Goldsmiths’ alumni playlist

The esteemed London art college, Goldsmiths have a well deserved reputation for moving image art so here is a selection of some of the best produced by their alumni from the last 4 years. They have generously made them available free to the public. More will be added as I track them down. Click on the titles to access the videos which are all around five minutes.

Jo Wort’s Bunkertown is a chilling and bleakly funny pastiche of an estate agent’s promotional video for properties we all might wish to own at the moment but only the world’s billionaires can afford. The terrible thing is that this fortress style development will only get a boost from covid-19.

Francis Almendarez is originally from LA, (Calif). His Dinner as I Remember is a colour-drenched and moving tribute to traditional Hispanic home cooking and a riposte to Instagram food porn.

Redsky66 is one of several utterly compelling and often dryly amusing, films by Ruth Waters. This one is a case study of the terror of digital immortality and introduces us to apeirophoba, the fear of eternity. Her website gives access to full versions of many of her films for a very reasonable rental charge. She has a unique take on the absurdity of our times, an artist well worth supporting.

Michael Dignam’s short video, Precarity , creates maximum impact with minimal material. This hypnotic black and white film draws you in with digitally manipulated shadows from the rotor blade of a hidden wind generator sweeping over a rutted countryside track.

Katie Hare’s incisive intelligence shines through her films. In five minutes she establishes a subtle parallel between the visual and the political in her film, Wrong then, wrong today , simply by using a Tex Avery cartoon clip from the 1950’s.

Daniel Dressel was born in Germany but is currently based in a parked van that doubles as his studio on Cody Dock, East London where he has been their official artist in residence since 2014. His website includes a gripping and beautifully edited mini nature documentary featuring an indomitable robin and subverting the genre by shooting entirely in the claustrophobic atmosphere and ambiant sound of the Tropical House at Kew Gardens.

Aimee Neat’s insightful performance skills are used to hilarious effect to satirise the desperate, infantilising narcissism of social media self projection in her unsettling video A Sculpture of Your Grief , Take II which features a troubling rictus grin of despair.

Sun Park’s video Now and There , Here and Then is particularly poignant in the current lockdown with our increasing reliance on facetime to contact loved ones. Shot three ago, a mother-daughter video call between the UK and South Korea casts original insights on globalisation, technology, family and the nature of art.

Aimee and Sun also work together with Susanne Dietz as Ballpark Collective which has had a couple of excellent shows. Susanne’s trailer for her atmospheric work Whats yours is mine features spooky candles and gives a flavour of her many carefully crafted and thought-provoking films available on vimeo including The Bunker on Grief Street. filmed in an “above-ground” bunker constructed in Duisberg during WW2

Ferocity tempered by ice cold analysis was the title of my blogpost covering the Goldsmiths MFA 2018 show and it came to me after viewing Robbie Howells’ work which seemed to sum up the ethos that the college instils in its students. ACG: An Overview, his hilarious parody of a corporate animation promo for a collaborative venture between artists and business is part of a wider ongoing project that critiques the phantom of the rigged world we are all in thrall to.

Puck Verkade’s trilogy Breeder is a humorous critique of patriarchal attitudes to fertility with striking archive images and recordings of medical consultations among a huge range of sources she has marshalled.

The ties that bind…a lesson from Ballpark Collective

Interdependence is the theme for this year’s Art Licks Weekend programme and we could certainly do with more of that in our divided world. Before she was assassinated by a man raving “Britain First!”, the M.P Jo Cox voiced the opposing slogan: “What we have in common is greater than that which divides us.” So it is heartening to see the five artists in Ballpark Collective living this unifying ideal by carefully attending and responding to each others work to create a unique and absorbing film.

In devising Short Straw the collective have “drawn on the Surrealist game Exquisite Cadavers as a model for collaboration and interpretation”. It reminds me of the children’s game where a whispered phrase is passed along a chain. It teaches us, at an early age, some of the key principles of communication. When the person at the end of line speaks out loud what they think they heard everyone can compare it to the phrase started at the other end. We learn about the fallibility of perception and that the cause of this failure is more to do with our personal biases than faulty hearing. It is fascinating to see this process at work in a visual dimension.

Aimee Neat pulled the short straw and kicked off the series of five sections with a performance piece recasting gender relationships as a competitive sport. We spectate a furious domestic as a couple hurl wads of wet J-clothes at each other. The woman is angry, her male opponent mildly amused. (How relevant to the exchanges in the current gender role debate!) They are confined like aggressive squash players in blue walled space. We winch at the amplified squeaks and slaps of the action. A tranquil soundtrack provides an ironic contrast. What is uncanny is that reverberations of this piece lasts through to Sarah Lewis’s fifth film which gives another take on the same theme. This is despite the fact that each artist is responding to the previous work filtered through their own conceptual and perceptual screens with no discussion between them outside the ritual of passing their work on.

Sarah Lewis offers some wry juxtapositions: archive clips of womans’ relay races and footage of a woman fondling her pet snake. This subtle undermining of the phallic symbolism of snakes and batons returns them to the hands of women. The hilarious clip of a child relay runner taking the baton and setting off in the opposite direction of her opponents to the consternation of the adult coach says something about the absurdity of a competitive worldview.

The three segments linking these two neatly reference the futility of conflict and competition. In her thoughtful and beautifully paced section, Sun Park introduces us to the Korean adage that pointless conflict is like trying to “cut water with a knife.” Susanne Dietz, in a section paralleling human culture with the physical earth, references the Goya painting, Fight with Cudgels which portrays two men bludgeoning each other oblivious to the quicksand into which they are sinking. Max Leach in his continued exploration of machismo digitally manipulates an image of the Frederic Leighton sculpture, An Athlete Wrestling with a Python, highlighting its frenzied melodrama.

When an artist submerges their ego in a collaborative work the result can often lack focus. Yet the format of this film allows individual visions to shine through while creating a unity of shared meanings. Faced with the divisiveness encouraged by Brexit and Trump, surely a lesson in there for us all.

Moved and startled by Goldsmiths’ postgraduate artists

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Still from VR video Don’t they ever stop migrating (2018) ©Anna Mikkola

This is the third of my annual encounters with the artists at the Goldsmiths’ Degree Show and the impact they have on me is still startling. This year there was less of the controlled anger on display but many of the works seemed to get to me at an emotional level rather than an intellectual one. I started with the artists graduating from the new MFA in Artist’s Film and Moving Image.

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Still from video Now and There, Here and Then (2018) ©Sun Park

For me, Now and There, Here and Then (2018)  was one of the most moving works on show. It is a sensitive, intelligent, concise and sharply observed work seemingly inspired by the Korean artist Sun Park’s sense of alienation at being so far from her home and family. It is presented as an enlarged phone screen projected into the centre of a phoneshaped screen set on the floor at an angle. We are immediately confronted with the ubiquity of video recording  and how it mediates and distances our experience of the world. We hear a conversation  between a mother who lives in Korea and her daughter who is a student artist in the UK relaying their experience of their environment to each other by video footage (a neat reversal of the face-focussed video call!) Their own video clips, mostly of the sky, create a sense of intimacy and the topics they discuss include  the daughter’s insecurities as an artist, the mother’s disillusionment with her life choices,  the nature of art and the limitations of the video image. Among the highlights was the comment when a vapour trail  is recorded and the mother says: “Look, the aeroplane has made you an artwork.” At one point we hear the comment about a shot of the dawn: “You can only see the half of it through the camera” –  a vital warning to all moving image artists. This was a highly original work that had much to say on the emotional side-effects of globalisation and technology.

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Still from Bunker on Kummerstraße (Grief Street) 2018, two-channel video installation           © Susanne Dietz

Susanne Dietz, originally from Germany, also uses mother-daughter relationships as a springboard in her films. One film comprises handheld footage as she follows her mother around a graveyard incidentally passing by the distinctive and beautiful grave stones. (Maybe stonemasons in Germany are given a freer hand in designing exotic monuments for the dead.)  Her mother is looking for her chosen plot and final resting place but she is stymied by her failing memory. Dietz’s complementary film Bunker on Kummerstrasse (Grief Street), 2018 is a carefully controlled and gripping meditation on a disused building, home to memories we might wish to let go.  The stately progress of the camera as it ascends and descends through the seven stories of an aboveground bunker still standing from the Nazi era gives a sense that a home can be conjured even out of concrete bleakness. The drum solo that accompanies much of the film adds an urgency to the atmosphere but also homeliness when we eventually reach the floor where we fleetingly view the drummer himself. Fluffy bedpillows also get star billing. As Dietz explains: “We just want something soft to fit between our heads and the earth”. On reflection, this is as significant as Anselm Keifer’s work on Germany’s past.

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Still from video Ducks Don’t drown (2018) ©Max Leach

Max Leach’s single channel film Ducks Don’t Drown (2018) has an unsettling aura magnified by being projected on a large linen sheet that gives a subtle and almost imperceptible wobble to the image as it is ruffled by drafts. The hyper-real CGI  of a homely interior contrasts with the disturbing, murky sound track derived from a series of interviews with male Dark Web users relishing their freedom to choose from a long shopping list of recreational drugs. It gives a rather bleak window onto the otherwise opaque landscape of the Dark Web. Leach’s short soundpiece that captures the violent energy of laddish banter provides an enjoyable counterpoint to his film. He has much to say on masculinity so I look forward to more in the same vein.

Ukrit Sa-nguanhai’s Enduring Body (2018) is a captivating and visually sumptuous exploration of the metaphorical power of cancer. It is inspired by a childhood memory of her rural Thai hometown when a number of her teachers died mysteriously one after another from the disease.  The film begins with a teacher’s funeral and ends with a death mask digitally reconstructed by 3D printer. In between she has created touching vignettes to illustrate the dark, anxious humour of our fears.  A writhing massed tangle of crocodiles emerges from the gloom like invading tumor cells. By superimposition of microscopic cell images the walls of a patient’s bedroom seem to undulate.  A cancer patient coyly begins a romance that leads to game of strip poker. I was gripped by the 25 minute film and would have happily stayed to view it again. It was a pleasure to be immersed in the quirky and beautiful world that Sa-nganhai has so carefully crafted. But I was determined to see as much MI art as possible so I moved on to the Fine Art MFA Show.

Many of the Fine Art graduates incorporated MI into their work including VR. I nearly toppled over inside the VR world constructed by Anna Mikkola.  You float above a vertiginous mountain landscape in the midst of a flock of black birds wheeling around you. Hitchcock would have loved VR. As part of her eclectic installation, Life is Necessarily Complex (2018) Mikkola is highlighting the increasingly synthetic and simplified versions of the natural world we are becoming inured to as technology begins to mould life processes and living organisms.

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Installation view of Bedroom, London 2025 (2018) © Alexa Phillips

VR is also the bogyman in the startling live scenario designed by Alexa Phillips. In Bedroom, London 2025 she illustrates the dystopian end point of isolation, withdrawal and listlessness that our self focussed screen based life might lead to with a seven level bunk bed where the occupants are held in stasis by their 1984-style utilitarian tin VR headsets.

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Still from video installation Bunkertown (2018) © Johanne Wort

I was determined to see Johanne Wort’s intriguingly titled Bunkertown (2018) so it was my last stop as the frenetic Preview came to a close. Appropriately sited in the gabled loft space of the converted church which is the latest addition to the Goldsmiths’ art buildings,  the two channel video installation did not disappoint. Here at last was the cutting satirical work I had been waiting for. We sit in an estate agent’s office with water cooler at hand to view a glossy CGI promo for their latest offer to the paranoid home seeker. Building on the current fashion for gated housing developments, she has skillfully envisioned a hermetically sealed  life/work/play “seven star luxury” bunker that owes something to the Eden Project. This type of fantasy world prevalent during the Cold War now seems uncomfortably close to reality as climate change threatens to wreck our environment and the rich head for the hills.

Aimee Neat
Video still from installation A Sculpture of your Grief (2018) © Aimee Neat

With sixty artists to survey in one evening I am sure I missed some excellent work. I also enjoyed Aimee Neat’s observation of media performers being reduced to “happy” or “sad” emoticons in her installation A Sculpture of your Grief (2018) where she takes a satirical sideswipe at the rictus grin that hides the pain of living life on the revolving circus of the internet. Sheila Buckley’s Peepers (2018) was a disturbing and thrilling mash-up of explicit Celtic stone carvings with a vortical CGI and laser installation – a visceral and thought-provoking blast.

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Installation view of Peepers (2018) Sheila Buckley  Photo image ©Dave Andrews

For controlled anger I need only turn to the Goldsmiths academic and activist, Ayal Weisman. His Turner Prize nominated Forensic Architecture research group will be the focus of a future blogpost.