Richard Wilson, "20:50" at the Saatchi Gallery

Let us assume there are two boxes on a table. In one box, there is a relatively normal turtle; in the other, Adolf Hitler’s skull. You have to select one of these items for your home. If you select the turtle, you can’t give it away and you have to keep it alive for two years; if either of these parameters are not met, you will be fined $999 by the state. If you select Hitler’s skull, you are required to display it in a semi-prominent location in your living room for the same amount of time, although you will be paid a stipend of $120 per month for doing so. Display of the skull must be apolitical.

— Chuck Klosterman, “23 Questions I Ask Everybody I Meet In Order To Decide If I Can Really Love Them”

There’s a leaning tower of literature on the sociology of gift-giving that can probably be best summarized in Chuck Klosterman’s quote above. Call it the Hitler’s Skull Syndrome.  The giving of any significant gift – a teal-and-lemon diamond-pattern golf sweater with sewn-in turtleneck, say, or a large art bequest to the nation — involves the unwitting signing of a binding contract you didn’t know existed. Now every time my uncle Gunther comes over, I have to wear that sweater and pretend it doesn’t chafe my armpits. And now Charles Saatchi has given his collection – over 200 works of art, plus a white-walled central London gallery to house it in, plus a full quota of exceptionally competent staff – to the nation. And while it might not be that surprising to find Hitler’s skull actually on display in Saatchi’s gallery – perhaps coated in gold leaf on a spotlit plinth – it’s one of those gifts that, like the skull or the sweater, pre-emptively determines its own reception.

“To the nation,” “for the nation,” “by the nation.” In Britain, things are always being done to the nation, as though the nation were a vegetative octogenarian unable to make its own decisions about anything. “It’s for your own good,” say the national institutions, casting a simpering smile at the drooling, quivering figure strapped to the bed, while they fork out a billion of public money on a rare Raphael doodle. “The nation” is an undifferentiated mass of passive receivers, happy to gobble up whatever it’s thrown. The notion of national gifting becomes a questionable idea when the art itself has barely any foothold within the national imagination (it’s a bit more complex with, say, the Elgin Marbles – sorry, Parthenon Frieze), but when the gift is this enormous, this absolute (all costs will be covered by Saatchi himself, not the taxpayer), this tried-and-tested popular, it’s hard to remain septical, right?

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Shana Moulton, “Whispering Pines 9,” video, 2009

In an essay titled “Cyborg Anthropology,” Gary Lee Downey, Joseph Dumit and Sarah Williams offer a sort of manifesto:

Cyborg Anthropology invests in alternative worldmaking by critically examining the powers of the imagination invested in the sciences and technologies of contemporary societies. In the past, anthropology became a source of insight for popular theorizing precisely because it described alternative worlds and informed the imagination of radical difference. Cyborg anthropology offers new metaphors to both academic and popular theorizing for comprehending the different ways that sciences and technologies work in our lives – metaphors that start with our complicity in many of the processes we wish were otherwise.

In this monthly column, I will attempt to write about art inspired by the ideas of cyborg anthropology. Let’s call it cyborg criticism (in blog form). I am aware that I’ll probably mangle a lot of theory while doing it, but let’s be optimistic and call it “creating new metaphors” instead. While there is a certain cringe factor in embarking on a “practice” that includes the word “cyborg” in it (because of the nerdy implications of the term), it seems somewhat myopic to dismiss these ideas completely. In our current cultural landscape, contemporary technologies have completely shaken up the way we perceive ourselves and our worlds. To further explain my point, Downey et al. again: “cyborg anthropology explores a new alternative by examining the argument that human subjects and subjectivity are crucially as much a function of machines, machine relations, and information transfers as they are machine producers and operators.” In the end, it’s a matter of terminology and of shifting foci.

Perhaps an example is in order. For clarification, let’s look at Shana Moulton. In her series Whispering Pines, Moulton’s stream of exercise equipment, cosmetic products ,and new age rituals and paraphernalia show the way in which her character Cynthia is molded by these technologies, continually struggling to cure and improve her body and mind beyond their human state to become “better.” Cynthia leaks, melds, morphs, opens up, and transforms. Her body is a plastic body, an unstable mass created, bent, and shaped by machines, rituals. In Moulton’s video Whispering Pines 9 (2009), Cynthia uses an Avon foot massager posing as a Zuni artifact to regrow her mysteriously absent lower body. The climax of this video finds her joyfully dancing in the desert in the Southwest, each hemisphere of her body separate but somehow connected; a body reconstructed and improved by technology. The parallels Moulton makes between ancient Zuni artifacts as seen on Antiques Roadshow and the artifacts Cynthia finds in her living room provide clear examples of the changing ontological position technology holds in our society. Whereas Zuni selfhood was predicated on the artifacts they crafted, the massage equipment we have created shapes and rebuilds us in turn.

So why embark on this column? I think it’s a political move — or maybe political is too strong a word. It is an attempt to wrap my brain around these issues and to give Internet high fives to artists that are creating the “new metaphors” our society needs. In his book Metal and Flesh, Ollivier Dyens insists:

…we are physically very similar to one another but are separated by worlds (technologically specific worlds) that are increasingly dissimilar. We are not witnessing the end of great ideological stories but their infinite proliferation, and to such a point that formerly unwavering representations like time, space, life, and death are also mutating and muliplying. Like head trauma victims, we are now seeing space, perceiving time, experiencing life, and considering death according to “languages” that are not and cannot be universal. Because of technology, the world has become a series of exclusive and personal realms.

Art has the ability to help us build bridges between our “personal realms.” It can show us how to navigate our worlds and compensate for the increasing parallax our personalized 21st-century technologies add to our field of vision.

In a special series of posts, Wesley Miller watches Bravo’s Work of Art: The Next Great Artist, frame by frame, and attempts to uncover what it all means through the medium of animated GIFs. This is his journey. — Ed.

GIF wall after the jump (images will take time to load). Continue reading »

Many thanks to Ajay Hothi for his plethora of posts tackling the states of contemporary art and the moving image in the UK.

Up next on the guest blog is Paige K. Johnston. Paige is an independent publisher and curator currently pursuing dual M.A.’s in Art History and Arts Administration at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Paige is the founding editor of Motherwell, an arts and culture journal dedicated to the primacy of publication as object. Recent curatorial projects include Bound Liminalities at the Joan Flasch Artists’ Book Collection, Chicago, We Must Indeed all Hang Together at the Sullivan Galleries, Chicago, and 3:33 at the Valkenberg Hermitage, Berlin. Her essay, Ars Aevi, will be published in the upcoming issue of E-Merge, The Journal of Arts Administration and Policy. Paige is 50% of the unstoppable DJ duo Jungle Fever.

Paul Zografakis at his studio in Gyzi, Athens, 2010

This is the second half of the discussion I had with Paul Zografakis’ at Gyzi, Athens and the continuation of Friday’s post. He opened his studio to me and I am now showing it to you.

Georgia Kotretsos: At your studio you have old work next to NEW work, NEW territories, NEW experiments without once mentioning Jacques Rancière, Gilles Deleuze, or Guy Debord. The past six months, you ventured into 3D paintings that seem to be gripping onto the wall for dear life by creating the fine tension of an object’s struggle to fight for a spot on the wall.  They are organically placed and conceptually witty. Papier-mâché structures that almost seem painterly from afar are collaged with colored paper. Take me through your journey; break down the evolution of these new works for the Art21 readers, please.

Paul Zografakis, detail of new work in progress, 2010

Paul Zografakis: You forgot the two hours we talked about [Walter] Benjamin! Really, though, it’s more about Kandinsky’s Concerning the Spiritual in Art if you really want to know!

New — yes it’s great, really freeing to just start building sculptures and make paintings after some time. Having a studio allows me to work larger, messier, and right now, I have the time to start this new body of work.

Paul Zografakis, new works in progress, 2010

The new work comes out of my collages, where I dissect and rearrange an original towards an alternate composition. The new work, however, has no original reference and becomes stream of consciousness construction, an additive process. I have this idea of the God Particle in my mind since reading about it. It’s amazing — these scientists at the CERN laboratory are smashing particles together at nearly the speed of light in hopes of explaining the origins of the universe. My approach is sort of like that, but instead of sub-atomic particles, I use cardboard and paper. Its very elemental; I try to let the work build itself from the inside out towards a critical mass. Randomness is very much a part of the process, which I try to carry through so that color and form literally reference the work’s creation. Calling the sculptures 3D paintings, well, I’m not sure I’m there yet in calling them paintings.

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The Saatchi Gallery, 2008. Courtesy Jim Linwood, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

A short post today and a follow-up, of sorts, to my earlier post Timing is Everything.  It was announced on Thursday afternoon that Charles Saatchi would be gifting a substantial amount of his collection, as well as his Chelsea-sited gallery, to the United Kingdom.  The two hundred works, worth an estimated £25 million (or $37 million) and the gallery would be handed over to a foundation in the very near future and, upon Saatchi’s retirement, would then be handed over to the relevant government department (still, at this point, under discussion and yet only in terms of a “potential government department” — a fluffy comment that actually means nothing) and the Saatchi Gallery would be re-named Museum of Contemporary Art, London.  A permanent collection will be maintained, as well as a rotating programme of major exhibition.  Cynicism abounds, and the statement delivered to the press by the Saatchi Gallery reads as though it has been hastily assembled from a whimsical idea conceived by Saatchi over breakfast with celebrity chef wife Nigella Lawson based on what his legacy would be fifty years from now.  Every press agency is running the same news, almost verbatim, and the response thus far has been one of bemusement over anything else.  Generous though the offer is, the BBC’s arts editor Will Gompertz does also note that Tate Modern may have more than a strong claim to say that it already runs the nation’s contemporary art museum and have no intention of going anywhere, especially with the news that the current director of Haus der Kunst Munich, Chris Dercon, will join as director from Spring 2011 and plans for Tate Modern 2 not likely to be shelved, in favor of an extended construction timetable.

I blogged earlier on the surge of the museum of contemporary art, the trend to turn galleries into cultural institutions.  In Saatchi’s defense, other than his own, there is barely a decent gallery in Chelsea (if one excludes a certain institution a couple of miles up the road, a hoary but venerable place on Millbank, next to Chelsea College of Art and Design, and which despite its location on the riverside actually has a very nondescript view over the Thames).  Sure the DCMS currently may be shrugging its shoulders in stupefaction at the donation (“You say Saatchi did what?”) but, they should be assured, no charges will fall to the state.  “All costs associated with the storage, restoration or cataloguing the collection will be borne by the museum,” said Associate Director of the Saatchi Gallery, Rebecca Wilson.  This includes by revenue-generating methods including the restaurant, gift shop, corporate events and private sponsorship.  Personally, I do not buy the long-term sustainability of this plan, but I am sure that current Culture Minister Ed Vaizey MP will be fine with it.

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Episode #112: Jeff Koons describes how he likes to “communicate with other artists” by making art historical references — from Classical to Modern — in his sculptures and paintings.

Jeff Koons plucks images and objects from popular culture, framing questions about taste and pleasure. His contextual sleight-of-hand, which transforms banal items into sumptuous icons, takes on a psychological dimension through dramatic shifts in scale, spectacularly engineered surfaces, and subliminal allegories of animals, humans, and anthropomorphized objects. The subject of art history is a constant undercurrent, whether Koons elevates kitsch to the level of Classical art, produces photos in the manner of Baroque paintings, or develops public works that borrow techniques and elements of seventeenth-century French garden design. Organizing his own studio production in a manner that rivals a Renaissance workshop, Koons makes computer-assisted, handcrafted works that communicate through their meticulous attention to detail.

Jeff Koons is featured in the Season 5 (2009) episode Fantasy of the Art in the Twenty-First Century television series on PBS. Download-to-own the full episode from iTunes.

VIDEO | Producer: Wesley Miller & Nick Ravich. Interview: Susan Sollins. Camera: Kurt Branstetter & 
Joel Shapiro. Sound: Mark Mandler. Editor: Paulo Padilha & Mark Sutton. Artwork Courtesy: Jeff Koons. Special Thanks: Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago.

Paul Zografakis, "Frontman From Middle Earth," Performance Festival, Thessaloniki Biennale 2, 2009

Paul Zografakis is a Greek-American artist who was born and raised in St. Louis, MO and based in Athens, Greece since 2007. Paul arrived in Athens on a Fulbright Scholarship to focus on performance and then he decided to stay. He holds a BFA from Miami University, Oxford, OH (1997) and an MFA from the San Francisco Art Institute (2005).

Paul emphatically stated as we spoke, “I have been educated to seek and create opportunities and this is what I do.” His tenacity, pace, and focus are admirable, while his exceptional sense of humor and gentle nature reflect his attentive upbringing.

As you read this, he occupies a basement with his studio-mates and Betty at Gyzi, Athens. His work often borrows and appropriates from real life events, stories, magazines, and other visual audio and social experiences. He performs, he sculpts, he paints, he draws, he makes collages — he is an artist, so expect to see it all.

Greece is definitely the place to experiment with facial hair and Paul does it phenomenally well. He has even been caught sporting the old time classic Yanni look. He goes from being a Rocker to being a Cretan just like that. Please, allow me to introduce you to this promising artist and dear friend, Paul Zografakis.

Georgia Kotretsos: Since arriving in Athens three years ago, you have made an impression on me as a doer of very few means. First the project space Kafeneon and recently Athens Open Studios. You’re particularly inclusive in your efforts; are you beginning to identify your role within the Greek art community?

Paul Zografakis: When I arrived in Athens, I was already participating in projects associated with the first Athens Biennial — one called Old Timey Radio Show with ArtWaves Radio and a collaborative video with you in Karaoke Poetry Bar, organized by Intothepill.

There was a lot going on that summer in Athens, exciting times. However, as fall neared,  I noticed a dire lack of artist-run initiatives and alternative art spaces; I missed the free form art approach existing in San Francisco. So, I asked my landlady to use the empty storefront in my building and that started me thinking about καφεneon (Kafeneon), which more or less consisted of coffee, lectures, and exhibitions.

Paul Zografakis, Kafeneon, Pop-Up project space, Athens, 2008

At its core, Kafeneon involved opening the dilapidated store-front and serving free Greek coffee to passersby, to serve as a mechanism to entice visitors who would likely never enter an “Art Space.”

Based on conversations with friends and strangers, I arranged two lectures every Wednesday with topics ranging from BBQ and Ballet to Conflict Resolution in Africa and Professional Wrestling. It was amazing to see artists and non-artists perform each lecture with varying analog and multimedia approaches.

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Alice Guy-Blaché, "The Ocean Waif," 1916. Courtesy the Library of Congress MBRS Division.

I’m new here.  I should explain.  At university, I wanted to be a video artist.  Maybe I should have been born into another time (and matriculated to another university) because the history, theory, and philosophy of what we were studying was never followed through at the quite the same pitch in the practical elements.  Of course, we were there to dissect the works of greats such as Martha Rosler, Chantal Akerman, Kenneth Anger, Stan Brakhage, Jonas Mekas, and Michael Snow, though for me they always played in reference to the discussions around Maya Deren.  Thousands of words were written and much gas emitted spent talking about the migration from Europe to the USA of the leading avant-gardist lights during the inter-war period.  Less time was spent on the mainstream foundational actuality of film and video at the time, the context in which “the artists” were able to juxtapose their films.  One name I recall but have heard very little of since is that of Alice Guy-Blaché who, on July 1, should have the world celebrate the 137th anniversary of her birth.

It is difficult to imagine how the reactionary avant-garde would interpret and reinterpret its own narratives through the medium of film (and later, video), had it not been for the introduction of linear fictional narrative into the mainstream (or at least what constituted a mainstream in those seminal years) cinema of the time.  The experimentation with medium and the modes of effect are, very broadly, common elements that summon a direct link between the early experimentations of the inventor of motion picture film, Louis Le Prince, and the films of committed Dada/Surrealists such as Man Ray and Marcel Duchamp.  Both, in essence, unsurprisingly focus on the curiosity of movement either, say, through Le Prince’s documentation or Man Ray’s performances.  The early cinema was one of the most progressive and transformative mediums ever created and practitioners such as the Lumière brothers, Émile Reynaud, or Georges Méliès were instrumental in developing a visual art-based aesthetic for a mass audience. And though largely forgotten, one person was largely instrumental for developing the medium of film as cinema.

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Kara Hearn, "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts," ongoing series. Courtesy of the artist.

Judith Butler, that radical Valkyrie of all things identity politics, caused quite a stir in Berlin recently. On June 19th, she declined the “Civil Courage Prize” awarded by the organizers of Berlin’s Christopher Street Day, accusing them of complicity with the forces of “anti-semitism,” “anti-muslim racism,” and “transphobia.”  The whole scene was a bizarre Lynchian dreamscape: Judith Butler speaking perfect yet cryptic German, the shocked emcees sporting angel wings, and the crowd discharging a fratty energy uncommon amongst Judy fans.  After her speech, one of the presenters laughed meekly and said, “it wouldn’t be Judith Butler if she would take a prize without any critical remarks.”

The other emcee, noticeably angry, addressed the members of the more “courageous” organizations mentioned in Judy’s speech (GLADT, SUSPECT, LesMigraS, ReachOut ) and said:  “To be honest, you’re not the majority here. You’re. Not. The. Majority.”

Whoa.  Needless to say, his response was abhorrent, and it certainly doesn’t help to dispel the tired image of Germany as a hulking and largely homogenous nation, which, while progressive in some ways, remains mired in assimilation problems.

The drama hovered over the Transgenialer CSD, an alternative, anti-capitalist, anti-nationalist (no flags allowed even though it was the World Cup) celebration.  On a day normally marked by weak mojitos and slurred Nina Hagen covers, it was pretty astonishing that the hottest topic was a philosopher theorist and the concerns of oft-overlooked queer groups.

A few revelers cried hypocrisy at Judy’s supposed first-class flight and paid stay at the Hotel Adlon, the swanky stopover of diplomats and the site where Michael Jackson hung his newborn over a balcony in some psychotic Disney ritual…or in an attempt at an upside down German hello…or something.

Some flatly denied any wrongdoing on the part of the CSD officials, chafing at the idea that an academic unfamiliar with Berlin’s queer community could come in and diagnose all its shortcomings.  Why doesn’t she give the money back to the CSD? Why not just accept the award and then transfer it to the groups she cited as more deserving?

Others were giddy about her decline of the prize, arguing that Judy, on her winged steed of righteousness had finally exposed the virulent forces of Islamophobia circulating freely within the LGBTQ community.

I would guess that most people involved with the larger CSD, like one Green Party official I spoke to, were disheartened by Judy’s decline of the award, but happy nonetheless that the subversive act was generating dialogue within a community that desperately needs to address the changing demands of a growing sector.

This Judy drama prompted me to ask myself, how often do I have an artistic experience that engages with ideas of queerness and challenges cultural constructions in a meaningful way?  At times Berlin seems like the queerest place on earth, especially with some of its physical locations literally eluding categorization (is it an abandoned high-rise, studio complex, or cruising spot? All three!).  At other times, it feels as though there is an endless deluge of man-boy-art-brut painting and a hegemonic masculine inheritance from Herrs Baselitz, Richter, and Rauch.

Donning my queer theory trousers which, admittedly, were better suited to the mentally lithe 23 year-old me, I couldn’t help but ponder a friend’s recent query, “what kind of art would Judy want in her house?”

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