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.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
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.
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.
Monday, 4 April 2011
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.
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.
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