Previous blogposts have alluded to the complex relationship between performance and identity. The idea that projected identity is distinct from the persons’ real identity has been boosted by the rise of social media which requires the careful selection of images to represent the self to others. This binary opposition was the starting point for the exhibition One and Other at the Zabludovic Collection back in February 2017 astutely curated by a team of students from MA Curating courses at London art schools. Much of this selection was moving image art and included one of my all time favourite MI artworks, David Blandy’s The White and Black Minstrel Show, 2007 which blurs the cultural identity of soul music with a humorous light touch. Others worthy of comment were:
Ferhat Ozgur, Metamorphosis Chat, 2009
This benefits from an engaging narrative and Ozgur’s respectful and sensitive rapport with his Turkish subjects. Two women in their sixties are seen discussing their contrasting life histories and the way this is reflected in their personal clothing and grooming styles which culminates in them swapping their outfits and makeup amid much giggling. Their lives have taken very different directions, one more westernised, the other traditional who says at one point ” I will neither wear tights or remarry”. This is a very compassionate and insightful work on cultural change.
Ed Atkins, No one is more WORK than me, 2014
Atkins metamorphoses into a brutal alter ego through video capture animation. I was hypnotised by the constant outpourings of this disembodied head expressing a range of emotions alternately sneering, aggressive, ingratiating and self-pitying through a set of songs, insults (“who are you lookin’ at”) and pithy asides. There is a limited set of clips which replay over eight hours in a randomised sequence but the repetition is compelling. It was difficult to tear myself away from this visceral expression of the insecurity that fuels performative masculinity.
Amalia Ulman’s Excellences & Perfections, 2014
This performance art project, conned thousands who followed her concocted social media journey from innocence to debauchery to redemption. Its ethical implications make me rather queasy. Is she adding unwittingly to the paranoia of “fake news” or satirising it?
“The idea was to experiment with fiction online using the language of the internet,” she explains, “rather than trying to adapt old media to the internet, as has been done with mini-series on Youtube.” Her innovation is not the documentation of female representation in a new format but the co-opting of her duped social media followers whose responses form an integral part of the completed artwork. We can see this as a democratisation of art but it also raises the sticky problem of exploitation. But I guess no one trusts the reality of Instagram feeds, do they?
Emotional Supply Chains at the Zabludowicz Collection until 17 July
When an artist turns the camera on themselves there is the risk of a narcissistic selfie. Gilbert and George assume that their personas are intrinsically interesting as human artworks and as a result their performance videos appear self-absorbed, cloying and flat. Self portraits can generate universal insights but this usually requires the artist to have a certain modesty and to locate themselves in a compelling context. David Blandy has managed to pull off this trick many times over the past twenty years and his refreshingly honest video Child of the Atom (2010) now showing as part of the exhibition Emotional Supply Chains at the Zabludowicz Collection is an example for other budding MI artists to follow.
Blandy’s starting point is a family holiday video with ultra high production values capturing beautiful views, a peaceful park, a homely cafe and a cute toddler clambering around. The normality of this scenario is in dissonant counterpoint to the horrific context of the film – the atomic destruction of Hiroshima. Blandy and his daughter wander around the reconstructed city encountering newly built memorials and the poignant husks of buildings that remain from that fatal day in August 1945. The role of narrator is generously handed over to Blandy junior looking back on the trip. Her tentative musings on the morality of the military choices and their personal impact create a meditative mood. This is helped by the video’s installation on a raised platform with a traditional rush tatami mat to sit on which adds to the sense of intimacy. She tells us that her grandfather was a Japanese POW and by ending the war the bomb is said to have saved his own life and permitted her own arrival into the world:a puzzling and heartfelt moral dilemma.
Blandy does not avoid the brutal truths of the attack but instead of using archive material which we all know too well he chooses to switch to home-grown anime clips. This serves to leaven the atmosphere with an absurdity that any consideration of nuclear warfare demands. The bomb personified as a superhero diving headfirst to ground zero is reminiscent of the iconic scene of a war crazed US major riding on a nuclear missile in Kubricks’s dark satire, Doctor Strangelove illustrated above. Interleaving animation with live film has been a key feature of MI art in recent decades and has been developed by Blandy in many of his films. It reminds us of the fantasy/reality confusion that we are all emeshed in (including the nuclear Cold war strategists). It has also been exploited to great effect in both this year’s Jerwood/ FVU Award films so its popularity is not waning.
Similarly gripping is David Raymond Conroy’s You (People) Are All The Same. Also set in a city with a dark alterego, it also plays on holiday video tropes, opening with a blurry meander around his Las Vegas hotel bedroom. The washed out footage undermines the stereotyped garishness we anticipate from the cityscape as we hear the artist’s gloomy prognosis of what sort of film he will eventually be able to concoct. Bravely, the lo-fi production values are maintained throughout but this is consonant with his mission to reveal the bleak underbelly of Las Vegas life. The film is a mini thriller with dramatic turns as the artist desperately attempts to reconcile his twin goals of doing good to others while making an artwork. His altruism is pitted against the fear that he may be exploiting the homeless people he is trying to help. By alternating between his own story and that of his potential subjects he avoids charges of egotism and by handing over much of the commentary to others we get different takes on his struggle.
All the potential scenarios discussed involve divesting himself of the grant that he has been awarded but none of them get filmed. We assume that this is because of the artist’s moral squemishness but it may also be the result of his failure to identify or recruit genuine homeless subjects. Conroy has given us an original portrait of Las Vegas while interrogating the ambivalent relationship of the artist filmmaker to his subject. As with Blandy, the personal and the political are subtly entwined to give a powerful sense of artist’s convictions without descending into an egotistical diatribe.
Coincidentally Maria Eichhorn is exploring a similar issue in her latest work at the Chisenhale Gallery. She has closed the gallery and partly used her sponsorship money to pay the staff to take a prolonged vacation. Her subjects have no say in their involvement as without their cooperation there would be no artwork. Conroy’s film provokes some uncomfortable thoughts about this power imbalance. Jayson Musson has also produced a scabrously funny critique of this style of artwork, relational aesthetics, which was one of the standout works at the Whitechapel Gallery exhibition Electronic Superhighway and can be found on his Youtube channel presented by his alter-ego rapper art critic Hennessey Youngman. This is not to say that the audience cannot fruitfully be brought into the production of an artwork as the self-effacing Jeremy Deller has so elegantly demonstrated.