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Existentialism in the (Post-) Digital Era by Charles Melvin Ess

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real

Existentialism builds from the motto, “existence precedes essence” and starts from “the ground up,” of highly variable contexts and our subjective experiences as embodied and emotive beings[i].

We all know in some abstract way that we shall die someday: but we usually do not always know this in a strongly embodied and emotive way. Rather, for most of us, realizing our own mortality may come only in experiencing the death of someone close to us. For existentialists, experiences of love, sympathy, loss and gratitude are necessary to taking responsibility and meaning for our lives and brings newly intense feelings of pleasure and joy.

Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

The digital era has been defined by assumptions and goals that work directly against such existential awareness. Canadian-American sci-fi writer William Gibson inaugurated early enthusiasm for a “bodiless exultation in cyberspace.”[ii] This exultation was sought in early 1990s’, through forms of virtual reality and virtual communities – or in a digital immortality to be achieved by uploading our consciousness into computer systems that promise to sustain our disembodied minds forever. Early enthusiasms were soon countered by evidence that, for the most part, our senses of identity, as anchored in our individual bodies, were experienced as deeply interwoven with our online engagements. Nonetheless, Transhumanist dreams of digital immortality linger on. It is no surprise that the existential project is largely absent in the first two decades of the internet (c. 1990-2010), and is in keeping with a modern belief that technology will keep death at bay and human essence can be reduced to dis-embodied reason.[iii]    

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Existential dimensions of the digital era

Networked communication technologies have brought many first-hand experiences of what it means to be a relational self. A Western modern sense of self, that is, emphasizes selfhood as primarily individual – a kind of psychic atom for whom relationships with others are optional, accidental, if not a direct threat. “The rugged individual,” “the self-made man,” exemplify such conceptions of individual freedom and rights to privacy, freedom of expression, and affiliated democratic processes and norms. On the other hand, this individual selfhood can become an egoism that is resistant, if not hostile to ideas of a public good and shared obligations towards one another, and so on.

By contrast, the purely relational self knows itself as nothing more than its multiple relationships – with friends, family, the larger community and society, and the larger natural and super-natural orders. These relationships, moreover, are strongly affective, and entail felt obligations to and dependencies upon others. As Martin Buber made clear, the “I” is not somehow an atom that exists prior to taking up relationship with another. Rather, our sense of “I” or selfhood only emerges through and within relationships with another, a “Thou.”[iv]

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real-3
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Social media and social networking sites are machineries designed precisely to facilitate and reinforce such relational selves. These web based media and sites open up unparalleled opportunities for creating and sustaining a near-infinite array of social relationships, a type of coexistence with others that opens up our possibilities of “seeking meaning communally.”[v]

Moreover, the complex internet machineries of relationality – such as constant updates, “push” notifications that intrude across our screens or alarm us with beeps and whistles on the mobile in our pocket, and the general social and business pressures to “brand ourselves online” – all of this can feel akin to a form of electronic slavery.

Amanda Lagerkvist describes how this relationality is akin to being “thrown into our digital human existence”: without any real choice in the matter, where we are caught in a dramatically unpredictable environment that render us vulnerable and dependent in countless ways – both individually and collectively. The toxic sides of our digital connected lives range from the irritating to the life-threatening: from unwanted trolls to anonymous death threats, revenge porn, ransomware attacks, or collective catastrophes such as fake news, mass surveillance, and multiple forms of cyberterrorism and cyberwarfare. In such situations, our everyday security is threatened, forcing us to experience our limits as vulnerable and ultimately mortal beings.

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Art, ethics, and virtues in a technological era

Modern existentialists, beginning with Søren Kierkegaard and then Friedrich Nietzsche, build on the recognition that these quasi-universal but highly subjective experiences and realizations require art and the aesthetic – both as primary forms of expression and as primary sources of creativity and insight needed for coming to grips with our felt recognition of mortality.

In his Gay Science, Nietzsche famously announces that “God is dead,” and the consequence – a culture-wide nihilism. To move beyond such nihilism, Nietzsche’s primary recommendation is that we must all become artists. For Nietzsche, this project of creating ourselves conjoins both art and ethics: a core component of our response to the death of God, and thereby the loss of a compelling but externally imposed ethics. In the 20th century, Hannah Arendt further enhanced the existential emphasis on creativity with her concept of natality, our primal capacity to create and sustain new life in the face of death – and thereby open up new beginnings and possibilities for human existence.[vi]*

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Contemporary digital technologies help facilitate such creativity and natality in numerous ways. ASCII art and its graphic pictures were primary aesthetic expressions in the earliest days of text-based internet exchanges. Contemporary technologies offer a staggering array of aesthetic creation and expression – “broadcasting ourselves” as artists, whether through blogs, photos on Instagram or videos on YouTube, and so on. While such internet based media foregrounds the emotive and the sharing of our emotions, they yet signify the very earliest stages of developing digital technologies in existential directions.

For Nietzsche, to foreground art is to foreground ethics – beginning precisely with such core notions as taking responsibility for our own lives and for others. Resonant with Nietzsche, the contemporary philosopher of technology, Shannon Vallor, argues that in our day, virtue ethics is especially well suited to our existential contexts, challenges, and opportunities.[vii] Most simply, virtue ethics aims to foster good lives of contentment and flourishing. To do so requires us to acquire and cultivate the skills and abilities – virtues – necessary to both human communication generally and to our most important relationships, with friends, family, intimate partners and social groups foster precisely deep experiences of individual and collective harmony, fulfilment, and contentment. Vallor has shown how virtues such as patience, perseverance, empathy, and, indeed, loving itself are essential to such relationships and contentment – and all the more so in the digital era.

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Vallor also finds that much in our contemporary technological environments offers us great convenience and new possibilities for flourishing – but often at the risk of an ethical de-skilling. It is easy to tune out, even “defriend,” an online interlocutor whose communication demands patience, perseverance, empathy, perhaps even love to endure. This might be justified in some cases, though risks us practicing precisely the virtues that are necessary for building our most significant and rewarding human relationships. Worst-case: the less we practice such virtues, the more we resemble our machineries. These risks are all the more pernicious because they are not as obvious to being trolled or threatened by malware, mass surveillance, and so on. The upshot is that if we wish to sustain, if not expand these primary virtues and human capacities in a digital era, we must be all the more vigilante and accountable.

This heightened awareness of the risks and opportunities of our technological era is precisely integral to what Vallor characterizes as an existential project in response to the “crisis of meaning” as analyzed by the Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset. In understanding technology as central to our existential project, the “the mission of technology,” he writes, “consists in releasing man for the task of being himself.”[viii]

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

The in-betweens of contemporary existence

Existentialism as a cultural phenomenon emerged in response to the horrors of World War II; further driven by Cold War threats of nuclear holocaust; growing awareness of environmental degradation; the atrocities of racism and the Vietnam conflict, and now the sixth Great Extinction of life on our planet. Questions as to whether digital technologies are, on balance, more beneficent or destructive are fiercely debated. While facilitating staggering new possibilities for communication and creativity, networked communication technologies have also catalyzed unprecedented privacy rows and dangers. The latest starkest examples include those exposed by The Facebook–Cambridge Analytica data scandal*, cyberterrorism, cyberwarfare, and ongoing mass surveillance by governments and tech giant corporations that own our data – and thereby our digital lives and communities.

Beyond such threats and risks of ethical deskilling, perhaps the greatest danger is our primary uses of the internet itself. Aptly described as a “weapon of mass distraction,” internet life offers a near-infinite array of entertainments that, largely by corporate design, far more facilitate convenience and consumption than the contemplative, sometimes anguishing, work of existential reflection, natality, and creativity. The extraordinary opportunities to pursue our existential projects – and their facilities for natality and aesthetic creativity – are thus in tension with the thousand ways in which these technologies rather incline us towards entertainment as diversion and distraction.

Cécile B. Evans interview The Virtual is Real
Cécile B. Evans’, Hyperlinks or It Didn’t Happen, Still from Louisana Channel, Cécile B. Evans interview: The Virtual is Real. Web Source

Without question enthusiastic digital natives will continue to take up new forms of digital technologies and so remain central to our contemporary existence. At the same time people are turning away from an exclusively digital existence. Researchers are now characterizing our age as a post-digital or post internet era. One in which “the digital” is increasingly balanced with greater engagement and desire for analogue technologies and physical embodied experiences.[ix] In all of this, compelling works of art – online, offline and all mixtures in between remain central as primary sites for our experiences of vulnerability, risk, and thereby open new possibilities of meaning-making and creation. Either way, living in between a digital / post digital existence, we confront unparalleled risks and promising new possibilities.

Acknowledgements

Adapted from the original essay published in [In Lærke Rydal Jørgensen (ed.), Being There [exhibition catalog], 166-173. Copenhagen: Louisiana Museum of Modern Art.

Notes                                                                                          

[i] Historically, philosophical, religious frameworks sought to define a universal concept of the essence of “the human.” Key existential themes of mortality, felt responsibility to others, and gratitude for human joys of loving relationships and (moderate) pleasures are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100 B.C.E.) and extend through ancient Greek and sacred texts for Jews and Christians. These texts all invoke the emotive and the aesthetic and are as much narratives as they are arguments.

[ii] William Gibson, Neuromancer, New York: Ace, 1984, p 6.

[iii] A prime example in modernity is Cartesian rationalism defined our human essence as disembodied reason. For example, Google announced a project in 2012 to “solve death”: and Google’s chief technologist, Ray Kurzweil, is known for developing a “transhumanism” that aims to realize digital immortality through sophisticated artificial intelligence (AI) and robotic technologies.

[iv] Martin Buber, I and Thou, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1937.

[v] Amanda Lagerkvist, Existential media: Toward a theorization of digital thrownness, in: new media and society 19 (1): 96–110, p. 102.

[vi] Hannah Arendt introduces “natality” as a conceptual moment when one is born into the political as the sphere where acting together can create the truly unexpected and where we are born again. See Hannah Arendt, Active Life: The Human Condition, 1958.

[vii] Shannon Vallor, Technology and the Virtues: A Philosophical Guide to a Future Worth Wanting. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016.

[viii] José Ortega y Gasset, Toward a Philosophy of History, trans. Helene Weyl, Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press., 2002, p. 118, cited in Vallor 2016, p. 247.

[ix] Simon Lindgren, Digital Media and Society, London: Sage, 2017.

About Author

Charles Melvin Ess is Professor in Department of Media and Communication at UiO University of Oslo, Norway. He researches, publishes, and teaches at the intersections of philosophy, computational technologies, applied ethics, comparative philosophy and religion, and media studies, with particular focus on: research ethics, Digital Religion, and virtue ethics in media and communication, specifically social robots. A recent publication – “What’s Love Got to Do with It? Robots, sexuality, and the arts of being human,” (in M. Nørskov (ed.), Social Robots: Boundaries, Potential, Challenges, 57-79, Ashgate, 2016) – summarizes some 30 years of work on enduring distinctions between what human beings and AI/robots are capable of, highlighting the role of real emotions and virtues as defining human friendship, love, and being human in digital and post-digital democratic societies.

This essay is part of the  IMMA The Edit #002:  post digital e/Affect edited by Sophie Byrne. Read Editors Welcome – here. Also see the other articles featured by Rebecca O’ Dwyer and Jessica Foley

Further reading and other material suggested by the Editor to accompany this piece: To read more about existential dimensions of grief, death and mortality experience on and offline can be found in Astrid Linnea Løland Hovde (2016), Grief 2.0: Grieving in an Online World. MA thesis, Department of Media and Communication, University of Oslo, and: Ylva Hård af Segerstad, Dick Kasperowski (2015), Opportunities and Challenges of Studying Closed Communities Online: Digital Methods and Ethical Considerations. University of Gøteborg, Sweden.

 

Also see Claire Bishop’s text Digital Divides that outlines renewed interest in analogue technologies in main stream art systems.

Listen to a talk on transhumanism by Mark O’ Connell on IMMA’s soundcloud channel.

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Obedient City, Smart City by Jessica Foley

A neon sign at the EPIC Museum, CHQ, Dublin. Image by Jessica Foley

Reflections on an EPIC conversation with artist Michelle Doyle

She took me to EPIC, The Irish Emigration Museum in Georges Dock, on the North Side of Dublin City. We said we were researching to start a language school called Language Connect and we got a courtesy pass, down into the brick arched basement of the 19th century Custom House Quay building. At the entrance we were given passports. We stamped them in each themed room we passed through. The museum was filled with audio and screens and projections. We counted 88 screens and 44 projections. It felt like we were inside the internet inside a city pretending to be a computer.

A stamped EPIC Passport, post-visit to EPIC Museum, CHQ, Dublin. Image by Jessica Foley.
A stamped EPIC Passport, post-visit to EPIC Museum, CHQ, Dublin. Image by Jessica Foley.

Afterwards, we had lunch upstairs amongst the galleries of shops and restaurants. We ate vegetarian burritos and buddha bowls. I drank San Pellegrino and she called me a “Lad”. I asked her to tell me about the Obedient City. The Obedient City, she said, is a Visitor Centre, where neighbours tell on each other and new museums spring up to sell experiences and data. It’s motto is splashed across the skin of the city, like pebble-dash. She pronounced the Latin with mock seriousness, as if introducing a royal, or a pope: ‘Obedientia Civium Urbis Felicitas,’ telling me it translates as: ‘The obedience of the citizens produces a happy city‘. I thought of our recent obedience in EPIC museum; stamping our passports, working to take in all the information, though it was at times overwhelming, intriguing and tiring. It’s like walking through a computer, she said, going through these “Museums of the Future” . (The words of poet Paula Meehan came to mind then, who says that a Museum is place where you put things to please the Muses. Amongst all the screens and passport terminals, I wondered what Muse we were appealing to.) Then she spoke about the idea of obedience, espoused by the architectural theorist John Ruskin in his book ‘The Seven Lamps of Architecture‘. He considered obedience to be “the crowning grace of all the rest”; the one “to which Polity owes its stability, life its happiness, faith its acceptance, creation its continuance.” According to Ruskin, this principle was the foundation of the City itself. As a delicate balance of freedom and restraint, obedience was a recipe for civic wellbeing: Freedom + Restraint = Happiness. As I chewed my lunch, I ruminated on how this equation plays out in the city, wondering how architecture could claim to do so much with apparently so little…

Coat of Arms
Image 1. Coat of Arms /Image source]. Image 2. Dublin City’s Coat-of-Arms and Motto on a Lamp Post near the Mater Hospital. Image by Michelle Doyle.

Over lunch, I learned that the politics of obedience has been emblazoned on the skin of Dublin city for four hundred years, on its Coat-of-Arms. She told me, “There’s really well painted ones outside St. Patricks Cathedral. And then there’s ones that are acid-rainy-melted everywhere else… It has the crown on it as well. Which is so insane. It’s definitely pre-state, and it has a sword as well. It was so strange and colonial. Just the fact that it was obviously a motto that was chosen by the English for Dublin.” She began to really notice these Coat-of-Arms while she was on a residency with A4 Sounds, a participative socially engaged arts and education centre in the North Inner City. This was late summer, autumn time and there were growing movements advocating the right to housing, with activists calling people to ‘take back the city’ by occupying vacant properties on Summerhill and Frederick street: “All the stuff to do with Frederick street was happening all around, all the occupations, it just felt like everyone was being very disobedient. And everyone was really happy. So it’s clearly not true,” she said. It’s clearly not true that the Obedient City is a happy city.

Occupation by 'Take by the City' activists of apartments on Summerhill, North Inner City Dublin, September 2018. Image by Jessica Foley
Occupation by ‘Take by the City’ activists of apartments on Summerhill, North Inner City Dublin, September 2018. Image by Jessica Foley

“A museum is just as algorithmic,” she said, “as Netflix. And the way that you make a museum is based on the information people want to hear. They’re like User Persona’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if that [the EPIC Museum] was designed in the same way that you would design an app. You would sit down and you would say, ‘John. Age: 49. Canadian. His likes and dislikes. Things he finds easy or difficult. And then, his User Journey and his Character Traits.’” As she spoke, I marvelled at the idea that the city was becoming just as algorithmic as Netflix. I began to see Dublin enmeshed in a global historical trend to produce well connected, agile and obedient citizens with the appetites of tourists. As I listened to her speak, images of pebble-dashed visitor centres and museums of the future merged with online entertainment distributors into a composite model of the ‘Smart City,’ and Dublin was marked to be the most obedient, most smart of them all. Now the city is full of networked openings; digital pores and eyes and ears sensing and computing all the goings on of every moving body. The obedient city is glitching between the wildest dreams of imperialism, capitalism and democracy, crystallizing a new datafied kind of tourist trade. Calling me back from my daydream she asked me; “So how would they have gotten that information in the first place? How would they have known? Would they have had to buy that off someone else to figure out where all the tourists are coming from?” I don’t know, I thought, the internet is just everywhere now isn’t it? Not long after this awakening, she told me that she was learning to code in JAVA so that she could build her own dashboard, equipping herself with the tools and literacy to navigate the ‘Obedient City‘ in her own way. Then she left me with my recording devices, heading off to buy a gel-pack to soothe her eyes, sore from the screen-time teaching english to children in faraway cities.

Screen-shot,'Baby Shark' music video produced by Pinkfong Image Source
Screen-shot,’Baby Shark‘ music video produced by Pinkfong. Image Source

Michelle Doyle’s generous and performative narration of the themes and materials at play in her ongoing work as an artist and teacher of EFL, during our EPIC adventure, tells of the complex ways that artists are negotiating a ‘post-internet’ world and a globalized Ireland. In her recent exhibition Obedient City, Doyle makes a trope of the Visitor Centre and in so doing casts a strange light on Dublin City. Her off-register mimetic approach calls into question larger realities of civic life, but with a buoyancy that does not leave one feeling depleted or despondent. Instead, her work piques critical attention towards the unfolding realities of city life in Dublin by estranging the powerful, implicit metaphor of obedience inscribed in it’s motto. To my mind, Doyle sets up a tension between the old logic of Dublin’s gatekeepers and the contemporary ambitions of Dublin City Council to establish the ‘Smartness’ of the City.  Reflecting on Michelle Doyle’s Obedient City as a foil to the Smart City, I wonder if the living, breathing City’s unsung motto might better be written as: Inobedientia Civium Urbis Felicitas.

Video-still, Obedient City, 2018. Image by Michelle Doyle. Obedient City, video still
Video-still, Obedient City, 2018. Image by Michelle Doyle. Obedient City, video still

About the Author/Artist

Jessica Foley writes prose and poetry, and works as a trandsdisciplinary researcher and teacher. Her artistic practice involves transdisciplinary collaborations exploring fiction, technology and the human condition through writing and multi-media. She is currently an Irish Research Council Postdoctoral Fellow at the Social Sciences Institute, Maynooth University, (2018-20) where she is exploring the function of fiction in parsing the worlds of ‘smart’ technologies. She is a co-founding member of the Orthogonal Methods Group and writer-at-large with CONNECT, Trinity College Dublin.

Michelle Doyle  lives and works in Dublin. She attended the National College of Art and Design where she received a Bachelor of Fine Art Media in 2013 and completed her Masters in Art and Research Collaboration in Dún Laoghaire Institute of Art, Design and Technology, Dublin in 2016. She was recently awarded the A4 Sounds Artist in Residence Award (2018) and the Sirius Residency Award (2019). Recent group exhibitions include Athrá Titim Gach Rud, Repeater, Galway (2018); Yoga ForThe Eyes I, Open Ear (2018) and Yoga For The Eyes II, Dublin (2018). Michelle’s solo exhibition, entitled Obedient City (2018) was shown in A4 Sounds and relaunched for Culture Night. She also plays in punk band Sissy and solo as Rising Damp.

This text was commissioned by IMMA for The Edit #002, post digital e/Affect Edited by Sophie Byrne. Read Editors Welcome – here Also see the other articles featured by Rebecca O’ Dwyer and Charles Melvin Ess.

Further reading suggested by the Editor to accompany this piece:
To read more about Irish artists working in Dublin city, see Johanna Walsh’s article digital desire lines.

 

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Introducing the new IMMA Magazine

Installation view of Wolfgang Tillmans, Rebuilding the Future

Welcome to the IMMA Magazine.

Publishing has been at the core of our programme since we opened in 1991. We have consistently written and commissioned texts about art and artists in books, catalogues, monographs, periodicals, exhibition guides, resources, research articles, and essays. Hundreds of thousands of words across hundreds of thousands of pages. In the early years this was almost exclusively published in print, but we moved to more frequent online publishing in the last decade, most of which was housed on our old IMMA Blog.

This new Magazine is a coming together of everything we write or commission; from news pieces about IMMA and our programme and articles from our staff about the artists they work with and are inspired by, to interviews and commissioned articles from visiting artists, academics, critics, curators, thinkers and collaborators. All of our previous blog articles can be found in here, and it’s a section we will continue to build over the coming months and years.

With the development of this new website in 2018 we started to rethink how we publish across the site as a whole, not only in text form but images, audio and video as well. We’ve distributed articles and other content all over the site in the hope that you will find things of interest no matter where you turn, bringing you closer to the art and artists we work with.  The site will present these stories and pieces of content to you at different times, hoping to tempt you to explore further. But we wanted to create one specific destination on the site for when you wanted to spend some dedicated time exploring, reading and finding out more. The Magazine is that place.

If you want to stay in touch with what we publish you can visit this section regularly, or you can sign up for ‘The Edit’ –  a quarterly zine, delivered straight into your inbox. The Edit will have a different guest editor each edition, presenting a digest of the best writing and content from the Magazine, alongside newly commissioned articles, around a particular theme that’s being considered by our curators.

We hope you enjoy this new look Magazine, and that you return often. To help get you started you’ll find three of our favourite articles below…

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Sunset, Sunrise. Mapping Farmanfarmaian’s Significance

Installation view of 'Sunset, Sunrise' by Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian. IMMA. Dublin. 10 August - 25 November 2018. Photo: Ros Kavanagh

Exploring Iranian art in conjunction with the exhibition Sunset Sunrise by Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian we invited London-based curator Vali Mahlouji, founder of Archaeology of the Final Decade (AOTFD), to examine the relationship between revolutions and repression of art and artists tracing the socio-political situations that led to the Iranian Revolution and Islamic Revolution that saw artists of Farmanfarmaian’s generation seek political exile elsewhere. This blog draws on aspects on his ongoing research at the AOTFD and examine Farmanfarmaian’s cosmopolitan, modernizing impulses and undisciplined return to tradition against the background of the cross-cultural, and emphatically transnational histories of art in the 1960s and 1970s. The ‘Sunset, Sunrise’ exhibition was on view at IMMA from 10 August to 25 November 2018.

In conjunction with my talk on Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, this blog draws on aspects of my ongoing research, as relates to the Archaeology of the Final Decade (AOTFD).

Founded in 2010, AOTFD is a non-profit research and curatorial platform which investigates and reactivates histories of nations condemned by social displacement, cultural annihilation or deliberate disappearance.

Relying on archaeological forensics, AOTFD engages with accounts of culture which have been lost through material destruction, acts of censorship, or be it political, economic or human contingencies. Its core aim is the identification, investigation and re-circulation of significant cultural and artistic materials that would otherwise remain obscure, under-exposed, and endangered. In some instances, the materials that AOTFD engages with, have been banned or purposefully destroyed. See for example AOTFDS’s retrieval of the archives of Festival of Arts, Shiraz-Persepolis.

AOTFD’s exhibition of Excavated Archives of Festival of Arts, Shiraz-Persepolis part of A Utopian Stage at Dhaka Art Summit ’18. Courtesy Archaeology of the Final Decade and DAS ’18.
AOTFD’s exhibition of Excavated Archives of Festival of Arts, Shiraz-Persepolis part of A Utopian Stage at Dhaka Art Summit ’18. Courtesy Archaeology of the Final Decade and DAS ’18.
The excavation, identification, investigation, reclamation and reactivation of those materials into cultural memory, as a means to counteracting the damages of censorship and historical erasure, are the driving force of the AOTFD project.

Far from espousing a fetishist admiration of the singular object, AOTFD treats instead it’s retrieved, side-lined materials as tangible reminders and embodiments of critical cultural and historical shifts that have marked the history of the 20th century.

Recirculation and reactivation of those artefacts and materials into cultural memory and the public sphere is deliberately aimed at destabilising imposed or accepted historical narratives. Artistic objects are viewed as supplements that have the power to dismantle coherent, intact or unadulterated accounts of the past. Challenging fixed notions of the ruin and the derelict, AOTFD unfastens objects from sentimental connotations. The aim here, is to excavate and expose the interrelations between the social, geo-political, legislative and psychological contexts that have contributed to an object’s meaning, making and demise.

AOTFD is thus intended from the outset, as a gesture of solidarity that works against a neutralizing politics that would accompany a monumentalisation or a nostalgic revisiting to the past.

AOTFD’s exhibition of Cultural Atlas part of A Utopian Stage at Dhaka Art Summit ’18. Courtesy Archaeology of the Final Decade and DAS ’18.

The platform’s function is premised on the understanding that totalitarian systems of control amputate, and in other words, de-territorialise specifically targeted areas of art and culture (especially by focussing on a readily or easily stigmatised target). Furthermore, that in order to impose monologues across cultural reality, totalising systems always ensure to re – territorialisethose areas of erasure by new and highly organised narratives that are specifically designed to serve the new order of imposition. This is especially demonstrated in the project Recreating the Citadel.

To heed the call of the German philosopher Walter Benjamin, who argues for ‘brushing history against the grain’, AOTFD is committed to a constructive re-reading of (art) history from the point of view of the defeated, and the victims. Therefore, AOTFD is committed to combating a tainted view of history transmitted from victor to victor, but instead memorialises those who are the subject of violent erasure. This is predicated on the belief that culture is not a communal space of harmonious existence, but it is rather a conflict filled field of negotiations and interpretations. Art itself, therefore, must be situated in this cultural crossfire, in order to realise its full historical meaning.

AOTFD stands, therefore, clearly as an archaeology of silences, of absences, of voids, of repressions and of particular blind spots of history. Its mission is to deliberately break the silence, to leak the repressed material back into consciousness and reinsert the contested artefact and silenced cultural object back into the public sphere. It embarks on missions of destablising, demystifying, contaminating, subverting and militating against fixed historical narratives and amnesias.

Tate Modern's Kaveh Golestan room dedicated to AOTFD’s work on recreating the Citadel and Kaveh Golestan’s Prostitute series; I am presenting with Gregor Muir of Tate Modern, July 2018.
Tate Modern’s Kaveh Golestan room dedicated to AOTFD’s work on recreating the Citadel and Kaveh Golestan’s Prostitute series; I am presenting with Gregor Muir of Tate Modern, July 2018.

Over the course of time, it has become clear that those contested objects invariably constitute sites of collective trauma – sites that have endured systemic and prolonged violence and that embody historical trauma. Below their surfaces there lies a rich reservoir of knowledge, ripe for release.

Farmanfarmaian’s practice today would not constitute a contested site of culture, and thus does not align with the specific objectives set out by AOTFD.

After twenty-six years of exile following the Iranian revolution, the artist returned in Tehran in 2004 with her work receiving broad recognition and eventually institutional support.

To better understand Farmanfarmaian’s work, it’s worth considering her cosmopolitan, modernising impulses and undisciplined nativist return to tradition, set against the back drop of cross-cultural, and transnational histories attributed to art developments from the 1960s and 1970s. Both at home and abroad cosmopolitan interactions abounded on a scale that had never existed before.

The cultural context that allowed such cosmopolitan interactions, pollinations and imaginations to emerge facilitated a transmission of knowledge in both directions. The cosmopolitanisms and cross-cultural transnationalities of the 1960s and 1970s were more cyclical than linear. Farmanfarmaian’s work reminds us of the cosmopolitan climate that was equally responsible for facilitating, in her case, a reverse transmission of knowledge in the 1960s and 1970s from the peripheries to the centres.

More broadly and within an international context, Farmanfarmaian’s practice can be juxtaposed and contrasted against a set of prevalent discourses, especially those concerning Op and Pop Art, but also Abstraction, Minimalism and more loosely those of Arte Povera and Participatory art. Her insistence on appropriating patterns, ornaments and symbols of  Iranian meaning and significance constitutes an infiltration and contamination of the formal structures and disciplines of those distinct  approaches.

AOTFD’s exhibition Prostitute 75-77 at Photo London 2015, Somerset House, London. Courtesy Archaeology of the Final Decade, Kaveh Golestan Estate and Photo London.
AOTFD’s exhibition Prostitute 75-77 at Photo London 2015, Somerset House, London. Courtesy Archaeology of the Final Decade, Kaveh Golestan Estate and Photo London.

The freedom comes however with a clear loss and at the expense of deeper, profoundly spiritual, esoteric experiences and underpinnings and collectively created knowledge handed down from generation to generation. Farmanfarmaian’s visual lexicon of abstraction is at once depleted and freed from inner meaning. In her prolific series of geometric drawings, creating and emphasising hierarchies of shapes that bear little resemblance, and make no exact reference to, the philosophical trajectories of the point, the line, the triangle and so forth confirm the same bastardisation of original order, proportion and harmony and subversion of the rigid, inflexible, unmalleable and infinitely expansive geometries that relate to cosmic laws.

Farmanfarmaian’s major exhibition at IMMA, Sunset, Sunrise further provides an opportunity to recognise Farmanfarmaian’s distinctly individual practice, where mutable and unstable works straddle the divides between the sacred and the mundane, high and low, amusement and introspection, the domestic and the sublime, playfully cosmopolitan and subversive at home and abroad.

My response is further elaborated in excerpt from my talk ‘Sunset, Sunrise – Mapping Farmanfarmaian’s Significance available to listen back to here.

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Monir’s Garden

This work is currently on show in Sunset, Sunrise, a major exhibition of Farmanfarmaian’s work at IMMA. The exhibition closes on Sunday 25 November 2018.

 Monir’s Garden

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Lost in Translation

Persia. The old name for Iran is beautiful, exotic, other; as seen through my Western eyes. But Western eyes can miss the subtleties of another culture. Take, for instance, the above lines of poetry from Edward Fitzgerald’s “transcreation”, the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the 1859 translation from Farsi to English of a selection of quatrains attributed to the Persian poet Omar Khayyam (1048-1131). Fitzgerald confessed to taking liberties with the original quatrains, but claimed he was faithful to the spirit of the verses. (In his own lifetime, Khayyám came under severe criticism from the Persian authorities for his unorthodox philosophy). The controversies surrounding the translation, and the authorship of the quatrains, emphasises the differences between English speaking and Iranian cultures.

Sacred Geometry

The Iranian artist, Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, born in 1924, successfully blends the aesthetics of east and west. Like Omar Khayyám, Farmanfarmaian is fascinated by the infinite possibilities of geometric forms. During his lifetime, Khayyám was best known in his native Persia as a distinguished mathematician and astronomer.

Farmanfarmaian is renowned for her works of reverse glass painting and mirror mosaics, inspired by the geometry and the architecture of ancient Iran blended with western Modernism – “All my inspiration comes from Iran – it has always been my first love.”

Exile

How tragic it must have been for the artist, then, when she and her husband, Abolbashar Farmanfarmaian, went into exile in New York in 1979, the year of the Islamic Revolution.

An image of Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, Shazdeh's Garden, 2010, mirror and reverse glass painting on plaster and wood 180 x 110 x 4 cm
Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, Shazdeh’s Garden, 2010, mirror and reverse glass painting on plaster and wood 180 x 110 x 4 cm

Shazdeh’s Garden

Farmanfarmaian returned to live in Tehran, in 2004. Shazdeh’s Garden, 2010, which is made with little shards of mirror, and glass painted on the reverse, is figurative, and close to the folk-art of Iran, the coffee-house paintings that Farmanfarmaian admired and collected for many years.

The garden is of utmost importance in Iranian culture. Throughout her life, whether in Tehran or New York, Farmanfarmaian has tended her gardens, drawn flowers and birds, and famously enlisted the help of bees to make some of her drawings.

Persian Paradise

Shazdeh’s Garden evokes aspects of Iranian life and history, from architecture to Zoroastrianism. Even the word paradise comes from the old Farsi word Paridaida, meaning “walled enclosure”. The walls of a Persian garden provide shelter from the sun, and privacy.

Reflecting the Divine

The inspiration for Shazdeh’s Garden may have been Shazadeh’s Garden, in Shiraz, in southern Iran, which is an oasis surrounded by desert. In Iranian culture, the soul is a mirror that reflects the divine, and water shares this quality of reflection. In Shazadeh’s Garden, water runs over steps to form a waterfall, creating a stunning, central set piece as you walk through the arched entrance.

Pomegranate

The pomegranate tree is grown all over Iran for its decorativeness as much as for its fruit. Farmanfarmaian places one here, in the top left corner, in bloom and in fruit simultaneously. The pomegranate features in myths across the world, symbolising fertility and abundance, amongst other things. Poor Persephone, the Greek Goddess, was pulled back to the underworld for six months of every year; one month for every illicit pomegranate seed she had eaten there.

Pomegranate. Photo: Patricia Brennan, 2018.
Pomegranate. Photo: Patricia Brennan, 2018.

Myth and memory

 The late, great A.A. Gill, described his first pomegranate as “a treasure box of beautifully packed precious beads…” He later understood that its sweet and sour taste was an allegory for his homesickness, and for his first kiss, aged twelve, at boarding school.

I ate some pomegranate seeds today; ripe, rich red garnets, and thought of Persphone’s loneliness, stuck in her own, dark, “Groundhog Day”. And of Farmanfarmaian, in exile in New York from 1979 until 2004. I thought of Monir’s generous, resilient and dignified attitude to life, love, art, exile, friendship, heartache and home.

Visit the exhibition Sunset, Sunrise by Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, before Sunday 25 November 2018.

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Daphne Wright, Freud and the poems of Emily Dickinson

IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics Of Scrutiny, IMMA 2018, Photo: Ros Kavanagh

I am walking across my friend Susan’s porch.  It is a balmy summer night in Pennsylvania.  Susan’s house is nested in a densely wooded area and the nightsounds of the living forest are as thick as the air.  I am thinking about Lucian Freud and Emily Dickinson; about DaphneWrightTimothy MortonDerridaHeideggerOttoline Leyser and Johnny Cash; about how these various artists and thinkers are linked; trying to gather them into an explainable bundle, grasping across hundreds of years, thousands of miles, and a dozen different disciplines.  Then it happens.  I stride face first through the invisible gossamer strands of a spider’s web.  I have it.  “The Ethics of Scrutiny” is a web in four dimensions.  A hyper-web.

Just as Morton explains the concept of a hyperobject, or Carl Sagan explains the idea of a tesseract, Daphne Wright’s curation of IMMA’s Freud Project, “The Ethics of Scrutiny”, has transcended our ability to perceive its limits.  We move within the show in both time and place, and it all begins with Dickinson’s “envelope poems”.

These arcane scraps of paper ensconced between poetry, sculpture, and diary, which challenge our understanding of Dickinson and the myth culture has built of her biography, are the totems of Daphne Wright’s curatorial sensibilities employed to arrange “Ethics”.  The objects themselves embody what Martin Heidegger terms the “alwaysalready”, and Wright has deftly positioned them in the opening room of the gallery, juxtaposing them with images of plantcells and neural networks drafted by Sigmund Freud, Lucian’s grandfather.

47. The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright_IMMA Collection Freud Project_2018_Photography Ros Kavanagh
Freud Project. The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright. IMMA Collection 2018. Photo: Ros Kavanagh

This is the node, the centre of the invisible web which connects all the pieces in this show.  Wright is hinting at us; suggesting a language that reaches across time and discipline to equip us with new tools we as viewers can employ to scrutinise the canvasses of Lucian Freud.  And though the strands connecting Ottoline Leyser’s interview about plant epigenetics to John Berger’s “Ways of Seeing” to Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” do not announce themselves, they ensnare us in a web of meanings, and as you walk through the gallery you can feel these links like unanticipated spider silk across the face.  They are the spokes of a web leading from Dickinson’s “Gorgeous Nothings” along new avenues of meaning to the manifold ways we can see into the canvasses of Lucian Freud.

As Dickinson herself writes in poem 1383, whose UMass Amherst archival envelope facsimile is on display in the vitrine in room one of “Ethics”:  “Long years apart – make no/ Breach a second cannot fill -/ The absence of the Witch does not/ Invalidate the spell-//”.  And indeed, Daphne Wright has curatorially performed a strange magic, illuminating new meanings of Freud through skilful and deliberate juxtapositions against a cadre of contemporary artists and an array of thinkers throughout time and place.   The show lives in time like a forest, continually in a state of contextual flux.  Leaving “The Ethics of Scrutiny” you almost have to wipe the threads of these subtle connections off your face like spider silk in order to re-enter normal time.

As we reach the final days of this remarkable exhibition I have had the pleasure to spend many hours in. I would strongly recommend you come spend some time herein this place before it changes over again.  I leave with you with following quote to take into the galleries before the show closes on Sunday 2 September 2018: Place doesn’t stay still, but bends and twists: place is a twist you can’t iron out of the fabric of things.” ¾ Timothy Morton, Dark Ecology.

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Slow Looking & Porous Links in The Ethics of Scrutiny

IMMA invited artist Daphne Wright to curate a new exhibition from the IMMA Collection: Freud Project. The resulting exhibition – The Ethics of Scrutiny – takes aspects of Freud’s intimate studio practice as a starting point to explore themes of vulnerability, longing and loss that permeate the painter’s work, while also looking to the works of other artists who address on a wider scale the complexities of representation. Works by Lucian Freud are exhibited alongside work by other artists including Emily Dickinson, Sigmund Freud, Marlene Dumas and John Berger.

Sue: Ethics is something we think about in relation to the sciences, but not so readily in relation to the arts; why do you think that is? Why did you decide to include it in the title of the show?

Daphne: I think art has resisted ethics, and questions of ethics. Probably for reasons of censorship: we pride the arts as being more liberal. What I was thinking about with the show was the ethics of looking, the ethics of the gaze and visual inquiry, and I think at the moment these are questions that are really culturally prevalent: who’s allowed look at who?

With my own work, I think about the difference between scrutiny and examination: as art students, we’re provoked to look and to question, but then where’s the boundary? When have you gone across it?

I’ve questioned boundaries before. I made a piece called Primate (2009), a life-cast from a macaque primate that had been used in research, and there were so many restrictions involved in order to access and cast the body for a day – so many different levels of ethics involved in reproducing this primate. I thought, where are the boundaries about looking at this animal that’s already been examined scientifically? I ask those questions all the time in my work, and that’s something I recognise in Freud; he was always questioning and testing the boundaries.

Sue: It’s interesting to think of Freud as testing boundaries, rather than knowing what the boundaries were and zealously crossing them.

Daphne: I think Sigmund Freud dissecting the eels was a kind of testing, and then he was testing all the time through psychoanalysis. This is exactly the same as what Lucian Freud did: testing, sounding out… I think he wasn’t as bravado as people think.

IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installation view, IMMA 2018, work pictured by Sigmund Freud and Emily Dickinson, Photo: Ros Kavanagh
IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installtion view, IMMA 2018, work pictured by Sigmund Freud and Emily Dickinson, Photo: Ros Kavanagh

Sue: Freud’s biography has always played a prominent role, and can lead to quite circular conversations. His biography doesn’t dominate in The Ethics of Scrutiny, but it isn’t quarantined either, it’s one of several strands that are open and porous. Could you elaborate a bit on how you conducted your research, what links these strands and keeps them open?

Daphne: I seem to be on a quest all the time, and once I began to look at Freud I took the same approach to him as I would to any kind of quest; I just read everything I could find, to try and locate him.

Some of the connections are intuition, others are buried pieces of information that came alive. I think my approach is a mad dash of curiosity and inquiry, and then the rest is intuitive and emotional; sometimes they’re like backlashes against what I’ve read, dashes of curiosity in other directions.

I think links are strange: what forms them is a multitude of things.

IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installation View, work pictured by Wiebke Siem, Photo: Ros Kavanagh
IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installation View, IMMA 2018, work pictured by Wiebke Siem, Photo: Ros Kavanagh

Sue: I thought the Wiebke Siem piece in this exhibition was such an expansive juxtaposition: the element of gender fluidity and performativity it introduces by referencing body masks, rituals where men use carved wooden pieces to dress up as female. It really complements Freud’s painterly analysis of ‘gendered flesh’.

Daphne: Yes, the reason I put Siem in this room with the Freud portrait (Woman in a Butterfly Jersey) is because, to me, the sitter could be male or female, and Siem looks at rituals of gender masquerading – of men wearing female masks and female body armour. She takes on the body, the outer body.

There’s a piece by Pauline Cummins, Inis t’Oírr: Aran Dance, that will be in the next show (IMMA Collection: Freud Project, Gaze), a piece where she looks at the body of a man wrapped in an Aran sweater from a female point of view. We discussed this work a lot, it had a big impact on me as a student, though in the end I decided not to use it because of logistics.

Sue: Did anything else come to the fore at the physical stage of installing?

Daphne: I struggled with the Alice Neel and the Marlene Dumas room, because the issues were really hard to deal with – the juxtapositions and how to handle them carefully.

Sue: Alice Neel’s work raises so many questions: what does it mean to look, what does it mean to be looked at.

Daphne: Yes. That room is so much about how to see and who’s allowed to see – these questions make the whole show quite hard to contain. Some of the issues are like starting points, and you could take any one of those lines and expand them into a full show.

IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installation view, IMMA 2018, pictured is the work of Alice Neel, Photo: Marc O'Sullivan
IMMA Collection: Freud Project, The Ethics of Scrutiny, Curated by Daphne Wright, Installation view, IMMA 2018, pictured is the work of Alice Neel, Photo: Marc O’Sullivan

Sue: So the individual pieces signify all the different avenues that you could go down with Freud and the idea of an ethics of scrutiny? Rather than create a single, quantifiable conversation that’s happening in the space?

Daphne: Yes. They’re like suggested starting points. I think with shows we sometimes go into galleries as consumers; we expect to leave having consumed. I think it’s very hard now make a show that doesn’t satisfy; that suggests you have to move very slowly. I think that’s such an important thing for us as viewers. And with Freud, the issues are so contentious and so problematic, they have to be consumed and considered slowly.

Sue: I suppose we now have a culture where reactivity is really prized, and linked to a very vibrant form of vocality or self-expression.

Daphne: I think there’s definitely been a change that has made way for an aggressive, consuming way of being.

Sue: I know the Habsburg Empire at Vienna was an important research point for you: a forward thinking culture that was thwarted. Do you think, if it had been allowed to thrive and not obliterated by the Nazi regime, that how we deal with one another and look at one another would be substantively different today?

Daphne: Whether that would have become a dominant culture or not I don’t know, but I think the pivotal thing about it was its approach to education and how nurturing it was… If it had become dominant I think we’d be in a totally different place. Maybe not, but I do think that a diverse culture and diverse links all feed into how we look to the future and to each other.

Sue: How do you see the show operating as one of multiple iterations of the Freud Project over the five year period at IMMA?

Daphne: I think the first exhibition was a strong showing of the collection that’s in Ireland. I think mine was a dismantling of it, and I would hope it’s opened and suggested different avenues. It’s not just about Freud and his painting, it’s about everything else that surrounds it, and him in context.

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IMMA celebrates the ten-year anniversary of The Burial of Patrick Ireland

Ten years ago, Brian O’Doherty ‘buried hate’ on the grounds of IMMA when he laid his alter ego, Patrick Ireland, to rest in a semi-private wake and memorial service at the museum. Emer Lynch, Curatorial Assistant, Collections, IMMA reflects on the decade that has passed since The Burial of Patrick Ireland and the artist’s recent visit to IMMA where he was awarded the Freedom of Roscommon and officially opened the retrospective exhibition IMMA Collection: Brian O’Doherty Language and Space, now open at IMMA until 16 September 2018.
Continue reading IMMA celebrates the ten-year anniversary of The Burial of Patrick Ireland

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Giovani Anselmo: An Artist for all Seasons

I had a dream the other night about being third up to pitch for a major art commission and the group before us used artists to act out their proposal. My team in contrast consisted of curators and a lighting designer – we looked at each other terrified and wished to pull out immediately. A common curator’s nightmare perhaps, wary one should be of ignoring artists in favour of a curatorial concept. Ignoring artists could never be an accusation aimed at the various ROSC committees. However the same committees could be accused of ignoring the growing trend of thematic exhibitions.

Opening of Rosc '84. Image Courtesy of Irish Photographic Archive.
Opening of Rosc ’84. Image Courtesy of Irish Photographic Archive.

The evidence for this failing can be exposed by contrasting some of the contemporaneous exhibitions spanning ROSC’s two decades between 1967 and 1988. In Bruce Altshuler’s book Biennials and Beyond: Exhibitions that made Art History: 1962-2002, ROSC is absent. Two notable international exhibitions that bookend ROSC are listed however, namely “When Attitudes Become Form”, Bern, 1969 and “Magiciens de la Terre”, Paris, 1989. While ROSC ’77 included eleven artists previously shown in documenta 5 (which took place in 1972 and is also listed as an exhibition that made art history) there was no overarching theme or concept introduced by ROSC other than the notion that these artists were of interest and a la mode. Biennials and Beyond highlights the trend of the thematic exhibition during the lifetime of ROSC,

“The most important curatorial development of the post-war period was the thematic exhibition, and documenta 5 established that paradigm. In response to a contemporary art explosion of perplexing form and variety, exhibition- makers sought not only to introduce the new but to provide interpretive concepts for its understanding.”
Bruce Altshuler, Biennials and Beyond-Exhibitions that made Art History 1962-2002 (London: Phaidon, 2013) p. 157. 

While Rosc’s disconnect with current trends is alluded to in a review by Bernard Denvir for Art International,

“The cultural neophyte who visits Rosc is not likely to come away with a realisation that participation rather than observation, processes rather than products, concepts rather than conclusions are the preferential concerns of a good deal of modern art.”
Bernard Denvir, Art International, 1972 which was displayed on the IMMA ROSC timeline. 

Denvir is making an obvious comparison between ROSC and the two Harold Szeemann seminal exhibitions “When Attitudes Become Form” and documenta 5.

Fetishising of Seminal Exhibitions

The fetishizing of seminal exhibitions (of which IMMA’s ROSC 50 is guilty to a degree) is best exemplified by several diverse attempts to restage Szeemann’s “Live in your head. When Attitudes Become Form: Works-Concepts- Processes-Situations-Information” originally conceived for the Kunsthalle Bern. This fetishisation reached its peak in 2013 when the Prada Foundation in Venice restaged the exhibition down to the pattern of the floor to the placement of the radiators. Where possible, all the original works displayed in 1969 were gathered and hung in the exact spatial configuration as before. If a work was unavailable their absence was represented by displaying silhouettes on the walls and floors alongside a photograph of the correspondent works. The restaging was curated by Germano Celant (incidentally one of the international advisors of ROSC ‘80) in dialogue with artist Thomas Demand and architect Rem Koolhaas. A star-packed line up for the most referenced exhibition in contemporary art discourse.

Another star curator Jens Hoffman had previously attempted his own restaging of the same exhibition but this time he invoked the spirit and ethos of the exhibition concept itself. His exhibition in 2012 for the CCA San Francisco, “When Attitudes Became Form Become Attitudes” (I know somewhat confusing!) is treated like a sequel to the original exhibition. Contemporary artists who would have been of a similar age as the original 1969 artists were invited to exhibit in the spirit of the original show. Hoffmann refers to the enthusiasm young artists still show for the ideals expressed in the original exhibition and nostalgia for a time before the art market was so central, a time to quote Hoffmann,“Where artists were still investigating really radical questions, and the concepts were pushed to their limits and its boundaries.” Daniel Buren had recognized this trend in his 1972 essay “Exhibition of an exhibition” wherein he notes, “More and more, the subject of an exhibition tends not to be the display of artworks, but the exhibition of the exhibition as a work of art”. Little did he know how far that idea would go!

ROSC 2020 Vision

To imagine where ROSC would be today if it had continued you could compare similar periodic exhibitions that have survived from the 70s. Many of these exhibitions are constantly debating their format and frequency. For example, I attended the press launch of Skulptur Projekte Münster (SPM) 2017 held in the Old Theatre Münster. Chaired by the indomitable artistic director Kasper König, this is the fifth edition of this decennial exhibition. Founded in 1977 it has fought off a push to change the frequency of the exhibition to a quinquennial to match nearby documenta. Though there seems some sense in the proposal, as you could poach the art crowd from the more popular documenta, it goes against the very founding ethos of SPM. At the press conference König made several references to the virtues of leaving ten years between exhibitions. He said it takes 5 or 6 years to properly judge a show and he is proud they didn’t become something stupid like the Rocky series.

IMMA’s ROSC 50- 1967-2017 judges ROSC with a distance of 50 years and 29 years in the case of the final ROSC in 1988. With the advantage of time we can appraise the selection of artists according to how their careers developed. Would the visitor to ROSC ‘88 have guessed that a Basquiat painting would become one of the most expensive artworks ever sold or that Anthony Gormley would become so ubiquitous? Here I was about to list the artists whose careers took a nose dive such as Gunter Brus, Luciano Fabro and Gilberto Zorio all from ROSC ’88. However here is a lesson to any would be art historian, Brus and Fabro were included in documenta 5, and Zorio featured in “When Attitudes Become Form” the very exhibitions I am holding up as exemplary and a foil to the more conservative ROSC. But the more significant lesson is to note that the ROSC ‘88 catalogue does not deem it important to list either documenta 5 or “When Attitudes Become Form” as part of the artists selected exhibitions.

It is revealing to recall this very discursive press conference while thinking about ROSC and its legacy. Many of the on-going debates about the structure, frequency, financing, gender balance, local participation, and general raison d’être as well as the precarious nature of the political situation are of course not dissimilar to the debates one can read in the minutes of the ROSC committee meetings and especially at the ROSC Reconsidered symposium held at NCAD in 1984.

Art should never be a settled thing- that is the key and the contradiction for IMMA’s celebration of ROSC. Arguably ROSC should never have imagined an end game that was the setting up of IMMA. To stop in 1988 was to stop just as everything was starting – with the Havana Biennial founded in 1984 and the Istanbul Biennial in 1987 you have the beginning of the biennalisation of the artworld and of course the increase in art fairs.

Adrian Searle commented on the second Frieze Art Fair in 2005;
“Fairs are fashionable events, in much the same way as international biennales appear to be taking over calendars worldwide. This has been termed the “biennalisation” of the art world.”

The Frieze Art Fair continues to be housed in a giant white tent. The background of white cloth reminds us of early ROSCs in the RDS and the clever draping of the walls in white muslin. Richard Wallace writing about the first documenta has a great sense of the impact of the innovative installation of Arnold Bode (who used white plastic curtains to filter the natural light coming into the exhibition space) for the still ruined Fridericianum in 1955.

“This engineering of visual spectatorship certainly contributed to the unique success of the exhibition…spectatorship as a public act of judgement sharing, a public form of consensus via a public display of individual judgement”
– Ian Wallace, The First documenta, 1955 (a lecture presented on the occasion of a symposium on early post-war art titled “The triumph of pessimism,” University of British Columbia, Department of Fine Arts, 1987) in The Book of Books documenta 13, (Germany: Hatje Cantz, 2013) p.68.

This engineering of visual spectatorship is exactly what ROSC achieved, as well as providing visual memories of an ephemeral communal experience of art. In 2020 on what would have been the occasion of the 14th ROSC exhibition (and with a budget of €45 million to rival documenta) Galway will be European Capital of Culture. Perhaps a good opportunity for some judgement sharing.

Postscript

Giovanni Anselmo by the way – is the one artist who was in all the exhibitions I have mentioned above. “When Attitudes Become Form”, documenta 5, ROSC ’88, “Magiciens de la Terre” and of course Skulptur Projekte Münster. Intriguing. To be continued……


About the Author

Jonathan Carroll is the curator and founder of Art-Lot Dublin a public art project. He has curated the visual arts strand for St. Patrick’s Festival and is on the panel of curators for the Goethe-Institut. He was the assistant curator of the Project Arts Centre (2006-2009) and is a regular columnist for the Visual Artists’ News Sheet. Jonathan is a graduate of Art History UCD, Cultural Management, Instituto Universitario Ortega y Gasset, Madrid and Curating Contemporary art at the RCA, London.


This post alongside a new text by Sarah Glennie is included in EDITION #001 of the IMMA EDIT. Subscribe to the IMMA Mailing List and select ‘IMMA EDIT’ to receive the future quarterly editions of the EDIT.