Create, Destroy: Performance Art and the Photograph as Both Document and Artform

I spent the weekend in London, where I went to see the Performing for the Camera exhibition at the Tate Modern. I don’t normally post extensively about exhibitions that I’ve seen, but this one really left an impression. In part, because the topic is close to themes which I have worked with and written about in the past, and in part because it triggered the realisation that my lull in visual creativity during recent months has been at least partially caused by a failure to immerse myself in outside influence. Visiting galleries, spending time with other artists, discussing inspiration and ideas, and paying attention to things that are going on in the visual arts world.

It hasn’t been intentional, simply that since late in 2015, I developed an interest in a completely new area, and when that happens, my mind tends to become obsessive about learning in that single area for a while, before levelling out to re-include my other interests. There’s benefits to this, and drawbacks. The major benefit, of course, being that I learn the basics of something very rapidly, meaning that I can find out whether or not something is likely to become a long term interest rather than a passing fancy, without dedicating an overlong amount of time to it first. The drawbacks, as already mentioned, include complete lack of activity or progress in other areas of interest, for a while.

Amongst the artists exhibited, and what originally caught my attention, are Francesca Woodman, Erin Wurm, and the mention of progression into the ultra-modern, with use of social media as a platform for performance exhibition.

The exhibition deals with the relationship between performance art and the photograph as both document and art form in and of itself, and links in with an interest I have had since my university days related to the creation of something with the sole intent to photograph it. My own dissertation dealt with work such as Thomas Demand‘s paper (re)constructions of spaces and scenes, and  James Casebere‘s Blue Hallway. Essentially, the concept of creating something which by itself is temporary, fleeting, or intended to be destroyed, and utilising photography to effect a permanent form of the work.

Amalia Ulman‘s work using Instagram as a platform for performance exhibition links in to topics I wrote about a short while back, discussing the relationship (or not) of historical self portraiture, and the modern ‘selfie’, and the emergence of DIY curation and non-traditional formats for exhibition. Her work is displayed within the exhibition as the Instagram feeds themselves, on iPads which viewers can scroll through – and this itself has potential to require further debate regarding the idea of art within the gallery environment. This is art which does not require a traditional exhibition format in order to exist and succeed in reaching viewers. And it succeeds in this, in fact, to such an extent that it eventually finds a place within one of the most well known galleries in the world. It’s a circle back on itself, in some ways, that is equally bizarre and fascinating.

Performing for the Camera will examine the relationship between photography and performance, from the invention of photography in the 19th century to the selfie culture of today. Bringing together over 500 images spanning 150 years, the exhibition will engage with the serious business of art and performance, as well as the humour and improvisation of posing for the camera.
Identity and self-image were also important for artists like Jeff Koons and Andy Warhol in their own marketing and promotional photographs, and in more playful works like Mike Mandel’s Baseball Photographer Trading Cards 1974 in which photographers pose as ‘collectable’ baseball players. The world of social media will be addressed in a key recent work staged on Instagram by Amalia Ulman. The exhibition will show not only that photography has always been performative, but that much performance art is inherently photographic.

Further links and resources can be found on a Pinterest board which I am continuing to add to, containing various exhibition information, reviews and artists, plus any related material relevant to the overall topic.

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Outside the Gallery: DIY Aesthetics and The Artist as Curator

A recently published study on artists working outside the gallery system reminded me of an article I once read which offered the opinion that the time of the formal exhibition was nearing a close. That, in terms of the art world, the gallery was no longer the only, or major, endgame for many artists, and that in this world of technology and instant access information, the physical exhibition is simply another event for people not to bother leaving the house for. My own paraphrasing, of course.

I can’t recall now where the article in question was published, but it certainly left a lingering thought in my mind.

Throughout college and university, the aim was always the exhibition. Every piece of research, every final product, was a move towards the same endgame. Frames, mirror plates, rules and guidelines. There was one project in three years which touched on the idea that there could be an alternative, which involved students planning and creating a professionally finished, bound book of work. But this was never elaborated upon, nor returned to at any later points. In fact, it was years after finishing my formal education that I began to find out about the possibilities of avenues like self publishing, and the potential for DIY projects. Of course, the advancement and affordability of home technology between 2002 and 2007 certainly helped, but during the 1970s and 80s, there were plenty of people involved in the self publishing scene. Fanzines – hand-compiled, photocopied booklets often themed around music, politics, or both – were small works of art in and of themselves, and the zine scene has evolved now to encompass everything from true-to-the-roots, grainy photocopies, lovingly stapled by hand, to polished booklets of art work rendered in full colour on heavy stock. The overarching message being: if you want something out there, put it out there yourself.

The main issue with the formal exhibition is, and has always been, accessibility. It’s reliant on somebody else, either one individual or a very small group, appreciating or understanding what you do. A tiny fraction of viewers, non-representative of the potential audience, making selection based on their own personal opinions, interests and tastes – no matter how subjective a person tries to be, they will always, to some extent, be swayed by their own bias and agenda.

One could argue that this is the point. That the exhibition filters through the elite, the best at what they do. That only the hardest workers and the most talented earn their space on those white walls. That may hold some element of accuracy, but it is far from the whole truth. And whilst a handful of those talented artists might well slip through, so do many more go completely unseen, unrecognised. And that’s a shame. Like many things, there are other factors at play. What is likely to sell comes high on the priorities of many venues, because as crass a sentiment as it might be, the fact is that for many galleries, sales mean revenue and revenue means continued business. Even in cases where sales are a lesser concern, the work still needs to draw an audience, and curators will look for artists who can fulfil that requirement. There’s no sense in exhibiting to an empty room.

On top of that, there’s location to consider, not to mention the ever-present ‘who you know’. For artists based outside of London and major southern cities, access to both opportunity and network has always been a problem. The crop of northern galleries in recent years has certainly helped, but it has a lot of catching up to do.

So, enter the DIY aesthetic, and this is nothing new, but it has certainly been gaining popularity over the past few years. From self-staged exhibitions in non-traditional venues such as coffee shops, warehouses and bars, to self-published art zines and books. Guerilla art, from the more permanent graffiti to projected displays on the side of buildings. Even online galleries, blogs, Tumblr and Instagram. These are reactions to the exclusivity and formality traditionally present within the art world. These are artists taking a step further in their own creativity, and getting their work out there. Pushing their individual messages, whatever they might be, rather than waiting for someone to deliver them.

Returning to the topic of technology, and its affect on creative lifestyles, one major possibility that has been drawn out of this is the potential for collaborative projects. For the art world, this means everything from easily organising small, local collectives – such as the group I participate in, which I would never have become aware of had it not been for social media – to international projects like Brooklyn Art Library’s Sketchbook Project, which I’ve participated in on a number of occasions. Knowing that there is work I have created sitting in a venue thousands of miles away, being handled and viewed by people I will never meet, it feels like a small victory. Something that you have made is affecting a strangers life, even in the smallest way. For me, that’s the real endgame involved in publicising my work, however I choose to do that. It’s the reason I’m so open with my work, publishing it any way I can.

Many of these artists will never be famous, and they will never be rich. This self-staged output is unlikely to draw large crowds, nor pay the rent. But I think that anybody who wonders what, then, the point of it all is, is perhaps missing it entirely.