that the contemporary world is swimming in it from the discourse of the previous US administration to the profusion of empty language and images jamming up cyberspace, it is also far from seeming all bad. No sooner is bullshit condemned as an enemy to truth or the symptom of a broader idiocy, than advocates rush to defend it as a creative exercise of extrapolation or even, to the mind of Harvard professor William Perry Jr writing on academic bulling in 1963, an expression of the highest values in a liberal education, namely, the capacity to understand someone else’s form of thought well enough to expound upon it, with confidence, if without data.1 This is a skill, the ‘art’ of bullshitting.

A fitting term. If bullshitting is an art (as craft as well as cunning), it is just as often pinned on art itself, which has shouldered that accusation since Plato maligned mimesis. A history of 20th century art could even be sketched as the punctual embrace of this fundament: consider that two of its most paradigmatic works are Duchamp’s ‘Fountain’, 1917, and Piero Manzoni’s ‘Merda d’artista’, 1961, and that one of its most influential thinkers was christened the ‘excremental philosopher’ (Georges Bataille) – to say little of Yves Klein’s (hot) air architecture and his ‘Immaterial Pictorial Sensitivity’, 1959, or even Pollock’s excretory drips. These cases can be likened to what Philip Eubanks and John D Schaeffer call the ‘gamesmanship’ of bullshitting: showboating, often among friends, that is ‘at once grandiose and difficult to be sure of: it gets away with something audacious while also putting it plainly on display.’2 Or, it gets away with something audacious because it puts it plainly on display. It nearly goes without saying that contemporary artists reckon with this strategy, and that artists failing to do so risk seeming fey and sincere. Bullshit’s presence in art seems no longer a threat to its integrity, but rather an integral part of its mechanisms.

Yet, that is surely only half the story. Pedagogy and ‘the educational turn’ have come to be recognised as widespread preoccupations for artists, institutions and art structures alike. And since bullshit and pedagogy rarely make easy bedfellows, even if you admit their entanglement on the student’s side, it seems high time to recalibrate the bullshit of contemporary art. First, a caveat. There are numerous annexes of bullshit that will not be discussed here, the consideration of which would likely lead to different conclusions. In art, these include bullshit as conspiracy theory, bullshit as historical pastiche, bullshit as ethnographic study (cf, in much more nuanced terms, Hal Foster’s ‘The Artist as Ethnographer’ in The Return of the Real, 1996), and the bullshit revelation of bullshit. Instead, I’ll limit myself to a few examples restricted to bullshit language or speech in contemporary art.

Given the rich history of art and bull, exactly what kind of bullshit is in question? In Harry Frankfurt’s essay ‘On Bullshit’, originally published in 1986 in the Raritan Quarterly Review and reprinted in 2005 as a small, widely popular volume, Frankfurt defines bullshit against its kindred deception, lying. He concludes that, whereas the liar ‘design[s] his falsehood under the guidance of… truth’ and is therefore ‘inescapably concerned with truth values’3, the bullshitter spins a yarn in complete disregard or indifference for the truth. Frankfurt’s success precipitated articles in the popular press as well as sociological and philosophical journals, some of which reference a second disquisition, GA Cohen’s 2002 analysis ‘Deeper into Bullshit’. Cohen’s target is academic bullshit, the opaque and arcane language understood by many to be the true legacy of structuralist/post-structuralist thought (in his article, Cohen references the hoax played on the esteemed journal Social Text by Alan Sokal, a mathematics and physics professor, who successfully submitted an article of pure and intended gibberish). Cohen construes bullshit not as a disregard for truth, but rather a disregard for meaning, or even, a refusal to mean. It is ‘discourse that is by nature unclarifiable’,4 whether produced sincerely or constructed in the interest of cowing an audience through excessive, abstruse language.

Of course, ‘discourse that is by nature unclarifiable’ seems to touch on what some maintain is a tenet of art, that is, its resistance to effective paraphrase, its ‘capacity to invite repeated response’ (TJ Clark), or conversely, in the words of Paul Valéry, A work of art, if it does not leave us mute, is of little value. Furthermore, if art can be intentionally indecipherable, it can also disregard certain truths in order to access others (historically, the truth of subjective perception or some such). This presents a difficult case for defining bullshit in or as art; even holding on to certain characterisations (a refusal to mean, unconcerned with truth-values), bullshit in art can run from playful virtuosity to po-faced camouflage.

On the side of the former is the work of Belgian artist Eric Duyckaerts, whose didactic lectures cover such subjects as diagonals, couples and Sheffer strokes, at one clownish and erudite and just this side of aporia. Duyckaerts plays at turns the enthusiastic assistant professor and the bumbling instructor, implicitly calling into question both his authority and your attentiveness to it. The back cover of his book on certainty, Hégel ou la vie en rose, reads ‘the adoption of a truth for one person […] transforms progressively into a certainty for that person and that, during the process of appropriation, the truth has continued on its merry way to find itself, in fact, far beyond the certainty of that person.’ These are lines that could also describe the experience of absorbing Duyckaerts’ lessons: charmed into believing a probable proposition, you’re soon led down a path that seems to have never seen the light of reason.

Similarly virtuosic is New York-based artist Jimmy Raskin, who for over 20 years has pursued an aesthetic-philosophical investigation in the form of sculptures, videos, lectures, diagrams and texts. Its tagline of sorts, ‘There is a disciple who is permanently confused!’ is drawn from Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 1883-85, from the chapter in which Zarathustra endeavors to explain the difference between the Poet Pure and the New Poet-Philosopher (the disciple, obviously, doesn’t get it). Raskin explains, in terms not unlike Cohen’s, ‘[The disciple] does not yet know that the folly of Poets is a self-created doom. Lacking deep knowledge and obligated “to lie” (even to himself), the unenlightened Poet flounders in an excess of language.’5 Raskin has empathetically drawn up five so-called timeless lessons with which to direct the disciple’s transition into a New Being. Number Two is Lying Just Enough v Passive to the Lie; Number Five, Being Paradoxical, Subversive v Self-Contradictory. With such references, Raskin’s work emerges as an inspired mix of philosophical themes, convoluted associations and incisive self-reference. His recent exhibitions almost recklessly merged Zarathustra’s tightrope walker with a character Pinn (Pinocchio, piñata), Rimbaud’s Voyelles with Stephen Hawking’s black hole – a flirtation with virtuosic bullshit, anchored by real existential weight.

Paris-based artist Benoît Maire has an academic pedigree behind his densely philosophical works: a discontinued doctorate that would seem to give him special purchase on academic arcana. His earlier projects such as ‘The Spider Web’, 2006, a heterodox selection of objects that served as a pretext for a conversation with Arthur Danto – had a frontal engagement with philosophy, yet were sufficiently removed from academic procedures to create a large margin for bulling. A more recent work inherits the linguistic contortions of its references (Lyotard, Lacan, Badiou… ) often exacerbated by their ludic position in the artwork (‘4.3 – description of the elements of the game: / a – the mechanical transcendent, / b – the general mirror of transcendental indexation / c – investigation A (defeated) following the position / d – the empty subject, which only speaks through the scream […]’). In November 2009, Maire discussed the source of these quotes, his reflections on the Aesthetics of the Differends, with academic Jonathan Lahey Dronsfeld at Hollybush Gardens in London – a conversation that illuminated the subtly humorous side to Maire’s near-impenetrable language: the absurdity of using academic philosophical discourse to debate work that has expressly abandoned the academic philosophical context.

Maire has collaborated with Amsterdam-based artist Falke Pisano, whose work is another example of abstruse language. Like Raskin, Pisano has a repertory of preoccupations or theses that are reincarnated in her lecture-performances, sculptures, installations and text-based videos. Yet unlike Maire and Raskin, Pisano forfeits an absurd or virtuosic angle by producing hermetic work, composed of systems outlining its own apprehension. One of the most recent iterations of this appeared in the 53rd Venice Biennale, 2009. Composed of panels of text and diagrams suspended in steel frames, ‘Silent Element (Figures of Speech) II’ expands upon a series of works (‘The Complex Object – Affecting Abstraction #3’, 2007; ‘Object and Disintegration: The Object of Three’, 2008; and ‘O Eu e O Tu / The I and The You’, 2008) that concern the relationship between speech and visual apprehension – however without having, or claiming to have, a relationship to phenomenology. But its language seems to belie that Pisano’s diagrams were narrated by statements such as ‘Duration can only be experienced when perception takes place from one structure to another; consequently temporal values are transferred to a continuous present experience of time’ and that ‘The figure spoke with the intention of installing a logic of transformation between disparate conditions’.6 In the context of the biennial, namely its conjunction of high seriousness and a general public, this language appeared deeply alienating and hopelessly obscure. Invested with the authority of a precise, vaguely phenomenological lexicon and, of course, the authority of the biennale itself, Pisano’s failure to communicate could be felt to reflect on her audience rather than on the obscurity, emptiness and disregard of meaning(fulness) in her language.

Yet aside from a poorly judged relationship to audience (for which the artist cannot solely be faulted), how reasonable is it to claim that Pisano’s work is intimidating and alienating whereas Duyckaerts’s is rousing or Raskin’s self-reflexive? I speculate it is precisely because her presentation aestheticised rather than parodied pedagogy. The panels, which recall didactic devices such as wall texts or labels, produce the expectation that knowledge will be delivered by Pisano through her art, while the obtuse content refuses communication, refuses to mean.

However it is not entirely fair to say that this expectation is produced only or even primarily by the work itself. Ought we not to see its source in the zeitgeist of ‘the educational turn’, a return to a conservative perspective on the function of art – namely, to instruct? Although part of the allure of recent pedagogical tendencies in art is their ambiguous seriousness, very few discount entirely the objective of instructing their audience. In this light, Frankfurt’s definition – disregard for truth and the subsequent degradation of the social relations that hinge upon it – suddenly looks far more significant. Indeed, it only becomes a problem once the art world starts looking like a plausible place for academic learning. For whether bullshit is endemic to art or redeemed by it, it’s there, and it might not always take the virtuosic route. Perhaps the one who should on the chopping block is not the bullshitter at all, but those who would seek to remake art in the vision of the classroom.

Joanna Fiduccia is on MAP’s editorial advisory board

Endnotes
1. William Perry Jr, ‘Examship and the Liberal Arts: A Study in Educational Epistemology’, http://www.people.fas.harvard.edu/~lipoff/miscellaneous/exams.html. Originally published in Examining in Harvard College: A Collection of Essays by Members of the Harvard Faculty, ed. Leon Bramson, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Faculty of Arts and Sciences, 1963
2. Philip Eubanks and John D Schaeffer, ‘A Kind Word for Bullshit: The Problem of Academic Writing’, College Composition and Communication 59.3, 2008, 380
3. Harry Frankfurt, On Bullshit, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005, 32
4. GA Cohen, ‘Deeper into Bullshit’ in Contours of Agency: Themes from the Philosophy of Harry Frankfurt, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002, 332
5. Miguel Abreu, ‘Interview with Jimmy Raskin’ in Blinding the Ears – Accecare l’ascolto (Milan: Kaleidoscope, 2009), 24
6. Cf Cohen on the Althusserian texts he confronted as a student: ‘[They] possessed a surface allure, but it often seemed impossible to determine whether or not the theses […] were true, and, at other times, those theses seemed capable of just two interpretations: on one of them, they were true but uninteresting, and, on the other, they were interesting, but quite obviously false.’ Cohen, 322

Above copied from: http://www.mapmagazine.co.uk/index.cfm?page=984F1E34-BDF5-2379-71075D0184E53D92&articleid=432

Saturday, August 7, 2010

The Malaise of The Critical Artist, Bret Schneider


The dominant order of the ‘critical artist’ in contemporary art, emanating from Duchamp’s intellectualism has digressed from transformative social critique to affirmative idealism. Contemporary art’s compulsion towards post-conceptual, immaterial, critical practices evidences the problematic success of the neo-avant-garde’s ideological support of the critical artist, as opposed to its failure. Marcel Broodthaers’s forecast of art eventually liquidating into the culture industry has proven painfully too true, and paired with the critical artist who was poised to change the industry from within, the critical artist has instead turned out to cater to empirically existing conditions within a given system. What is at stake is understanding why seemingly obsolete modernist problems like boredom, alienation, anxiety and reification persist when their solutions have been supposedly fulfilled by critical artistic expansion, most notably by secondary, explanatory information. Additionally, recent complaints about ‘misconceptual’ art that is as “catchy as the hook in a rock song”(Holland Cotter, The New York Times) suggest a growing malaise with critical art, which was originally created to avert the problems of a purely sensual art experience. The success of the artist-as-critic project, a phenomenon accruing from reactions to modernist originality, combined with a persistence of the problems they were meant to absolve suggests a crisis in the political imagination of our time. But this is evident even before the purely contemporary expectations of historical research; in Theodore Adorno’s criticism of Surrealism’s lack of critique and lapse into fetish in 1934 we witness an implicit shift from artist as autonomous, original creator, to artist as critic[1]. More significantly, Surrealism’s failure to properly critique society had proven Adorno’s aesthetic theory, which targeted dominant models of art perception as serving idealist functions. This idealism had run through Kant, Freud, and we continue to witness a drive towards immaterial ideology which supposedly critiques social orders, but practically deviates towards an empirically affirmative idealism in the continual expectation for artists to ’say something’ about society today. A symptom of this crisis is that the kernel of critical thought is increasingly digested exclusively within art itself. In other words, artists are futilely trying to rectify a deeper historical problem of critical transformation which extends far beyond them, and now failing. As artists absorb into the culture industry, they curiously become more ‘critical’ within their free-floating bubble, yet without fostering the broader social aspirations that once seemed possible. However, artists today who can synthesize the diverse new materials opened by this expanded field, and work this post-conceptual, now didactic criticism, materially offer insight into the historical necessity for the emergence of the critical artist, even if only accidentally. Which is to say, the critical artist is more an acute symptom of reification than its self-purported solution to it.

As a result of a trajectory through the culture industry artists inevitably become both irrelevant and ubiquitous, as is evidenced by the compensatory growth of intellectual validation through secondary discourse, multicultural mining, rote explanation, and contingent information irrationally grafted onto material. The culture industry renders the critical artist a pastiche of its past hopes. Such desperate grafting ironically giving the illusion of rational critique, is meant to be a salve for the continuing rupture between industrial material and and the diminishing intellectual means to comprehend its significance in a recklessly productive civilization. Artist lectures, artist statements, the rhetoric of explanations to the viewer, the vain attempts to clarify materials through secondary critique, are all stamps of the continuing nonfulfillment of form and sensation, divorced and polarizing from its increasing qualifying discourse. Out of some undiagnosed new condition of desperation, artists force iconic social topics into material in such a crude and pathetic imposition that it implies an intensive new paradigm to resolve seemingly archaic ruptures between sensation and intellectualism. Critique becomes another material. Some art today is an attempt to get at a critical coexistence of material and intellectual differences, even when those differences are unfortunately further widened. Sensational qualities of art, and their complexly accrued theories, are increasingly wrenching apart and losing their mutual effectiveness, and as a result many artists are trying to rectify this within art itself – a futile attempt when divorced from the totality that contemporary art has shattered so exhaustively. Displaying a wide-ranging contemporary ethos of art production which squeezes conceptual data and theoretical discourse into banal material play, postconceptual, misconceptual art results in an overwrought semiotic package streamlined towards making the most impactful commentary it can make by way of a synthetic unity of marginally related products (including criticism), in varying permutations.

Misconceptual Art
The cultural investment in the critical artist has reached such an impasse that Robert Storr labels it ‘misconceptual’, even going so far as to suggest it need not be understood because “you know it when you see it”[2]. The impasse is the accumulation of contemporary ideologies that art should explicitly critique the existing material world, taking cues from Duchamp’s hopes for art to become intellectual rather than retinal. Storr’s statement leads people to believe that many of the artists today who practice conceptual art have little understanding of it whatsoever. In fact, the scenario is more that artists today only understand conceptual art. The illusion that they don’t understand it comes from their poignant inability to synthesize conceptual art’s intellectualism with a rapidly changing cultural industry that renders historical imperatives obsolete. In other words, new art is not ‘misconceptual’, its just that conceptual art today is colored by the streamlining which has seized it, and which art presents in acute form. We have recently learned that conceptual art assimilates one-liners swiftly. Ironically, art’s liquidation into the culture industry was initially postulated by some aspects of conceptual art, and this implies a problem not with so-called misconceptual art today, but with conceptual art’s ideological foundations of an idealism which lives on in distorted form. The problem is not that artists today are not conceptual enough, its that conceptual art was not a fulfilled project and needs to be fulfilled today to show what it truly was in the 1960’s. When it does so in misconceptual art it shows its implicitly fallacious character more than it did previously, in that critiquing social norms from a distance seems like a ruse of artistic practice. Misconceptual art shows us the fallibility not merely of todays artists, but rather of conceptual art’s failures to project a more substantial plan for the future. The recent ‘misunderstanding’ is really just a further understanding. This makes Storr’s reliance on Lawrence Weiner and Kara Walker all the more nostalgic. The lack of understanding the phenomenon creates a scenario where it is simultaneously resisted and generated, and is the result of an incompleteness of art and criticism. If artist’s today don’t get involved with their material, but critique it distantly, this heightens the promise of conceptual art, which was always problematic in its removal from materialism. Such hands-off removal has not surprisingly fostered a situation where many artists today merely pick a cultural relic and do nothing to it, thus affirming empirically existing material conditions (in that the object is unchanged) and empirically existing consciousness, which seeks to use the material to predictably say something about society already prefigured in the distorted subjectivity of the creator.

The New York Times’ Holland Cotter likewise voices a complaint about misconceptual one-liners in The Boom Is Over, Long Live the Art: “…it has given us a flood of well-schooled pictures, ingenious sculptures, fastidious photographs and carefully staged spectacles, each based on the same basic elements: a single idea, embedded in the work and expounded in an artist’s statement, and a look or style geared to be as catchy as the hook in a rock song.”[3] The critical artist has turned into the didactic artist and instigated an indefinable malaise from the now obsolete critic. When material is used as a soapbox to preach a message from the maker, the same things end up getting said, as psychological determinsim, untouched by material, reigns supreme. In sum, the intellectual artist has become a pastiche of itself. But some artists use pastiche as a style in itself. The scenario is that the pressures of creating in the culture industry, ironically accountable for 1960’s political motivations, drives artists to increasingly validate their practices by streamlined intellectual discourse. Such an odd synthesis permits these intellectual and philosophical concerns to become artificially sleek. Cotter’s complaint, which escalates the seriousness of art to do something meaningful, only widens this gap between what we expect from art and what can actually happen in a society which turns thought into a fashionable good, not to mention the inability and irrelevance of art to revolutionize itself but instead reify its own pre-existing conditions. Radicalization of art has only happened in times of broader social conflict where more than its local effects were at stake, which explains why artists who seek to absolve society of its discontents from afar, without being materially invested, are only more of an isolated, esoteric joke removed from real practical change. But despite the complaints from melancholic critics, many artists today attempt to address historically invested intellectualism by recognizing its accompanying poverty of empirically compromised material that fail to measure up to its own hopes. The artist-as-critic has created a curious situation which at once makes art practices seeking a unity of sensation and discourse didactically fashionable, stylistically ambiguous, and synthetically associative. That an attempt at synthesizing art with its manifold supporting theories and integrated cultural vectors happens collectively and is suffused throughout almost all art practices today makes it all the more practical, and suggests a possibility of returning to the many ‘real’ artistic moments that were missed. Merely dismissing a phenomenon as misconceptual denies its ability to clarify those implicit historical hopes and the continual failure for them to be realized.

Misconceptual one-liners are important gauges of diverse social pressures and a result not only of the heavy internal issues of the intellectual avant-gardes, but also from the complicated stresses to communicate efficiently in a world where communication is brought into existence increasingly by competition. That these projects which seek to absorb and ‘trump’ the poignant shortcomings of modernism’s sensation, and also postmodernism’s use of critique and secondary discourse, go critically dismissed is the problem. Synthesis of extremes, artificial collages, and remedying sensory failures through secondary discourse has been the standard model since Dada. But the real issue is that though artists increasingly try to unify art and secondary discourse, this project is preordained to failure, at least when measured against the universal social overcoming which criticism was expected to foster. The artist-as-critic has eradicated the traditional role of emancipatory critic and merely erected a fractured approximation of criticism and pastiche in its place. The unquestionable simplicity of misconceptual art suggests a failure of critique and not merely of art.

Labeling an entire generation of art as ‘misconceptual’ sidesteps understanding of what social pressure has given it prominence, and glosses over how ‘misconceptual art’, though bearing the legacy and mark of conceptual art, has transfigured into something else by the continuity of public disinterest. Misconceptual art perhaps has more in common with Dada’s synthetic assemblages than conceptual art’s time-saturated processes, and is burdened by crude templates of streamlined transmission which hastens viewing in the culture industry. The didactic, streamlined functionality which appears to permit no interpretation from the viewer, works as a rote catalog for a world where new material is promulgated at a rate faster than it can be assessed. Artists today pick and assemble arbitrary items in endless permutations, rather than do something to it, as Jasper Johns would say, and echo the fastidious, studied, and calculated campaigns of advertisements, for example. Creativity occurs as a select-and-combine process. A situation like this implies the heightened arbitrariness of production, as it doesn’t matter so much what one chooses, as much as it does that one chooses. What is chosen is arbitrary, and this has repercussions in criticism, where arbitrariness feeds uncritical affirmation, or at best a field of critique dominated by judgment of what one chooses as opposed to what one does with what is chosen. However, at the same time, one does choose, and this implies an active role in the process of creation, and a semblance of freedom in that process. I say semblance, because it is artificial – the idea of subject matter in general is obsolete, and its ambitious intrusion into art matter suggests a helplessness in its ambition more than anything. So it seems there is a fascinating escalation of the dialectical competition between freedom and arbitrariness.

Non-Specific Objects

If change is to be understood at all it is necessary to abandon the view that objects are rigidly opposed to each other, it is necessary to elevate their interrelatedness and the interaction between these ‘relations’ and ‘objects’ to the same plane of reality
– George Lukacs

The interrelatedness of objects is glossed-over in the determination to use specific ones to say something about society at large. This process, in which all art is borne, only shows how ’society at large’ is misunderstood realistically and further defined by the fantasies which result from reification. Artists often pick objects because they supposedly say something specific and partake in different modes of understanding. In the work of Mark Dion for example, the material method which pierces through the secondary discourse and trumps its autonomy is one of searching, shopping and selecting objects, and then subsequently arranging. In other words, the ‘critique of nature’, which is what is commonly received as the art’s purpose, is a reified ruse propped up by a very different process of buying. Dion’s art says more about how fantasy-critique plays a part in the everyday psychology of exchange than it ever could about nature (or conceptions of nature). The creative role is marked by a curiosity of the new objects of culture – that it here manifests as the old is all the more odd and pertinent to reified consciousness – and this of course resembles Surrealism’s romance of the 19th century, which actually said more about the conditions of its own era of escapism. Of course, what has made Dion a recognized artist is specifically the secondary information and forced subject matter: institutional critique of knowledge and nature, or more importantly an institutional critique which acutely fails to manifest in the sensory material of the work itself, as each are separately autonomous and poignantly non-identical. That the dominant order of art fixates on the often overly ambitious secondary information that abstracts the exchange value of the material, indicates the problematic unquestioned notion of the artist as critic. In other words, ‘critique’ is an excuse to fetishize the truncated use-value of given objects. When Dion distorts the objects he acquires through critique, their material conditions are disfigured to provoke fantasized ideas of nature, which only abstracts them further. In brief, ‘critique’ of objects doesn’t clarify them, but further obscures them and participates in the exchange value economy because the use-value is fetishized and imagined through critique. ‘Nature critique’ is an excuse to fixate on the misunderstood object, divorced from totality. Artists like Dion are especially good at this fetishization, and are invaluable glimpses into this process which everyone participates in without offering solutions.

Found objects have stretched beyond mere objecthood to assimilate intellectualism and found ideas in the dematerialized contemporary world. Little has changed from Dada’s reification-exposing collage, excepting that found objects to be assimilated into the category ‘art’ have expanded. Misconceptual art, or synthetic art, is unavoidably a collective response to a civilization producing objects not merely for practical function, but additionally for its own mesmerization and deception. Critique is subsumed in, and reinforces this mesmerization. Artificially combining these new materials is a search for meaning – or more specifically, a method of echoing the arbitrary qualities of our industrialized material world – especially including the ephemeral, relational social orders. Misconceptual art looks meaninglessly arbitrary only because it successfully mimics the banal exchange of products in the everyday, if only in fractured form from artist to artist. Rather than quashing the dominant order of capitalist production, and ‘deterritorializing’ commodity signifiers, as David Joselit suggests, Dada and new misconceptual practices express the commodity form in a more comprehensive and acute way by showing the marred psychology which masquerades as positivist critique[4]. Artists in an unprecedented, hyper-productive cultural industry inarguably animate odd instances of reification and the commodity form in the fundamental misunderstanding and abstraction of new products to be partaking in something they are not, or are very iconically so, both material and immaterial. That artists fixate on the iconic aspects of objecthood doesn’t critique them, but reinforces such a crude understanding. As such, new ‘synthetic’ art practices have much more in common with Dada than conceptual art – and I’m thinking here of Francis Picabia’s Ane (Ass) as a cornerstone which grapples with new material production by forcibly new ways of labeling things resulting from perhaps an epistemological shortcoming in thought and collective intellectual inability to keep up with the segregating intrinsics of industrial production. Picabia’s Ass is diagrammatically representative, in hyper-condensed form, of the confused relations between material and criticism today. Where production is interminable, critical discourse and language is forced into a position of artificial plasticity. In such a world the unmitigated promulgation of objects is disproportionate to the ability for understanding those objects.

The True Artist…
Conceptual art has infected the minds of today’s generation in similar ways that Dada infected the minds of conceptual artists. Just as the historical implications of Dada had not entirely manifested in its time, and thus needed to be reconsidered in conceptual art to be properly understood, conceptual art is perhaps only now being understood retroactively today and points to considerable problems of a certain trajectory of the intellectual artist. Art in the mid-century had reached a crucial point where certain fundamental assumptions of its original character could no longer be valid in the rapidly changing contemporary world. Just as Walter Benjamin had noticed that what made Kafka poignant was his use of outmoded parable in a modernity which had moved rapidly beyond such devices, artists in the 60’s realized that certain historically developed aesthetic devices no longer seemed salient material for transforming society[5]. In other words, painting in the 1960’s seemed as outdated and noncontemporary as parable did in Kafka’s time. Such discontents manifest in the awkward synthetic unity of Bruce Nauman’s The True Artist Helps the World By Revealing Mystic Truths, which pairs an outmoded premodern form (the spiral) and romantically archaic idea (the phrase itself) with the most crude information products of a contemporary civilization quashing such antiquated notions in its trailblaze. Amongst other constructions denied them, one of the ‘myths’ was a unity of material and non-material, which began to come under critical siege in works like these and also in painting. Philip Guston recognized that the antiquated notions of painting had lessened effect on new topical political problems such as racism. To a certain extent the foundation of contemporary art was tempered by what society in the 1960’s seemed politically charged (or iconically reified) enough to measure itself against. Art in the 1960’s polarized towards either side, and conceptual art became more or less associated with the immaterial. Boris Groys argues that it is not just the concepts which matter in conceptual art, but how such immaterial comes into material existence[6]. This is doubtlessly true, but it is also a truth that we can only recently observe by projecting backwards. Early artists working in this canon were perhaps buckling under too much historical pressure to smoothly unify the material-intellectual split in this manner, and polarized into ideological positions on either side (ie minimalism/conceptual art) as a way to expose the problem from within.


Painting was never a salient option for Nauman. He saw it as an expired art form which couldn’t keep up with industrialized material like neon signage. Such notions had precendents in Duchamp, who marveled over the new beautiful forms of industrial objects (such as airplane propellers) which rendered the past obsolete. There is a naivete in Duchamp and Nauman, an earnest fascination with industrial society’s vulgar potential for transformation. The polemic on art aspect of Duchamp that contemporary critics like to fixate on has masked his important curiosity in industrial products and glossed over a certain truth in Duchamp’s genuine anxiety over art’s immediate obsolescence. Certainly, Duchamp was no Futurist and had a trepidation about the terrifying aspects of modernity. The point being that the new world which rendered art profane and ‘everyday’ was a primary concern above polemicizing against art; he was considerably less ironic than we have projected him as. Similarly, Nauman credits the reason for his art being a frustration with social conditions. Nauman and Duchamp are artists of the confused nexus of mesmerization at industrial forms, and sickness with the alienating society that produces those forms. They are artists who irresolve a modern aporia and rather let contradictions arise acutely.

The neon signs for which Nauman has become so famous were originally intended to be assimilated into the urban-storefront-scape that inspired them. Conceptual artists of the 1960’s realized that the category of an avant-garde, which they were intentionally or inadvertently bearing, was moot unless it could branch out into the everyday, which it quite literally attempted to do, in tacit aims of absolving its own internal problems. Much of what we identify as ‘contemporary’ or ‘postmodern’ has been conditioned by this heterogeneous expansion and a pains to keep up with modernization by liquidating into it. Boris Groys sums it up, “an individual artist could no longer compete effectively with the commercial apparatuses of image production”. Nor does the unity of the artistic-everyday stop at the image. Artist-ideal transformations were also the result of knee-jerk reactions to Greenbergian formalism which also seemed outdated. But rather than do as Kafka did, and use the outmoded parable anyway to articulate modern problems of historical uprooting and groundlessness, conceptual artists eschewed the old altogether in favor of the culture industry. In some ways, and very subtly, post-conceptual art’s convergence with the culture industry is nearly Futurist, if not for its saving grace of self-ambivalence about that move. But at the same time Nauman located the inverse space of such discursive hopes and proposed what might happen if these projects failed to touch ground, as they had previously. One result was him bouncing a ball in his studio, looking more like a prisoner than an artist liberated by diversified not-entirely-artistic action. He was rhetorically distanced from the literal effects of placing the artist’s version of the neon sign back out into the everyday. Whether accidentally or intentionally, these neon signs receded back into the white cube and segregated museological context which they undermined. Concerning the avant-garde’s “move from intrinsic concerns around art to the discursive problems of art”, something about the notion was doomed from the outset[7].

Process became important too in this reaching beyond itself, whereas previously it was not needed, or perhaps not identified as a potential tool for art to overcome itself through . Yes, as a means of expression, but also increasingly as a didactic qualifying factor to de-mystify and explain the creative process which seemed to no longer have any purchase – process was incepted to put creativity on trial; an odd form of positivism. Instead of art being “the lie which reveals the truth”, art transformed into the truth which reveals the lie. Process art reveals how culture happens and demystifies it. Process is used as an inclusive explanation which reveals everything and makes transparent the fallacy of a historically determined artistic intention. Process today has increasing value as support system for recent art, as non-process art has no ability to stand on its own. Looking through the extensive survey of art that VVork curates provides an example of how process occurs around art today and not exclusively within it formally as in earlier conceptual art. Though discursive in material, the manifold projects presented on VVork are only appreciated when there is an explicative factor and supplementary information which qualifies its right to exist, and suggests a lineage from the conceptual art idea that ‘there are already too many objects in the world’. Additionally there is an extreme caution here, suggesting that creating something as historically overloaded as an art work is important in some way. New art is framed by a calculated pretense that it is doing something important, and artists today echo this by laboring extensively over ideas and not materials. Rarely is there something on VVork (as an acute portfolio for broader artistic trends) which doesn’t support its image or material by language, whether in the title or in the material list or in a supplementary text. The prototypical form of this aesthetic diaspora is an attempt at synthetically unifying a material sensation with immaterial information, both being complicated through their excessive germinating and recycling.

Not that this is new – Picabia articulated such a diremption in the expanded material field of industrial production when he juxtaposed the image of a propeller with the word ‘ASS’ on the cover of his 1917 Dada publication 391. Broodthaers and Nauman’s visual puns were similar to this split, where words and visuals were forced together in such a crude manner that it showed how incongruous linguistic information and sensory data are, despite how desperately they clung to eachother. In a violently creative world, where culture is an excuse for unchecked production which uproots everything preceding it, how can we possibly understand such a diverse and arbitrary inventory of things which appear to have no relation? The heterogeneous paradigm of contemporary art exposes the continuing diaspora of culture, but uncritically (and this makes all the difference). Though one side is that material has more prominence and less meaning, the concealed intangible rationale for this material existence is likewise both moot and proliferating. In conceptual art it is not simply the mass object that is desired, but rather the explanation for that object. In varying ways, recent projects are an attempt to not widen this gap between production and critique, but to collapse it. This is supported by the manic growth in visual studies, recent obsessions with diagramming and mapping, and fascinations with archiving – all digressions of conceptual art’s index fascination.

Endless Permutation

Due to the stress for the artist to be a contributing member to society in the culture industry by way of legitimizing their work through iconic social critique and spectacle, conceptual art has transfigured from basic empirical experimentations into the current exploitation of easily-assimilable ideas for their entertainment value – withdrawing (perhaps desperately overdrafting) anything from the bottomless bank of visual culture. Artists regularly peruse websites like VVork to calculatedly research what has already been done, weighing the conceptual manifestations of other artists’ completed projects against their own latent ideas. The purpose of websites like VVork is to inform the viewer of what has been done, so that they do not repeat a permutation, and so that they may research constituent material elements. Original permutations of the preexisting are the only semblances of originality left and are beaten mercilessly into the submission of paltry intent. To nobody’s true surprise, the same ideas are struck upon by a multitude of different people. VVork curates this anxiously creative consciousness. The website functions as a database. Even though we interact with it as an online escape from the grey drudgery of everyday life, its sole function is to provide visual proof of what has been done. That rote information becomes a valued escape in everyday life is problematic. Likewise, that creativity is conditioned by calculating procedures of not-so-studious visual research is also a crisis. In this paradigm of creativity, artists mobilize not so much to create, which is an outmoded idea, but to simply permute through the available combinations that the expanded field of art supplies. When that store is up, what next? As a result artists today are more shoppers and arrangers than makers. Even if they aren’t shopping for material, they still shop for ideas.

Expansion Into The Culture Industry

The expanded field of art’s success has become its greatest vice. Art in the expanded field (no longer limited to sculpture) arises as a response to industrializing society which opens up access to new materials at a rapid pace. In a society divided by labor, a cohesive plan within art to unify and absorb the fractured divisions and their manifold products became important. Rosalind Krauss’s essay Sculpture In The Expanded Field, was a symptom of a crisis in production between art and the rest of society, where the new is more and more conditioned by capitalist production for its own sake. A great example of this grappling with new material is shown in Harald Szeeman’s proposal for Documenta 5. In addition to photography, monuments, pop art, surrealism, and realistic painting, to name a few artistic forms, he calls for new fields of production to open into the art domain. Szeeman supplies a list ranging from children’s paintings, sports, games, theatrical sets, light shows, caricatures, traffic signs, pornography, comics, and science fiction, to name a few. Expanding the field of art is not limited to spatial concerns, but has turned out to be more concerned with new industries opened up by post-war America. What all of these items listed have in common is that they are new divisions of industry, all culturally oriented. Art in the expanded field has turned into an encompassing entangling and disentangling with new cultural production. Art in the expanded field inarguably opens into the new fields of cultural production and becomes an obsession to mine, and exploit any given detail of visual culture. On the one hand, no aspect of the visual world can go unturned. On the other, the homogenous unturning which transpires lies somewhat ambiguously (and often ambivalently) between critique and unquestioning mesmerization.

Of course, this expanded field has transpired before. The expanded field was not as new in the 1960’s as we have been led to believe. Kurt Schwitters’s Merzbau manifest all of this material opening from the years 1921 – 1937 in a slightly more pathological way. With a list ranging from pencils worn to stubs, to votive candles, to a mutilated corpse, paintings by Michelangelo being viewed by a leashed dog, and much more stolen personal items from friends, Schwitters allowed new anthropological and modernist material to flood his living space in ways which preceded Szeeman (this also threatens the idea of apartment gallery as a new phenomenon as well, but that another time)[8].

One of the significant problems of the unprecedented success of art expanding into diverse fields is that in this motion away from high art, artists have liquidated freely into the culture industry. In itself this isn’t the problem, as the goal of such subtle ideology was and continues to be aimed at transforming culture, which to a certain extent has happened and has opened up considerably more freedoms outside of the institution and conventionality. For instance, new art practices that don’t get bogged down in linear political problem solving, are able to synthesize the manifold forms that the culture industry has opened up, somewhat like Picabia admixing an industrial propeller and seemingly arbitrary words. The difference lies in the change of industrial material, not change of production itself, which is always concerned with sustaining its own means. For instance, just because artists are not concerned with factory made items like propellers or urinals, does mean that they are not navigating an industrial economy. On the contrary, the situation is such that production has been expressed more so in the service and cultural industries – as evidenced by Szeeman’s inclusions of sports, games, caricatures, etc. Due to the mobilization from factory labor to less material service labor, a lot of art today has questionable immaterial dimensions. Art in the 1960’s, or the dematerialization of art has turned out to be just as oppressive as material art. In other words, the dematerialization ideology posited as absolute a world where alienated labor is freeflowing, intangible, and more mobile. Intellectual discourse, as well as subjectivity in general, is treated as any another material for exploitation without barrier. Expanded art in the culture industry permits manipulating history as if it were any other material for exchange. Art practices which are reliant upon secondary discourse merely give the ruse of criticism; Pablo Helguera situating academic criticism as theater is a strong example of this mobilization of criticism into entertainment and how those two things are bound up in each other. The immaterial aspects don’t suggest that art is not material anymore. What it suggests is that there is a polarization between material and immaterial. Certain artists today either bring this diremption closer together, or further rupture it. Either way, it is the major implicit focus of art today and its manifold styles of address only point to its significance.

What does demarcate this success as somewhat nightmarish in its banality is that it hasn’t permitted critique – the mobilization of art into its more discursive problems has left criticism, and perhaps intellectualism more generally speaking, in a wake entirely reminiscent of the modernism it sought to distance from. Curiously enough one of the originating formulations of such an expansive endeavor – Krauss’s text – happens within the field of criticism. This presents a very strange occurrence of two unexpected things: first, that critique somehow ironically discredited itself as a socially necessary means, and secondly, that criticism, far from being the rhetorical character severed from practicality it is often dogmatized as, had a considerably powerful effect on shaping future artistic practices. Whether or not it was intended to do so, the idea of expanding art beyond itself has made room for the unabated fragmentation of visual studies. As it is now, ‘visual studies’ takes up a position wherein a guilt over esoteric art is reason to wander into popular culture domains, which has by and large been suppressed as a valid area of study until recently. The release of high art has permitted an entire generation of artists to erect a false mystification of pop culture and excused them from understanding that high art and mainstream culture emerge at the same moment as different facets of the same industrial apparatus.

The issue here is not a failure of an avant-garde, but an avant-garde which has proven all too successful and persists on having a purchase on a present that no longer seems harmonious with its beginnings. When Broodthaers suggests that high art will inevitably be liquidated into the culture industry, it is not merely an objective statement, but a forecasting. In other words, it both is and ought to be. Such a statement brings up problems in capitalist reification, for the objective, matter-of-fact quality of such a statement already concedes a certain passivity of subjectivity in the face of binding cultural industry. On the other hand, the forecasting quality of this statement suggests that Broodthaers had some autonomy in deciding how society ought to be, and was not merely a submission to the passive reified stance that society ‘is’ a certain way. That Broodthaers did submit to the culture industry by way of some semblance of autonomy is curious. Submission here is problematized by this guise of autonomous choice, and it seems fair to say that such a scenario seemed the proper synthesis at the impasse of the avant-garde in the 1960’s. If Broodthaers saw the oncoming of culture industry as both positive and negative, then why the ambivalence? Naturally, this ambivalence seems an appropriate response, almost ubiquitously symbolic for any avant-garde that acutely bears these tensions between the historical rhetoric of bourgeois art and a vulgar art for the people. In this sense, much of the art of the 1960’s was not resistant to mainstream culture, but affirmative of this compromised tendency of society, which is not to say its finalized reality. Dada and new synthetic art never offer a utopia, but rather allow the detritus of the utopia that is capitalism to surface in order to understand it.

Case Study

As I look at VVork, there are varying images today; Magic Beans, by Botis Razvan is just above a similarly shiny metallic sculpture by Joel Holmberg titled Trash Can Lid and just below an installation by Carlos Motta called Gigantic Intervention. I am not familiar with any of these artists, which draws my attention. I feel secure that any day I go to VVork I will see 5-10 artists who I’ve not heard of, yet who have collectively, unbeknownst to them, exhausted a certain idea. VVork heavy-handedly likes to propose this lack of creativity, ironically brought about by an illusion of delimited creativity, liberated from the restraints of conventionality. VVork is a result of the rapid proliferation of artistic production, and provides an indexical catalog for the excessive amount of artists.

Magic Beans is an image of 3 beans, placed close together naturally. They look gold, and to ensure that the viewer understands this, it is stated in the accompanying text “life size in 14 karat gold”. There is no ambiguity of understanding between the viewer and the artist’s intention. The artist has taken every precaution to make sure that we are not misled into thinking that these beans are copper, or any other metal, and nothing more than life size. We are restricted access to interpretation as the answers to the puzzle are given upfront. The answers being given argues that art should be clarifying and not obscurantist, and also suggest that viewing is not an exploratory endeavor, but rote, and information based. This lack of interpretation is an attempt to bring the viewer in closer to the initial empirical qualities of the work. Collapsing the immaterial intention and the material facts is the synthetic unity in the work. Magic Beans is perhaps an ambiguous name, but the title obviously refers to jack and the beanstalk, and if one lives in Chicago the visual association is made between these magic beans and the Cloudgate monument by Anish Kapoor to such an extent that it seems like a bad attempt at a populist joke.

Trash Can Lid permits itself a bit more ambiguity, though there is that tension between immaterial expectation, as we are informed that this shiny piece of twisted metal probably the size of trashcan though much more mangled, actually is a trashcan lid. This begs the question, just because we say we are something, does this mean we are that something? This is echoed in the artists about page on his website where he has artifact from a Yahoo question he posted ‘How is it possible to convince people you are an artist?’ Again, we are in that nexus between immaterial hopes and material appearances.

Carlos Motta’s image of a rectangle-layered-pedestal bespeckled with hundreds of crumpled pieces of paper is not sufficient enough as an appearance; “presents a stack of paper. Each sheet of the stack holds a different photograph from top news stories”. Part of this explanation can be attributed to the photo-documentary function of the website. But lets assume that whatever the exhibition context was, it likewise had an explanatory text accompanying it, if not an entirely more thorough one. No misunderstanding is permitted. We cannot be allowed to think that the crumpled paper on the floor is of a different origin than newspaper headlines. There are related issues around this which make it interesting, specifically that the artist is in a position where the materials he chooses are so niche and obscure that they are no longer self-evident upon mere looking. This leads directly into a scenario where a didactic function is not only permitted, but necessary for the artwork to function. As opposed to Robert Storr’s dismissal (which ironically ended up uncritically supporting blue-chip artists who are prey to the same function), this didactic function is an indexical necessity in a production-based economy that doesn’t permit material to be understood. The artist-critic inevitably collides with its antithesis, the uncritical producer in the culture industry. The functionality of art – and this didacticism is ubiquitous – is somewhat similar to Benjamin’s analysis of August Sander’s photographs of workers. According to Benjamin, the function of the photographs is to provide an index of the new, modern personality conditioned by labor. What one does for work is what they are in modernity, and Sander’s photography is a reference manual and map for a new world. Likewise in the didactic misconceptual world of recent art, production material needs a manual. Cabinet magazine for example, has perfected the form of users manual for strange new material in a rapidly industrialized society.

Dada and New a-political Art

There is something politically valuable in the continuation of Dada into the 1960’s, and its revisitation today by many artists. Hal Foster, by summoning Roger Caillos’s ideas of environmental similarity, suggests that Dada had no intent to overturn society, and was not bent on revolution, but rather was a relief of fascist politics, or at least its distorted echo[9]. If this is the case, then such a project was singular when compared to the overtly political aspects of most of the modernist movements which surrounded it. Impressionism, as T.J. Clark notes, was intertwined with anarchism, Constructivism was able to exist only because it was permitted by Lenin as a form of propaganda, and Trotsky had a very heavy hand in molding the collective of Surrealism. That Dada was able to resist such totalizing political projects, which by the 1960’s were considered outmoded, was perhaps the biggest draw for artists in this era. This isn’t to say that Dada, or Conceptual art et al were not political in any way and somehow existed in a free-floating aside, but rather that Dada was perceived as the only viable historical continuation of politics within art exclusively due to its profound ambivalence. This isn’t to say that Dada was a success either. On the contrary, it only persists today because of its profound inability to incorporate politics into art. Evasion, or inversion of politics in Dada and beyond, does not mean it is not conditioned by social and political situations. In many ways the pronouncement of Dada saying what it was not is perhaps the most profound indicator of the social and political conditions surrounding it.

What conceptualism in the 1960’s and to some extents today, suggest is a curious return to the empirical art and positivism of certain modernist projects. Some of this can be attributed to the photodocumentative nature of new websites that merely describe. But in some regards that is exactly the issue; we have made room for this specific scenario of viewing. In other words, the document is not just a result of the art, but the art is made to be documented and viewed in this didactic manner. And why not, when much of the bodily sensation of art is perceived as exhausted? However, the bodily does still exist in art and likewise its contingent discourse. Each coexists in a unique attempt to provoke an idea of harmony with the other. This is where these practices have a quality about them which revisits both as if their unity was a given, but at the same time positions such an endeavor as a ruse. Whether it is a ruse or not, such practices have a balancing quality which set them apart. In Magic Beans for example, there is a labeling of the obvious, we are looking at beans. At the same time a contingently impossible ‘magic’ is projected onto the what we obviously recognize as beans. It is what it most obviously is and isn’t. Calling a spade a spade is an interesting maneuver, it’s incredibly banal, even hyperbolically so. Hyperbolizing the banal is a recurring motif in modern and especially the conceptual rubric of contemporary art. Recently this hyperbole has reached exhaustion. What some of these blatantly obvious and incredibly literal art works do is dramatize empiricism to call it into question. Essentially, what marks these works is an illusion of understanding, similar to the way Beckett describes the basic functions of mundane life. Much of the work is heavily coded in jargon, half-completed scientific research, esoteric philosophy, and so on. When the secondary intellectual information is added on, whether it be in title or otherwise, it is likewise coded and poetically mobilized to complicate the entire package.

What makes a lot of this new art interesting (and new) is an intentional lack of didactic political pretense. Especially when compared with the prominence of socially engaged art concerns, the politically spectacular (Paul Chan, Nina Berman come to mind), and the multicultural identity art. New ‘synthetic’ art is more intellectually complicated and has more dimension than the linearly determinist political art which surround them. Just as Dada demarcated its bubble of experimentation from such blatant politics in Surrealism, Constructivism, and so forth, new synthetic art segregates itself from one-dimensional politically spectacular work. New synthetic art secures the important Dada-Conceptualism lineage of intellectualism that is being crowded out by institutionally supported facile political art and shallow social critique.

An example from Daniel Baird will suffice here to show the wide discrepancy between inflated intellectual discourse and banal material, and how these two elements come into an associative play reminiscent, but not derivative of, Dada. Hamartia is an example of an incredible gap between intellectual content and new material. Hamartia is a Greek word describing the tragic decline of a hero in theater, or an error committed in ignorance that results in unintended disaster. First and foremost, historical information like this is open to utility by artists in ways it was not prior to the 1960’s. Greek drama is dealt with in the most up-to-date contemporary manner – that is to say, with plexiglass, mirrored adhesive (for cars), dessicant, potting soil, and other plastics. Like Nauman’s The True Artist Helps the World By Revealing Mystic Truths, Baird articulates a violent disharmony between historical intellectualism and contemporary industrial production. Banality and the heavy weight of intellectual history sit awkwardly incongruous with each other, and incite a very wide breadth of free-association. All the materials used to render the immaterial are profanely contemporary and incredibly distanced from the sacred theoretical impulse.

Material: shiny plastic
Theoretical: Greek theater and narrative decrescendo.

Material: potting soil
Theoretical: character downfall through error.

Visual: glass
Theoretical: technological advances over the course of human civilization.

Baird’s success is that through a hyperbolic mix of up-to-the-minute materials and far-reaching historical thought, he allows the incongruency of material and intellectualism to surface in illuminating ways. The work is about relationships between incongruous and fractured cultural objects. In sum, there is an absurdly insurmountable gap between what is and what ought to be, theory and material, and so on. The interests of the artist – technology, Greek drama, science – are all plucked from the “toy store of history” as Donald Judd calls it, just as the materials are plucked form the stores of industrial society. Both coexist in a forced unity, or artificial synthesis reminiscent of Dada collage, in order to incite free associations and articulate the breadth of history which anti-climactically culminates in banal material. Intellectualism and production never rectify in the contemporary world, but sit uncritically adjacent to each other. Synthetic art like this is most successful when it understands the arbitrariness of such syntheses, ie. ‘hamartia’ and the materials used say little else other than that we are living in an industrial society where everything is available but nothing is meaningful. This is made all the more problematic when artists, (Cotter’s ‘artist statement’ rhetoric) project complex sacred philosophy (in its current form of social theory) atop profane industrial material in order to render it meaningful. These intentions subtextually use such earnestness and affect as any other material. Needless to say, this fails to manifest in the work, and that is precisely the interesting thing, insofar as it acutely shows the discrepancy between what we want intellectually and the ability to achieve it materially.

But why then project such secondary discourse onto the work in the first place? Of course part of it is the pressure for artists to talk about their work, but thats not the whole of it. The secondary information is a further coding, disguised as decoding and a desperate semblance of meaning in a society where freedom has gone awry. Just like Magic Beans we think we are being given clarifying information, when we are just being given excess information. The material is coded, and the information we are given is coded. Even though we expect such things to work together (the artist statement is a macro form of this collective expectation) they work against each other. We are allured by a theatrical interplay of mystique, but denied. A lot of art today is driven by a poignant irresolution of antitheses, and even a-antitheses – can antitheses exist in a non-ideological, homogenous world? One of the main distinctions between new misconceptual art today and old misconceptual art of the 1960’s is that the indexical mark of the artists conception is less present and more divided from the material in the former, by the synthetic interruption of meaning. Most importantly, early conceptual art had less ambition in its formal processes at that moment. It has taken decades for us to learn the true ambitious character of conceptual art and Dada as a struggle with alienating helplessness.



1 Susan Buck-Morss, The Origin of Negative Dialectics

2 “Let’s just call it misconceptualism. You know it when you see it, and you see it everywhere in art exhibitions, at art fairs and – first alert! – in art academies, where it incubates like a low-grade infection in the hidden recesses of seminar rooms, nourishing itself on inarticulate obscurities fostered by the ‘strong’ misreading and/or helpless misunderstanding of critical discourse. It is idea art without an idea, identity art without an identity, the ‘Oh wow!’ school of 1960s’ philosophy and politics updated for the 2000s, the spawn of bone-headedness and the bon mot. Misconceptualism is the zone where narrow minds go to escape self-induced claustrophobia only to find the abyss.”

Robert Storr, Art and Text; Two Vindications of Conceptualism and Its Offshoots. (Frieze, issue 116, June – August 2008)

3 Holland Cotter, The Boom is Over, Long Live The Art!. (The New York Times, 2009)

4 David Joselit, Dada’s Diagrams. (The Dada Seminars)

5 Walter Benjamin, Illuminations

6 Boris Groys, The Mimesis of Thinking. (Open Systems, Tate, 2005)

7 Hal Foster, The Return of the Real

8 Leah Dickerman, Merz and Memory, on Kurt Schwitters. (The Dada Seminars)

9 Hal Foster, How to Survive Civilization, Or What I have Learned from Dada. (Lecture at The Art Institute of Chicago, March 2010)

above copied from: http://chicagoartcriticism.com/2010/03/22/the-malaise-of-the-critical-artist/

Thursday, July 29, 2010

On Boredom, Clyd Drexler


“Boring?! Wasn’t that the period when they cracked the human genome and boy bands roamed the Earth?” Professor Farnsworth’s profound confusion about what and why boredom actually is belies quite a few fundamental questions and interests, comedically articulated in the animated TV show Futurama. Evidently, boredom doesn’t exist in the future, being specific to our era, when ‘boy bands roamed the Earth’. When the show’s protagonist Fry exclaims that his colleagues look as bored in the year 3000 as they did in his time (the 20th century), he is projecting our already culturally developed interests in boredom far into the future. Fry’s analysis of his friends as “boring, like everything from my time” indicates that boredom is exclusively a cultural phenomenon and reified in the media (as well as criticism), and not a trans-historical phenomenon. What the popular TV show hits on is a canonized subject in the post-enlightenment humanities; boredom is rooted in modern society.

The focal point here is not to reveal whether or not boredom has linear attachments to other phenomena like violence, repetition need or the manifold other theories that have been postulated. Neither is it to interrogate whether or not boredom is trans-cultural and metaphysical, as philosophers like Martin Heidegger and Lars Svendsen have done. Rather, I want to ask, Why is it that in this particular moment, we are so obsessed with the concept of boredom. What is the significance of focusing on this concept so exhaustively?

We should be prepared for the worst – that the feeling of boredom does not actually exist. This would be an unfortunate scenario because we seem to have an overt collective interest boredom, by analytically obsessing over it. The word ‘boredom’ doesn’t even exist until the 19th century. That boredom as a constructed concept emerges suggests some type of parallel phenomenon between modernity and the feeling of boredom. For this reason, boredom is often blamed on the industrialization that creates repetitive, dull, behavior. Further support for boredom’s emergence comes from the philosophical field of that era; Kierkegaard attributed much of the evil in the world singularly to boredom, Nietzsche examined it, and Schopenhauer used the concept of boredom as a tool to provoke his readers. But it isn’t until the 20th century that boredom got an exaggerated, romanticized consideration. Martin Heidegger almost single-handedly rekindled the issue of boredom in his phenomenology, and ever since a plenitude of philosophers and cultural anthropologists have continued to explore the significance of boredom (Jean Luc Marion, Elizabeth Goodstein, Lars Svendsen, to name a few). Just as Heidegger’s phenomenology of boredom extended out into the future, it also receded into the past, before boredom qua word or concept existed, and this is the crux of the situation – separating out boredom as a fundamental feeling on one hand, and boredom as a feeling symptomatic of an industrial or post-industrial era on the other.

Heidegger’s philosophy situated boredom as a transhistorical, metaphysical entity. Most problematic in his evasion of boredom as a historically bound phenomena was his conservative postulation that boredom was a necessary state of being-in-the-world which modernity had to get back to, so to speak. Heidegger, however, is symptomatic of a condition that is rooted not only in his specific historical period, but his specific historical place as well. Also writing about boredom at this time and place of Weimar Germany was Sigfried Kracauer, albeit from a completely different set of theoretical principles. Kracauer, in a short rumination on boredom, waxes on the emergence of boredom in bourgeois society, and its advancement into what Theodor Adorno would later call the culture industry. In the new age of capitalism, where labor transforms and mixes with culture, leisure time is dosed out and boredom is awarded a special position as something that is desired. Slightly later, Frankfurt School theorists like Walter Benjamin would identify boredom as a symptom of a regressive era hellbent on disaster through alienating labor and culture. Taken together, boredom is unavoidably seen as the spirit of the age.

Lars Svendsen, in his Philosophy of Boredom singles out ‘boredom’ as a serious problem which plagues our culture, leading en masse a brigade of transgression seeking subjects who will go to violent lengths to see to it that this plague is purged. But what are we transgressing? Which is also to ask, What is it that violence, technology, extreme behavior, etc. as reflexes of boredom, are supposedly attempting to transgress? Since we desire, value, and create boredom, we are not simply running away from it, but intentionally running into it. Still life paintings of fruit, acoustic ceiling tiles, fluorescent lights, a brown painted room with no windows, blank sheets of paper; these are all things that are ‘boring’ to people, or so I was told in interviews. Desperately searching for a connection within these lists of boring objects, I couldn’t grasp onto anything objective at first. But when one zooms out, the connection is fairly obvious: the objects are all man-made or man manipulated. Not once did someone say that sitting in a meadow at dusk or watching a sunset was boring, i.e. that the only boring things occur within a network of social relations filtered through objects.

Not only has boredom become a subject of pop culture, but that subject matter and it’s theoretical field has been appropriated from from philosophy and modernism’s avant-garde literature, such as Madam Bovery, as a prime example of Victorian era ennui-pathology. Boredom was both plaque and fashion in the 19th century bourgeois life. One era-specific problem lies in the collectively-distributed yearning for something more in the promise for freedom in the individual. This might be called a ‘transgressive’ act to Svendsen, or in Heidegger’s philosophy be attributed to the supposedly purely negative effects of technology. A real hindrance though is not that we are either escaping the metaphysical necessity of boredom via technology, as Heidegger would say, but that we confuse technology with being something other than ourselves, and continue to reify it. In reality technology is a form of socializing.

Boredom, as a concept, is often most developed in art and pop culture. I already mentioned Futurama, an animated show that drops the term liberally throughout its run. 2001: A Space Odyssey isn’t too far from Futurama and it amounted in some ways to an experience of boredom and technology which parallels Heidegger’s formulation. The image of the apes staring out into desolation captures the image of boredom perfectly. Its almost as if as soon as they discovered that they were bored, technology was created as an escape route. However, technology seems to be an excuse to develop boredom as well. Boring downtime – the culmination of generations of technological sophistication – is internal to the astronauts in the movie and likewise is also crucial to the viewers watching it. Those involved in the film production describe how the ‘slowness’ of the movie was an extension of the slowness of the technology at that time, which simply couldn’t render certain things fast enough. What is curious is how those technological resources inadvertently led to a result of a boring — but, and here is the payoff, mesmerizing — experience for the viewer. It seems that often technological roads inadvertently lead to boredom.

Likewise, the film Solaris posed similar ideology at the same time. Tarkovsky, the film’s director even wrote exhaustively on the metaphysical hopes for boredom. His adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s science fiction novel was the perfect opportunity to force viewers into an ‘authentic’ experience of time, via saturating them in boredom. In the 1960’s and early 1970’s, boredom became vogue once again, if only as an avant-garde strategy. If the exalted metaphysical experiences which were supposed to be vested in painting seemed outdated, conceptual artists and theatrical minds like Richard Foreman sought to bring boredom into the aesthetic experience to counteract the falsity of such claims. Early Richard Foreman theatrical pieces intentionally downplayed the performers and actors to mere serialist readers who were put in place to bore the audience into submission or escape.

A friend of mine recently told me that when he was admitted into the MFA writing program at SAIC, he was shocked to find that not only were peers not averse to boredom in theater and performance, but were aggressively seeking long, exceptionally boring pieces. Invoking boredom has been a steady strategy of the avant-garde tendency to deny the autonomy of mass culture. However, much of this strategy has been absorbed by mass culture as well, as the success of 2001 A Space Odyssey has shown. Likewise, David Foster Wallace was investigating boredom at the time of his death through analyzing office life and the banal aspects of bureaucracy. It appears as if the precious obsession with boredom is unceasing, perhaps because the banality of bureaucracy continues to tighten its grip around contemporary subjectivity.

above copied from: http://chicagoartcriticism.com/2010/05/25/on-boredom/

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Theories Are Sometimes Inverted Images; Part 2 of Beuys’s Concept of Social Sculpture, Laurie Rojas



We will once again depart with the idea that Joseph Beuys’s work appears unfathomable.

Looking at images of Joseph Beuys’s work is like looking at photographs of the Museum of the Apocalypse. It appears as his arrangements and objects are the collected items of the sole survivor of the Apocalypse– It is of no surprise that Anselm Kiefer, whose work would fit well in this imaginary museum, is one of his artistic offsprings. The objects appear compiled by a lone figure who roams the desiccated remains of the world after the Apocalypse, haunted by his own amnesia. Beuys begins ever more painfully to appear as a proto-messianic figure that came too late. The world we live now appears entirely different from the one that produced those objects, especially when they are traces and remains of objects that appear to have lost their practical use. Compiling these objects is an attempt to make sense of them, to give them entirely new meaning. These objects perhaps appear beautiful to us, but that is only for their strangeness, the unanswered questions they provoke. It is as if we can hear the artist asking: Where did all this hair come from? What is all this felt for? That quest for meaning is never resolved. Neither for the artist, nor for us. Detached from the artist these objects are susceptible to an infinite amount of projections, but in the context of Beuys, of the period of German reconstruction, it is not difficult to imagine the troubled artist searching for his own humanity, as we search–relentlessly and without avail–for ours in his objects.

There are countless photographs of Beuys sitting in at non-violent demonstrations, singing with a rock band in front of 500,000 for a peace demonstration, attending meetings for Germany’s Green Party, running as a Green Party representative in Parliament, and his participation in the occupation of West German Radio. Beuys-the-activist is perhaps the aspect of his persona he is most often remembered for. “Appeal for an Alternative” exemplifies Beuys basic political concerns and his ideas for a new party. Beuys’s larger historical role is attributed to bringing art back into public discourse in West Germany. The synthesis of Beuys’s artistic and political practice is expressed in his concept of expanded art.

It is perhaps now clearer, this author hopes, how Beuys is influential for contemporary art, and how he marks a point of departure for socially engaged art. But, what has the criticism and reception of Beuys revealed about the trajectory of art?
Beuys today is not referred to as often as Duchamp or Warhol in discourse about contemporary art–Danto is accurate to point out. The fact that he is not a Duchamp or a Warhol reveals something about his work: Duchamp’s and Warhol’s place in the history of art is stable, undisputed, and seemingly clear–Beuys’ place is still precarious. The varied and conflicting facets of Beuys’s prolific career cannot be reconciled into a cohesive artistic vision because it can be interpreted in opposite ways, either as socially engaged or isolated due to its shamanism. The bewilderment surrounding Beuys’s practice is fueled by an unresolved issue: there is both continuity and discontinuity with art practices of the pre-war period, and furthermore whether these correspondences place him within a modernist avant-garde or something else. Particularly through his concept of social sculpture, the break with the pre-war period can be attributed to the shifting away, though not entirely, from formalist or object/image centered practices, because these were understood to claim art’s autonomy in that era. These claims have been critiqued mainly because they either refrained from, or failed to, address the principal crisis of the 20th century—first, the crisis of capitalism in WWI, and later the Left’s failure to overcome capitalism expressed in the barbarism of WWII. Beuys continues the prewar tradition of the engaged modernist avant-garde, but he also resonates with dominant artistic practices who seek to break away from that tradition.

Severing with artists of the past is a principal symptomatic trait of contemporary art – a characteristic acutely expressed in Beuys’s work. Arguably, since the 60s an increasing number of artists have become interested in breaking with, instead of working through, past artistic practices. This shift, largely “post”-modernist, expressed in art, is often a shift whose principal concern is to break from the discourse, or theoretical propositions, those artistic practices where historically bound to. Theorists like Bourriaud, who promulgate that historical break are equally complicit. Bourriaud himself, as Claire Bishop notes in “Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics,” infrequently mentioned Beuys in Relational Aesthetics: “on one occasion [Beuys] is specifically invoked to sever any connection between “social sculpture” and relational aesthetics (p. 30).” The discourse surrounding Bourriaud’s promulgation of relational aesthetics is a dead end for engaging Beuys critically although they share the same symptomatic trait of breaking with the past. For reason’s articulated in part I of this essay, Beuys’s “expanded concept of art,” although influential for socially engaged artists, shall not be reduced to the discourse around relational aesthetics either. As a theory, relational aesthetics is incompatible with Beuys’s work, but reductionist of most contemporary art being made, including Jeremy Deller’s and Thomas Hirschorn’s, who are themselves responding to a problem—that of the relationship of art to life–that arose historically and intensified in Beuys.
One of the most important contributors to the study of post-1945 art today, art historian and critic Benjamin Buchloh famously critiques Beuys in his Artforum article “Joseph Beuys: Twilight of the Idol”, in response to a 1979 exhibition at the Guggenheim. Buchloh is well known for believing that the task of critics is “to brush contemporary art reception against the grain,” quoting from Walter Benjamin’s famous phrase. Buchloh, admittedly, is just one of the many critics who have taken up the task of examining Beuys’s work, but his particular approach goes into the deep historical problems revealed in the art itself. At the hands of Buchloh, Beuys’s work receives a critique that raises broader art historical concerns, and comprehensive politico-aesthetic critique.

In “Joseph Beuys: Twilight of the Idol,” Buchloh embarks in a muckraking campaign intended to demystify Beuys’s ‘myth of origin.’ Buchloh’s critique-via-defamation is framed as an art historical problem that should propel Beuys’s admirers to reconsider the entire body of work as mere fiction, however, this is less an attack on the validity of Beuys’s ‘myth of origins,’ as an artist, but more a ruthless critique of the political implications of his practice. For Buchloh, the main dilemma in Beuys work lies “in the misconception that politics could have ever become a matter of aesthetics.” This statement immediately follows his concluding point:
“The aesthetic conservatism of Beuys is logically complemented by his politically retrograde, not to say reactionary, attitudes. Both are inscribed into a seemingly progressive and radical humanitarian program of aesthetics and social evolution… any attempt on his side to join the two aspects results in curious sectarianism.” Buchloh articulates the aesthetic conservatism of Beuys by demonstrating his appropriation of devices and forms of the historical avant-garde into his work, while simultaneously rejecting their original, i.e. historically determined, meaning. The conservatism lies in Beuys “failure or refusal to change the state of the object within the discourse itself.” Buchloh finds its most acute expression when Beuys talks about his 1964 Fat Chair: “The presence of the chair has nothing to do with Duchamp’s readymades, or his combination of stool with bicycle wheel, although they share the same initial impact with humorous objects.” For Buchloh, Beuys “dilutes and dissolves the conceptual precision of Duchamp’s readymades by reintegrating the object into the most traditional and naïve context of representation of meaning, the idealist metaphor: this object stands for that idea, and that idea is represented in this object.”

Beuys’s claims to radical ahistoricity, besides being “a maneuver to disguise his eclecticism,” is problematic in that it extracts elements from the pre-war avant-garde and removes them from their historical context and function. Buchloh is concerned with the political implications of Beuys’s idea to take the tools and techniques of the historical avant-garde’s art, while they functioned as an end in themselves, and utilize them as a means for the creative transformation of society. Since the approach of the historical avant-garde proved to be impotent in the face of world-shattering events, their route had to be abandoned, and their tools salvaged from ship wreck. By arguing “real future political intentions must be artistic” Beuys prematurely sought to reconcile art and life.

Joseph Beuys - 7000 Oaks

As the final blow to an undulating character assassination, Buchloh brings out the aspect of Beuys that is more ‘I do not want to carry art into politics, but make politics into art’ explicit in terms of “crypto-fascist Futurism” by quoting this statement: “I would say that the concept of politics must be eliminated as quickly as possible and must be replaced by the capability of form of human art. I do not want to carry art into politics, but make politics into art.”

“If it is true that theories are only the images of the phenomena of the exterior world in the human consciousness,” Rosa Luxemburg’s 1918 book, Reform or Revolution begins, “it must be added…that theories are sometimes inverted images.” In wanting to eliminate the concept of politics, and instead replace by a totalized concept of art, Beuys, in practice, is doing quite the opposite: making art obsolete and reaffirming the desire for an all-encompassing politic. Buchloh’s fears are revealed when he concludes with a Walter Benjamin quote, “…Mankind has reached such a degree of self-alienation that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the first order. This is the situation of politics which fascism is rendering aesthetic. Communism responds by politicizing art.”

Approaching the end of “Twilight of the Idol” this way, Buchloh suggests a double-sided and historically bound problem for Beuys. Buchloh approaches both the intentions and implications of Beuys work in a broader aesthetic and political narrative; his critique lies in Beuys’s politics and his aesthetic choices. Not only does Buchloh suggest that there are fascistic, or rather authoritarian, tendencies in Beuys himself–since he seems to imply Beuys was proposing a re-emergence of totalitarian form of politics–but also, how the failure of communism in the pre-WWII period to fight fascism was transferred into art–as socially-engaged-art’s failure to divert fascism. The crucial response of political failure was instead to politicize art even further.

Two decades later, in “Reconsidering Joseph Beuys: Once Again,” Buchloh takes a second stab at a critique of Beuys. This time he takes into account the changing models of interpretation in both the broader history of post-war European culture and the discourse surrounding the production of avant-garde art. For Bucloh, Beuys uniquely embodies the profound instability of the production of the meaning of culture after the Holocaust and at the same time “the problem of how the artist, as subject, can be repositioned in the role of the artist and in relation to society at large.”

If Beuys is to be interpreted as the first if not only artist addressing the conditions of cultural production after the Holocaust he must also be subjected to a comparative approach with those artists that also inherited the legacies of the Weimar Avant-Garde. Buchloh wonders to what degree was it crucial for Beuys to deny and disavow post-expressionist avant-garde in Germany, namely the German Dadaists Kurt Schwitters and Hannah Hoch on the one hand, and on the other, how was Beuys struggling with the “ghost of Jackson Pollock” and the pervasiveness of American Abstract Expressionism in Europe that purported to lay the foundation for formalist thinking. The question with Beuys then is whether he is motivated by a reaction against early 20th century avant-garde (pre-war) or early American formalist tendencies? Or more succinctly, how can Beuys be reacting against both legacies?

Beuys must react against Abstract Expressionism because their historical foundations were in the pre-war modernist avant-garde he so vehemently rejects. Abstract Expressionism and the painters of High Modernism were not claiming a complete break with pre-war practices, quite the opposite, going at pains to explain their continuation of a tradition. But Buchloh’s reconsideration of Beuys is also motivated by an interest in addressing “the insuperable question of understanding why modernism failed.” A problem he acknowledges was raised first by Hannah Arendt, Theodor Adorno and later by social art historians, “who reflect upon, if not develop, evidence of the interrelated interaction of ideology, social formations, and artistic practices.” The rejection of the historical avant-garde, and of Abstract Expressionism is bound up with the question of Modernism’s failure. The severing with past art practices seen with Bourriaud’s posy of artists, and with Beuys, is an attempt to detach the present from a failed project. This historical severing echoes a common response of working class workers in factories or the service industry. When approached about starting a union as a solution to the problems they face daily, the response often is: Didn’t we try that in Russia already? This quick dismissal often lacks a working through the failures of the past, and thus completely rejecting any achievements made.

Beuys cannot escape past and present history, nor the significant art that has accompanied it. Relational art cannot escape this reality either; that would mean detaching themselves from the history of humanity. Beuys is not only symptomatically motivated by the failures of political practices (to stop the Holocaust), but that this historical repression is already playing out the farther we move from the moment of acute crisis of historical possibilities. The further we move from the trauma of their failures, the more difficult it will become to comprehend what was at stake. Beuys is an acute symptom expressing the problematic relationship of art and life, whereas relational art is an obtuse one; it rejects grasping what they share with Beuys, a rejection of previous art, of a notion historical continuity in Modernity, and modernism’s theoretical propositions.

above copied from: http://chicagoartcriticism.com/2010/04/09/theories-are-sometimes-inverted-images-part-2-of-beuyss-concept-of-social-sculpture/

Friday, July 9, 2010

Beuys’ Concept of Social Sculpture and Relational Art Practices Today, Laurie Rojas



German artist Joseph Beuys’s work appears unfathomable: his entire oeuvre engaged drawing, sculpture, performance, pedagogy, and political activism. Art critics and art historians have admitted the difficulty of placing this enigmatic artist within the modern or postmodern lineages of significant postwar artists. In the foreword to Joseph Beuys: The Reader, Arthur Danto argues that Beuys (1921–86), like Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol, is one of the artists who one must turn to in order to understand contemporary art. Danto believes, however, that unlike Duchamp and Warhol, who are frequently discussed and shown, Beuys has faded from contemporary awareness. This is both true and not true.

Beuys is famously remembered for two things: the theoretical hypothesis of “social sculpture,” and the statement “everybody is an artist.” A close consideration of the relationship between these two concepts reveals Beuys’s program for art and his historically motivated vision for society. Both concepts have influenced participatory, socially engaged, and relational art today and provide a vehicle for unraveling their historical significance, even if they claim to detach themselves from Beuys’s historical moment. Perhaps of even more significance, then, is what aspects of Beuys work seem to have–somewhat suspiciously–faded.

Danto suggests that perhaps the fading interest in Beuys lies in the fact that both the subject of Beuys’s art and his own personal myth are bound up in World War II and the period of German reconstruction. It is possible that the fading of Beuys is due to the inability to digest and resolve the problems his work raised in the aftermath of World War II. Our historical moment, almost five decades later, inherits that history and those desires, even if a certain metaphysical strain of postmodernist thinkers have incessantly argued that such a moment has irretrievably passed. The analysis of the influence of Beuys on contemporary artists, specifically those engaged in relational aesthetics, in this essay is to argue and demonstrate that the moment has not passed, but changed. The difference in our historical moment is that we are less conscious of—and less interested in–the social conditions that produced and re-produces the political disillusionment and aesthetic desires and needs that emerged after WWII.

According to Danto, the ideological context–the German mentality of the 1960s–is inseparable from the work, and a necessary component for its emergence and understanding. In that case, the question for critically engaging Beuys’ work rests on whether he was was part of an effective, critical neo-avant-garde or something else—as art historian Benjamin Buchloh attempts to do (to be addressed in part II).

In the present, a decade dominated by the discourse on relational aesthetics and socially engaged art practices, Beuys theory of social sculpture, and his relationship to Fluxus in Düsseldorf, places him within the early experiments in this camp. This approach to Beuys is illustrated by the inclusion of Beuys in Claire Bishop’s Participation: Documents of Contemporary Art, but also, in Francesco Bonami’s “The Legacy of a Myth Maker.”

Written for Tate Etc magazine, in the event of Tate Modern’s 2005 exhibition, Joseph Beuys: Actions, Vitrines, Environments, Bonami’s “The Legacy of a Myth Maker,” expounds on how contemporary artists have both borrowed and developed from Beuys’ approach. Bonami’s principal claim: “Today, a wide number of artists, working in a variety of ways, have inherited – if that is possible – aspects of the Beuys sensibility, though in each case for very different ends.” One of the contemporary artists that take Beuys as a major source of influence is Thomas Hirschorn. Bonami explains:

“Thomas Hirschhorn’s work often has a social agenda with a political undertone. His 2002 Bataille Monument at Documenta 11, the international exhibition in Kassel, saw residents of a German suburb build, install and invigilate a series of eight makeshift shacks, including a library with a topography of Bataille’s work, a television studio and a snack bar. Like many of his team-based projects, the emphasis was on social investigation, leading an audience beyond that of the gallery-attending public to find out about art for themselves, using Hirschhorn’s ideas as a framework. [Hirschorn] has said that his approach to the political within his work is ‘a tool by which to experience the time in which I am living.’ There are echoes of his predecessor’s practice, but Beuys favoured the tactics of loud, visible campaigning and protestation, hoping to attract a type of following normally enjoyed by influential political leaders. Hirschhorn’s preferred modus operandi is explicitly as an artist: rather than promote himself, he promotes the work. As he said recently: ‘I am an artist, not a social worker.’”

Hirschorn wants to be an artist, not a social worker, because, it can be argued, art ought to be doing something else: what exactly? It is not clear in Hirschorn’s statement. Art ought, however, to be different than social work: social work aims at ameliorating the degraded and worsening social conditions. Art, if it is to distinguish itself from social work—from political practice–ought to raise the tension between society and art, and it can only do that by creating a critical distance to society, instead of attempting to ameliorate a problem it cannot resolve. Hirschorn argues that art ought to raise the awareness that things are not as they ought to be. But, what is to be said of art that comes all-too-close to social work?

Turner prize-winning artist, Jeremy Deller’s traveling project, It Is What It Is: Conversations About Iraq, is a pivotal example of art that comes all-too-close to social work. Deller’s work, like Hirschorn’s falls under the expansive rubric of socially engaging, participatory art; it has been contextualized by Bourriaud as relational aesthetics: “an art taking as its theoretical horizon the realm of human interactions and its social context, rather than the assertion of an independent and private symbolic space.”

As this author’s previous post argues, It Is What It Is boasts Deller’s name, but his participation is absent, or as present as any curator (although curators increasingly take on the celebrity status enjoyed by most blue chip artists). The artist has created a forum for conversation in an art space that might otherwise not be possible. The work’s success or failure lies not only in the eyes of the beholder, but in the physical actions, interaction, and engagement of those occupying the space. But, when any kind of participation is the goal, does even passive observance make the work successful? There is no way of critiquing Deller’s piece within the discourse of relational aesthetics, because it supposedly achieves what it set out to do.

A critique, however, is necessary. Deller’s emphasis on conversation for its own sake places his work in the same aesthetic realm as the tv show The View. It appears as if both are setting the stage for a conversation that is not happening elsewhere, but what they do is rehearse and reconfirm already established ideas. What is art for if nothing changes after the experience? The difference between art-as-object and art-as-conversation lies in the kind of recognition it demands of the viewer, the beholder, even if it is the artist as the first viewer. Beuys’s Bureau of Direct Democracy (BDD) produces a similar situation as Deller’s It Is What It Is, but with a few key distinctions.

Bishop’s Participation, includes two texts on Beuys. The first, “A Report on a Day’s Proceeding at the Bureau for Direct Democracy,” which describes a single day in Beuys’s 100 days live installation at Documenta 5 (1972). The report is “a detailed account of the type of relational encounters generated by Beuys activist approach.” As the introduction to “the report” states, Beuys concept of social sculpture remains an important reference for contemporary artists such as Hirschorn. In an interview with Buchloh, Hirschorn admitted that what he liked tremedously about Beuys’s work was more than his social engagement, but “the fact that he revolutionized the concept of sculpture by introducing materials…that had never been used before.” Bishop’s inclusion places him within a narrative of socially collaborative, participatory, dialogical, and relational art—that originated in the 60s with Fluxus and Happenings, and saw a revival in the 90s with Hirschorn and Deller.

During the “Proceedings at the Bureau” Beuys presence—along with his unapologetic and confrontational attitude—makes the piece more powerful than Deller’s open-ended installation left in the hands of invited guests. Deller’s piece raises the question, Why does art take such a form today, or why do the artists feel increasingly compelled to distance themselves from the work? And, Beuys’s piece raises a rather different question: How is it that antagonism makes the piece more powerful?

Beuys proposes—and defends—a multitude of political initiatives in BDD; he challenges the status quo of social reality. Beuys, in proposing that the conversation at the BDD was only a means—not the ends—of art, is rather different than Deller’s art-as-conversation. Deller’s piece at the MCA seems to offer a solution to a political problem through conversation. But, the problem is not the lack of conversation, it is the lack of a body politic that has the ability to mobilize for progressive social transformation that makes the war in Iraq possible, for example. For Deller—and Hirschorn—creating a situation that provokes the conversation is sufficient. Deller’s overall detachment and ambivalence indicates the worsened—and regressed—conditions necessary for political transformation. Beuys’s work does not escape the abyss of weakened political possibilities either, however, Beuys at least believed social change was possible, whereas Deller is ambivalent on whether it is even desirable.

The second inclusion in Bishop’s collection, “I Am Searching For Field Character” (1973) is to be considered Beuys most concise statement on social sculpture. Beuys’s manifesto begins as follows:

“Only on condition of a radical widening of definition will it be possible for art and activities related to art to provide evidence that art is now the only evolutionary-revolutionary power. Only art is capable of dismantling the repressive effects of a senile social system to build a SOCIAL ORGANISM AS A WORK OF ART.”

This statement demonstrates that Beuys’s intentions go beyond the realm of art, and amplifies the task historically given to art: that of society as a work of art, and that of a desire for total social transformation.

His concept of social sculpture fashions everything into art and proposes that everything should be approached creatively: a sort of Gesampkunstwerk, an art that not only discredits the totality but becomes it, and supposedly overcomes it in the process of transforming it. This is only possible when all humans consider themselves as artists, as creators of this total artwork, as architects of society:

“This most modern art discipline – Social Sculpture/ Social Architecture,” continues Beuys, “will only reach fruition when every living person becomes a creator, a sculptor, or architect of the social organism. Only then would the insistence on participation of the action art of FLUXUS and Happening be fulfilled; only then would democracy be fully realized.

EVERY HUMAN BEING IS AN ARTIST who – from his state of freedom – the position of freedom that he experience at firsthand – learns to determine the other positions in the TOTAL ARTWORK OF THE FUTURE SOCIAL ORDER.”

What was only implicit in the “the report” is made explicit in this statement: Beuys aspires to make art and artists the means by which social change–the end goal—is possible. Beuys’s so-called “activist” approach demonstrates he is more concerned with social change (politics) than with the transformation of art (aesthetics), as illustrated with his two last sentences:

“FREE DEMOCRATIC SOCIALISM.

THE FIFTH INTERNATIONAL IS BORN.”

Beuys’s utopic mission, “to build a social organism as a work of art,” and to transform art into the “only evolutionary-revolutionary power” has a historical context, that of post-WII Germany. His political impulse is grounded both in the failed evolutionary-revolutionary power of the previous Internationals—and Leftist politics–to dismantle the “repressive effects of a senile social system,” but also in the possibilities for social transformation they represent. The solution–the only option–for Beuys is thus to call for democratic socialism and a fifth International.

The First International, aka the International Workingmen’s Association, founded in 1864 by Marx and Engels (among others) was envisioned as “a central medium of communication and co-operation between workingmen’s societies existing in different countries and aiming at the same end: namely, the protection, advancement, and complete emancipation of the working classes.” The Second International was founded in 1889, after the death of Marx–with the majority of steering power coming from the French and German Social Democratic Parties–lasted until 1914 at the outbreak of World War I. The Third International, also knows as the Commitern, founded in 1919 by Vladimir Lenin and Rosa Luxemburg, was an attempt to reunify the international worker’s and socialist parties who had reverted to nationalist positions during World War I: the most urgent task being the realization of worldwide socialist revolution.

The possibilities for social transformation were dually shattered by World War II and the dismantling of the Third International by Joseph Stalin in 1943. The Third International was to be housed in Tatlin’s never completed Monument to the Third International. Tatlin’s Monument is perceived as the culmination of his first Counter-Reliefs, and spatial experiments, which began in 1913. The 400 metre-high glass and steel structure was understood as a towering symbol of modernity and also as the prototype for many of the architectural projects commissioned by the Bolsheviks, the leaders of the 1917 Russian Revolution. Was the Monument to be a 20th century Tennis Court Oath, or a Death of Marat?

The founding of the Fourth International, an initiative undertaken by Leon Trostky and his followers (who had been expelled from the Soviet Union) occurred in France in 1938. The Fourth–and final–International was largely an anti-Stalinist international organization of workers dedicated to socialist revolution. Trotsky and the majority of his followers were assassinated before the end of WWII. The idea of the founding of the Fifth International in which Beuys closes his statement is undoubtedly motivated by the loss of a political force that would be able to wield social transformation.

Beuys maintained a utopic–but not impossible–vision that believed society as a whole could be reorganized. It is this radical utopian vision of potentiality–transferred from the realm of political practice onto the realm of artistic practices–that has become a point of departure for many contemporary artists. The aspect of Beuys’s practice that still resonates for contemporary artists is not this international, totalizing art-politic. Rather, it is the rhetoric of participation and democracy, so often linked to relational aesthetics. In other words, one can find relational aspects in Beuy’s work, especially when approached through the dominant discourse on contemporary art; but the motivations for what has come to be understood as the socially engaging quality of his work are grounded in utopian desires from a historical moment filled with trauma. The rise of fascism to power and the spread of barbarism all over Europe by WWII was accompanied—if not directly a by-product of—by the inability of the Left to organize an international socialist revolution, the collapse of revolutionary marxism, and the project of emancipation.

As Thiery DeDuve proposes in Kant After Duchamp, now that the project of emancipation has been taken off the table, and art can no longer critically function to accompany or anticipate it, “is artistic activity able to maintain a critical function if it is cut off from the emancipation?”

In his foreword to Relational Aesthetics, Nicolas Borriaud indirectly responds to this question: “overwhelming majority of critics and philosophers are reluctant to come to grips with contemporary practices… remain essentially unreadable, their originality and their relevance cannot be perceived by the resolved and unresolved problems of previous generations.” Furthermore, “The oh-so-painful fact that certain issues are no longer being raised, and it is, by extension, important to identify those that are being raised these days by artists.” Bourriaud’s statement intends to deflect any historically grounded aesthetic critique, and instead justifies relational art practices as completely detached from certain, perhaps namely avant-garde concerns, as trying to do something entirely new with art. There is undeniably a turn, a paradigm shift that occurs, but they are inarguably responding to the art post-1945 era, if only to counter-identify with it.

The overwhelming amount of dialogical and relational art being made today is being justified, first and foremost by its own theorists, like Bourriaud,, but also its practitioners, too many to name here, as totally breaking away from art practices prior to the 1960s. Bourriaud, although not explicitly, seems to agree with Danto’s claim about the “End of Art,” albeit being a claim about the end of a particular art practice, because it seems, as Hal Foster argues, the aesthetic has eclipsed. But, the idea of the end of art, of the eclipse of the aesthetic, of object-image oriented art, is attached to a historical moment, a historical eclipse, that of the project of emancipation.

The response to “politicize” art through socially engaged, participatory art, is a response to political helplessness masked as social hopefulness. Without the context of a revolutionary political movement, “utopic” artistic endeavors have lost all critical distance and leverage against society. Relational aesthetics demonstrate the precarious position (often self-imposed) of contemporary art when it considers itself a platform for social engagement in a time when even the idea of utopia no longer represents a different totality. Instead, utopia is merely a temporary way station to declare our hope that things could be better. The significance of Beuys work for contemporary artists, his place in the interstice of modern and postmodern artistic practices, exposes the deep-rooted and well-hidden conditions for these practices, and why there are certain issues no longer being raised.

above copied from: http://chicagoartcriticism.com/2010/02/28/beuys%E2%80%99s-concept-of-social-sculpture-and-relational-art-practices-today/