visual inspiration: London Zoo

I was having a little clear out of my computer this morning and I found these photos from the AJ field trip to the London Zoo last August.

The London Zoo is quite expensive but worth it if you haven't been, and a really lovely way to pass a lazy summer day.

So, a few silly animal pictures to entertain on this grey February morning. Aside from the cuteness factor, these snaps also made me smile because they served to remind me that, after the zoo, I passed a very lovely evening with a rather morose young man at 69 Colebrooke Row...

Unobtrusive Measures at Schwartz Gallery and George Orwell's "Good English"

(Installation view. Image courtesy of Mark Selby)

Unobtrusive Measures at Schwartz Gallery should win an award. That the award ought to be something along the lines of "most surprisingly good exhibition given a hopelessly rubbish press release" need not put you off a visit to Hackney Wick.

Case in point:

"In the strong and consistent rhetoric within anti-techne sectors of culture, the potential loss of physicality and hence humanism, is offered as the primary concern. The endpoint of this narrative replaces the body into binary script; our ultimate transcendence into the virtual and the loss of nuance in direct, physical interaction. Communication transmogrified through the unobtrusive measures of technology."

Why this reliance on pseudo-mystical, utterly meaningless language? Why do curators feel the need to explain, thereby justify, the work of their artists with painfully constructed paragraphs?

Back in the press release it's all blah, blah, blah; more arty bollocks speak about the work of the involved artists, and to close:

"In the exhibition itself, you will not engage with this materiality or experience the works in the method through which the artists would normally intend. Placed within an interior sealed cube in the gallery space, the works will be converted, co-opted and quite dictatorially subsumed into my own installation, intervention and curatorial direction; ironically, a hugely obtrusive act. Though they may still be observed and recorded through the glaring lens of a series of CCTV cameras and monitors, the viewer will be placed on the outside looking in. Frustrated, excluded or voyeuristic-ally enthralled, the experience is still a physical one, only not with the intended object but the mediating apparatus of an unobtrusive measure."

I recently reread George Orwell's essay, "Politics and the English Language", and there's one bit in particular that reminded me of the uncanny ability artists and curators have to turn plain old English into what Orwell calls "modern English". Here Orwell translates a passage of "good English" into "modern English of the worst sort"

Here is a well-known verse from Ecclesiastes:

I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Here it is in modern English:

Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.

These days, exhibition texts, press releases and artists statements are so uniformly badly written that I often wonder whether some genius techie hasn't created a website (circulated amongst art students, naturally) to translate good English into modern English - an Orwellian babelfish.

Anyway, I'm rather a way away from where I wanted to be. Which is a discussion of the show. Which is kind of my point. There's something about all this nonsensical nonsense that detracts from the exhibition itself. I almost didn't go to the show because I was so put out by the incomprehensibility of the press release. Luckily, I did ultimately drop in, but I now find it difficult to discern whether I'm so pleased with the show because my expectations were, well, let's just say I didn't have any expectations, or because the show was actually good.

If not great, the show was certainly interesting and, dare I use a sure-to-annoy-Orwell-expression, thought provoking. What with Elevator's recent Vanishing Point and now this Unobtrusive Measures, the Hackney Wick galleries are displaying a remarkable willingness to tussle with some rather heavy critical ideas: what is art, how do we judge what art is if we can't see it, how does the context of a gallery space inform the way viewers think about and engage with art. All interesting stuff. And indeed, I find that I'm far less inclined to be critical of the work on display when the ideas propping up the show are explored with such panache.

I feel also like I have to admit a vested interest. I don't actually have a vested interest, but I'm in the middle of organising my next SALON (LONDON) exhibition and one idea I initially toyed with involved putting on an exhibition no one could actually visit. I decided to do something else in the end, but it was gratifying to see someone else wrestle with similar thoughts.

(Installation view: monitor detail. Image courtesy of Mark Selby)

Essentially, when you enter the space there's just a big plywood box. A big plywood box and five TV monitors wrapped in smaller plywood boxes. That's it. You take it on trust that all the works are actually inside the big plywood box and that the representations on the TV monitors are indeed faithful. It's difficult to make out the quality of all the works on display, but some appear to have potential; some more than others. There's something about Adam Dix's two paintings I find attractive, but he's like a less good Andrew Hollis. One of the monitors shows a flaming pink pile of who knows what, which I gather is by Ismail Erbil and turns out to be Turkish tea glasses among other things. Faye Peacock's sound piece is rather clever in that she rang Mark Selby, the curator and also builder of the 'unobtrusive measure', i.e. the plywood box and CCTV cameras and monitors, and recorded their conversation without informing him she was doing so. 

Having only just finished reading the accompanying text for the exhibition, I'm a bit disappointed to note that the curator was primarily concerned with the validity of actual versus secondhand observance, instead of simply playing with the idea of staging an exhibition that people can't see. It's not that I didn't like the exhibition, because I did; but I want to be free to make my own interpretation, my own reading. I don't want to be laden with art speak bullshit before I even set eyes on the work. Artists and curators: if you cannot tell me what your show is about in plain, good English, please don't tell me at all. Have the courage and confidence to let the work speak for itself.

super-hybridity, frieze magazine

Recently a friend pointed me in the direction of the September 2010 issue of frieze Magazine. I'm in the process of putting together my next SALON (LONDON) show and as it's all about bringing the artistic works of different disciplines together she thought that I might find frieze's take on 'super-hybridity' of some use.

Apart from the direct relevance to the work I'm doing on the exhibition, I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about the point of art criticism in the contemporary art world; naturally, thinking about theory has been a big part of that process. I'm not entirely convinced by the relevance or utility of critical classification in art today - remember altermodern? exactly - but it still makes for a fascinating point of entry.

Jorg Heiser's phenomenon of super-hybridity attempts to explain the increase of artists who work across a vast spectrum of cultural contexts at an extraordinarily fast pace: it ropes in ideas of globalisation, digital technology, the Internet, and capitalism. So far, so not that interesting. There's something rather dull about trying to apply a post-rationalised, top-down framework on an existing structure of working, especially given that it tends to omit a lot of practitioners. Perhaps, though, that's what critics are for: they dream up the theories while the artists get on with making work.

Despite my own theoretical qualms, the discussion on super-hybridity is saved by its participants: Ronald Jones, Nina Power, Seth Price, Sukhdev Sandhu, Hito Steyerl, and of course Heiser.

Even though there isn't necessarily anything here that's changed my way of thinking or practising, I love the spirit of the discussion. It is so refreshing to see a genuinely interesting, relevant, and intellectually demanding piece on art theory free from obfuscating and hermetic nonsense. The fact that it appeared in a relatively mainstream art magazine gives me hope for the future of publishing.

I've pulled out some of the bits I found most interesting/intriguing/stimulating:

“Immersion, entanglement, affectivity, sudden rupture and repeated breakdown. In the realm of digital circulation it’s no longer about anybody being represented by something else - a culturally inflected image, for example - but about an embodied, dynamic continuum of bodies, sounds, images, actions, and audiovisual politics of intensity. These relations are aesthetic since they have to do with the senses, and they are political since they govern or channel feelings, perception and thus possible reactions [a nice tie in with a lot of the Dave Hickey stuff I've been reading]. The 1990s were about decoding and understanding these relations but now it’s more about how to be immersed without drowning, or to be embedded without falling asleep and happily surrendering control of your feelings to a pervasive military-entertainment complex. I wish that we could leave the discussion about hybridity behind though; it drags one back into hermeneutics and hapless discussions of origin. It's inadequate for trying to come up with perspectives." ~ Hito Steyerl

"We have arrived at a point where critical theory is being called upon to answer a basic question: what is the continuing relevance, value, and productive potential of criticality or oppositional knowledge? The art world, from my vantage, is in a rather tight spot. I'm not sure how long we should grant artists special dispensation just because what they are producing is merely worthwhile." ~ Ronald Jones

"Given our current situation, where art has had such little effect on a world facing truly wicked problems, what I am proposing departs from relativism, the ambiguities of Postmodernism and fashionable pessimism for a new post-critical perspective. Bruno Latour has recognised why criticality has run out of steam. Post-criticality means an engagement for artists and designers with proactive strategies triggering entrepreneurial - not necessarily in the business creation sense - interdisciplinary, innovative and attainable solutions to our collective challenge; discrimination, corruption and starvation to name only three..." ~ Jorg Heiser

"Nobody in this discussion seems to be opposed to or even impressed by mixing, merging, dislocating and recombining stuff. That's what people seem to be doing quite casually now. But there seems to be several opinions as to how to go about it. Engaging with the world. Sure. But is the world anywhere else? Does 'out there' mean beyond the sphere of aesthetics and the art world? As Nina said, and I agree with her, this realm is hopelessly entangled with the dynamics of financilisation. The realm of perception is heavily militarised, too, as Sukhdev noted. For me, that's real enough: a military-financial-art-world hybrid if you like. But let me take one step back and suggest the waning of opposites - such as real/representation; engaged/critical; object/subject - is an important part of the situation we are discussing. Haacke's piece [Rhinewater Purification Plant (1972)] is great. But I can't disentangle it from a gesture of criticality, just as the art world is dependent on the realities of speculation and the labour of artists as shock workers." ~ Hito Steyerl

"Critique is sexy! As is allowing things to speak for themselves. The theory-speak supplement that is implicitly demanded by exhibitions seems to create a need for neologisms and catch-all terms, regardless of whether there is any desire for them, or underlying them. Exhibitions with no signs, labelling or printed information, such as 'In-finitum', at the Palazzo Fortuny in Venice in 2009, permit an immersive and truly engaging aesthetic experience, in which the thoughtfulness of the curating is properly revealed...The new is frequently dull and often turns out not so new after all. Trying to keep up with the speed of exploitation may be fun, but it doesn't eradicate the fact that the art world is frequently trying to catch-up to capitalism itself. Without critique, ethics and politics, this game is doomed to enter into an echo chamber of linguistic creative destruction in which every neologism is ultimately boringly equivalent to every other..." ~ Nina Power 

Down the Rabbit Hole

One of my favourite things that I do at the Architects' Journal is manage and edit the Small Projects Awards and issues. Typically, in our mag, we push plush new office buildings or grand University schemes. If we do feature new houses or smaller projects, they tend to be by big-name architects on equally lavish budgets.

But the Small Projects Awards is a chance for smaller practices to show off what they can do on more modest budgets (£250k or less). Sure, we get sent hundreds of house extensions, but for every twenty bread and butter backyard extensions, we receive one incredible tree house or a stunning self-build hideaway in the hills. 

Given that we get sent upwards of 200 entries for a shortlist of only 24 projects, there's always one or two projects I've got a soft spot for that don't make the cut. One of my favourite projects this year that just didn't make it was Neil Boyd's 'Down the Rabbit Hole'. 

Neil submitted this project as part of his final masters exhibition at Strathclyde University and I wanted to give it some love because - contrary to most of the client-driven projects we received - Neil's was one of the few projects where an individual saw an opportunity to create a little something and then just got on with making it. The rabbit hole took two weeks to build using reclaimed OSB and timber left over from the end of year diploma exhibition. As expected, health and safety issues soon got in the way of fun and the structure had to be removed after only one month.

I love that it's imaginative and a little bit silly - a project that transformed an ugly corridor into a mysterious and whimsical escape from the Uni's architecture department. His visuals perfectly reflect the project: they're deceptively simple, captivating and just a little bit magical.

Bonnington Square, Kinetica Artfair, and Snowdrops at the Chelsea Physic Garden

I've been in a bit of a London funk lately. Too many rotten Vyner/Redchurch Street art shows and not enough genuinely inspiring new stimulation. This is why I live in London, after all. It's supposed to be home to the best of everything, but of late it feels as if I've seen it all before.

Nothing like a weekend full of new adventures and a return to some old favourites to nip this pessimism in the bud! 

First up: Friday night dinner at the Wapping Project. I'd been to the Wapping Project before, so it's not exactly new, but my first visit was so long ago that I'd forgotten how brilliant it is. The interior is so cool and the food was wooooonnderul. Really, really delicious. Service was impeccable, very friendly. If you haven't been here before, scoot to Wapping ASAP. It will make you feel happy to live in London.

photo by Purple Cloud.

I'm one of those sorts of people who clips out interesting articles from magazines or newspapers and files them away for later use: places to visit, books to read, music to listen to, whatever. 

I must have filed away a newspaper piece on Bonnington Square neigh on three years ago and this weekend was the first time I managed to get around to actually visiting. I don't know all that much about the history, but Bonnington Square is an interesting place given that it was a community of squatters in the 80s and most of the housing is still co-op owned today. There's a tranquil community-run cafe, The Bonnington Cafe, where we had a cheap and delicious lunch (braised fennel!), and the sweet gardens which were taken over in the mid 90s. What's up with the slightly creepy, beckoning hand atop the garden gates.

Saturday early evening I swung by Kinetica Art Fair at P3. It was difficult to look at things properly because the place was so rammed, but there were only a few pieces I really liked. I'm not entirely sure why this piece was at a fair featuring digital and kinetic art, but I admired its elegance and simplicity. Anya Gallaccio's Cast was a cast bronze acorns nestled in a box full of real acorns. Intended as a comment on today's disposable culture, the purchaser of Cast is invited to plant the real acorns, leaving behind only the cast bronze. A simple, thoughtful idea beautifully executed.

But the work I found most to my liking was Alex Posada's The Particle. The piece is all about the creation of our atmosphere, but perhaps it's best to just watch a this little clip I recorded instead of me trying to describe what the thing was like. 

Sunday was all about Galanthus - that's Snowdrops to me and you. I love the etymology of the name: in Greek, gala means milk and anthos means flower. Milkflower. Isn't that lovely. 

The Chelsea Physic Garden is only open to the public from April to October, but they occasionally open for special events in February to show off their winter shrubs and bulbs. The Garden is one of my favourite places in London. I used to visit often when I lived in South Ken, but I get over a lot less now I live on the other side of town. Opened in 1673, it's the oldest - and probably most wonderful - botanic garden in London. I love that it feels all hidden just behind Royal Hospital Road. How many people must walk past and not even know it's there. It's small, but beautiful and very good for curious folk like me because as it's a physic garden - most of the plants are or were grown for medicinal purposes - there's an awful lot to learn. If you missed out this weekend, there's another Snowdrop fest this coming weekend. Tickets are £8 and worth every single penny.