Monday, 15 August 2005
Tuesday, 14 June 2005
All that Glitters
Serkan Özkaya can remember copying important works of contemporary art from an early age. With no international art collection in Istanbul and no option to travel to see the originals, he relied on photocopies from books, from which he would make a copy of his own. Reproductions were for Özkaya and other artists of his generation more important than the original could ever be. The prospect of seeing an original became a form of back-up and often a let-down – potentially it was smaller, less colorful, and in worse repair than ever imagined.
Özkaya, born in 1973, made a “few” works when he was still a “young artist,” a term he questions with bemusement. How can a young artist be identified, and when does the designation expire? During this ‘young’ phase and in an endeavour to create an original from a reproduction, he proposed to wrap the Reichstag about two years after the fabric used in Christo and Jeanne-Claudes’s Wrapped Reichstag (1971 – 1995) had been removed. Özkaya’s proposal to the German Parliament included copied images of Christo and Jeanne-Claudes’s work and his motivation was simple - to make a work that he had never seen, a work that he had only seen in pictures or heard about. He realized a similar work in Istanbul in 1997; at the BM Contemporary Art Center where he wrote ‘Keith Arnatt is an Artist’ on the gallery wall. Arnatt himself performed the same gesture in a gallery in London in 1972, before Özkaya’s birth. Özkaya indicated his admiration by copying the text verbatim, making him, in his words, an art lover rather than an artist.
As these devoted acts of imitation become the focus of Özkaya’s practice, he began to consider whether the situation of “living within a zone of reproduction is a representation of feeling to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Özkaya first attributed this feeling to ‘geographical dislocation’, growing up and living in a country and city that many consider to be periphery. He subsequently concluded that “you always presume there is something more important happening elsewhere, you never believe that you are in the right place at the right time, and therefore there is in fact no center.”
Triggering this moment-of ecstasy followed by clarity-- for himself and others is where Michelangelo’s statue of David comes in. Özkaya has never seen the original statue, he has not even seen one of the many one-to-one casts that exist in the world, he has only encountered small replicas of the sort tourists buy and various different two-dimensional reproductions. “Such iconic works no longer exist in reality as originals,” says Özkaya, “they have become verbal legends, all about the replicas, the copies, the reconstructions, and the fakes.”
Özkaya wanted to experience David first hand, and started production of the ultimate copy, a larger than life replica of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, commissioned for the 9th Istanbul Biennial and to be exhibited in the area of Beyoglu. He aims to replicate that precious moment when time stands still for those who see David, many of whom like Özkaya only know the statue through reproductions of the work. Özkaya explains, “even if you don’t know it is in the image of Michelangelo’s statue of David, your body and eye will know that it is something beautiful. For a moment time will stand still and only in the aftermath will the obvious questions arise – is this Michelangelo’s statue of David? Is it the original, an exact copy or a new work? How was it copied, was there permission?”
In order to realize a new David, Özkaya contacted Professor Marc Levoy, known for pioneering work in three-dimensional facsimiles. Levoy developed a technology that would allow users of everyday household appliances, for example, to fax one another computer-generated data that could be used to produce a precise model of the original object selected.
Such production proved too expensive for domestic use, but, Levoy was enthusiastic to advance the potential of this technology to achieve the ability to copy in 3D a wider variety of artefacts from museum collections and sites of cultural heritage. At that time nobody had yet digitized a large scultpure with enough precision to serve as a primary resource for scientific work, and nobody had tried to digitize a large and coherent collection of statuary. Hence the impetus for the Digital Michelangelo Project.
In 1998 Levoy and his team relocated to Florance and scanned ten sculptures in the Galleria dell’Accademia, the largest work accomplished being the statue of David. Without moving or touching the sculpture a laser rangefinder and mechanical gantry were used to capture the surface structure of David within less than a millimeter of Michelangelo’s chisel marks.
The result of this process is a dataset of 2 billion polygons and 7000 color images – a 250 gigabytes 3D computer model of David copyrighted to Marc Levoy, Stanford University and Galleria dell’Accademia. As long as credit is given, anyone can use the 3D computer file found at (http://graphics.stanford.edu/projects/mich/ ) to produce a David statue in any ratio and almost any material. The process is similar to that of the SETI project in Cairo, which intends to recreate ancient objects so that they are available for future generations to view, the data then lasts as the key to re-form what was once considered unique and impossible to replicate.
Özkaya, having contacted both Levoy and the Galleria dell’Accademia out of courtesy rather than for official permission, is now making his own David based on the data of the 3D computer model. Özkaya proposes that his David will emphasize the idea that icons are considered public property, and as such, can be reproduced by anyone at will. He points out that galleries and museums provide a community model of proposed sharing; and patrons form personal relationships with works of art, often returning time and again to view a specific painting or sculpture.
Another of Özkaya’s ongoing works, Mona Lisa Upside Down, also reconsiders the audience perception of an icon. In 1996 Özkaya wrote to the Director of the Louvre and proposed that Leonardo da Vinci’s best-known work be hung ‘‘upside down for one, two, no best for three days’’ in order to reconsider the painting’s historical record as a thing of great beauty. Citing Roland Barthes work Mythologies, Özkaya believes that our understanding of icons is beyond judgement: we accept them as such because of their long histories, and to judge for ourselves we must reposition our perspective with respect to the work in question.
This presumed judgement also applies to defined objects of society such as the newspaper. On the 21st of September 2003, to coincide with the opening of the last Istanbul Biennial, he produced a work in collaboration with the daily national newspaper Radikal. On the evening before this particular issue of Radikal was due to go to press, when all the copy and images had already been laid out and the newspaper was finished and ready to print, Özkaya and his team entered Radikal’s office. Using tracing paper, they drew over every word, image and headline that appeared on the front and back page of the paper in its original form. The newspaper then went to print that night in the usual way, except for its cover, which was replaced with a printed version of the hand-drawn copy made by Özkaya and his team. Although the work was not commissioned by the Biennial, Radikal’s media sponsorship of the event meant that Özkaya’s initiative was available and free to all the exhibition’s visitors. The paper was also distributed nationally as normal and available to buy at the usual price. As an after-thought Özkaya titled the work Today Could Be a Day of Historical Importance, as the newspaper had shifted from its every day standardisation to an object to be kept rather than disposed of, a copy suddenly more of a genuine article than the original.
Completed to ‘nipple-stage’ at the time of our meeting, Özkaya’s David when finished will be twice the size of the original. Özkaya will paint the finished sculpture gold, adding another layer of simulated worth and excess “I am not interested in absolute beauty, but in the beautiful as an ugly memento”, says the artist. Considering all the steps taken for this project--from the brainpower and equipment of Levoy and his team, to Özkaya’s research and construction, the doubling of height and gilding, the relative value of the copy creates the potential to momentarily capture the qualities of an original, or at least a unique copy.
Can repetition in any way spoil the beauty of such an iconic work of art? Does it merely suggest that the original has lost the very essence that set it apart? With the increasing ease of precise mechanical reproduction, it is in fact the copies, replicas and fakes that authenticate the status of icons. One last question: does Özkaya have no qualms about copying, personally adapting and re-contextualising such an icon? He is quick to answer “I feel closer to Michelangelo in person, than to the values of the museum”. And with this salvo, another iconic David enters the world.
Özkaya, born in 1973, made a “few” works when he was still a “young artist,” a term he questions with bemusement. How can a young artist be identified, and when does the designation expire? During this ‘young’ phase and in an endeavour to create an original from a reproduction, he proposed to wrap the Reichstag about two years after the fabric used in Christo and Jeanne-Claudes’s Wrapped Reichstag (1971 – 1995) had been removed. Özkaya’s proposal to the German Parliament included copied images of Christo and Jeanne-Claudes’s work and his motivation was simple - to make a work that he had never seen, a work that he had only seen in pictures or heard about. He realized a similar work in Istanbul in 1997; at the BM Contemporary Art Center where he wrote ‘Keith Arnatt is an Artist’ on the gallery wall. Arnatt himself performed the same gesture in a gallery in London in 1972, before Özkaya’s birth. Özkaya indicated his admiration by copying the text verbatim, making him, in his words, an art lover rather than an artist.
As these devoted acts of imitation become the focus of Özkaya’s practice, he began to consider whether the situation of “living within a zone of reproduction is a representation of feeling to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Özkaya first attributed this feeling to ‘geographical dislocation’, growing up and living in a country and city that many consider to be periphery. He subsequently concluded that “you always presume there is something more important happening elsewhere, you never believe that you are in the right place at the right time, and therefore there is in fact no center.”
Triggering this moment-of ecstasy followed by clarity-- for himself and others is where Michelangelo’s statue of David comes in. Özkaya has never seen the original statue, he has not even seen one of the many one-to-one casts that exist in the world, he has only encountered small replicas of the sort tourists buy and various different two-dimensional reproductions. “Such iconic works no longer exist in reality as originals,” says Özkaya, “they have become verbal legends, all about the replicas, the copies, the reconstructions, and the fakes.”
Özkaya wanted to experience David first hand, and started production of the ultimate copy, a larger than life replica of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, commissioned for the 9th Istanbul Biennial and to be exhibited in the area of Beyoglu. He aims to replicate that precious moment when time stands still for those who see David, many of whom like Özkaya only know the statue through reproductions of the work. Özkaya explains, “even if you don’t know it is in the image of Michelangelo’s statue of David, your body and eye will know that it is something beautiful. For a moment time will stand still and only in the aftermath will the obvious questions arise – is this Michelangelo’s statue of David? Is it the original, an exact copy or a new work? How was it copied, was there permission?”
In order to realize a new David, Özkaya contacted Professor Marc Levoy, known for pioneering work in three-dimensional facsimiles. Levoy developed a technology that would allow users of everyday household appliances, for example, to fax one another computer-generated data that could be used to produce a precise model of the original object selected.
Such production proved too expensive for domestic use, but, Levoy was enthusiastic to advance the potential of this technology to achieve the ability to copy in 3D a wider variety of artefacts from museum collections and sites of cultural heritage. At that time nobody had yet digitized a large scultpure with enough precision to serve as a primary resource for scientific work, and nobody had tried to digitize a large and coherent collection of statuary. Hence the impetus for the Digital Michelangelo Project.
In 1998 Levoy and his team relocated to Florance and scanned ten sculptures in the Galleria dell’Accademia, the largest work accomplished being the statue of David. Without moving or touching the sculpture a laser rangefinder and mechanical gantry were used to capture the surface structure of David within less than a millimeter of Michelangelo’s chisel marks.
The result of this process is a dataset of 2 billion polygons and 7000 color images – a 250 gigabytes 3D computer model of David copyrighted to Marc Levoy, Stanford University and Galleria dell’Accademia. As long as credit is given, anyone can use the 3D computer file found at (http://graphics.stanford.edu/projects/mich/ ) to produce a David statue in any ratio and almost any material. The process is similar to that of the SETI project in Cairo, which intends to recreate ancient objects so that they are available for future generations to view, the data then lasts as the key to re-form what was once considered unique and impossible to replicate.
Özkaya, having contacted both Levoy and the Galleria dell’Accademia out of courtesy rather than for official permission, is now making his own David based on the data of the 3D computer model. Özkaya proposes that his David will emphasize the idea that icons are considered public property, and as such, can be reproduced by anyone at will. He points out that galleries and museums provide a community model of proposed sharing; and patrons form personal relationships with works of art, often returning time and again to view a specific painting or sculpture.
Another of Özkaya’s ongoing works, Mona Lisa Upside Down, also reconsiders the audience perception of an icon. In 1996 Özkaya wrote to the Director of the Louvre and proposed that Leonardo da Vinci’s best-known work be hung ‘‘upside down for one, two, no best for three days’’ in order to reconsider the painting’s historical record as a thing of great beauty. Citing Roland Barthes work Mythologies, Özkaya believes that our understanding of icons is beyond judgement: we accept them as such because of their long histories, and to judge for ourselves we must reposition our perspective with respect to the work in question.
This presumed judgement also applies to defined objects of society such as the newspaper. On the 21st of September 2003, to coincide with the opening of the last Istanbul Biennial, he produced a work in collaboration with the daily national newspaper Radikal. On the evening before this particular issue of Radikal was due to go to press, when all the copy and images had already been laid out and the newspaper was finished and ready to print, Özkaya and his team entered Radikal’s office. Using tracing paper, they drew over every word, image and headline that appeared on the front and back page of the paper in its original form. The newspaper then went to print that night in the usual way, except for its cover, which was replaced with a printed version of the hand-drawn copy made by Özkaya and his team. Although the work was not commissioned by the Biennial, Radikal’s media sponsorship of the event meant that Özkaya’s initiative was available and free to all the exhibition’s visitors. The paper was also distributed nationally as normal and available to buy at the usual price. As an after-thought Özkaya titled the work Today Could Be a Day of Historical Importance, as the newspaper had shifted from its every day standardisation to an object to be kept rather than disposed of, a copy suddenly more of a genuine article than the original.
Completed to ‘nipple-stage’ at the time of our meeting, Özkaya’s David when finished will be twice the size of the original. Özkaya will paint the finished sculpture gold, adding another layer of simulated worth and excess “I am not interested in absolute beauty, but in the beautiful as an ugly memento”, says the artist. Considering all the steps taken for this project--from the brainpower and equipment of Levoy and his team, to Özkaya’s research and construction, the doubling of height and gilding, the relative value of the copy creates the potential to momentarily capture the qualities of an original, or at least a unique copy.
Can repetition in any way spoil the beauty of such an iconic work of art? Does it merely suggest that the original has lost the very essence that set it apart? With the increasing ease of precise mechanical reproduction, it is in fact the copies, replicas and fakes that authenticate the status of icons. One last question: does Özkaya have no qualms about copying, personally adapting and re-contextualising such an icon? He is quick to answer “I feel closer to Michelangelo in person, than to the values of the museum”. And with this salvo, another iconic David enters the world.
Sunday, 1 May 2005
Hussein Chalayan
Combining what many categorise as different creative disciplines, the recent films of Hussein Chalayan embrace a spectrum of interests, from fashion to architecture, choreography to anthropology. Having received critical acclaim as a fashion designer over the past decade, Chalayan has of late been discussed and exhibited more and more frequently within a contemporary art context. In acknowledgement of his evident artistic creativity, Chalayan – born in the divided city of Nicosia, Cyprus, in 1970, but resident in London since the age of 15 – has been invited to represent Turkey at this year’s Venice Biennale, an honour that he admits represents ‘a new arena’ both for his work and for its usual audience.
Hussein Chalayan’s studio lies at the hub of London’s East End contemporary art spaces. This location, combined with Chalayan’s inter-disciplinary approach, suggests that his working space will be a similarly multi-dimensional environment of stored props, rails of past and present collections, AV equipment and more. In fact, the studio still appears very much dedicated to fashion, with clothes neatly hanging on either side of the room, while in the centre his assistants measure and cut lengths of cloth for his 10-year retrospective exhibition at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands. But although the atmosphere feels highly focused, it is no longer clear where a piece of material will end up: on the catwalk, in an exhibition display, or even in a costume for one of his films. ‘There has not been so much room for cross-disciplinary creativity in the art world,’ Chalayan says. ‘I am interested in turning one idea into something more, in stepping away from such restrictive categorisation.’ It is his confidence in the belief that ‘all disciplines are woven’ that propels him, allowing him to make work that disintegrates the boundaries we still perceive to exist between fashion and visual arts.
Less than two years ago Chalayan finished his first film, Temporal Meditations (DATE), which was conceived as a one-off production for a fashion collection of the same name. Filmed in Cyprus, and often actually referred to as ‘Cyprus’ by the artist, a territorial dialogue unfolds on an open runway with an abandoned aircraft as the backdrop. Chalayan is interested in using film to contain the variety of his interests and to extend his work further into what he calls the ‘realms of movement, space, sound and object. Each element appearing in my films is executed in a different way, but the whole allows them to merge, bringing everything together within one shared language.’ As in his other films, it is difficult to put a finger on the central idea behind Temporal Mediations because it consists of so many layers of narrative. But Chalayan suggests that his work is ‘generally about identity and displacement’, and broad references to travel, cultural rituals, codes of behaviour, imposed territorial conditions and border controls certainly recur throughout the films.
Chalayan insists that he is not yet well known as an artist, although his second film, the Tribe Art Commission Place to Passage (DATE), has already been exhibited in five international art venues. Projected on five screens, the film presents a woman going about day-to-day essential activities such as eating, sleeping and dressing, all within the confines of an enclosed, spatially restricted travelling pod. Although the pod itself travels – from a London car park to the glittering shores of the Bosphorus in Istanbul via a barren lunar landscape – the woman’s enforced environment precisely circumscribes her actions. Again, a set of pre-determined conditions of movement is the key theme, Chalayan taking issue with the effects of ‘temperature change, pressure change and in-flight entertainment’ that characterise an era shaped by what he calls the ‘violence of travel’.
Another film, Anaesthetics (DATE), was recently shown at the Moderna Museet in the exhibition ‘Fashionation’, which brought together a selection of creative individuals working between fashion and visual arts including Matthew Barney, Vanessa Beecroft and Martin Margiela. Split into chapters, the film first investigates the strict aesthetics of Japanese food; as Chalayan points out, ‘the customer is never involved in the production of the food, in the violence of its production; we just eat its aesthetic result’. The Christian Holy Communion, the taking of bread and wine, forms a later chapter exploring the rituals and codes of conduct inherent in organised religion, while other sections of the film return to the idea of travel as a disembodied experience. ‘Each scene is like a kit, a stage set for a different zone,’ explains Chalayan. ‘But it’s more related to performance than theatre, because the work presents a series of formulated actions that can only be made timeless on film and not when presented live.’
The different chapters that make up Anaesthetics could easily be presented as separate works, but the idea of complex layering is actually a key structural motif. Just as we peel off the different strata of meaning with each successive chapter, the white-suited assistants in the film peel clothes from the walls of each scene to be worn by the main characters in the next setting. In fact, in both Chalayan’s film and fashion work, the act of gradually stripping away or unfolding layers is used as a device to symbolise adaptation and change: the woman peels off the blanket that covers her in Place to Passage; a letter opens out into a full-length paper dress in his ‘Airmail’ designs; furniture upholstery, and finally furniture itself, turns into dresses in the 2000/2001 ‘Afterwords’ collection.
For the Turkish Pavilion in Venice, Chalayan is working on a specially commissioned five-screen projected installation, a ‘scientific and aesthetic experiment as narrative’ titled The Abscent Presence. At the last Biennale, Turkish commissioner Beral Madra presented a group exhibition in a building shared by several other countries’ representatives, but Chalayan’s solo presentation merits a dedicated space (Fondazione Levi, the site of the Scottish Pavilion in 2003).
During the research phase of the new project, seven people unknown to Chalayan and foreign to the city of London donated an item of clothing to the artist. DNA was extracted from the clothes and analysed to form a series of facts on which to base imaginary – but entirely possible – characteristics for each individual. DNA, as Chalayan points out, ‘can only offer a few clues, such as someone’s race and gender, state of health and certain allergies; the rest has to be imagined from the clothing itself’. Three of the seven samples will be used to create graphic, animated representations of each individual, based on the form of the original garment and its status as a foreign element in London’s alien cityscape. The five-screen projection will be accompanied by items of clothing exhibited as static objects, so that the entire installation incorporates both the real and imagined presence of the three strangers. Chalayan is excited at the possibility of crossovers between the reality and the fantasy.
The Abscent Presence is not a documentary, but rather an abstract and creative reading of information that highlights the way we form cultural stereotypes and claim knowledge based on approximation. According to Chalayan, it will act as ‘a form of interrogation, a confrontation of assumed readings of immigration’ – a confrontation, in fact, that reflects on his own presence at the Biennale. His first concern on receiving the invitation to exhibit in Venice was that having a London-based fashion designer representing Turkey might ‘annoy people’. But his resistance to prejudice and categorisation – his subject matter in The Abscent Presence, as in so much of his previous work – should deter audiences from making hasty judgements.
ArtReview June 2005
Hussein Chalayan’s studio lies at the hub of London’s East End contemporary art spaces. This location, combined with Chalayan’s inter-disciplinary approach, suggests that his working space will be a similarly multi-dimensional environment of stored props, rails of past and present collections, AV equipment and more. In fact, the studio still appears very much dedicated to fashion, with clothes neatly hanging on either side of the room, while in the centre his assistants measure and cut lengths of cloth for his 10-year retrospective exhibition at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands. But although the atmosphere feels highly focused, it is no longer clear where a piece of material will end up: on the catwalk, in an exhibition display, or even in a costume for one of his films. ‘There has not been so much room for cross-disciplinary creativity in the art world,’ Chalayan says. ‘I am interested in turning one idea into something more, in stepping away from such restrictive categorisation.’ It is his confidence in the belief that ‘all disciplines are woven’ that propels him, allowing him to make work that disintegrates the boundaries we still perceive to exist between fashion and visual arts.
Less than two years ago Chalayan finished his first film, Temporal Meditations (DATE), which was conceived as a one-off production for a fashion collection of the same name. Filmed in Cyprus, and often actually referred to as ‘Cyprus’ by the artist, a territorial dialogue unfolds on an open runway with an abandoned aircraft as the backdrop. Chalayan is interested in using film to contain the variety of his interests and to extend his work further into what he calls the ‘realms of movement, space, sound and object. Each element appearing in my films is executed in a different way, but the whole allows them to merge, bringing everything together within one shared language.’ As in his other films, it is difficult to put a finger on the central idea behind Temporal Mediations because it consists of so many layers of narrative. But Chalayan suggests that his work is ‘generally about identity and displacement’, and broad references to travel, cultural rituals, codes of behaviour, imposed territorial conditions and border controls certainly recur throughout the films.
Chalayan insists that he is not yet well known as an artist, although his second film, the Tribe Art Commission Place to Passage (DATE), has already been exhibited in five international art venues. Projected on five screens, the film presents a woman going about day-to-day essential activities such as eating, sleeping and dressing, all within the confines of an enclosed, spatially restricted travelling pod. Although the pod itself travels – from a London car park to the glittering shores of the Bosphorus in Istanbul via a barren lunar landscape – the woman’s enforced environment precisely circumscribes her actions. Again, a set of pre-determined conditions of movement is the key theme, Chalayan taking issue with the effects of ‘temperature change, pressure change and in-flight entertainment’ that characterise an era shaped by what he calls the ‘violence of travel’.
Another film, Anaesthetics (DATE), was recently shown at the Moderna Museet in the exhibition ‘Fashionation’, which brought together a selection of creative individuals working between fashion and visual arts including Matthew Barney, Vanessa Beecroft and Martin Margiela. Split into chapters, the film first investigates the strict aesthetics of Japanese food; as Chalayan points out, ‘the customer is never involved in the production of the food, in the violence of its production; we just eat its aesthetic result’. The Christian Holy Communion, the taking of bread and wine, forms a later chapter exploring the rituals and codes of conduct inherent in organised religion, while other sections of the film return to the idea of travel as a disembodied experience. ‘Each scene is like a kit, a stage set for a different zone,’ explains Chalayan. ‘But it’s more related to performance than theatre, because the work presents a series of formulated actions that can only be made timeless on film and not when presented live.’
The different chapters that make up Anaesthetics could easily be presented as separate works, but the idea of complex layering is actually a key structural motif. Just as we peel off the different strata of meaning with each successive chapter, the white-suited assistants in the film peel clothes from the walls of each scene to be worn by the main characters in the next setting. In fact, in both Chalayan’s film and fashion work, the act of gradually stripping away or unfolding layers is used as a device to symbolise adaptation and change: the woman peels off the blanket that covers her in Place to Passage; a letter opens out into a full-length paper dress in his ‘Airmail’ designs; furniture upholstery, and finally furniture itself, turns into dresses in the 2000/2001 ‘Afterwords’ collection.
For the Turkish Pavilion in Venice, Chalayan is working on a specially commissioned five-screen projected installation, a ‘scientific and aesthetic experiment as narrative’ titled The Abscent Presence. At the last Biennale, Turkish commissioner Beral Madra presented a group exhibition in a building shared by several other countries’ representatives, but Chalayan’s solo presentation merits a dedicated space (Fondazione Levi, the site of the Scottish Pavilion in 2003).
During the research phase of the new project, seven people unknown to Chalayan and foreign to the city of London donated an item of clothing to the artist. DNA was extracted from the clothes and analysed to form a series of facts on which to base imaginary – but entirely possible – characteristics for each individual. DNA, as Chalayan points out, ‘can only offer a few clues, such as someone’s race and gender, state of health and certain allergies; the rest has to be imagined from the clothing itself’. Three of the seven samples will be used to create graphic, animated representations of each individual, based on the form of the original garment and its status as a foreign element in London’s alien cityscape. The five-screen projection will be accompanied by items of clothing exhibited as static objects, so that the entire installation incorporates both the real and imagined presence of the three strangers. Chalayan is excited at the possibility of crossovers between the reality and the fantasy.
The Abscent Presence is not a documentary, but rather an abstract and creative reading of information that highlights the way we form cultural stereotypes and claim knowledge based on approximation. According to Chalayan, it will act as ‘a form of interrogation, a confrontation of assumed readings of immigration’ – a confrontation, in fact, that reflects on his own presence at the Biennale. His first concern on receiving the invitation to exhibit in Venice was that having a London-based fashion designer representing Turkey might ‘annoy people’. But his resistance to prejudice and categorisation – his subject matter in The Abscent Presence, as in so much of his previous work – should deter audiences from making hasty judgements.
ArtReview June 2005
Wednesday, 6 April 2005
Normalization
In 2003 Platform was invited by Rooseum, Malmo and WHW, Zagreb as a third collaborator in a series of discussions, exhibitions and publication, which would take as their point of departure the term Normalization. The mere mention of normalization, carries with it a multitude of connotations: the EU process of transition, one of adoption and transformation; its contrary and the desire to achieve normality, ‘hope in liberation and independence. Hope in a normal life where we are neither heroes nor victims’.* The ambiguity of such a term, its perception from different geographies, cultures and individuals, plus our personal approach to curatorial practice, resulted in less of a collaborative outcome and rather presented an opportunity to emanate three different approaches while continuing to embrace clear cross-references.
Throughout the development of Normalization, Platform was wary of proposing a single response as an analysis of the term. Again it was the ambiguity of the word that revoked a single curatorial approach. And, although by means of different perspectives, a collection of art works in one exhibition could balance such a predicament, this alone would not absolve the curator’s responsibility to also confront the proposition. Hence, Platform’s personal response in its pursuit to communicate a notion of normalization has been one of trepidation and enquiry, resulting in a progressive art program that focused on the multiple meanings of the term, its usage, manifestation, its political and social implications via the involvement of different modes, media and protagonists.
In October 2004 Platform launched its Normalization process by inviting three artists: Can Altay, Solmaz Shahbazi and Phil Collins, to independently present their work and consider the relationships between each other’s practices with reference to the concept. During this phase an impending probability that Platform would have to relocate and the prospect of losing our exhibition space, put many ideas on hold. Confronting this situation and its own conditions of normalization became the main topics of discussion. The move did not come about, but its potential led to concerns about the transfer of a scene, the import and export of art, site specificity and audience.
These ideas were developed in two exhibitions entitled Art For…, which strove to discuss the conditions of ‘art for export’, in particular the exchange between Turkey and Europe. A selection of work by artists from Turkey that had previously only been shown abroad was installed within Platform’s exhibition space. The entrance became a reference point, the walls clad with posters and a table laid with catalogues from various Europe and Asia based exhibitions that have imported work, sometimes almost the entire scene. Art For…1 and 2 questioned whether this situation of export arose from a lack of audience, or clientel in Turkey? Whether artists from a certain culture change their practice on realizing that they cannot capture the attention of the local audience, or that their work cannot be exhibited because of political reasons or misunderstandings? Whether there are specific types of requests from the international scene that are placed upon them? Or just the opposite; whether they are creating works that they would want to see in another context?
Following Art For… and a program of talks and discussions, Normalization introduces the term via a diverse group of works that pronounce a range of commissioned responses, or presupposed tendencies towards the theme.
Can Altay, invited at the very start of the discussion, created a series of site-specific installations, each one re-presenting the previous exhibition hosted at Platform, but in a condensed form. In Normalization he provides a frame and historical review of the Art For… exhibitions, including his own work as previously viewed within their contexts. In so doing, he references the personal as a product and producer of normalization and raises questions relating to scale, packaging and consumption as an aspect of contemporary life, which Altay proposes ‘is, itself structured around a series of installments.’
Phil Collins and Solmaz Shahbazi, also involved from the outset of Normalization will as well present work in the 9th Istanbul Biennial. The introduction of artists participating in the Biennial and the support of specific artists over longer periods of time, were additional positions we were interested to take within the normalization process. Collins will spend three months in Istanbul from June on residency with IRP to produce work for the Biennial, in advance he has presented a selection of photographs within Normalization. Taken in places of intense socio-political conflict, these images collectively constitute the very fabric of everyday life more or less anywhere. Shahbazi, who will spend time in Istanbul this summer in order to make a new video work, was commissioned to make a third part to her Tehran series, the first being Tehran 1380 and Good Times/Bad Times. Her new work, Persepolis (2005), does not focus on the city itself, but on details within apartments, sweet memories and the construction of personal and collective narratives.
Two other artists with previous and ongoing connections with Platform are Wael Shawky, who has completed a six-month residency here, and Yael Bartana who will spend three months with IRP again in preparation for the Biennial. In the exhibition Shawky presents Cave (2004), which features himself in a local Istanbul supermarket reciting sections from the Koran. At first glance, the video appears much like a news-broadcast, effectively blurring the lines between consumerism, dissemination of information and exotica. Bartana exhibits Trembling Time (2001) in which she captures an aspect of collective memory related to the ‘Soldiers Memorial Day’. Her camera is directed at cars slowing out of respect on a major motorway, supplemented by the pause exaggerated in editing, the work offers a perspective of a ghostly world where movement and immobility merge into one.
An ongoing interest in the work of Mark Leckey, who previously exhibited at Platform in Coming Up, led to the inclusion of Made In Heaven (2004). An inquisitive form of allure haunts this computer-generated vision of Jeff Koons’ iconic bunny. Observed in Leckey’s own London flat, the implied camera circles the sculpture, an appropriation that positions the infamous work literally within Leckey’s grasp.
Also included is Hip Activities (2004) by Aydan Murtezaoglu, which offers a reduction to a kind of indifference via image, a treatise on the quest to transcend the bounds of the possible, a self-proclaimed ‘melodramatic parade of displacement.’ The multi-media installation: I Am the Martyr Comrade Jamâl Sâtî (2003) by Jalal Toufic, which attends to the “martyrdom” of Jamal Sati and his pre-recorded statement exposed in the work’s title. And, finally, Roman Ondak’s performance Good Feelings In Good Times (2003), periodically resulting in an artificial queue of people standing in line at Platform’s door. The fake queue is a reference to everyday-life and symbolises stagnation as well as order and shared mindset. If the visitor asks ‘what are you queuing for?’ the exhibition itself becomes a point of reference, as the response will most likely be a shrug and the reply ‘we don’t know’ as the queue disperses.
*Mahmoud Darwish
Normalization is supported by European Cultural Foundation and was conceived as part of a series of exhibitions, lectures and discussions initiated under the umbrella concept normalization. Parallel programs have been developed by Rooseum in Malmo, Sweden and WHW in Zagreb, Croatia. A joint publication will emerge from the three interpretations.
Throughout the development of Normalization, Platform was wary of proposing a single response as an analysis of the term. Again it was the ambiguity of the word that revoked a single curatorial approach. And, although by means of different perspectives, a collection of art works in one exhibition could balance such a predicament, this alone would not absolve the curator’s responsibility to also confront the proposition. Hence, Platform’s personal response in its pursuit to communicate a notion of normalization has been one of trepidation and enquiry, resulting in a progressive art program that focused on the multiple meanings of the term, its usage, manifestation, its political and social implications via the involvement of different modes, media and protagonists.
In October 2004 Platform launched its Normalization process by inviting three artists: Can Altay, Solmaz Shahbazi and Phil Collins, to independently present their work and consider the relationships between each other’s practices with reference to the concept. During this phase an impending probability that Platform would have to relocate and the prospect of losing our exhibition space, put many ideas on hold. Confronting this situation and its own conditions of normalization became the main topics of discussion. The move did not come about, but its potential led to concerns about the transfer of a scene, the import and export of art, site specificity and audience.
These ideas were developed in two exhibitions entitled Art For…, which strove to discuss the conditions of ‘art for export’, in particular the exchange between Turkey and Europe. A selection of work by artists from Turkey that had previously only been shown abroad was installed within Platform’s exhibition space. The entrance became a reference point, the walls clad with posters and a table laid with catalogues from various Europe and Asia based exhibitions that have imported work, sometimes almost the entire scene. Art For…1 and 2 questioned whether this situation of export arose from a lack of audience, or clientel in Turkey? Whether artists from a certain culture change their practice on realizing that they cannot capture the attention of the local audience, or that their work cannot be exhibited because of political reasons or misunderstandings? Whether there are specific types of requests from the international scene that are placed upon them? Or just the opposite; whether they are creating works that they would want to see in another context?
Following Art For… and a program of talks and discussions, Normalization introduces the term via a diverse group of works that pronounce a range of commissioned responses, or presupposed tendencies towards the theme.
Can Altay, invited at the very start of the discussion, created a series of site-specific installations, each one re-presenting the previous exhibition hosted at Platform, but in a condensed form. In Normalization he provides a frame and historical review of the Art For… exhibitions, including his own work as previously viewed within their contexts. In so doing, he references the personal as a product and producer of normalization and raises questions relating to scale, packaging and consumption as an aspect of contemporary life, which Altay proposes ‘is, itself structured around a series of installments.’
Phil Collins and Solmaz Shahbazi, also involved from the outset of Normalization will as well present work in the 9th Istanbul Biennial. The introduction of artists participating in the Biennial and the support of specific artists over longer periods of time, were additional positions we were interested to take within the normalization process. Collins will spend three months in Istanbul from June on residency with IRP to produce work for the Biennial, in advance he has presented a selection of photographs within Normalization. Taken in places of intense socio-political conflict, these images collectively constitute the very fabric of everyday life more or less anywhere. Shahbazi, who will spend time in Istanbul this summer in order to make a new video work, was commissioned to make a third part to her Tehran series, the first being Tehran 1380 and Good Times/Bad Times. Her new work, Persepolis (2005), does not focus on the city itself, but on details within apartments, sweet memories and the construction of personal and collective narratives.
Two other artists with previous and ongoing connections with Platform are Wael Shawky, who has completed a six-month residency here, and Yael Bartana who will spend three months with IRP again in preparation for the Biennial. In the exhibition Shawky presents Cave (2004), which features himself in a local Istanbul supermarket reciting sections from the Koran. At first glance, the video appears much like a news-broadcast, effectively blurring the lines between consumerism, dissemination of information and exotica. Bartana exhibits Trembling Time (2001) in which she captures an aspect of collective memory related to the ‘Soldiers Memorial Day’. Her camera is directed at cars slowing out of respect on a major motorway, supplemented by the pause exaggerated in editing, the work offers a perspective of a ghostly world where movement and immobility merge into one.
An ongoing interest in the work of Mark Leckey, who previously exhibited at Platform in Coming Up, led to the inclusion of Made In Heaven (2004). An inquisitive form of allure haunts this computer-generated vision of Jeff Koons’ iconic bunny. Observed in Leckey’s own London flat, the implied camera circles the sculpture, an appropriation that positions the infamous work literally within Leckey’s grasp.
Also included is Hip Activities (2004) by Aydan Murtezaoglu, which offers a reduction to a kind of indifference via image, a treatise on the quest to transcend the bounds of the possible, a self-proclaimed ‘melodramatic parade of displacement.’ The multi-media installation: I Am the Martyr Comrade Jamâl Sâtî (2003) by Jalal Toufic, which attends to the “martyrdom” of Jamal Sati and his pre-recorded statement exposed in the work’s title. And, finally, Roman Ondak’s performance Good Feelings In Good Times (2003), periodically resulting in an artificial queue of people standing in line at Platform’s door. The fake queue is a reference to everyday-life and symbolises stagnation as well as order and shared mindset. If the visitor asks ‘what are you queuing for?’ the exhibition itself becomes a point of reference, as the response will most likely be a shrug and the reply ‘we don’t know’ as the queue disperses.
*Mahmoud Darwish
Normalization is supported by European Cultural Foundation and was conceived as part of a series of exhibitions, lectures and discussions initiated under the umbrella concept normalization. Parallel programs have been developed by Rooseum in Malmo, Sweden and WHW in Zagreb, Croatia. A joint publication will emerge from the three interpretations.
Wednesday, 15 December 2004
Memorials, monuments and memory in Amsterdam
The political climate in the Netherlands regarding immigration and integration has strongly affected general discussion. Added to the debate surrounding future cuts in cultural funding, current artistic production appears to be reflecting these issues by reconsidering the true signification of memorials, monuments, memory and National identity.
At the Rijksakademie (not) open ateliers, open to the general public on 27 and 28 November, it was stated that the academy’s main topic of consideration were the consequences of severe funding cutbacks in the cultural sector. The open studios brochure also explained that the ‘(not)’ preceding the usual ‘open ateliers’, was inserted to illustrate ‘that it no longer goes without saying that a multitude of worlds of experience, ideas, cultures, work and work in progress can be shown.’ Perhaps more simply described as the local increase in concern over repercussions brought about by freedom of speech.
The Rijksakademie attempted to exhibit each of its 58 participating artists both in their studio environment and in additional spaces throughout the academy. The building is a maze of staircases, corridors and bridging devices and the numbers, names and levels applied ‘on various big maps throughout the building’ didn’t ease navigation.
Amongst the many presentations, only a few stood out. These included a number of installations by Claire Harvey scattered throughout the building. The most effective being in her studio, where an overhead projection of pencil drawn figures clambered and balanced amidst the gradients of a wall applied collage. A video projection by Sara Rajai, presented a family sat perfectly still, while a roving camera, intimately circled their composition. Here the image proved more seductive than the narrative - a story about the selection, delivery and installation of what one was led to presume to be a traditional Turkish or Persian carpet. Next door, Igor Sevcuk’s two-room exhibit of cross-referencing installations definitely intrigued the audience who appeared transfixed by an emotive video of a dog aggressively chasing its own tail.
Moving on to the topical theme of memorials and national identity: Marjolein Rothman’s paintings of ruins and historical monuments, proposed a confrontation between power, decay and the desperation to make memory permanent. Oranje, Amalia Pica’s studio work, where she had painted every object and every part of the room as seen from its open door in vivid orange, was unfortunately eclipsed by a new work of the same name by Jeroen de Rijke and Willem de Rooij. Selected to represent the Netherlands in the 51st Venice Biennial, de Rijke and de Rooij’s slide installation Orange presents a series of 80 orange monochrome slides originally intended to capture the colour of the prisoners’ overalls at Guantanamo Bay, while simultaneously confronting National sympathies and referencing The House of Orange. Orange was on exhibit in ‘Cordially Invited’ at BAK, basis voor actuele kunst in Utrecht, along with another of Pica’s more successful new works Toc toc, a clog wearing performance and video documentation involving Netherlands based foreigners.
Finally at the Rijksacademie, Jeremiah Day’s work Reconstruction set an interesting precedent for the reconsideration of what memorials mean in real time. His installation of photographs, text and sculptural elements used as a reference the events of the summer and autumn of 2004, when most of the major memorials and monuments in Washington DC went under construction. He proposes that this simultaneous reconstruction is no coincidence and that it is a symbolic re-organisation, initiated to parallel the USA’s shift in its political discourse. Upon the photographs Day had handwritten short notes, which crossed over images and factual information, offering a fragmented form of storytelling and a reflection of the limitations of historical description.
In the realm of new media and design a contemporary answer to the convention of graveyards and memorials was proposed by the winning entry for the Internet competition Fusedspace. Initiated by SKOR, Foundation for Art and Public Space, Fusedspace 2004 called for innovative applications of new technology in the public domain, leading to its virtual extension. The competition received 307 international entries and was won by Ulrika Wachtmeister from Sweden.
Wachtmeister’s proposal was to install on the island of Pepperholm, (which is located between the two cities Copenhagen and Malmö), a field of 1.5m high light-poles connected to the Internet via mobile technology. This field would be fully visible to passengers in the cars and trains passing via the island to each city, but would remain, as it is now, physically inaccessible. Each time a pole was lit as a gesture of remembrance it would then gradually fade, to allow access for a new interactive user, leaving a glimmering field of lights, which you pass by on your way to elsewhere.
Ironically continuing this theme of remembrance and mourning is SMART Project Space’s move into a building of monumental proportions that was once Amsterdam’s Pathological Anatomical Laboratory. SMART was founded in 1994 and since inception has developed as a site for cultural production through its strong artist studio program. Now SMART is developing its activities and enlarging its premises by ten, to 5000 square metres.
The new building’s features retain a cold edge but offer an incredible range of spaces, which once redeveloped will include 700 square metres of exhibition space fuelled by work produced on site in the 12 studio spaces; 6 cinemas, each seating between 20 and 60 guests who can select their film of choice in advance via the internet; a production support and new media lab; reference library; media café, club and restaurant accessible by boat, Smarties, an onsite kindergarten run by studio artists; and in the hollow clock tower, accommodation for visiting critics and lecturers. The new SMART spaces open on 21st May 2005 with ADAM (short for Amsterdam), an exhibition of works by 30 artists including Dave Allen, Otto Berchem, Johanna Billing, Phil Collins, Dirk van Lieshout and Susan Philipsz.
While the Rijksakademie and the De Ateliers studio progamme are both concerned about future funding, the Stedelijk’s exhibition program has also deteriorated during its temporary transitional phase at its waterfront location. Amidst this general feeling of unease and stagnation, SMART has moved forward regardless and its directors’ Thomas Peutz and Una Henry’s positive perspective could provide the potential to reposition SMART as Amsterdam’s main centre for contemporary culture.
At the Rijksakademie (not) open ateliers, open to the general public on 27 and 28 November, it was stated that the academy’s main topic of consideration were the consequences of severe funding cutbacks in the cultural sector. The open studios brochure also explained that the ‘(not)’ preceding the usual ‘open ateliers’, was inserted to illustrate ‘that it no longer goes without saying that a multitude of worlds of experience, ideas, cultures, work and work in progress can be shown.’ Perhaps more simply described as the local increase in concern over repercussions brought about by freedom of speech.
The Rijksakademie attempted to exhibit each of its 58 participating artists both in their studio environment and in additional spaces throughout the academy. The building is a maze of staircases, corridors and bridging devices and the numbers, names and levels applied ‘on various big maps throughout the building’ didn’t ease navigation.
Amongst the many presentations, only a few stood out. These included a number of installations by Claire Harvey scattered throughout the building. The most effective being in her studio, where an overhead projection of pencil drawn figures clambered and balanced amidst the gradients of a wall applied collage. A video projection by Sara Rajai, presented a family sat perfectly still, while a roving camera, intimately circled their composition. Here the image proved more seductive than the narrative - a story about the selection, delivery and installation of what one was led to presume to be a traditional Turkish or Persian carpet. Next door, Igor Sevcuk’s two-room exhibit of cross-referencing installations definitely intrigued the audience who appeared transfixed by an emotive video of a dog aggressively chasing its own tail.
Moving on to the topical theme of memorials and national identity: Marjolein Rothman’s paintings of ruins and historical monuments, proposed a confrontation between power, decay and the desperation to make memory permanent. Oranje, Amalia Pica’s studio work, where she had painted every object and every part of the room as seen from its open door in vivid orange, was unfortunately eclipsed by a new work of the same name by Jeroen de Rijke and Willem de Rooij. Selected to represent the Netherlands in the 51st Venice Biennial, de Rijke and de Rooij’s slide installation Orange presents a series of 80 orange monochrome slides originally intended to capture the colour of the prisoners’ overalls at Guantanamo Bay, while simultaneously confronting National sympathies and referencing The House of Orange. Orange was on exhibit in ‘Cordially Invited’ at BAK, basis voor actuele kunst in Utrecht, along with another of Pica’s more successful new works Toc toc, a clog wearing performance and video documentation involving Netherlands based foreigners.
Finally at the Rijksacademie, Jeremiah Day’s work Reconstruction set an interesting precedent for the reconsideration of what memorials mean in real time. His installation of photographs, text and sculptural elements used as a reference the events of the summer and autumn of 2004, when most of the major memorials and monuments in Washington DC went under construction. He proposes that this simultaneous reconstruction is no coincidence and that it is a symbolic re-organisation, initiated to parallel the USA’s shift in its political discourse. Upon the photographs Day had handwritten short notes, which crossed over images and factual information, offering a fragmented form of storytelling and a reflection of the limitations of historical description.
In the realm of new media and design a contemporary answer to the convention of graveyards and memorials was proposed by the winning entry for the Internet competition Fusedspace. Initiated by SKOR, Foundation for Art and Public Space, Fusedspace 2004 called for innovative applications of new technology in the public domain, leading to its virtual extension. The competition received 307 international entries and was won by Ulrika Wachtmeister from Sweden.
Wachtmeister’s proposal was to install on the island of Pepperholm, (which is located between the two cities Copenhagen and Malmö), a field of 1.5m high light-poles connected to the Internet via mobile technology. This field would be fully visible to passengers in the cars and trains passing via the island to each city, but would remain, as it is now, physically inaccessible. Each time a pole was lit as a gesture of remembrance it would then gradually fade, to allow access for a new interactive user, leaving a glimmering field of lights, which you pass by on your way to elsewhere.
Ironically continuing this theme of remembrance and mourning is SMART Project Space’s move into a building of monumental proportions that was once Amsterdam’s Pathological Anatomical Laboratory. SMART was founded in 1994 and since inception has developed as a site for cultural production through its strong artist studio program. Now SMART is developing its activities and enlarging its premises by ten, to 5000 square metres.
The new building’s features retain a cold edge but offer an incredible range of spaces, which once redeveloped will include 700 square metres of exhibition space fuelled by work produced on site in the 12 studio spaces; 6 cinemas, each seating between 20 and 60 guests who can select their film of choice in advance via the internet; a production support and new media lab; reference library; media café, club and restaurant accessible by boat, Smarties, an onsite kindergarten run by studio artists; and in the hollow clock tower, accommodation for visiting critics and lecturers. The new SMART spaces open on 21st May 2005 with ADAM (short for Amsterdam), an exhibition of works by 30 artists including Dave Allen, Otto Berchem, Johanna Billing, Phil Collins, Dirk van Lieshout and Susan Philipsz.
While the Rijksakademie and the De Ateliers studio progamme are both concerned about future funding, the Stedelijk’s exhibition program has also deteriorated during its temporary transitional phase at its waterfront location. Amidst this general feeling of unease and stagnation, SMART has moved forward regardless and its directors’ Thomas Peutz and Una Henry’s positive perspective could provide the potential to reposition SMART as Amsterdam’s main centre for contemporary culture.
Saturday, 11 December 2004
Tuesday, 9 November 2004
Over and Above/How Can You Resist, LA Freewaves 2004
For a number of years, Can Altay has been documenting ways in which his urban environment of Ankara is ‘mis-used’, or alternatively ‘made the most of’ by its inhabitants. MiniBar, an ongoing project, surveys a group of people who accommodate the gaps between residential or commercial apartment buildings to form social drinking spaces. They return to these places time and again to meet up in the evenings, until the residents, police, or local authorities move them on. The ‘Minibar’ then shifts and is reformed elsewhere, again creating and shaping a new space for the continuation of the protagonists’ activities. Altay, who studied and now teaches architecture, describes this phenomena as: “a doing of architecture, by undoing the very architecture that provides the grounds for the act. It is not about undoing the architecture physically, because just by being there the people who initiate the ‘Minibars’ shape the space that they use. In contrast, it is the residents’ interventions, generated in order to eliminate the ‘Minibar’ activities, that imprint lasting changes on the physical, urban texture.” Minibar has itself been exhibited in different formats, including installations with text interventions, theoretical documents and slide shows. For Over and Above Altay has created a new compilation of slides that are here projected as stills within the moving images of the rest of the programme. These paused images show the ‘Minibar’ act, details such as the use of plastic drinking bottles, the evenings’ ephemeral remains and then finally the permanent interventions that intercept the ‘Minibar’ and cause it to move on.
“I mean, people created this place’’.
Excerpt from the minibar interviews by Can and Deniz Altay
In Paperman, another new edit from a larger installation, Altay forms a diary about the garbage collection of non-official rubbish collectors in Ankara. These men collect specific ‘types’ of garbage in order to sell it on for recycling. The camera follows these ‘Papermen’, who during the day and throughout the night, spend hours going through the city’s bins and refuse, searching out countless samples of a specific material in order to make a living. The authorities turn a blind eye to this practice, which in fact appears to benefit everyone, from the official garbage collectors, to those that recycle the materials and finally those that are making the best out of what is available, the ‘Papermen’.
With a similar attitude ‘of making the most of the situation’, Osman Bozkurt’s DVD Auto Park depicts families picnicking and playing on the verges of some of Istanbul’s major roads and motorways. Not to be inconvenienced by a lack of green space near their homes, these families plan entire day trips to be spent within metres of speeding traffic. As one would expect, these areas are not officially open to the public, but no one seems to notice or care. As Bozkurt interviews different people who sit out on the minimal grassy banks, it is clear that they more than enjoy these small islands of green land for the space and freedom that they provide. One interviewee suggests that the spaces are ‘well designed and if it wasn’t for the fact that there was a road to be crossed – convenient’. Another picnicker, when asked about the disturbing noise coming from the traffic optimistically philosophizes that: “There is no noise. Of course if you give yourself to the noise, there is noise.”
Specifically produced for the programme is Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr extracted excerpts from their documentary work Tehran 1380. The new edited version includes footage of contemporary Tehran and interviews that describe how quickly the city is changing and expanding. The Alborz mountains provide a natural background and limit for the city and so it is within the existing urban configuration that a chaotic and tangled growth of newly built living spaces can be witnessed. Air space is where the planned developments are to formally occur, but there are also makeshift sites such as the interior of billboard signs that are accommodating the excess population. Since the revolution of 1979 the population has dramatically exploded and now a third of the city is less than 14 years of age. It is in this work and other documentaries both made and in progress that Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr are proposing that it is no longer the Capitols of the West, but the highly populated and organically growing conurbations such as Tehran that are now setting the standards for today’s cities.
The Atlas Group is a fictional art collective formed by Walid Raad. In the work I think It Would Be Better If I Could Weep another fictive construction is taking place. The work is filmed on the Corniche, Beirut’s seaside walkway, a place that is renowned these days as a pleasant place to walk, talk and jog. It is also known as the favourite meeting place of political pundits, spies, double agents, fortune-tellers and phrenologues. To keep an eye on all these activities, Lebanese security agents set up cameras in 1992 along the strip. The cameras were manned and were placed inside the mini-van cafes that lined the strip at 18 metre intervals.
Instead of concentrating on capturing on camera these deviant activities, the operator of camera #17 would divert his camera’s focus away from its designated target and instead aim its view to the setting sun. For shifting his attention to something far more personally appealing, the operator was dismissed in 1996,
According to the Atlas Group, although they never had contact with the camera operator, he sent them the sunset video footage he had been permitted to keep. The cameraman also stated that he had focused his camera on the sun when he thought it was about to set and that he returned to his duties once he thought the sun had set. Moreover, he stated that having grown up in East Beirut during the war years, he always yearned to watch the sunset from Corniche located in West Beirut.
Finally, to offer another perspective on the social production of space and the utilization of a physical environment pushed to its limits, architects Neutral were approached to produce an urban impression of their recent visit to Cairo. Christian Grou and Tapio Snellman have been working together since 1998, when they collaborated in Tokyo to produce the film seek.01. In a similar way to seek.01 their new work Clustered In performs as a fast-moving diary and personal reading of the city. Clustered In was filmed in May 2004, using a digital still camera with a highly compressed Mpeg movie option. The film ‘refers to the gregarious atmosphere of people huddling densely within their groups and families under the threat of the ever intruding sand from the surrounding desert’. Interpreting the speed of the city is foremost and although its inhabitants remain as Neutral suggests: ‘clustered in’, the film continuously proposes the desire for escape. Each section of the video concentrates on a mode of transportation, or another implied shift from a to b, such as the speed of change that results from increased allusion to commodity value. Together these different forms of exchange span years of history, while also proposing a desire for the new and the possibility to move further and more quickly in time and space. The closing scene of Clustered In is filmed from a car, at night, – suggesting that ultimately this city, much like the others refered to in this programme, will continue such rapid acceleration even when left alone.
Works and order
The Atlas Group/Walid Raad, Lebanon
I think It Would Be Better If I Could Weep, 2000, DVD, 6:30
Can Altay, Turkey
Minibar, 2004, DVD, 3:30
Osman Bozkurt, Turkey
Auto-Park The Highway Parks of Istanbul, 2003 DVD 15:00
Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr, Iran
Excerpts from Tehran 1380, mini DV, 18:30
Can Altay, Turkey
Papermen, DVD, 9:56
Neutral - Christian Grou and Tapio Snellman, UK
Clustered In, 2004, DVD NTSC, 9:00
“I mean, people created this place’’.
Excerpt from the minibar interviews by Can and Deniz Altay
In Paperman, another new edit from a larger installation, Altay forms a diary about the garbage collection of non-official rubbish collectors in Ankara. These men collect specific ‘types’ of garbage in order to sell it on for recycling. The camera follows these ‘Papermen’, who during the day and throughout the night, spend hours going through the city’s bins and refuse, searching out countless samples of a specific material in order to make a living. The authorities turn a blind eye to this practice, which in fact appears to benefit everyone, from the official garbage collectors, to those that recycle the materials and finally those that are making the best out of what is available, the ‘Papermen’.
With a similar attitude ‘of making the most of the situation’, Osman Bozkurt’s DVD Auto Park depicts families picnicking and playing on the verges of some of Istanbul’s major roads and motorways. Not to be inconvenienced by a lack of green space near their homes, these families plan entire day trips to be spent within metres of speeding traffic. As one would expect, these areas are not officially open to the public, but no one seems to notice or care. As Bozkurt interviews different people who sit out on the minimal grassy banks, it is clear that they more than enjoy these small islands of green land for the space and freedom that they provide. One interviewee suggests that the spaces are ‘well designed and if it wasn’t for the fact that there was a road to be crossed – convenient’. Another picnicker, when asked about the disturbing noise coming from the traffic optimistically philosophizes that: “There is no noise. Of course if you give yourself to the noise, there is noise.”
Specifically produced for the programme is Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr extracted excerpts from their documentary work Tehran 1380. The new edited version includes footage of contemporary Tehran and interviews that describe how quickly the city is changing and expanding. The Alborz mountains provide a natural background and limit for the city and so it is within the existing urban configuration that a chaotic and tangled growth of newly built living spaces can be witnessed. Air space is where the planned developments are to formally occur, but there are also makeshift sites such as the interior of billboard signs that are accommodating the excess population. Since the revolution of 1979 the population has dramatically exploded and now a third of the city is less than 14 years of age. It is in this work and other documentaries both made and in progress that Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr are proposing that it is no longer the Capitols of the West, but the highly populated and organically growing conurbations such as Tehran that are now setting the standards for today’s cities.
The Atlas Group is a fictional art collective formed by Walid Raad. In the work I think It Would Be Better If I Could Weep another fictive construction is taking place. The work is filmed on the Corniche, Beirut’s seaside walkway, a place that is renowned these days as a pleasant place to walk, talk and jog. It is also known as the favourite meeting place of political pundits, spies, double agents, fortune-tellers and phrenologues. To keep an eye on all these activities, Lebanese security agents set up cameras in 1992 along the strip. The cameras were manned and were placed inside the mini-van cafes that lined the strip at 18 metre intervals.
Instead of concentrating on capturing on camera these deviant activities, the operator of camera #17 would divert his camera’s focus away from its designated target and instead aim its view to the setting sun. For shifting his attention to something far more personally appealing, the operator was dismissed in 1996,
According to the Atlas Group, although they never had contact with the camera operator, he sent them the sunset video footage he had been permitted to keep. The cameraman also stated that he had focused his camera on the sun when he thought it was about to set and that he returned to his duties once he thought the sun had set. Moreover, he stated that having grown up in East Beirut during the war years, he always yearned to watch the sunset from Corniche located in West Beirut.
Finally, to offer another perspective on the social production of space and the utilization of a physical environment pushed to its limits, architects Neutral were approached to produce an urban impression of their recent visit to Cairo. Christian Grou and Tapio Snellman have been working together since 1998, when they collaborated in Tokyo to produce the film seek.01. In a similar way to seek.01 their new work Clustered In performs as a fast-moving diary and personal reading of the city. Clustered In was filmed in May 2004, using a digital still camera with a highly compressed Mpeg movie option. The film ‘refers to the gregarious atmosphere of people huddling densely within their groups and families under the threat of the ever intruding sand from the surrounding desert’. Interpreting the speed of the city is foremost and although its inhabitants remain as Neutral suggests: ‘clustered in’, the film continuously proposes the desire for escape. Each section of the video concentrates on a mode of transportation, or another implied shift from a to b, such as the speed of change that results from increased allusion to commodity value. Together these different forms of exchange span years of history, while also proposing a desire for the new and the possibility to move further and more quickly in time and space. The closing scene of Clustered In is filmed from a car, at night, – suggesting that ultimately this city, much like the others refered to in this programme, will continue such rapid acceleration even when left alone.
Works and order
The Atlas Group/Walid Raad, Lebanon
I think It Would Be Better If I Could Weep, 2000, DVD, 6:30
Can Altay, Turkey
Minibar, 2004, DVD, 3:30
Osman Bozkurt, Turkey
Auto-Park The Highway Parks of Istanbul, 2003 DVD 15:00
Solmaz Shahbazi and Tirdad Zolghadr, Iran
Excerpts from Tehran 1380, mini DV, 18:30
Can Altay, Turkey
Papermen, DVD, 9:56
Neutral - Christian Grou and Tapio Snellman, UK
Clustered In, 2004, DVD NTSC, 9:00
Friday, 3 September 2004
Two steps forward and one back?
It is difficult not to only refer to Istanbul when asked about the contemporary art situation in Turkey, because this is where the crux of it happens. There are a small number of artists emerging from Izmir and Ankara, and a strong, but again small scene has over the last few years appeared in Diyarbakir and the surrounding region. But, Istanbul remains where the majority of the artists live and work, it is where the exhibitions take place and where the international art crowd flock every two years for the International Istanbul Biennial. So, to mainly discuss the situation in this particular city is crucial and even more so when it stands at a point that appears to exist inbetween the historical and the contemporary.
There is so much potential for the situation in Istanbul to suddenly launch itself away from the conservative and undemanding modernist ideals many consider contemporary. But, until this happens with more conviction, for every two steps taken forward into the experimental and enlightening arena of contemporary culture by the city’s institutions and their audience, there still seems to be one taken back.
Istanbul is full of energy and things have been happening quickly over the last few years. It almost feels as if there is a deadline approaching, that the previous lack of institutions has created speed, in advance of the forthcoming EU decision, the ratification of new cultural sponsorship laws that offer tax breaks for private businesses, a more positive outlook for the country’s economy and the desire to be the ‘one’ to open ‘Istanbul’s first modern museum’. In light of these changes the city has recently seen contemporary art spaces open, change and close, more often than not without due consideration or public discussion. Their aims, long-term plans and intellectual position are either not discussed, or remain behind closed doors. On the other side of the coin, one can find the remains of philanthropic funding, where the donation of a space and small budgetry assistance allows the marketplace to be dominated by the most mediocre of collectors and local media. Again, this support, (Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center and Borusan Art Gallery aside) which mainly dominates the busy pedestrianised zone of Istiklal Caddesi, is about having a cultural center or gallery to one’s name without a care to what it houses.
There is a constant that runs underneath all these projects, the city’s historical foundation, where things remain static and immersed in tradition. It is the pride in this permanently effective base that remains in tension with the desire to produce a contemporary situation and this is where the fine line of success lies – in managing to completely escape old habits in order to concentrate on the new.
In spring of this year Proje4L Istanbul Contemporary Art Museum, Istanbul’s first major contemporary art space closed. Since its founding in 2001, a number of the most important contemporary art exhibitions to happen in Turkey in the last five years, took place at Proje4L. Both Under The Beach the Pavement curated by Vasif Kortun and I’m Too Sad to Kill You curated by Halil Altindere provided a much-needed platform for Turkey’s new generation of artists and without bias to Istanbul’s local artist base. These felt like positive times. The work was not always fantastic, but the attitude and potential were there. As Vasif Kortun stepped down as director and the museum’s funding became more of an issue, the program seemed to loose direction and the institutions lack of a collection meant that it had no true stability or focus. Still, its closure should have caused a reaction and a discussion about how it could have continued, moved or shifted, but instead the event was all but glossed over by the Turkish media and even those working in the contemporary art sphere with shared interests.
By no means substitutes, but at least new beginnings for Istanbul's museum culture, are plans for two new spaces; the first, a museum of modern and contemporary art at the Silahtaraga Power Station campus anticipated to open late next year, and the other, due to open as early as November is Istanbul Modern. The latter will house a collection of modern Turkish art, temporary exhibition spaces, as well as a public library and archive - entry will be free. This museum initiative has been backed by the Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Art and will be located in the old customs warehouse on the Bosphorus that was used as the main site for the 4th and 8th International Istanbul Biennials. With the appointment of Rosa Martinez as head of exhibitions, there is growing expectation as to whether this will make the difference between the museum existing as a static display of Turkish work, or becoming a lively, internationally reputed museum. It is though, the decision of starting a contemporary collection of Turkish work, that will make or break its success.
While the institutions here continue a fragile existence, it is the individuals - the artists, curators and critics from Turkey who are gaining more and more exposure on an international level. There remain strong connections with Berlin, Amsterdam and Rotterdam and these cities as well as others, have seen freelance curators such as Erden Kosova, Esra Sarigedik, Pelin Tan and Basak Senova all continuing to expand their activities abroad. In the last year the established artist base have reached new heights; to name but a few achievements among so many others: Kutlug Ataman nominated for the Turner Prize, Haluk Akakce and Ergin Cavosoglu for Becks Futures, Huseyin Alptekin and Cengiz Cekil showing at the recent Manifesta, Fikret Atay to show at Tate Modern and Oda Projesi travelling and exhibiting extensively. While Turkey still struggles to provide collectors for the many excellent artists producing solid work, there is interest abroad both in the private and public collections. This interest also extends to the documentation of such activity and several publications, notably ArtIst magazine and a recently commissioned book on Turkey’s contemporary art scene written by Vasif Kortun and Erden Kosova, provide an intellectual structure of support for their contemporaries.
This international interest is yet again reflected by the many art professionals and artists passing through Turkey for research, projects and sabbaticals. Turkey is currently viewed as one of the hot spots for new talent and anticipated change. This proves a difficult, alternating position, that is positive in terms of increasing exchange and production, but problematic when the artists and scene are extracted, popularised and replanted as a national collective in another context. On the other hand the exchange to here, mainly implemented by Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center’s international conference program, this year saw The Last Documenta Should Be Curated By An Artist book launch and discussion with guests including Martha Rosler, Tino Sehgal and Daniel Buren hosted in Istanbul. Also at Platform is the Istanbul Residency Program, which is providing a completely new situation, one where invited artists, their friends, relatives and collaborators all turn up expectantly enthusiastic and in consequence enliven the scene. Combined, these guests, who may stay for a few days or for up to six months, have introduced something fresh and alternative, while also revealing the sharp edge of competition, something that did not exist as predominantly before. As a result of such a dominant presence another negotiation is presented, a trait of Istanbul is its imbalance between excess and normality, and currently foreign participation resulting from the rise in visitors and guests is more apparent than the local.
Finally, there is the Biennial and its international emphasis, the one institution that has maintained its support of contemporary art over the last eight exhibitions. Poetic Justice, last years’ offer by Dan Cameron, did little to enliven the local art scene, concentrating more on the import of work, a list of safe names and an installation that at best was dull. Preparations are already underway for the next installment and for the first time the Biennial will be co-curated, the appointed directors being Charles Esche, who recently took up the Directorial post at the Van Abbe Museum in Eindhoven and Vasif Kortun, Director of Platform Garanti in Istanbul. Their concerns focus on the project's structure and local context, Vasif coming from Turkey and Charles having strong connections with the scene here for a number of years. The title will initially be Istanbul, referring to both the real urban location and the imaginative charge that the city represents for the rest of Turkey and the world. Working with a newsite and escaping the old historic monuments of the city, Istanbul will be considered as a metaphor, as a prediction, as a lived reality and an inspiration.
There is so much potential for the situation in Istanbul to suddenly launch itself away from the conservative and undemanding modernist ideals many consider contemporary. But, until this happens with more conviction, for every two steps taken forward into the experimental and enlightening arena of contemporary culture by the city’s institutions and their audience, there still seems to be one taken back.
Istanbul is full of energy and things have been happening quickly over the last few years. It almost feels as if there is a deadline approaching, that the previous lack of institutions has created speed, in advance of the forthcoming EU decision, the ratification of new cultural sponsorship laws that offer tax breaks for private businesses, a more positive outlook for the country’s economy and the desire to be the ‘one’ to open ‘Istanbul’s first modern museum’. In light of these changes the city has recently seen contemporary art spaces open, change and close, more often than not without due consideration or public discussion. Their aims, long-term plans and intellectual position are either not discussed, or remain behind closed doors. On the other side of the coin, one can find the remains of philanthropic funding, where the donation of a space and small budgetry assistance allows the marketplace to be dominated by the most mediocre of collectors and local media. Again, this support, (Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center and Borusan Art Gallery aside) which mainly dominates the busy pedestrianised zone of Istiklal Caddesi, is about having a cultural center or gallery to one’s name without a care to what it houses.
There is a constant that runs underneath all these projects, the city’s historical foundation, where things remain static and immersed in tradition. It is the pride in this permanently effective base that remains in tension with the desire to produce a contemporary situation and this is where the fine line of success lies – in managing to completely escape old habits in order to concentrate on the new.
In spring of this year Proje4L Istanbul Contemporary Art Museum, Istanbul’s first major contemporary art space closed. Since its founding in 2001, a number of the most important contemporary art exhibitions to happen in Turkey in the last five years, took place at Proje4L. Both Under The Beach the Pavement curated by Vasif Kortun and I’m Too Sad to Kill You curated by Halil Altindere provided a much-needed platform for Turkey’s new generation of artists and without bias to Istanbul’s local artist base. These felt like positive times. The work was not always fantastic, but the attitude and potential were there. As Vasif Kortun stepped down as director and the museum’s funding became more of an issue, the program seemed to loose direction and the institutions lack of a collection meant that it had no true stability or focus. Still, its closure should have caused a reaction and a discussion about how it could have continued, moved or shifted, but instead the event was all but glossed over by the Turkish media and even those working in the contemporary art sphere with shared interests.
By no means substitutes, but at least new beginnings for Istanbul's museum culture, are plans for two new spaces; the first, a museum of modern and contemporary art at the Silahtaraga Power Station campus anticipated to open late next year, and the other, due to open as early as November is Istanbul Modern. The latter will house a collection of modern Turkish art, temporary exhibition spaces, as well as a public library and archive - entry will be free. This museum initiative has been backed by the Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Art and will be located in the old customs warehouse on the Bosphorus that was used as the main site for the 4th and 8th International Istanbul Biennials. With the appointment of Rosa Martinez as head of exhibitions, there is growing expectation as to whether this will make the difference between the museum existing as a static display of Turkish work, or becoming a lively, internationally reputed museum. It is though, the decision of starting a contemporary collection of Turkish work, that will make or break its success.
While the institutions here continue a fragile existence, it is the individuals - the artists, curators and critics from Turkey who are gaining more and more exposure on an international level. There remain strong connections with Berlin, Amsterdam and Rotterdam and these cities as well as others, have seen freelance curators such as Erden Kosova, Esra Sarigedik, Pelin Tan and Basak Senova all continuing to expand their activities abroad. In the last year the established artist base have reached new heights; to name but a few achievements among so many others: Kutlug Ataman nominated for the Turner Prize, Haluk Akakce and Ergin Cavosoglu for Becks Futures, Huseyin Alptekin and Cengiz Cekil showing at the recent Manifesta, Fikret Atay to show at Tate Modern and Oda Projesi travelling and exhibiting extensively. While Turkey still struggles to provide collectors for the many excellent artists producing solid work, there is interest abroad both in the private and public collections. This interest also extends to the documentation of such activity and several publications, notably ArtIst magazine and a recently commissioned book on Turkey’s contemporary art scene written by Vasif Kortun and Erden Kosova, provide an intellectual structure of support for their contemporaries.
This international interest is yet again reflected by the many art professionals and artists passing through Turkey for research, projects and sabbaticals. Turkey is currently viewed as one of the hot spots for new talent and anticipated change. This proves a difficult, alternating position, that is positive in terms of increasing exchange and production, but problematic when the artists and scene are extracted, popularised and replanted as a national collective in another context. On the other hand the exchange to here, mainly implemented by Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center’s international conference program, this year saw The Last Documenta Should Be Curated By An Artist book launch and discussion with guests including Martha Rosler, Tino Sehgal and Daniel Buren hosted in Istanbul. Also at Platform is the Istanbul Residency Program, which is providing a completely new situation, one where invited artists, their friends, relatives and collaborators all turn up expectantly enthusiastic and in consequence enliven the scene. Combined, these guests, who may stay for a few days or for up to six months, have introduced something fresh and alternative, while also revealing the sharp edge of competition, something that did not exist as predominantly before. As a result of such a dominant presence another negotiation is presented, a trait of Istanbul is its imbalance between excess and normality, and currently foreign participation resulting from the rise in visitors and guests is more apparent than the local.
Finally, there is the Biennial and its international emphasis, the one institution that has maintained its support of contemporary art over the last eight exhibitions. Poetic Justice, last years’ offer by Dan Cameron, did little to enliven the local art scene, concentrating more on the import of work, a list of safe names and an installation that at best was dull. Preparations are already underway for the next installment and for the first time the Biennial will be co-curated, the appointed directors being Charles Esche, who recently took up the Directorial post at the Van Abbe Museum in Eindhoven and Vasif Kortun, Director of Platform Garanti in Istanbul. Their concerns focus on the project's structure and local context, Vasif coming from Turkey and Charles having strong connections with the scene here for a number of years. The title will initially be Istanbul, referring to both the real urban location and the imaginative charge that the city represents for the rest of Turkey and the world. Working with a newsite and escaping the old historic monuments of the city, Istanbul will be considered as a metaphor, as a prediction, as a lived reality and an inspiration.
Friday, 28 May 2004
The Moderna Museet has Re-opened.
Following two years of repair work and architectural refurbishment, Stockholm’s Moderna Museet re-opened in February this year. Considered by many as the largest and most comprehensive museum of contemporary art north of Düsseldorf, the current director Lars Nittve is finally in a position to resurrect its reputation and the building’s image.
Just one month into the program a candlelit procession of twinkling lights lined the path from the new waterside entrance (a path that the original architect Rafael Moneo had always intended for) to the first in the Moderna by Night series of art and music events. The evening concluded with a performance by Swedish artist Tobias Bernstrup and attracted a full auditorium of local artists, curators and musicians. People were drinking in a bar set up in the adopted education room, a DJ played continuously next-door and even though the performances were seated, the atmosphere was relaxed and casual. One of Bernstrup’s computer-animated creations - a man repeatedly running around a corridor, to become more and more consumed by grey fog with each circuit - provided an hypnotic backdrop for his entrance. As the artist took his position, clad in a robotic suit, a monocle over one eye and a large barrelled gun by his side, it felt like the Moderna Museet had reopened as a young and hip venue. Even Bernstrup’s finale lyrics: ‘You, You’re only beautiful at night, here in the fluorescent flickering lights’ seemed to say it all.
A second visit the following morning suggested that the new Moderna Museet is still a rather conservative but popular institution, that is attracting a diverse crowd of Tate-like proportions. Admission is now free to all and this, along with the new emphasis on open-plan public meeting space, which incorporates bookshops, cafes and a large day-lit lobby, courtesy Marge Arkitektur practice, has tempted a continuous stream of visitors. An installation of fabric wall panels by Yinka Shonibare counterbalances the minimal quality of the surrounding architecture and is most successful as an introductory work at the waterside entrance. Also located at this entrance is a new interactive Studio Video lounge. Here one can select art videos at choice from the Moderna Museet’s collection and view them via a computer screen or projected on the side wall. It is a great research point, which also enables more discerning visitors the opportunity to view work that is of personal interest, a positive shift to what could be a new era of interactive curating.
There is a strong respect for the Moderna Museet in Stockholm and yet even those working in its shadow are aware that there is a need for more alternative, independent art spaces in the city to balance its strong institutional message. In response to this situation, Jelena Runqvist who had previously initiated the project After Shopping and Ylva Ogland and Rodrigo Mallea Lira who founded the project Modern Talking recently came together to form Konst2. Launched in the suburb district of Skarholmen in an ex-immigration office, activities at Konst2 intend to question and avoid the conservatism associated with the more traditional art institution. The ‘2’ in the title refers to the other facets of art production such as design, fashion and architecture, which Konst2 believe the art world too often perceive as the ‘other’, a situation they are interested to dissolve by integrating all these cultural disciplines within one situation. The space acts as a public working platform, with spaces and offices for artists, designers, curators etc., to work and collaborate on joint projects.
The interior of Konst2 can also be read as one large collaborative project with the most ingenious intervention created by architects and designers Ugly Cute. To soften the previous and current distinction between public and private space, the floor carpet has been extended up to cover the dividing walls. Cuts in the carpet provide visual access between each space and this flexible design allows more material to be cut away at the users’ discretion.
Konst2 have attempted to create a situation where all their activities start from scratch, from the interior by Uglycute, to their graphics – a blank pad of coloured lined papers. It’s a nice utopian concept, but surely it is naive to suggest you can create anything from a starting point of nothing. Another concern is how Konst2 relates to its public. It is essentially a public space, but its activities are diverse and appear quite insular confined to those that they collaborate with and their friends from the local art and design scene. The shop signals at these contradictions. It sells design objects and art concepts– for example you can purchase the instructions to a conceptual art work or a designed object such as shelf or wallpaper. This suggests a registered difference between ideas and objects, the facets of art production that Konst2 endeavour to bring together.
The strong sense of collaboration seen at Konst2 is extremely prevalent in Stockholm. Last November this network was used to its full potential when many of the artist run and independent spaces together organised a public open day. Under the title Southern Comfort and with Index as the main facilitator the following spaces and initatives: Make It Happen, CFF, Sauna, Idi, Konst2, Candyland, Soc, Bondegatan, United networks, Site, Uglycute, Crac, Fylkingen, Studio and The Union along with others, will list their activities and open their doors to the public in a concerted effort again in May. This collaborative condition however active and positive is in danger of internalising Stockholm’s art scene with the same people coming together and relying on one another’s creative support time and again. As the three protagonists of Konst2 also take up artistic directorial posts at Testa Konsthall, their initial aim to create a complex production site as an ambitious response to the form of the institution already seems to have been integrated into the system. With similar local support existing in terms of funding, together these structures hinder the possibility for an alternative underground, mediating even the most experimental new projects into the mainstream.
Just one month into the program a candlelit procession of twinkling lights lined the path from the new waterside entrance (a path that the original architect Rafael Moneo had always intended for) to the first in the Moderna by Night series of art and music events. The evening concluded with a performance by Swedish artist Tobias Bernstrup and attracted a full auditorium of local artists, curators and musicians. People were drinking in a bar set up in the adopted education room, a DJ played continuously next-door and even though the performances were seated, the atmosphere was relaxed and casual. One of Bernstrup’s computer-animated creations - a man repeatedly running around a corridor, to become more and more consumed by grey fog with each circuit - provided an hypnotic backdrop for his entrance. As the artist took his position, clad in a robotic suit, a monocle over one eye and a large barrelled gun by his side, it felt like the Moderna Museet had reopened as a young and hip venue. Even Bernstrup’s finale lyrics: ‘You, You’re only beautiful at night, here in the fluorescent flickering lights’ seemed to say it all.
A second visit the following morning suggested that the new Moderna Museet is still a rather conservative but popular institution, that is attracting a diverse crowd of Tate-like proportions. Admission is now free to all and this, along with the new emphasis on open-plan public meeting space, which incorporates bookshops, cafes and a large day-lit lobby, courtesy Marge Arkitektur practice, has tempted a continuous stream of visitors. An installation of fabric wall panels by Yinka Shonibare counterbalances the minimal quality of the surrounding architecture and is most successful as an introductory work at the waterside entrance. Also located at this entrance is a new interactive Studio Video lounge. Here one can select art videos at choice from the Moderna Museet’s collection and view them via a computer screen or projected on the side wall. It is a great research point, which also enables more discerning visitors the opportunity to view work that is of personal interest, a positive shift to what could be a new era of interactive curating.
There is a strong respect for the Moderna Museet in Stockholm and yet even those working in its shadow are aware that there is a need for more alternative, independent art spaces in the city to balance its strong institutional message. In response to this situation, Jelena Runqvist who had previously initiated the project After Shopping and Ylva Ogland and Rodrigo Mallea Lira who founded the project Modern Talking recently came together to form Konst2. Launched in the suburb district of Skarholmen in an ex-immigration office, activities at Konst2 intend to question and avoid the conservatism associated with the more traditional art institution. The ‘2’ in the title refers to the other facets of art production such as design, fashion and architecture, which Konst2 believe the art world too often perceive as the ‘other’, a situation they are interested to dissolve by integrating all these cultural disciplines within one situation. The space acts as a public working platform, with spaces and offices for artists, designers, curators etc., to work and collaborate on joint projects.
The interior of Konst2 can also be read as one large collaborative project with the most ingenious intervention created by architects and designers Ugly Cute. To soften the previous and current distinction between public and private space, the floor carpet has been extended up to cover the dividing walls. Cuts in the carpet provide visual access between each space and this flexible design allows more material to be cut away at the users’ discretion.
Konst2 have attempted to create a situation where all their activities start from scratch, from the interior by Uglycute, to their graphics – a blank pad of coloured lined papers. It’s a nice utopian concept, but surely it is naive to suggest you can create anything from a starting point of nothing. Another concern is how Konst2 relates to its public. It is essentially a public space, but its activities are diverse and appear quite insular confined to those that they collaborate with and their friends from the local art and design scene. The shop signals at these contradictions. It sells design objects and art concepts– for example you can purchase the instructions to a conceptual art work or a designed object such as shelf or wallpaper. This suggests a registered difference between ideas and objects, the facets of art production that Konst2 endeavour to bring together.
The strong sense of collaboration seen at Konst2 is extremely prevalent in Stockholm. Last November this network was used to its full potential when many of the artist run and independent spaces together organised a public open day. Under the title Southern Comfort and with Index as the main facilitator the following spaces and initatives: Make It Happen, CFF, Sauna, Idi, Konst2, Candyland, Soc, Bondegatan, United networks, Site, Uglycute, Crac, Fylkingen, Studio and The Union along with others, will list their activities and open their doors to the public in a concerted effort again in May. This collaborative condition however active and positive is in danger of internalising Stockholm’s art scene with the same people coming together and relying on one another’s creative support time and again. As the three protagonists of Konst2 also take up artistic directorial posts at Testa Konsthall, their initial aim to create a complex production site as an ambitious response to the form of the institution already seems to have been integrated into the system. With similar local support existing in terms of funding, together these structures hinder the possibility for an alternative underground, mediating even the most experimental new projects into the mainstream.
Tuesday, 20 April 2004
Ahmet Ogut
Ahmet Ogut
There is a subtle shroud of ambiguity dangling over the work, resolve and character of Ahmet Ogut, one that tempts enquiry, rather than providing answers. With it comes a self-assurance that is not arrogant, or overly ambitious as seen in some of the work produced by artists from Turkey that came to local and international attention during the nineties, but from a personal and although often humorous, a more earnest perspective. The one-liner works, in your face statements and use of political irony are dwindling, to be replaced by a subtler, more inquisitive and muliti-dimensional approach. And, the younger generation of artists, of which Ogut is one, are choosing not to be restricted and hence labelled by working with a solitary form of medium; are open to collaborations in order to encourage diverse practice and thought; have gained confidence to experiment freely without assuming an end-product; and ultimately they are producing work that is not obvious, not as expected and therefore far more interesting to discuss.
Until the age of 17, Ogut had not ventured beyond the region surrounding Diyarbakir in the East of Turkey, the city of his birth. It was only then that he travelled to Ankara to study painting and illustration for four years at Hacettepe University. One of his first works Halisaha sets a poignant scene for his interest in performance and role-play, the ability to shift tradition and location and the sense of community formed by games.
A candid irony combined with Ogut’s gentle touch as its referee grants a dexterity that clearly references specific issues important to him as a Kurd living and working in Turkey, while at the same time picking up on similar ambiguities present at any threshold which exists between two cultures.
In Halisaha (which literally translates as carpet field, but means astro-turf) Ogut transferred a Turkish carpet, a symbol and literal element of his home in Diyarbakir, into the centre of a football stadium. A photograph of the carpet’s temporary placement exists as the art work, but it was the actual performance of taking the carpet from its private setting to lay it out for display in a space created for an audience (although at that moment significantly absent and therefore merely implied), which produced a temporary interface loaded with enquiry.
Another local game Okey has been the subject of several of Ogut’s works. Played with numbered chips and as popular as Backgammon in the more rural areas of Turkey, Okey is a man’s game and in places like Diyarbakir consumes time in tea shops for the unemployed. In his youth, Ogut and a friend set up a small business, which boasted the return of Okey chips ‘as good as new’ by repainting their embossed numbers for pocket money. When invited to participate in the exhibition Under the Beach the Pavement curated by Vasif Kortun at Proje4L in 2003, Ogut recognised a familiar division between his activity and that of the Okey players in Diyarbakir and the location in Istanbul of the museum, then positioned on a fine-line separating the financial area of Levent and the residential, poverty stricken district of Gultepe. In order to locate an element of one site subtly into the other, Ogut went about collecting chips form the community in Gultepe (this time without charge) to renew within the museum. On the opening night of the exhibition Ogut sat focused, painting these chips, doing a job he knew well and that performed multiple references for himself, having been a lived reality of his youth and a symbol of multiple cultures living side-by-side albeit in ignorance of one another.
Ogut used Okey again as a different means for communication in the exhibition Darkroom in Hannover. One day before the opening, Ogut taught four German males how to play the game, which they then realised as a form of living sculpture within the setting of the gallery. The men had never played Okey previously and yet lived very close to the Turkish neighbourhood from where the chips for the game had been easily borrowed. Without imposing a shared dialogue between the local German and the Turkish community, Ogut hinted at the possibility for cultural exchange by introducing this game on the boarder of two contexts.
Two recent video works What a Lovely Day and Cut it Out propose imaginary scenarios for real situations of cause and effect. What a Lovely Day depicts the playing out of a situation where the police stop and search a young man. Secret police, such as the ones portrayed in the video, exist in Ogut’s memory as a catalyst for assumed guilt and the fear of potential violence. His video is as much a re-enactment of scenes he has heard about, as it is a performance of his mind racing forward to conjure a future situation on seeing the tell-tale white car known to contain such police.
In Cut it Out a young man, who for Ogut represents the average American guy, sits on the floor in a pair of pants printed with an American flag motif. Posing as an Iraq posted soldier he curses the war, the people involved, the pointlessness of it all and numerously repeats the phrase ‘it’s a lost cause, I want to go home’ seemingly confused and referring both to America’s war efforts and the situation in Iraq simultaneously. Throughout his rendition he continuously breaks down in laughter, as if high and excessively nervous of a reality and seriousness he cannot express. On two occasions flash frames appear momentarily exposing two men dressed in the representation of terrorists fed to us by the media. The first time they stand behind the boy, posing as if guarding him, in the second all three appear dead. These split-second insertions jerk the viewer to look beyond the boy’s bewildered contempt to the more sinister reality it refers to.
Another component of Ogut’s practice consists of collaborations with other artists. The most successful of these has been Colouring Book, produced with Sener Ozmen in 2004. The book contains a series of line drawn scenes adapted from childhood memory. Each one references complex topics mainly related to the Kurdish, Turkish relationship such as religion, small town mentality, immigration and the image of Ataturk as a national symbol. These pages perhaps best represent Ogut’s practice literally –because although images, scenes and thoughts are out-lined in the work, Drawing Book is essentially a blank canvas, gamely waiting to be coloured in, added to, modified, or scribbled out.
Ahmet Ogut currently lives and works in Istanbul. He was recently selected as the first artist from Turkey to receive a three-month residency in Basel, Switzerland with the support of Pro Helvetia.
There is a subtle shroud of ambiguity dangling over the work, resolve and character of Ahmet Ogut, one that tempts enquiry, rather than providing answers. With it comes a self-assurance that is not arrogant, or overly ambitious as seen in some of the work produced by artists from Turkey that came to local and international attention during the nineties, but from a personal and although often humorous, a more earnest perspective. The one-liner works, in your face statements and use of political irony are dwindling, to be replaced by a subtler, more inquisitive and muliti-dimensional approach. And, the younger generation of artists, of which Ogut is one, are choosing not to be restricted and hence labelled by working with a solitary form of medium; are open to collaborations in order to encourage diverse practice and thought; have gained confidence to experiment freely without assuming an end-product; and ultimately they are producing work that is not obvious, not as expected and therefore far more interesting to discuss.
Until the age of 17, Ogut had not ventured beyond the region surrounding Diyarbakir in the East of Turkey, the city of his birth. It was only then that he travelled to Ankara to study painting and illustration for four years at Hacettepe University. One of his first works Halisaha sets a poignant scene for his interest in performance and role-play, the ability to shift tradition and location and the sense of community formed by games.
A candid irony combined with Ogut’s gentle touch as its referee grants a dexterity that clearly references specific issues important to him as a Kurd living and working in Turkey, while at the same time picking up on similar ambiguities present at any threshold which exists between two cultures.
In Halisaha (which literally translates as carpet field, but means astro-turf) Ogut transferred a Turkish carpet, a symbol and literal element of his home in Diyarbakir, into the centre of a football stadium. A photograph of the carpet’s temporary placement exists as the art work, but it was the actual performance of taking the carpet from its private setting to lay it out for display in a space created for an audience (although at that moment significantly absent and therefore merely implied), which produced a temporary interface loaded with enquiry.
Another local game Okey has been the subject of several of Ogut’s works. Played with numbered chips and as popular as Backgammon in the more rural areas of Turkey, Okey is a man’s game and in places like Diyarbakir consumes time in tea shops for the unemployed. In his youth, Ogut and a friend set up a small business, which boasted the return of Okey chips ‘as good as new’ by repainting their embossed numbers for pocket money. When invited to participate in the exhibition Under the Beach the Pavement curated by Vasif Kortun at Proje4L in 2003, Ogut recognised a familiar division between his activity and that of the Okey players in Diyarbakir and the location in Istanbul of the museum, then positioned on a fine-line separating the financial area of Levent and the residential, poverty stricken district of Gultepe. In order to locate an element of one site subtly into the other, Ogut went about collecting chips form the community in Gultepe (this time without charge) to renew within the museum. On the opening night of the exhibition Ogut sat focused, painting these chips, doing a job he knew well and that performed multiple references for himself, having been a lived reality of his youth and a symbol of multiple cultures living side-by-side albeit in ignorance of one another.
Ogut used Okey again as a different means for communication in the exhibition Darkroom in Hannover. One day before the opening, Ogut taught four German males how to play the game, which they then realised as a form of living sculpture within the setting of the gallery. The men had never played Okey previously and yet lived very close to the Turkish neighbourhood from where the chips for the game had been easily borrowed. Without imposing a shared dialogue between the local German and the Turkish community, Ogut hinted at the possibility for cultural exchange by introducing this game on the boarder of two contexts.
Two recent video works What a Lovely Day and Cut it Out propose imaginary scenarios for real situations of cause and effect. What a Lovely Day depicts the playing out of a situation where the police stop and search a young man. Secret police, such as the ones portrayed in the video, exist in Ogut’s memory as a catalyst for assumed guilt and the fear of potential violence. His video is as much a re-enactment of scenes he has heard about, as it is a performance of his mind racing forward to conjure a future situation on seeing the tell-tale white car known to contain such police.
In Cut it Out a young man, who for Ogut represents the average American guy, sits on the floor in a pair of pants printed with an American flag motif. Posing as an Iraq posted soldier he curses the war, the people involved, the pointlessness of it all and numerously repeats the phrase ‘it’s a lost cause, I want to go home’ seemingly confused and referring both to America’s war efforts and the situation in Iraq simultaneously. Throughout his rendition he continuously breaks down in laughter, as if high and excessively nervous of a reality and seriousness he cannot express. On two occasions flash frames appear momentarily exposing two men dressed in the representation of terrorists fed to us by the media. The first time they stand behind the boy, posing as if guarding him, in the second all three appear dead. These split-second insertions jerk the viewer to look beyond the boy’s bewildered contempt to the more sinister reality it refers to.
Another component of Ogut’s practice consists of collaborations with other artists. The most successful of these has been Colouring Book, produced with Sener Ozmen in 2004. The book contains a series of line drawn scenes adapted from childhood memory. Each one references complex topics mainly related to the Kurdish, Turkish relationship such as religion, small town mentality, immigration and the image of Ataturk as a national symbol. These pages perhaps best represent Ogut’s practice literally –because although images, scenes and thoughts are out-lined in the work, Drawing Book is essentially a blank canvas, gamely waiting to be coloured in, added to, modified, or scribbled out.
Ahmet Ogut currently lives and works in Istanbul. He was recently selected as the first artist from Turkey to receive a three-month residency in Basel, Switzerland with the support of Pro Helvetia.
Wednesday, 10 March 2004
Another Zero
Nominated for a curatorial prize that set only one inflexible condition, which was to use the new gallery space at GAMeC, it seemed appropriate to take this as the departure point for my proposal. Without visiting Bergamo, I formed a visual understanding of the city and the gallery from friends' memories, books and photographs. Together these observations created a very graphic and stratified impression of Bergamo. Taking the architectural plan of the gallery as my 'centre', I then imagined how it related to this context.
Using such a simple visual reading let gallery plan act as a central pivot for the rest of the proposal. The windows that look down into the gallery from a separate room on first floor level became my second point of perspective. Grouped together, the gallery and its variety of external viewpoints, could exist as a single particle within the main plans and sections of the GAMeC building. Spanning out further, this unique set of conditions was occuring at GAMeC, in a building located at the foot of the old city of Bergamo, a city which literally climbs in layers up a steep hill, incorporating the formal strata of a city wall and finally offering views of the surrounding landscape.
‘What happens if you imagine the extended dimensions of the given gallery, picture it as one particle of GAMeC and in turn the city of Bergamo that contains it?’
1 Experience the gallery from its ground floor
2 From a more distanced viewpoint through the four first-floor windows
3 Picture the experience within the building’s physical make-up
4 Extend the experience out into the surrounding city
Concentrating in this way on one specific space into which multiple viewpoints could expand a viewers' experience of the exhibition, prompted the use of Charles and Ray Eames’ film Powers of Ten to act as a metaphor to probe the site and concept further. The exhibition’s title ‘Another Zero’, stems from the Eames’ idea of questioning what happens if you add another zero to the powers of ten equation, a mathematical progression, that for them became a frame through which to view life and its relationships.
Powers of Ten, a nine minute film made in 1977, visualised the relative size of elements through space and time exposing worlds within worlds.
‘What happens when you add another zero to the equation?’
10˚ A man sleeps on a picnic rug - one square metre of space
1025 The edge of the universe - camera zooms out ten times for every ten seconds
10-18 One atom in a hand - camera zooms back in ten times for every ten seconds
Another Zero
Haluk Akakçe, Tobias Bernstrüp, Tobias Collier,
Tom Friedman, Saskia Olde Wolbers, Keith Tyson
'a problem cannot be solved at the same level of consciousness as it was created'
Albert Einstein
The exhibition takes the idea of 'zero' as a constant, an absolute that everything stems out from. The selected artists propose different zero points through their work and then oscillate between a detailed and a more contextual - visual and mental -reading of the world around us. They examine geometrical systems and architectural structures to play with scale and perspective, questioning how everyday objects and mental calculations relate to each other in a wider context. In a similar way to Powers of Ten, the artists often focus on one event or element of everyday life, presenting or creating a scenario to describe its context. These new imagined environments and experimental applications suggest alternate or fantastical interpretations for natural and built evolutionary processes and allow the audience to re-imagine their own worldscape; the causes and consequences that link events, relationships and scientific problems.
Another Zero includes a specially commissioned wall painting by Haluk Akakçe and a new lecture work that considers and analyses the idea of ‘adding another zero to the equation’ by Keith Tyson. On two wall mounted screens the DVD works Interloper, 2003 by Saskia Olde Wolbers and Polygon Lover, 2000 by Tobias Bernstrup present another form of imagined environment where alter egos construct alternative existences. Hung at different heights from the ceiling like distant satellites to the other works are Tom Friedman’s Untitled, 1998 a sculpture of hard insulation, polystyrene balls and paint and by Tobias Collier the spherical Proto – Oscillator, 2002 constructed from fibreglass, polystyrene and glass.
The selection and installation creates a composition of layers and alternative angles of perspective within the gallery, which refer back to the original reading of the space: the way the plan was seen to relate to the building’s physical make-up and extending out its relevance to the surrounding city.
The design of the different publicities for this exhibition attempted to add extended layers of connected material to the concept, literally referencing their own position, be it in a magazine or on the streets of Bergamo, back to the gallery space and the exhibition’s location in time and space. This catalogue, is then perhaps the most distant viewpoint from which to look back at the exhibition and the gallery plan as a departure point for the proposal. It offers an expanded notion of Another Zero including images and text by Charles and Ray Eames and works by the selected that helped form the original proposal.
Saturday, 1 November 2003
Wednesday, 13 August 2003
Friday, 1 August 2003
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