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 Berlin 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.

Patrick Goddard at Tintype: dubious prank or vital critique?

Patrick Goddard in preparation for his film Black Valuation (2020). Courtesy of Tintype Gallery

Teresa Grimes, the director of Tintype, has a winning formula for commissioning short films so I always look forward to her annual selection screened in the gallery window in Essex Road which is now in its sixth year. By setting the theme as Essex Road itself, it is always part of the fun to see the range of interpretations of the brief and the five minute maximum length mitigates the risk of bagginess.

Patrick Goddard’s Black Valuation is prank art in the tradition of covert recordings of practical jokes which launched the TV careers of Jeremy Beadle and Dom Joly on the backs of unsuspecting members of the public. They all owe a debt to the original Candid Camera, an American series that first aired in 1948, which came to ITV in the 1960s. I recall its slightly dubious low rent and embarrassing vibe which seemed to exemplify the channel’s appeal. It ran out of steam when reality TV such as Big Brother gave viewers a more intense voyeuristic hit without the uncomfortable issues of informed consent. An estate agent is the unwitting participant in Goddard’s hilarious take on the evils of property speculation but the reveal of “You’re on Candid Camera” is missing. Perhaps we are all thinking that as accessories to the housing crisis, estate agents are fair game.

In ghoulish facepaint ready for a Halloween party, Goddard roleplays the rapacious owner of the Tintype gallery building discussing his plans with the estate agent. He intends to evict the gallery director (“these artists are just social parasites”) so he can make a killing from a development project. Filmed using the gallery’s CCTV cameras, the estate agent is perceived as complicit in this scandalous behaviour.

Goddard’s brilliantly executed modus operandi is a fruitful tool for critiquing the absurdities of the times we live in. It reminded me of the Finnish artist Pilvi Takala who has used hidden cameras to capture the responses to her transgressive behaviour in a range of environments that have included Disneyland and a Shoreditch office space. As with any covert social experiment, a debrief is desirable but with surveillance cameras so ubiquitous we seem to have lost sight of this necessity. Perhaps a film of the estate agent’s debrief would reveal his feelings about the power imbalance implicit in the deception.

The moving image artist working in this mode is caught between a desire to manipulate social encounters as a conduit for their art and the ethical reservations about deceiving their participants. Ruth Waters has, in my view, cracked this dilemma most successfully in her gripping work, REDSKY66 (2017), as described in a previous post. She is having a skype conversation with a man who feels tortured by a twitter tirade against him and its indelible online record stretching into infinity. The man’s performance is so convincing I felt I was watching a real twitterstorm victim. In fact he is an actor, thus allowing the artist to craft dialogue with the illusion of spontaneity.

Goddard’s signature off-kilter and detached sardonic humour is also integral to his audio installation, Trip to Eclipse currently at Matt’s Gallery where he tells us a shaggy dog story. It is not strictly moving image art as the only thing that moves is the viewer. You lounge prostrate in a cramped bouncy castle but soon find that a hyperactive air pump ensures that you get well jostled. His gentle mockery of the egotism seen in both dogs and in public art projects is spot on.


At Tintype, Lucy Harris’s Reading Room, a tribute to the visual allure of illustrated books and the tranquil setting of Islington South Library and Melanie Smith’s 5 MINS, a hypnotic mediation on orange dot matrix bus-stop indicators, were the two other films that stood out for me but the quality of the complete set of eight films is well worth 36 minutes of your time.

Olivia Hernaïz and Ruth Waters: takedown of the caring corporates

Emotion Over Raisin (Still) Ruth Waters
© Ruth Waters -still from film Emotion over Raisin (2019) 

There is an apocalyptic aura emanating from late capitalism. As a descriptive term it simply defines the transformation of capitalism in the modern era. Perhaps more depressingly it implies that corporate culture, as framed by Marx, has adapted to survive into a post-modern world despite the threat of implosion from its inherent absurdities. Marx did not predict that Thatcher-Blairism would dissolve the public/private sector divide. He would be horrified that social media now has the potential to transform us all into entrepreneurs, desperate to promote ourselves as brands. He would perhaps not be surprised by the emergence of the gig economy, led by missionary enterprises like Uber masquerading as liberators while tethering its freelancers to a precarious treadmill.  

This infiltration of capitalist values into the interpersonal realm was foreseen by French Marxist philosopher Guy Debord in the 1960s and this trend has accelerated as our lives have migrated to the internet. To remedy these injustices we have mostly rejected collective insurrection in favour of alternative routes to salvation including individualised “self-care”. At Koppel Project Hive’s exhibition All About You,  two MI artworks from Ruth Waters and Olivia Hernaiz are refreshingly direct and timely reminders of the way that the interpersonal values have been hijacked by our newborn capitalist masters. These artists consider how “care” has entered the corporate lexicon either through stress relieving programmes for their employees (Waters) or through romanticising their relationship with consumers (Hernaiz).    

Ruth Waters is her usual incisive self, gently mocking the mindfulness industry through a subtle and cleverly crafted film that alternates between the anodyne spiel of the trainer and the vividly realised thoughts of the participants as they fail to “live in the moment.” As so often in these types of session they have to follow bizarre instructions, in this case requiring them to relate in various ways to a raisin they have been handed. The impact of the film is ramped up by its rather spooky immersive installation. You sit in a semi-circle of padded office chairs with other carefully chosen props (a vase of flowers on an office cabinet, a functional wall clock) mirroring the film’s setting in the kind of hermetically sealed training room that I mercifully no longer have to experience since my escape from the corporate life.  After enduring such sessions someone tends to vent with the well-worn cliché:

“Well… that’s an hour/an afternoon/ a day of my life that I am never going to get back”

This sense of time spooling away pervades the film. A steady tick-tock marks time on the film’s soundtrack. Death is slyly referenced though a participant’s thoughts that the passing of her cat would at least give her “something to post on instagram”. The vase of flowers seems an anomaly. In this setting it might indicate the mindfulness of sensory focussing. But it also reeks of decay and loss. I’m left with the uneasy sense that mindfulness is an inadequate antidote offered by corporate culture to anaesthetise us, a post-Marxist version of “opium of the people”. Waters’ film is spiced liberally with her signature dry humour – even the title Emotion over Raisin seems to play on the Romantic poets’ valuing of Emotion over Reason, an idea also at the heart of mindfulness culture.

In her video installation All About You (2017) Olivia Hernaïz has allowed corporate advertising culture enough rope to hang itself with only minimal intervention from herself. As the major banks close local branches and move online they have become more impersonal. Yet with unconscious irony their slogans continue to convey the opposite by evoking a personal caring relationship of mutual respect. The Bank of America’s “Think what we can do for you” sounds like it is a branch of social work. They might as well be promoting the lie: “It’s you we care about, not your money”.

Hernaiz has composed a romantic swoon of a song with a charming violin and piano accompaniment and deeply ironic lyrics patched together from the taglines of international banks. My favourite is “The more we know about you, the more we can give you”  which seems like a good summary of late capitalism and a frank admission that exploitation of your personal data is integral to their business model. Her video slide show of the banks’ logos and taglines is projected onto the gallery ceiling as we lounge back in the care of a fluffy beanbag. We feel like willing suckers in this sentimental, romantic quest for a financial saviour. Amusing, hard-hitting and thought-provoking take on the insidious nature of personalised marketing strategies.

The exhibition continues until 3 May 2019 at the The Koppel Project Hive at 26 Holborn Viaduct.

The strangled shriek

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© Aimee Neat – still from 104 Million (2018) courtesy of the artist

Immolation, self harm, masochism: these are all behaviours that have been ascribed to Brexit. One Brexit supporter declared:

“I don’t think we’ll be poorer out, but if you told me my family would have to eat grass, I’d still have voted to leave.”

Why are we all so hell-bent on self-destruction? Are we all screaming inside but trying to hold it together so what emerges is a strangled shriek?

As you enter Ballpark Collective’s inaugural show that strangled shriek intermittently pierces the air. It is emanating from Aimee Neat’s looped 4 minute video 104 million (referencing Justin Bieber’s instagram followers). Is the shriek coming from a besotted Belieber or is it from Bieber himself, strangled by his meteoric ascension. Perhaps its origin doesn’t really matter as he is just an avatar for the feted YouTube influencer that any one of them or us can become. But do we really  crave that poisoned chalice?

So many seem to crash and burn after their  time in the sun. The desperate hunt for likes and followers eventually consumes their identity leaving an exhausted, burnt out shell. Neat gives an alarmingly accurate Cindy Shermanesque recreation of the Bieber shell in a succession of subtly different static poses complete with a goofy cat face baseball cap and hoodie. This outfit comically undermines the James Dean scowl and we cannot help wondering if Bieber is fated to be yet another celebrity Icarus. His pursed lips trademark is telling us something – maybe he rejects smiling as a signifier of falsity? The manufactured inscrutability must be hiding something – disdain or despair maybe?  Or do we just project those emotions to protect us from our own repressed shrieks of envy? Fellow Goldsmiths alumna Ruth Waters has pastiched the facial tropes of female Youtube influencers in an equally hilarious videoOuttakes and Bloopers ♥Again,  viewable at https://vimeo.com/255754921. It is no coincidence this video climaxes in suppressed shrieks of giggling.

Ruth Waters Outtakes and Bloopers
Ruth Waters -still from video Outtakes and Bloopers ♥Again courtesy of the artist

Physical immolation features in two of the other videos on show and we start asking- why do we beat ourselves up? Why are we heading for a self harming Brexit? Why do artists debase and immolate themselves? Is gender relevant?  From Yoko Ono to Marina Abramovic and Mona Hatoum to Marianna Simnett, displaying, cutting, probing, contorting, injecting, even asphyxiating the female body have become performance art tropes so it is interesting to see the male take on this.  In Max Leach’s Flesh and Glass, a murky and unsettling 8 minute video with an intense and spooky binaural soundtrack, we see a Hatoumesque sequence of bodily penetration filling the screen with saturated pinky red tissue but with few clues as to what we are viewing. The remaining footage hints it might form part of a macho initiation cult that demands lonely, late-night vigils in vulnerable motors and bloody, self-harming rituals involving blunt pencils. For men, is immolation and masochism a validation of their masculinity?

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Max Leach – still from looped video Flesh and Glass courtesy of the artist

In Sarah Lewis’s Death by Blonde a female body appears trapped and cocooned inside a giant nest woven from straw-like blonde hair. With only her splayed thighs visible her sexual vulnerability is heightened by the superimposition of a clip from Lewis’s family video archive showing a child jumping on a trampoline.  The much debated controversial lyric from Paul Simon’s Graceland – “the girl  from New York City who called herself the human trampoline” – comes to mind. Blonde and yellow tones appear throughout so the film glows with sensuous warmth. But the double-edged impact of the stereotype is highlighted by the home movie footage of blonde female children who are bashful and confused as well as cheerful and bouncy.

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Sarah Lewis – Installation view of looped video Death by Blonde (2018) courtesy of the artist

Susanne Dietz’s What’s Yours is Mine provides some kind of resolution to the disturbing images in the rest of the show. Her 13 minute film investigates the conflict of self-doubt with self-love through the fictional biographical fragments of a woman who is in constant conversation with her alter-ego. She is not afraid to ask difficult questions. What happens when, not only God is dead, but the hippies and disco as well?  How to feel better? How to be in the World? What to do about an ex-lover’s name tattooed on her neck? Images of  beauty (blue sky seen from a train), comfort (pillows being plumped) and contentment (sleeping  babies)  give some hope. But hope is fragile and temporary. The babies are wax candles that slowly melt from the flame, the sky is fleeting and lacerated by powerlines, the pillows remain unslept on. The carefully edited ambient electronic soundtrack is alternately soothing and alarming.  The  film is gripping, concise, sometimes lighthearted and never portentous which is a triumph considering the weightiness of the questions it tackles. 

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Susanne Dietz -Installation view of looped video What’s Yours is Mine (2018) courtesy of the artist

Sun Park’s two short gem-like videos loop on tiny screens.  Looking up will only make you fall distorts a common trope of video art, the shopping mall, by shooting into reflective architectural surfaces. The camera is always moving and the shimmering, crazed, fragmented effect is original and disorienting. It is viewable at https://vimeo.com/manage/329739672/general

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Sun Park – still from  video installation Looking up will only make you fall (2019) courtesy of the artist

Sympathetic Magic is a playful comment on the trick photo beloved of tourists where the human figure appears to interact with a famous landmark. Here a finger appears to ping the Shard which resonates like a tuning fork before rotating by a quarter turn.  If only the global financial institutions  it houses were so easy to control! Viewable at https://vimeo.com/329739541

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Sun Park- still from Sympathetic magic (2019) courtesy of the artist

Reality Sandwiches showcases the work of a group of moving image artists who graduated from Goldsmiths University in 2018 and is a model for the effective installation of several video artworks in a relatively confined space, in this case a disused warehouse in Bermondsey funded by the art organisation, SET Alscot Road. Remarkably, there is no sound leakage between the works with each granted sufficient territory to own. The electronic soundtrack from Dietz’s speakers creates a suitably ambiguous aural atmosphere in the gallery.

Like all worthwhile exhibitions this generated much thought. I now have a deeper sense of the psychological processes that underlie Brexit. If we are living in a failed world does that mean we are failures? If hipster London has turned its back, our failed lives will not improve whatever we do. If this means we are fundamentally worthless we deserve to be beaten up. But we prefer to immolate ourselves rather give the opportunity to someone else. Anger against ourselves is often turned outwards to the inchoate Other but in reality we are punishing our own failure to fulfil our uniquely human, conscious prosociality. All these contradictory emotions fighting for expression leave the body politic no choice but to emit a strangled shriek.  

 

This the way the world ends…or not

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David Blandy – installation view of The End of the World, 2017

David Blandy returns to his musings on apocalyptic endings in his latest works now showing at Seventeen Gallery until 16 December and generates intriguing questions about our interactions with the emergent online universe. Will our online identity replace our IRL one? Will the line between human consciousness and the digital world become increasingly blurred? As usual with Blandy, the works manage to be both gripping and meditative while dramatising the competing rational and emotional approaches to tackling the “big problems”.

In his surround screen work, The End of the World (2017), pictured above, we feel we are on the observation platform of an interplanetary spaceship as the Earth, Moon and Saturn rotate beneath us. But these are not re-runs of Kubrick’s 2001. Blandy’s animations are slightly skewed stylised versions which ramp up their aesthetic impact. The earth’s human activity on the dark side is picked out by light zones emitted from its urbanised regions. The unseen Sun  makes its presence felt by illuminating surfaces with a ghostly glow.  As the commentary  morphs from lecture to poetry we get a sense of  our rational selves grappling with the emotional ramifications of our own demise. Personal deaths are not referred to but we get a rundown of the solar system’s history and its inevitable dissolution in the Sun’s supernova meltdown. This is followed by an abrupt change in tone as  our narrator relays a tale of social annihilation resulting from the shutdown of a longstanding online role-playing gaming community. On termination day its avatars gather together to share their grief  before they are consigned to the digital hereafter. This is the converse of the dilemma in Ruth Waters’ equally thought-provoking video Redsky66  (accessible through her website, ruthwaters.co.uk) where her interviewee is haunted by his immortal digital existence.

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David Blandy- installation view of HD Lifestyle, 2017

On first sight, HD Lifestyle, 2017, is an installation inspired by mobile phone shops but on closer inspection its display case is more like a science museum exhibit tracing the development of screen technology from the early “dimphones” to the current day. The early Nokias have blank screens while the video plays across the more advanced technology to mark the moving image Rubicon that we have crossed. Over visuals of crystals and animated desolate landscapes, Blandy’s commentary draws a neat parallel between human and environmental sacrifice. Technological “innovation”  requires vast areas of landscape to be sacrificed in the poorest regions of the world to placate our consumer anxiety for the latest, hippest Apple product. The Ancient Greek ritual of casting out an individual scapegoat at year’s end to restore social and agricultural equilibrium was an earlier incarnation of this tendency to concentrate our atavistic and inchoate fears onto narrow target populations.  The concept of “sacrifice zones” is a fertile one.

Also included is The Archive, 2017 a video and VR examination of one 94 year old woman’s vast personal collection of newspaper cuttings that have taken over her house, provoking speculation on the definition of  accumulated knowledge as the digital record supplants print.

You come away from this show filled with thoughts of how far our online existence will change human nature. All DB’s signature strengths are on show: the astute thinking on contemporary issues, the hypnotic quality of his carefully choreographed visuals, music and narration, the unsettling undertow this creates and the humane emotional engagement with the content incorporating little touches of humour confirms for me his appeal as one of my favourite MI artists.

Ruth Waters explores fears of eternity and digital immortality

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Ruth Waters. Redsky66 (2017) video installation featuring still from  Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures (1989)

Ruth Waters first impressed me at the Goldsmiths MFA Degree show last year and so it was a major treat to see her recent video installation last month at Peer Gallery in Hoxton. It is a carefully crafted cautionary tale for the internet generation who can turn to a supportive global community of sufferers of the same phobia, no matter how obscure. The bulk of the film consists of a skype interview with the film’s increasingly distraught protagonist, known to us only as REDSKY66. This is intercut with clips of  different types of vortices swirling into a vanishing point which provide a visual commentary as he struggles with his obsession with infinity and his acute fear of the eternity he will endure in the afterlife.  This includes a hilarious clip from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures  film of 1989 showing the heroes being sucked into deep space. I had never encountered apeirophobia before and Ruth astutely reveals why digital natives might be particularly prone to this form of anxiety. REDSKY66 reaches a tipping point in his attempts to control his phobia when he becomes the epicentre of a twitterstorm triggered by his rash tweet trolling the teenage rape victim of a celebrity footballer which he later regrets.

He explains that his breakdown was triggered by the realisation that our digital lives have an immortality that our bodily lives do not possess. Eternity is a terrifying prospect if it means ruminating on our life’s bleakest moments as if on a continuous excruciating  loop and this horror is amplified by the indelible nature of the internet record preserving our crass mistakes. Ruth makes an astute choice of collaborator as the performance of REDSKY66 is entirely credible and you are left wondering whether this is acting, role play or a real interview. Whatever it is, you are moved by his plight.

This concise, gripping and original narrative goes beyond the ubiquitous concerns over social media’s impact on personal reputations and instant celebrity and hints at the more murky, emerging uncertainties of our digital era. Having seen much incoherent and self-indulgent MI work recently this was a refreshingly simple yet profound experience having much in common with David Blandy’s excellent new video, The End of the World, which I will be reviewing in my next blogpost.

Razor sharp insights from Goldsmiths MFA video artists

Goldsmiths  have a reputation for producing quality video art and I was not disappointed by their MFA show this week. Political awareness in an artwork is a big plus for me, as long I do not feel preached at. All of these managed that and more.

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Installation view of J.A Generalised Anxiety Relaxation, 2016, Ruth Waters, courtesy of the artist

Ruth Waters is a coolly subversive satirist. She covers so many bases and spices her work with wry humour, social commentary and visual appeal. In her installation J.A Generalised Anxiety Relaxation she has created a simulation of a relaxation class complete with yoga mats. She starts with an original image: immaculately  groomed, pencil sharp, straight hair blowing seductively in the wind filling the screen like a curtain. A laid back narrator soothes us with a standard relaxation tape visualisation mantra: the lapping of waves, the warmth of a sandy beach. Gradually less calming images intrude. We are asked to imagine we are Jennifer Aniston and to meditate on “weddings”. We begin to feel uneasy. The mention of the personification of coiffured perfection and a nerve-wracking life event make us giggle uncomfortably. We have been subtly drawn into the pervasiveness of social comparison anxiety for which mindfulness can only act as a sticking-plaster. Aniston’s recent complaints about media intrusion reinforce the ambivalence caught so aptly in this work.

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Still from the video King of the Kats,  2016, David John Beesley, courtesy of the artist

David John Beesley’s film King of the Kats has him as an ur-cowboy, an alter-ego wandering the empty streets of the City of London on a kid’s toy horse.  The bankers have left, their eerie ghosts remembered for their childish games. Beesley create a timeless environment by exploiting the weird contrast of the medieval and the modern in the City streetscape and manages to blend a critique of our current crisis through multiple personal, political and religious lenses.

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Still from  Polygon, 2016, Daniel Dressel – courtesy of the artist

Daniel Dressel’s four screen installation, Polygon, is a skillfully edited video montage where sounds and images flip  around the viewer like a boxer prancing around the ring. He uses documentary archive material and his own footage to explore the history of the East End and draws parallels between the estate agents and boxers fighting for the glittering prizes. I loved the sense of time collapsing as the different eras slide across each other. Another single channel video, Sensation, neatly shows how Damien Hirst’s public sculpture guarded by CCTV provides the opportunity for our surveillance society to enforce its grip over the kids who just want to clamber over it.

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Still  from  video, Precarity, 2016, Michael Dignam -courtesy of the artist

Michael Dignam’s short video Precarity,  viewable on his website, -http://michaeldignam.eu/Precarity – creates maximum impact with minimal material. His black and white film is constructed from three takes all focusing on a rapidly moving shadow sweeping over bends in  a rutted countryside track. My first thought is that these are formed from the rotor vanes of a wind generator. Through digital manipulation the shadows become more frenzied and stuttering and threaten to blackout the sun before eventually settling down into their original steady beat. This almost musical piece is in fact more powerful as there is no sound track. Sometimes less is more.

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Katie Hare. Still from video,  Wrong then, wrong today (2016) -courtesy of the artist

Katie Hare’s short single channel video Wrong then, wrong today is again so simple, yet it packs a huge punch. Over a loop of a 1950’s MGM Tex Avery cartoon clip her narrator points out the parallel between the botched attempts to both politically and visually “clean-up” the original. The politically incorrect assumptions of the cartoon are whitewashed by the distributor of the newly released version with a disclaimer referring to its historical context, hence this works title. We observe that the digital filtering of the analogue noise of the original  results in the erasure of some outlines, indicating perhaps that updating such “corrupt” material is doomed to failure. This apposite melding of the conceptual and the visual was for me one of the most exciting experiences of the Goldsmith’s show.   Hare’s interest in the analogue /digital  transition will surely  prove fertile material for the  future.

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Still from the 7 channel video installation Voices of our Mothers: Transcending Time and Distance (2016), Frances Almendarez – courtesy of the artist

I was able to meet the artist Francis Almendarez who exploits nostalgia for his South American heritage to moving effect in  a 7 channel video installation, Voices of our Mothers: Transcending Time and Distance.  His grandmothers’s tales of adventure and the rich oranges and greens of El Salvador’s rural landscape contrasts with the downbeat contemplation of a murky grey riverscape as global sea-traffic ploughs by. The time slippage of the same footage on the seven screens is deployed to great effect. We need more of this style of visual analysis of globalisation.

I could not get round to all the MI artworks at this show but the trend for artists to disseminate through their websites means I can catch up at my leisure. Andy Nizinskyj’s work Everything is Bright,  http://andynizinskyj.co.uk/Everything-is-Bright is a three channel video  ideal to view on a computer screen as it uses videogame tropes to raise the hot topic of what is missing from the pin sharp CGI and HD world we increasingly inhabit. His poetic commentary over a dreamlike and entrancing, digitally rendered desert landscape uses the metaphor of thirst to describe that missing element.  Even the arrival of a water torrent tacked on to the landscape does nothing to relieve this. It is only when we get a smeared image of a tree canopy as if “shot” through a plastic sheet passing in front in of the “camera” that we get a glimpse of what is really missing. His two subsidiary screens provide a mute chorus from the lo-fi analogue world. This type of implied critique of digital imagery has great appeal. It is a shame that the expense of celluloid film is restricting access to analogue creativity at the moment although Tacita Dean is doing a sterling job in preserving the processing infrastructure.

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Still from three channel HD video Everything is Bright (2016),  Andy Nizinskyj courtesy of the artist

I found many of the Goldsmiths MI artists invigorating. The efficiency of their razor sharp skewering of current issues had a freshness about them that in some ways puts them streets ahead of the more established video artists I’ve seen in the commercial galleries this year.