Jon D. Rutter - Dismantling the Face: Toward a Phenomenology of Boxing

Cultural Studies - Critical Methodologies, Volume 7 Number 3, 2007 281-293.

Jon D. Rutter's article provided another intriguing if somewhat disturbing conclusion to our Wednesday discussions yesterday. As its title suggests, Rutter's article explores the phenomenology of boxing with the assistance of the heavy philosophies of Derrida and Heidegger. Though this was an intense read I found elements of it fascinating such as Rutter's speculation about whether the present moment is in fact a lingering moment or a passing moment. Rutter goes on to explain ontology as something that "leaves us with a sense of the uncanny, a sense that we are always not quite at home in the world". This along with the suggestion that the human face is an "opening into fathomlessness" not only struck a cord with me but caused me to think of Francis Bacon.

I believe that these sublime elements are directly related to this thing that Bacon spent his entire career as a painter hoping to achieve. His success in achieving this "fathomlessness" or that strange recurring sense of uncanny homesickness is what made him such an exceptional painter in my view. It is possible that on a subconscious level this is the very thing that all artists strive to articulate - this sense of alienation or aloneness that is such a frequent visitor of the human condition. I refer to that idea Danny explained yesterday about how it is impossible to encapsulate a person when looking them in the eyes due to this constant shifting of emotions.

I attempted to relate our conversation to the ugly and unbearably personal sensations that one feels in the moment before a fist fight or during a stand-off. Never is this sense of the uncanny more prominent than when two strangers attempt to strong arm the other by peering into the other's bottomless uncertainty of this thing we call a soul. If anyone wishes to explore the experience of this shifting uncertainty in greater depth I suggest magic mushrooms. Never in my life have I felt such stark terror and sensory-overloaded confusion as when on that vile hallucinogen. The faces of both friends and strangers alike contorted into the most appalling animalistic abominations. Their entire beings took on sinister undertones as they suddenly presented as conflicted and lost creatures who raced towards death in a state of unaware and hysterical madness. If wondering whether you have completely lost your mind or have simply descended straight into hell whilst cowering from former friends who are talking backwards appeals to you then this drug will be right up your ally.

I was unknowingly ruminating on the uncertainty of the "present moment" whilst walking to university this morning. During my trek I began to feel bothered by this yearning we sometimes feel for the past, this sense that it was easier or grander a few years ago or that the answers to one's life were a whole lot clearer back when...  It occurred to me that living in the present moment, or what some refer to as the power of now, must be one hell of an acquired skill. Given our entire experience is based on memory or what has already happened how is one able to live in the moment without relating it back to experiences of the past. And given the problematic "vanishing" nature of the so-called present how is one ever able to truly live in it. By the time a person registers the present it has already become a Goddamn memory.

Francis Bacon famously stated that he wanted his paintings to look as though the human presence had passed through them leaving a snail's trail of this presence behind (disturbing, yeah?). This remark illustrates Bacon's desire to capture the unstable nature of this "present moment" which we discussed. This desire is elaborated upon in a description of Bacon's Blue Man series as "flickering shadows of light that emerge briefly from the black.. only to be swallowed up once more by the obscurity from which they have come" (Schmied, 2006, p64).

I apologize for my getting carried away and revealing too much of my inner psyche. I suppose what the reading got me thinking about was aloneness and misunderstanding. This idea that we can never be truly understood even in art. Sean left a comment on a previous blog of mine yesterday. It reiterated that question of how an artist should approach the issue of their work being misread or overanalyzed. That this is going to happen seems inevitable. To fight it or to just go with it, that is the question.

References:


Schmied, W. (2006). Francis Bacon. Munich: Prestel Verlag.

Matthew Collings - "Beauty"

Collings, Matthew. (2002). Sarah Lucas. London: Tate Publishing.

Following yet another intriguing and refreshing discussion yesterday there are many avenues that I could continue down today though I am instead inclined to relate certain issues addressed in our conversation to the Sarah Lucas reading which I also found very interesting. Matthew Collings' article offers some good insights into the political, sexual and social commentaries that are apparent in the art practice of Sarah Lucas. Collings compares Lucas' art to the reputable novel Money by Martin Amis and hence suggests her work illustrates specific narratives about the drab sleaziness of the 80s-90s london lifestyle.

Lucas is a London-based artist responding to her environment and in this sense her work has an unavoidable social commentary. However, my appreciation of some of the Sarah Lucas quotes from the article brought me to reflect upon the art world's ability to act as a dictatorship. Lucas is quoted as saying, "There are times when I can get great pleasure from the works I've made, and feel great affection for them... there are other times when it just seems to me as dreary and as paltry as anyone else might think that something like two fried eggs on a table is. There are times when it just seems like, you know - 'What kind of a thing is this to be doing?'". This statement struck a loud chord with me in that it encapsulates the exact frustration that I so often feel as an artist who is simply responding to their inner urges to make. What I am implying here is that despite Lucas' obvious success in encapsulating ideas of an age, I suspect her practice is spawned by a much more instinctual thing. I am proposing that rather than producing some type of extremely well read critique on society that could not be debated from any angle, Lucas is simply responding to her environment by making stuff - that stuff being "art".

The self-doubt implied by Lucas' comment resonates with me as I have never felt inclined to make art that  blatantly references the issues that are generally associated as an important aspect of being a New Zealander. It is for this reason that I have often felt that the relevance of my work has been questioned. As one of many examples; time and again I have had paintings rejected from art competitions. Upon discussing this frustration with acquaintances, many have suggested that perhaps in the explanation section of my application form I should have created a spiel that related more to "underlying New Zealand issues".  Philip Guston described his frustration at the Abstract Expressionism's lack of underlying substance with these words; "American Abstract art is a lie, a sham, a cover-up... A mask to mask the fear of being oneself. A lie to cover up how bad one can be... It is an escape from the true feelings we have, from the 'raw' primitive feelings about the world - and us in it" (Guston, 1970, cited in Hatley, 2003, p.54). Philip Guston's anger towards what he saw as a farcical approach to making fashionable art is relative to my own frustrations about how quickly a New Zealand artist can gain exposure or credibility through competitions and so forth simply by referencing Maori carvings, NZ backyard humour or typically "kiwi" iconography.

My comparisons with Lucas and Guston are presumptuous given they are (or were in Guston's case, R.I.P) famous and respected artists and I am relatively unknown and unestablished, yet what I am referring to (which was a large area of discussion in the reading group) is the social pressures for one to conform to certain prescribed ideas of importance or alternatively risk ostricisation or misunderstanding.  The art world insists upon the capitalization of bogus identities of "kiwiness", being "clean and green" and loving rugby the same way New Zealand as a whole does. Dick Frizzel and Shane Cotton immediately come to mind as a couple who ruthlessly manipulate popular NZ icons and issues as a way of benefiting their own practices. Are these dudes setting up franchises or what?

Whereas Lucas' art fits within a viable pocket of a cosmopolitan city like London she may be left questioning whether making her work for the sheer love of it is a valid enough reason despite its critical success. On the flip-side I sit and ponder whether making my work on behalf of my own inner compulsion is valid enough given its socially unappealing subject matter within New Zealand. Despite all of this at the end of the day I'm bi-winning like my man Charlie Sheen and so is my work and anyone who doesn't like it can go kiss a duck.


References:


Hatley, P. (2003). Philip Guston: Retrospective. Fort Worth: Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth

Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe - "Cabbages, raspberries, and video's thin brightness

Gilbert-Rolfe, Jeremy. "Cabbages, Raspberries and Video's Thin Brightness", Painting in the age of Artificial Intelligence, Art and Design (May/June), pages 14-23, 1996.

Some members of Danny's reading group (none more obviously than our illustrious James) were frustrated and angered by Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe's essay-style exploration of his various thoughts on "how things look and what that implies", specifically in relation to video and painting's positions in the mid-niteties art scene. The fact that the article was written fifteen years ago and is hereby naive by current comparisons is as significant as James' reasonable comment that Gilbert-Rolfe seems to waffle on somewhat whilst making many unsubstantiated generalizations and failing to bring any of these ideas to a point of logical conclusion. However, some of Gilbert-Rolfe's observations caused me to recall an essay topic of mine in 2010 which revolved around the idea that technological developments only serve to strengthen painting's position as opposed to making it obsolete.

Gilbert-Rolfe observes that the medium of video "offers painting another surface to which  to refer". In this sentence the writer has underlined a very pleasing idea that I have explored in relation to painting which is that painting's historical recognition as a form of social commentary means that any new technology that would supposedly make the medium of painting obsolete, unnecessary or (to use the intolerable cliche) "dead" in fact only strengthen painting's position as an art form. A mere moment of invention or advancement in society signifies a change in history which ultimately adds another layer to the chronicles that painting, as commentator can refer back to. this is true from anything from the invention of camera-obscura to Facebook.

And what better example to use than Simon Ingram's practice as recently seen in his current Gow Langsford show (incidentally the author and subject of our second reading). Simon offers a simplified explanation for his practice in stating that "Machinic practice in painting is the running of a machine in reverse"(Ingram, p.43). In this sense Simon's paintings mirror the machines that assist in their making, or directly reference them creating in turn a bizarre and often humorous commentary on these technological elements outside of their obvious functions.



References:

Ingram, S. (2004).  Machinic Practice in Painting. Junctures, 2, 33-44.

Rosalind Krauss - "Sculpture in the Expanded Field"

Krauss, R. (1979). Sculpture in the Expanded Field. October, 8, 30-44.

Rosalind Krauss' journal essay provides an insightful look at sculpture's recent past and significant evolution. Whilst, as I mentioned in reading group, I found it hard to get beyond the mathematical complications of page 37 (and am currently still attempting to..) I still found the article offered some very sensible explanations as to the how, when and why of sculpture's entrance into "modernism".

Krauss refers to the two failed commissions of Rodin as a point where sculpture, or the logic of the monument enter "a kind of sightlessness, or homelessness, an absolute loss of place". Krauss sites this "negative condition" as the beginning point of modernity for sculpture and it is this that I find interesting.
What intrigues me about sculpture's apparent turning point is its lack of a clear explanation when compared to, say, that of painting. Much of painting's turning point towards modernity eventuated as a result of the invention of photography. The simplest explanation of this being, what validity does painting have as a recorder of pictorial history when photography can do it quicker, more accurately and more efficiently? Following this question painting had to ask itself what paths it could explore with photography having assumed its most obvious role and the rest is history. As far as I am aware nothing ever assumed sculpture's pre-modernism role in the same way photography did to painting, i.e. the controversial Balzac sculpture did not eventuate as a reaction to some incredible new invention that could churn out representationally accurate monuments at the push of a button.

My observation is obviously a naive one. After all it is only right that sculpture should have moved with the times. That sculpture entered this negative condition seems inevitable and necessary for the sake of its own progresion within an art world that had now begun to question the relevance of the monument in increasingly changing times. Yet I still speculate that sculpture's shift to modernity was in some small way prompted by that of painting, that without painting's shift somehow the shift of sculpture would have seemed less necessary. It is interesting to note that the Balzac commission (which Krauss sites as a pivotal point in the monument's fade to illogicality) occured on the same year that VanGogh (arguably a godfather of modernist painting) commited suicide.

Unfortunately for Van Gogh he was simply too far ahead of his time to be appreciated, nonetheless painting was undoubtedly changing as a result of photography's invention. Is it therefore possible that other art forms felt prompted to follow the trend? The question I am asking is; did sculptors such as Rodin take note of the changes that were happening in painting around them and feel obligated to reexamine the values in their own practice as a way of keeping up?

More than likely there is more to the story than this and I am simply being foolish having forgotten my art history lectures. It does provide interesting food for thought though. I remain intrigued at the notion that any change in technology (in this case the invention of photography) can cause a butterfly effect of sorts. In one of our earlier readings Tamara Trodd (2008, p.373) comments that within the fine arts the medium of film seems obligated "to follow an imperative to be anti-narrative" and Sean (who supplied the reading) felt frustrated by the idea of conforming to this expectation. I dare say, though, that sooner or later the somewhat unlimited realms enjoyed by the other mediums of the arts is bound to envelop upon that of film. As with changing trends from painting to sculpture over a century ago the butterfly effect is inevitable.

References:

Trodd, T. (2008). Lack of Fit: Tacita Dean, Modernism and the Sculptural Film. Art History, 31, 368-386.

Tamara Trodd - "Lack of Fit: Tacita Dean, Modernism and the Sculptural Film

Trodd, Tamara. "Lack of Fit: Tacita Dean, Modernism and the Sculptural Film." Art History 31 3 (2008): 368-86.

Tamara Trodd's 2008 journal article offers an interesting position on where the artist Tacita Dean's 1996 film Disappearance at Sea fits within the Modernist model of "sculptural film". Thus far the medium of film has a relatively short life compared to other mediums within Fine Art's history. It is therefore understandable that it may still find itself "obliged to follow an imperative to be anti-narrative" as follows the idea that film within a gallery setting should act as a sculptural model rather that the more typically cinematic one of narrative.

Reflecting on exchanges within Wednesday's reading group and a subsequent chat with Sean I cannot help but wonder how Tacita Dean would feel were she to read this or other articles that attempt to decipher her work. Sean and I agreed on mutual frustrations at our practices being lumped into various categories that must abide by specific guidelines or which alternately are expected to present a clear conceptual or critical reading. I imagine that Dean might not feel such frustration given Trodd attempts to understand her work as opposed to labeling it. Whereas some art critics might manipulate words to show Dean's work as fitting starkly within a modernist sculptural element, Trodd describes Dean's film as functioning on a level that is not merely sculptural but also "literary, narrative and theatrical".

While good art criticism explores art as opposed to labeling it, I fear it may be impossible for an artist to escape frustrations of being misunderstood or of their work being shrouded in theoretical "art wank". For example, Dean clearly chose the location and surroundings of her film in response to tragic events that had occurred there and therefore her work carries indisputable themes of narrative. However, Trodd has still  attempted to understand Dean's film in terms of offering "exemplary musing upon the failures of modernist technological and political utopias..". Scary stuff! Whilst there is every chance that Trodd has hit the nail on the head here I'd say there is equal chance that Dean's thinking in approach to Disappearance had nothing to do with these concepts. I recall my studio supervisor, James Cousins reflecting last year upon the one occasion where a critic had actually written something valid about his work. James may have been referring to Ruth Watson's essay of his 2009 exhibition Signal in which she describes James as being one of many contemporary "artists who investigate concepts of what painting can be" (Watson, 2009). The beauty of Watson's comment is its simplicity.

It may be that academic literary pretensions are just an inevitable part of art criticism despite the ability of a scattered few being able to articulate the occasional clear and simple point. I dare speculate that much of this comes from the critic's fear that unless they surround the work in fancy prose the outside world will simply not take it seriously. Interestingly, this fear could be said to come from the same place as those rigid demands of what can pass for film within the gallery setting.

Given Dean's nomination for the prestigious Turner Prize it would seem unnecessary for artists to fret and seethe over lofty or pretentious guidelines such as the anti-narative one prescribed to the medium of film. After all, the boundaries of Fine Art have been torn wide open ever since the rise of conceptual art in the sixties. Given the seemingly limitless possibilities that the "concept" provides artists with, how can one honestly place sculptural restrictions on the medium of film within a gallery space. Farce, I tell you!


References:

Gow Langsford Gallery., Watson, R. (2009). Fast paint and interference: James Cousins' Signal  and the deterritorialisation of the image. James Cousins: Signal. Auckland: Gow Langsford Gallery.