saladofpearls

21 May, 2008

History Will Repeat Itself

Filed under: published, reviews

History Will Repeat Itself: Strategies of Re-enactment in Contemporary Art and Performance Hartware MedienKunstVerein, Dortmund, June 9 – September 23, 2007 and KunstWerke Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin, 18 November 2007 until 13 January 2008.

A review by Anthony Iles

 

 

HISTORY, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools.

Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary, New York: Dover Thrift Editions.

Throughout the last ten years there has been a rash of artistic re-enactments, from Jeremy Deller’s The Battle of Orgreave, 2001 revisiting a famous confrontation between pickets and police during the 1984-85 miner’s strike, to Mark S Grubb’s Death of Peter Fechter, which re-enacted the death of one of the first victims of the Berlin Wall in London last year. So, it seems the time has come for this burgeoning genre to be historicised with a touring retrospective that surveys over twenty works by artists working with historical re-enactment and repetition.

I visited the exhibition at KunstWerke in Berlin, one of Berlin’s key contemporary art institutions privately funded ‘on the American model’, a place visibly proud to be part of the Cold War’s cultural remainder. It did not seem coincidental at all that an exhibition which isolates re-enactment ‘as a strategy’ was being staged in a city exemplary of the historical traumas of the long 20th century: financial crisis, depression, war, foreign occupation, partition and state capitalism has been followed by real estate speculation, civic bankruptcy and gentrification.

The exhibition is surprisingly successful at gathering a wide range of works of different media into a coherent four floor installation. Each work is given sufficient space to be approached in its own right and though roughly thematised by floor, no work feels overdetermined by its placement. There is a particular focus upon ‘media arts’ engagement with re-enactment and in curator Inke Arns’ catalogue essay there is a strong insistence upon the theme of media and mediation. This was reflected in the prevalence of video and the interrelation of many works with mass media footage of historical events. This is a case in point for Ant Farm and T.R. Uthco’s, Eternal Frame, Deller’s Battle of Orgreave, Irina Botea’s Auditions for a Revolution and Korpys/Löffler’s The Nuclear Football, The Last American. Elsewhere works by Pierre Huyghe and Omer Fast confuse personal accounts of real events with their cinematic representation thus further mediating the unrecoverable truth.




Rather than sinking into a multi-dimensional postmodern relativism ‘all is possible in this the best of all possible worlds’ – re-enactment as an artistic strategy seems to work best when detailed attention to and transformation of what might have been actually exposes what is provisional about history as written and what, in fact or imagination, could be. The extremely canny video Mondrian ‘63 – ‘96 by ‘Walter Benjamin’ resurrects this dead theorist of mechanical reproduction to deliver a live interrogation of the work of art; intentionality, the author, the copy and the original, in the form of a lecture. On the other hand, Rod Dickinson & Tom McCarthy’s project Greenwich Degree Zero does not simply raise the question of authenticity with respect to the work of art, but rather, constructs a highly literate intertextual inauthenticity drawing out the asymmetry of interests behind the production of record and fact.




Artur Zmijewski’s work, 80064 (2004), is probably the one that left most impact in its raw approach to historical trauma, (a miniature theatre of trauma, repetition and death). A video of small means - three actors manage to uproot a historical tragedy that continues to produce museums, monuments and controversy in Berlin. The video shows a conversation between the artist and Holocaust survivor Jósef Tarnawa. When the artist asks if he tried to resist Jósef replies ‘that the only way to survive was to submit’ an attitude that is replayed when the artist cajoles the reluctant interviewee into allowing him to ‘refurbish’ his tattoo - the very index of his suffering is rendered anew, making him a victim a second time around. The video will trouble anyone who sees it and from this we can rescue a complex moral lesson about authenticity, re-enactment and artistic responsibility - by probing a historical wound the artist implicates himself as one willing to re-enact a crime against humanity, yet through this act the very authenticity of the witness and the inscription of history is tested and put into question. Still, in this moral play an ethics does not emerge: Žmijewski simply the exposes his, and our own, implicit hatred for the witness. For as Giorgio Agamben has written of Auschwitz: ‘it is the site in which it is not decent to remain decent, in which those who believed themselves to preserve their dignity and self-respect experience shame with respect to those who did not.’* The real tragedy of this work is that we are still far from an understanding of this ethical aporia, the possibility of life after dignity, and despite probing around the liminal space beyond dignity and morality, I remain unconvinced that this clever and controversial video brings us any closer.


 

It seems important to note, at the passing of this artistic trend, that re-enactment was (and continues to be) a popular pastime before it became the zeitgeist obsession of the contemporary art world. Only one work here, Private Battles: only the past will tell, 2007 by Heike Gallmeir and Tabea Sternberg by exploring the activities and motivations of English re-enactment groups who relive the battles of German SS and Wehrmacht units, gives us significant insight into this phenomenon. Re-enactment requires special attention to the details of an event itself, isolating its action from the conditions it sprang from and its consequences. In purely artistic re-enactment there is often no before or after, in its place instead, like so many of the videos exhibited in KunstWerke, only a circular recursive loop. My choices for a survey of this area might have been somewhat different. For example The Pageant of the Paterson Silk Strike (’performed by the strikers themselves’), which took place at Madison Gardens in 1913, precedes the better known mass theatrical re-enactment organised by Nikolaj Evreinov – The Storming of the Winter Palace, (1920), represented here in photographic documentation. Another omission, Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo’s film It Happened Here (made between 1958-1966), in which the period immediately following World War II is re-imagined as if Nazi forces had occupied England, raises traumatic questions about counterfactualism, nationalist identification and imagined history that were largely skirted in the exhibition. Inventory’s video work The Sealed Knot, 1999, an intervention into an English civil war re-enactment, anticipates the obsession with re-enactment usually attributed to Jeremy Deller, but asked serious political questions about the many unresolved social tensions of the present day that originate in this period. More recently, on October 29th, 2006, 894 participants gathered for a zombie flash mob at the Monroeville Mall in Pittsburgh, which served as the set of the film Dawn of the Dead, to collect food for a community food bank. These examples pertain to a longer, more messy, history of re-enactment as praxis. At odds with ‘History Will Repeat Itself’, it is a version of events in which, after 1989, history continues.







1 October, 2007

Mob Law

Filed under: articles, published, reviews

Mob Law

Published Mute, Vol.1 Issue 23, March, 2002

Available at: http://www.metamute.org/en/Mob-Law

Christian Nold’s book, Mobile Vulgus, puts recent actions such as J18, N30, Mayday 2001 and Genoa, into relation with shifts in police tactics and the rapid development of non-lethal weapons technology. Flicking between images of actual events, to those of interactive computer animations and mock-riots used to train the police and military in crowd management, the book reconstructs the crowd in history (the vulgar mob) and the paranoid corollaries of state and military technology used to suppress it.

Unfortunately, the new type of crowd that has characterised recent demonstrations is overlooked. Nold’s thinking replicates the tendency of both the police and activists’ mentalities to correspond and become mutually dependent. Glossy gaming graphics and images from recent disturbances on the streets of Genoa and London may expose the weakness of police psychology, but they also index how limited the ‘mobility’ of the real crowd has become in comparison with that of its pixelated avatars. The book flirts with, but ultimately never arrives at, an analysis of the specific linkages between non-lethal weapons, coercive technologies, media manipulation and bureaucratic nation states. It also ignores the more fundamental questions. What does the crowd want? Why has it gathered? How does it move beyond the limits imposed upon it?

The last section of this book presents the author’s ideas for protest tools and the accompanying CD puts these at the disposal of would-be protesters. These ingenious tools work on the vulnerability of architecture to the human body, and the possibilities of producing disturbance through invisible sound waves. Whilst these tools provide food for thought, they produce problems beyond coordinating a crowd. Strategies inspired by, and developed in response to, police behaviour reproduce the disempowering fantasy of state dominance. It is evident that we need a more precarious thinking for protest and communicative action to move and circulate outside the theatre of this static game of war.

Anthony Iles is a writer-researcher

Mobile Vulgus // Christian Nold // Bookworks // London // 2001 // ISBN 1870699564 // £7.50

Ce Qui Arrive

Filed under: articles, published, reviews

Published Untitled Magazine No 30 Summer, 2003

‘Ce Qui Arrive’ (’Unknown Quantity’)

Fondation Cartier pour l’art Contemporain, Paris

29 November 2002 - 30 March 2003

‘For Milennia, "man remained what he was for Aristotle: a living animal with the capacity for political existence; modern man is an animal whose politics calls his existence as a living being into question"’. [Michel Foucault, la Volonte’, quoted in Giorgio Agamben, ‘Homo Sacer’, Stanford, 1998. p 119]

Paul Virilio first proposed his ‘Museum of Accidents’ with reference to the opening of the science and technology museum at Parc de la Villette in Paris in 1986, a year that also saw the Chernobyl and Challenger disasters. The ‘Museum of Accidents is a manifesto for a museum that would record and document the violent events that appear on a daily basis on our television screens and newspapers. The Museum would act as the corollary of technological progress in a culture in which (Virilio explains) ‘artificial accidents have overtaken natural accidents’. The combination of speed, violence, technology and death that we find in the contemporary notion of the ‘accident’, is a combination Virilio has exploited and probed in his writings of the last twenty years. The theorist is something of a doom-watcher in this field, finding in the contemporary belief in technological progress, intensification of communication systems, movement of information, people and machines, a prospect of ever increasing and more disasterous collisions. ike Walter Benjamin’s angel of history facing the past observing the ruins heaped at his feet, Virilio has been well placed to take in and comment on the catastrophes tha became routine during the twentieth century. The extremeties of which have thus far dominated the techno-political imaginary of the twenty-first century.

The analysis of ‘accident’ is, after the events of 11th September, 2001 and the ‘ever war’ that is being waged in its wake, vital to a critical understanding of the media landscape. The fall of the World Trade Center, an event that confused malicious will and the iconography of disaster movies, is where this exhibition began. Te huge glass box galleries either side of the entrance to the Cartier Foundation held symbolic elements of this event. On the right hand side an assemblage of crushed and crumpled aircraft built by the sculptor Nancy Rubins, balanced between the ceiling and the floor. On the left Lebbeus Wood’s aluminium wires drew out the vectors of a structure in the process of collapse. These two essays in suspension serves as introductions to the maze of still and moving images in the galleries below. Virilio’s hypertext writing style was reproduced not only in the large text panels dividing gallery spaces, but also the ‘clash of images and sounds’ experienced in the exhibition. The style or carrier for many of the art works was montage. Jem Cohen, Pete Hutton, Dominic Angeramme, Artavazd A. Pelechian and Bruce Conner all used dynamic editing to great effect. Speed, shock, technological imagery and the bending of time and place, set the aethetic and objective material of the works. Films, videos, television reports and soundtracks often overlapped within the exhibition space complementing the leakage between incidents, medias, eras and concrete historical events. This evoked the spectre of a ‘totally administered world’ that haunts mainstream media and metaphors of invisible contamination implicit in ecological disasters such as Chernobyl and Seveso.

Bruce Conner’s re-use of footage from the Bikini Atoll atom bomb tests, acheived both knowledge of a phenomenon and critique of the kinds of knowledge that led us to its wasteful spectaclee. Dominic Angerame’s film ‘In the course of Human Events; projected the demolition of buildings in San Francisco on to the violent economy of cultural ‘renewal’. Bill Viola’s piece, more or less a video diary of the events following the collapse of the World Trade Center in New York, hardly distinguished itself from the thousands of other videos of the same footage. Aeronaut Mik’s video ‘Middlemen’, was different in that it staged an anti-spectacular accident. A tableau of clown-like stockbrokers sit on the floor shaking, surrounded by the debris of a stock market crash, finding themselves for once the victims of accidents of which they usually are the profiteers.

The ‘free’ market presents itself as a perpetual accident machine. One in which those ‘natural’ accidents we so often attribute to bad luck or management are as structured by vested interests, economic aggression and political violence as ‘artificial’ acts of terrorism or technical fault. The accident is now carefully stage-managed through black boxes, media conglomerates, contingency budgets and insurance. [There is no need for Virilio to build it - ] The ‘Museum of Accidents’ already exists. Attempting to reproduce the shock and chaos of accidents ‘Ce Qui Arrive’ brought with it the same dizzying effects as the mediatised spectacle. This reproduced in turn the malleable subjecs that bear the burdens of risk society. Virilio’s analysis of ‘accidents of knowledge’ is incisive, but ‘Ce Qui Arrive’ was far from elaborating the practices of non-knowledge that could militate against the impending ‘integral accident’ he describes.

Anthony Iles

10 September, 2007

The Dilapidated Dwelling

Filed under: articles, published, reviews

Patrick Keiller – The Dilapidated Dwelling (Screened 17/2/2001 Tate Modern, 4/3/2001 ICA) Illuminations Television for Channel 4.
 

Patrick Keillers’ feature films; London (1993), Robinson in Space (1997) and most recently The Dilapidated Dwelling (2000), are drifts through the prose and poetry of physical space. Originally studying as an architect, Keiller found his discursive interrogation of the built environment better realised through film than traditional practices of designing and building. He retains an interest in historical and contemporary architectural debates, but it is from the position of an irreverent and somewhat dissident amateur that he contributes. These films oppose the exclusive discourse of urbanists, architects and politicians by proposing architecture as open to and permeated by everyday experience. His films are architecture by other means. Constructions of nomadic and subjective spaces between the image and its commentary.

The Dilapidated Dwelling was commissioned by Illuminations Television for Channel 4. The film follows documentary format more closely than its predecessors but maintains an ambivalent authority. Keiller allegorises the making of the film by creating a fictional role for its narrator. The narrator (Tilda Swinton) tells us she has returned from several years isolation amongst an indigenous arctic community to carry out a study on the predicament of the British house commissioned by a mysterious non-governmental agency. What follows is a seriously funny (serious and funny), look at why a technologically advanced consumer society has failed to produce a viable alternative to the traditional British house.

Compared to the capitals of Europe and most of the developed world, Britain’s housing stock is some of the oldest and most badly in need of repair. Its design is uniquely unsuitable to the technological and social developments of the twentieth century. Keiller’s contention is that having left the twentieth century should we perhaps also be leaving behind a model of habitation that was developed during the nineteenth.

The film constructs its argument through the narrator’s meandering investigation from workers housing in Leeds, to self-build communities in Lewisham. Footage of the Eames case-study house, transportation of pre-fabricated houses in Japan, the futuristic visions of Buckminster Fuller and Archigram are intercut with Keiller’s own meditative shots of British building types.

Between interviews with architects, developers and cultural theorists we are presented with the narrators own, increasingly bemused reflections. Whilst these ‘experts’ make critical points, there is a defeatist complicity in their comments. We are led to the conclusion that everyone seems to agree the traditional British house must be changed or completely abandoned but there is a acceptance here as well as among the general public that; “that’s just the way it is”. None of the specialists involved in the industry of designing and building new dwellings seems interested in doing anything about it. They cannot fulfil contemporary imperatives of flexibility, ecology and economy, let alone the needs of our imagination.

It is an anomaly that in a time when all relations and institutions are subject to the globalization of economic and cultural production, the traditional British house should be peculiarly resistant. This seems to relate to British conservative values; the film quotes the statistic that only 28 per cent of house buyers in Britain today would consider living in new house. Of the few new houses that are built nearly all include the traditional constituents of bricks, wood, glass etc (although built to a far lower standard than their older counterparts).This form of housing remains expensive to heat, difficult to maintain and unsuitable for anyone other than a Victorian family. Despite their coverage in the media, attempts at alternative living, squatting, loft-living, flat-shares have not been adopted as positive demands to change the how and where we live together. Instead they are seen as lifestyle choices invented for the benefit of estate agents and interior designers. Keiller presents us with the problem that while we may not agree that the social changes forced through accelerated economic development are good, the fact that the house has not changed to reciprocate these new needs may not be such a good thing either. Perhaps directives of disposability, consumer choice, safety and economy could be more productively applied to housing than food, cars and clothing.

It is a shame that while Keiller’s sympathies are for experimentation; the placing of architecture in the service of collective human desire, he uses film as an opportunity to mediate, rather than radicalise, public opinion. As with the previous films Robinson in Space and London, the Dilapidated Dwelling is a kind of mourning for bourgeois society in decline. It is tantalising that smuggled inside this project is the hunger and energy for a society predicated on the kind of radicalised creativity that might get us out of this mess and into something new altogether.

 

Published in Untitled 2001 






















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