Winter issue « Un coup de dés

Un coup de dés

Dear Sinziana v. Dear Emilie

In 2014, La Galerie is celebrating its 15th anniversary. For over a year, the centre d’art has been growing in time with the seasons, by following the “Forms of Affects”. In June 2013, its director Emilie Renard began a correspondence with curator and art critic Sinziana Ravini, about where affects stand in art. Whereas in science, researchers have a duty to maintain an objective, neutral attitude, art critics and curators position themselves differently when they undertake their research. Then the question is: for authors—be they artists, curators or critics—, is there a distance between research and autobiography?

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from: emilie renard
to: Sinziana Ravini
date: 7 June 2013, 6:08 pm
re: Transfusing massive energy from one wild beast to another might kill them both.

Dear Sinziana,
First of all, the subject I’m working on for the coming season at La Galerie is the place of affects in art. Literally what affects us is what touches us, what mobilises
– or, on the contrary, immobilises – us. To address art from this angle, by trying to identify the ‘forms of affects’, is to try to understand how they function as immersion factors in relation to artworks, forms of affects being a means of locating both the place moved into by the artist and the one occupied by the viewer.

Your own affective and subjective position is perceptible in your work as a curator; sometimes it takes on near-expressionist form in that there’s a clear proximity between your biographical input and what you’re out to achieve. The aim of this conversation is to look more closely at this concept and see how you put it into practice.

I’d like to begin with a work by Mike Kelley whose title alone speaks volumes: More Love Hours Than Can Ever Be Repaid (1987). The stuffed dolls it’s composed of are strange half-human, half-animal bodies, in most cases gifts from mothers and grandmothers who have worked on them lovingly for hours and hours. As the title says, there’s no monetary equivalent of these hours of love. Kelley takes an emotionally charged non-professional practice and turns it into a cumulative, agglomerative, overflowing, saturated work that reveals something suffocating – a surfeit of love. In a conversation with John Miller in 1991 Kelly spoke of this surfeit and the implicit obligation for the receiver to reciprocate: ‘Basically, gift giving is like indentured slavery or something. There’s no price, so you don’t know how much you owe. The commodity is the emotion. What’s being bought and sold is emotion. I did a piece called More Love Hours Than Can Ever Be Repaid. I said if each one of these toys took 600 hours to make then that’s 600 hours of love; and if I gave this to you, you owe me 600 hours of love; and that’s a lot. And if you can’t pay it back right away it keeps accumulating 1…’

Here I’m starting you – you who created the exhibition titled The Hidden Mother (2012) – on an approach to affect manifesting itself as almost pathetic filial love. And I’m doing it with a question: does the affective charge slide, with almost no loss of intensity, from the initial object (the soft toy made by the mother) to the work of art (made by Kelley)? Of course you may want to talk about other transitional objects…

Looking forward,

 

from: Sinziana Ravini
to: emilie renard
date: 17 June 2013, 4:09 am
re: Transfusing massive energy from one wild beast to another might kill them both.

Dear Emilie,
I began my career in the art world writing stern, argumentative stuff for the Swedish art magazine Paletten, where I became joint editor-in-chief with Fredrik Svensk. My idols at the time were the theoreticians from October. I wanted to be like them: no feelings, even fewer doubts, telling it like it is.

Now I think the big issue of our time is the complete opposite of all that, the need to reclaim art discourse for the emotional domain, that mysterious theatre of the unconscious that’s there whether we like it or not. But to do that you have to be ready to expose yourself, lose your way, make mistakes and most of all, exaggerate. I adore thinkers like Slavoj Žižek, who manage to dramatise their ideas with their bodies, their sweat, grand gestures and above all, jokes. In that context there’s no problem in talking about emotional expressionism, but I also like thinkers a tad more sophisticated, like Simon Critchley. In his book Very Little… Almost Nothing (1997) he attacks contemporary nihilism in a beautifully simple introductory account of the death of his father. It’s terribly moving to enter a philosophical world through this emotional prism. How does he manage to speak so frankly of his father and then bring such finesse and complexity to his discussion of world philosophy? Every time I reread this passage I’m baffled. Ever since, I’ve tried to begin everything I write with a personal story, an admission or a speculation unrelated to the actual text, as if I were stretched out on an analyst’s divan and letting the words pour out unadorned.

Of course, working with affect is a form of manipulation. But honest manipulation: at least that way the desire of the person writing or speaking becomes a desire truly laid bare and, in an ideal world, analysed.

Reading back over what I’ve just written, I realise I’ve fallen into my own trap. I set out to talk about affect, about emotional expressionism and all the other things you mentioned, but I’ve done it too abstractly. Maybe it’s time to really throw myself into the subject and speak of a work that touched me very deeply and was the triggering factor for my exhibition The Hidden Mother.

One winter day I was in a gallery in Stockholm and saw a film that set the whole project in motion: it was the story of three women – a daughter, a mother and a grandmother – whom you first see making up in front of the mirror in a theatre dressing room. They’re abusing  each other verbally, the mother attacking the grandmother while the daughter looks on sadly. In the next shot they’re on stage and beginning to talk about their shared history, their fears and regrets. The mother accuses the grandmother of not having been there for her when her father committed suicide: “Do you understand?” she says. “When I lost my father I lost you too. I lost two parents at the same time.” The grandmother explains that she couldn’t help because she’d been taking massive doses of Prozac so as to cope with the suffering. All this time the daughter is watching them and trying to make contact with her mother, but it’s impossible. Too obsessed by her own suffering, the mother hardly looks at her. We realise that history is repeating itself: Tova Mozard, the artist who has brought her own mother and grandmother on stage with her, will never get free of the affective curse that locks them all into their own emotions, to the point where none of them can see the world as it really is anymore. At that moment I burst into tears… I hadn’t cried for a very long time.

Thinking back on this later, and trying to understand why this work had touched me so deeply, I saw that it had brought me back to my personal history, to a mother who had abandoned me, or given me – there’s always a gift in abandonment – to my grandmother, who then took her place as my mother. When I saw the film my grandmother, who had been everything to me, my whole world, had just died… a year before, actually, but it was still like yesterday. My grandmother’s death had left me infinitely saddened, but this sadness had made me opaque, impervious to anything that reminded me of my real mother. That film, The Big Scene, awakened me and gave me the idea for an exhibition that would be a search for my hidden mother. I said to myself, no matter if I can never bring my mother and grandmother together on life’s stage one last time, the important thing is to bring them onto the stage of my interior theatre; but for that I had to reach out towards reality – not just the unconscious, but towards real life, in the direction that frightens us the most.

The Hidden Mother involves both these movements: on the one hand I started a double psychoanalysis, with my producer of the time, so as to talk and travel through the works in the exhibition. Later we began writing to each other, ‘homegrown self-analyses’ based on recorded spontaneous speech. But I wasn’t satisfied. I felt that both things – talking to psychoanalysts or to each other via the works – was protecting us from the real world. So I decided to add a third element that would take us towards reality, towards action and the true emotional quest: I decided to really go looking for my mother with the exhibition in a ‘Box in a Valise’, like Duchamp, to try to touch her through the works that had touched me…

This was one of the most beautiful, most difficult experiences of my life, and I still don’t know what happened between my mother and me: the exhibition novel only touches on a part of it, but one thing I know for sure is that I would never have dared to make this journey if I hadn’t come upon that work by Tova Mozard.

Love,

 

from: emilie renard
to: Sinziana Ravini
date: 21 June 2013, 3:29 pm
re: extreme involvement

Dear Sinziana,
Thank you for those touching lines. I see in you a form of sincerity or honesty that is something like confiding, but not only that. Confiding – that first-person narrative about something intimate – is the grounding you adopt for your exhibition novels, with your direct narration of your homegrown psychoanalysis sessions. Confiding in your case is a kind of stylistic entry, something both winning and effective (what you call ‘honest manipulation’). Ultimately you really do lay yourself open (you mention an admission), you have a central, highly visible role (which could attract accusations of egocentrism), and most of all this entry becomes a motor for work on forms that are more than merely anecdotal.

Confiding in your case involves your highly unorthodox use of psychoanalysis – rapid, with a group of 4 (2 analysands facing 2 analysts); the aim being to check out its effects on a certain practice of art criticism and to publish the results in the novel of the exhibition The Hidden Mother. When you say you want yourself as the starting point for your projects, your notion of psychoanalysis seems pretty primal to me (as if it allowed for a spontaneous, immediate relationship with the words that ‘pour out’). In fact what you do with it is a way of saying that you’re the source of this creation of meaning, language, written forms, exhibitions, films, novels and so forth which can all be shared with others.

This starting point involving the narration of a lived experience ties in with the concept of ‘situated knowledge’ introduced into feminist debate by Donna Haraway in 1988. Situating knowledge is a way of including ‘the subject of situated knowledge’ in the voicing of the knowledge that the subject has produced, and takes account of the relationship between the seeker-subject and her quest. This concept first and foremost attacks the idea of knowledge independent of the person voicing it, her situation, her body, her biography, her context and her time. The subject of ‘situated knowledge’ can take on the role of witness and defend the partiality of her view, while also assuming her responsibility for a witnessing that does not hide behind the screen of disembodied or neutral statement. Feminism raises the issue of accessing a form of objectivity in knowledge compatible with its radical challenge to universalism. Haraway says she ‘holds out for a feminist version of objectivity’ to be looked for in what she terms ’embodied objectivity’. She often speaks of a supposedly ‘transparent’ vision mediated by instruments of visualisation: ‘a conquering gaze from nowhere’, she calls it. She goes on to introduce the importance of a partial point of view, saying that she is fighting ‘for a doctrine and practice of objectivity that privileges contestation, deconstruction, passionate construction, webbed connections, and hope for transformation of systems of knowledge and ways of seeing.’

The question of objectivity does not arise in the same way in art, but the curator and the critic are often assigned to an ideal of objectivity, a critical distance. You undercut these rules in your exhibitions with what I’d call a kind of expressionist curating.

Through affects I look into excessive closeness between creators and their quest, between artists and their work. I look into a kind of ‘extreme’ involvement, aspects of commitment that can be revealed in the form of first-person discourse, confidences and expressions of doubt, joy, boredom, etc.

Ciao Sinziana

 

from: Sinziana Ravini
to: Emilie Renard
date: 19 July 2013, 1:27 pm
re: extreme involvement

Dear Emilie,
Once the elective affinities between art and psychoanalysis have been recognised, the question that arises is that of the true difference between the two and how one can work with this difference. If there’s something I feel really passionate about it’s the psychoanalytical work one can perform on oneself and indirectly on others via a work of art. Whether as transmitter or receiver, we are all co-creators of works that touch us.

Why has affect become so suspect that one almost has to be ashamed of working on oneself, via a work of art, when so many artists use their own lives as their material? For instance, I just love Sophie Calle, who has been able to turn almost every event in her life into a work of art. And writers are hardly ever accused of being egocentric when they decide to deal with their own lives, whether as autofiction or not. As for philosophers, Montaigne put it very well when he said (I’m quoting from memory), ‘I work on and from myself, for there is no other realm I really know.’ If artists and writers can work on themselves, why not curators? Curatorial objectivity is a fiction, but one that maybe goes hand in hand with globalisation. Art having split up into countless parallel currents, many people feel the need for a navigator who can map the world as impartially as possible. This vertical – or rather, imperialist – thinking, which tries to grasp the world as a whole while remaining neutral, is about as interesting as the white cube. It’s been said that with GPS the terra incognita is no more; maybe so, but the same doesn’t apply to the unconscious. Deleuze and Debord both grasped the importance of linking politics and art to psychoanalysis. We can’t change the world without changing the way we perceive it.

You also have to be careful not to impose your dreams on other people. Alain Resnais’ film Life is a Bed of Roses demonstrates this very well: the man who wants to change the world by eradicating people’s dreams with a Black Mass that wipes the slate clean is the very image of a bad curator. I think we can escape the dictatorship of the creator-curator through ideas that make artists real co-creators. I think we have to address the affinity between artist and curator.

I take my inspiration from a confessional, narrative art, one close to that of the cinema and psychoanalysis, like the work of Pierre Huyghe, Boris Achour, Emilie Pitoiset, Benoit Maire, Ursula Meyer and Joanna Lombard. These artists work on the unconscious, letting us wander through their works as if we were on an afternoon stroll through a forest. The art world shows a real scorn for the human imagination, for the possibility of entering an artistic world and actually living in it without trying to unveil its mysteries. I think that an approach that tries to take its engagement with an artwork further, speculating freely about its meaning or shrinking from the impossibility of saying all there to say about it, is more involving and less didactic than all those others that go looking for objectivity in abstraction and the exclusion of affect. There’s no other way of liberating the unconscious than surrendering to unshackled, undisguised utterance, to a Virginia Woolf-style stream of consciousness. What other source is there but the self?  At the same time this approach doesn’t exclude the presence of others within oneself.

Lastly, the question that enthralled me most, the one I worked on in the Black Moon show, is what is love? And how to tell a love story through an exhibition? Love is a little outmoded, and Hollywood has exploited it to the hilt, but I think that if art has something to teach us, that something is the art of loving.

With love from a tranquil terrace at the bottom of a country garden.

 

Further reading:
La Galerie, centre d’art contemporain
Sinziana Ravini

 

 

Notes:

  1. Bomb magazine, no. 38, winter 1992.
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EDITO

RESTRUNG NECKLACE

The invitation to rearrange the contents of this web-based collection, reminds me of the passing down of a great Naga necklace. As if each slideshow, web-performance, video, text, or audio work, were loosened from a cotton thread, and laid out on a taut cloth, like carved white conch shells, brass bells, red carnelian, bone, and blue-green glass beads, waiting to be newly strung. As I read and listened through the contents, I began to dream of jewelry setters. And so here I tell, if you wish, a decentralizing story; not decentralized, but one whose claim has the capacity to make the centre, come to seem estranged.

After crossing an arc, at the eastern edge of India, is a hill region bordering Bangladesh, China, Southern Tibet, and Myanmar. Among the states of this area, is exquisite and troubled Nagaland, with its innumerable cultures, united under the word ‘Naga’ and yet with communities, each with differing and exceedingly democratic models of government, and different material culture. Its worldviews that have the potential to open new ways of thinking about art are preserved in fragments of remaining material culture after the onslaught of proselytism and modernization. Among them is the philosophical linking of ornament with society and individual ethics. In ancient times, and still practiced by the conceptual works of the artist Veswuzo Phesao, is the right to decorate one’s bodies, clothing, or one’s home, based on a system of being able to calibrate individual merit as value: which was always somehow, value earned within a community, through codified rituals of generosity. Status came from having always individually earned it. A warrior, or one who fed his surplus crops to the village, these were the terms under which one was given permission to decorate one’s home. After passing on, one’s children could not inherit the ornamentation; they again would have to individually earn the right from society.

Over 2007 and 2008, I spent time in this region, writing about its contemporary art, and have been going back ever since. Hekali Zhimomi, the then director of a government-run art centre, the North East Zone Cultural Centre, told me of her own research into jewelry and value. In Ao Naga culture, she explained that when a work of jewelry is passed down, or purchased, before buying it, the new wearer must hear all the stories and merits of its first maker and past owners. It is through their personality and deeds that the work of jewelry could accumulate value. The work of jewelry has ethical provenance. And the character of its past wearers, is a strong determiner of its value, translatable into a shop price, but in reality a contemporary oral tradition of storytelling in continuance – where a graduate degree may be a new determiner of social achievement. For the Naga communities, jewelry – like all aesthetic and ritual – has been over time coded, eroded and re-coded.

It is a lens and a trope through which to perhaps read the particular form of value, in the efforts of such a website – to hold together the fifty centres d’art contemporain across France in one light website: whose entries are arranged by center, by author, or by the materiality of response. The series, and resetting of the series, gives the impression that there are also infinite subjective arrangements possible. The invitation to four editors from far-flung parts of the world, to restructure the contents of the website, with a new editorial over the course of four seasons, implies a seriality ricocheting within the content, like a musician within the set notes of a raag.

But our carnelians and glass beads here, as the first stringers would tell us, are the many turns of the die, an encounter with an idea and its potential. In this sense, what has accrued, are the ideas. The rituals of handing down jewelry, something always a little intimate and formal together – have the weight of history; at least of those small histories of people in the air. As if all those souls were summoned to the jewelry box. Conch shells, carnelian and glass beads remind me of ways of approaching biography and the lives of artists, of pedagogy and the ways we have of passing through and accruing knowledge, and the many ways of approaching value. But in focusing on biography, there is a ringing sense of missing colours and beads. I cannot speak out here for all that is absent, yet perhaps we could leave space in the necklace for all those ideas that come from biographies of differance, still to be strung in the centres d’art. With this thought, I pass this necklace on to my colleague, and friend, across the Nagaland border…

* * *

 

1. Inheriting ideas

Presented by the Centre d’art contemporain de Brétigny, Matthieu Saladin writes a text to accompany an exceptional sound score made in 1968, ‘LIKE A CLOUD HANGING IN THE SKY?’ by the group AMM. The group in turn had made this work in response to a prose work, ‘Sextet: The Tiger’s Mind’, by one of its members, Cornelius Cardew. What is key to my own arrangement, is the way Saladin’s text approaches artistic inheritance. In Saladin’s own writerly and artistic engagement with a double inheritance of the two works, he emphasises how ‘Like a Cloud’ was not a performance of ‘The Tiger’s Mind’, but an engagement with it, through new experimentation.

Emmanuelle Pagano’s ‘NIGHT-LIGHT’, at Espace de l’art concret is a writing experiment. It is a novelist’s selection of works from the Albers-Honegger Collection that performs a similar function in re-stringing works, by new criteria. These objects handed down to us – works of glass, a globe of light – are given emotional life, through the biographic form of storytelling, by which he links the defiance of gravity by an astronaut, with that of the glass blower.

“I am a glass blower, like my father, like my grandfather, my great grandfather. I love working with glass, it becomes full of life under heat. From this magic material it’s possible to make so many things, endlessly fashion it, give it any shape. One only has to stop it from yielding to gravity, Earth’s crushing call. In our family we have been defying gravity for several generations…When younger I wanted to be completely free from it, from gravity, I wanted to become an astronaut.”

 

2. Glass beads and the oral tradition
‘Glass does not forget anything.’

It is Thomas Golsenne who writes in his text about the relationship between the artist and the technician, called ‘THE HEART AND SOUL OF GLASSWORKING’ written for CIRVA – Centre international de recherche sur le verre et les arts plastiques:

“However, in music, the difference is that, if the musician plays a wrong note, he can always make up for it with the following note, whereas, in glass-blowing, it is impossible to make up for mistakes: everything has to be perfect from the moment when the glass is gathered in a furnace to the time when it is placed in another, less hot furnace, to allow it to cool. Glass does not forget anything.”

Nicolas Floc’h writes with beauty in ‘DEEP IN THE HEART OF THE SUBJECT’ for Centre d’art Le Pavé dans la Mare. In his writing, the glass becomes the material of philosophy. In a passage he compares glass with wine-making, referring to the passing down of technique, of knowledge, and ideas. “The secret of the process probably owes… also to a human chain of know-how and knowledge involved from grape-harvesting to the wine-making process.”

The oral tradition is in continuance, within contemporary art. In this case he also talks about the technicians being the ones to carry down the knowledge they have of glass, to the next artist entering the studio. To the triangles made between artist, audience and curator or institution, is the welcome addition by Golsenne of the role of the technician:

The artist “discovers the enormous furnaces, which give off air so hot that it makes the lamps swing, hanging from the ceiling several metres above. He discovers the material and its different states: small white beads (pellets) at the beginning, then a soft red-hot mass when it is gathered in the furnace and handled with the blow tube, and finally a solid, transparent volume when it has cooled down. He especially discovers these characters, these masters of the art of glassmaking, who have given everything for their passion, who hold all the secrets of the technique, and who are nevertheless there, simple and modest, listening to his words, wishing to please him, ready to go with him on a journey to the unknown in this future project.”

 

3. Questioning the biographic voice

Aymeric Ebrard, uses an alacrity of visual and aural description, in an autobiographical narrative, to capture being split: in this case, between two different residencies, in Lithuania and Morocco, intercut with each other in close succession. The text is a double view, titled with the cinematic ‘The Kuletchov effect’, suggesting something else arises from the combined meaning of two vivid and dissimilar images. What it captures, is for me, a form of writing in whose own poetry is wrapped a deeply clear, political voice. Take this sentence on Saïdia, at the Moroccan-Algerian border: “On either side, the run-down buildings would prance their social housing pealing volumes next to the camp pavilions owned by the Minister of Youth Affairs and Sports.” Ebrard writes within ‘MODELS OF PRODUCTION’, at Centre d’art bastille. I am reminded, in my own insistence in listening for the first person, poetic voices, of Helene Cixous’ writing, and many others – that taut, crystal, political gleaning that accompanies each double-entendre.

‘I AM ALL WORDS’ is an extraordinary work by Adva Zakai, using the medium of a website, to convey her own métier, choreography. The curator of Le Quartier, Centre d’art contemporain de Quimper has written, “I’m now inviting you to pursue the project of ‘becoming an art centre’, but within the virtual space of Internet.” In an imaginatively intimate form of address, Zakai uses the first person, or the biographic approach, to tell the audience, the immediate precedents of where they are and what they are viewing, “opening is a solo where you stand on a table in a corner of the exhibition space. Your hands touch the walls, and very slowly you raise one leg. While you’re trying to keep a balance, you tell a story which could be your biography, the history of the space or the story of the director.”

In a series of letters, Guillaume Pinard and David Evrard discuss themselves, their own personalities, in ‘NOBODY CAN ESCAPE ART’ for Maison des Arts Georges Pompidou. From their lively writing, we hear a self-reflexive discussion of value and consumerism, gift-exchange, and collecting.

The director of La Galerie – Centre d’art contemporain de Noisy-le-Sec, Emilie Renard, corresponds with the art critic Sinziana Ravini in ‘DEAR SINZIANA V. DEAR EMILIE’.

These exchanges, seem to speak directly to the problematics posed by the necklace. Their exchanges question the biographic approach, the biography of the artist as a value within the reading of the work, and on gift-giving exchanges and translations between value systems. In candid writing, they analyse and reflect on the use of the first person as a fictional device, or as an autobiographical style, which they comment on as different to the “theoreticians from October”; a style that runs at odds perhaps with a scientific analysis of artworks. “Now I think the big issue of our time is the complete opposite of all that, the need to reclaim art discourse for the emotional domain, that mysterious theatre of the unconscious that’s there whether we like it or not. But to do that you have to be ready to expose yourself, lose your way, make mistakes and most of all, exaggerate.”

From this perspective, is also Aurélien Mole’s use of a futuristic, exaggerated, biographical voice in ‘HIATUS’ written for Parc Saint Léger.

“Based on the documents and oral sources that I collect from the area surrounding the Parc Saint Léger, I am virtually able to reconstitute what the art centre’s whole programme had been, both inside and outside of its walls. Other historians will use this information to extrapolate a sense of what cultural life was like in Europe between 2000 and 2075, and thus attempt to rewrite history from its margins.”

Jean-Pierre Cometti’s ‘BUT THE MAIN PROBLEM LIES ELSEWHERE…’ is a beautifully written work for  Centre national d’art contemporain de la Villa Arson. Cometti writes revealingly, of how art needs to be located within context – what he sums up productively as “when is art?”

“The difference with what we usually call “experimentation”, for example in science, is that this kind of approach is not directly geared towards producing knowledge; but this does not in any way signify that they don’t pertain to knowledge. One can easily be convinced of this. In science and in philosophy, we have what are called “thought experiments”. A thought experiment means introducing an unrealized (counterfactual) possibility in the reasoning process, and estimating its consequences were it to be realized. This type of approach makes it possible to open up the concept of knowledge and to enrich it by allowing for wider and more inclusive forms of understanding. This is the privilege of fiction, and also of art.”

 

4. Valuing the political voice

“Even if I think that art is all about context (does not exist outside a certain place, a certain time, a certain onlooker) and all about audience (it is in relation to the audience the artist determines what has to be done), I think art is also all about the intention of an individual, the artist” writes Dora Garcia in “I UNDERSTAND MY ACTIVITY AS A RESEARCH” for 3 bis F – centre d’art contemporain. She gives the example of “The Beggars Opera” 2007, which she defined as “theater play in real time and public space”- for Münster Sculpture Projects.

“In this work, I created a tool to dismantle the conventions of art in public space…The work consisted of a character, Charles Filch, a secondary character from the Bertolt Brecht play and novel The Three Penny Opera, which “came alive” in Münster and became a citizen of the streets of Münster during the three months of the exhibition. It had all the qualities one should ask of an artwork in public space (existed in public space, changed the perception of it), and at the same time it was obviously a person- personnage and to reduce it to the condition of a number on an outdoor sculpture map was absurd.”

The most art historical of all the texts, is possibly, that of Gilles Drouault, who recalls brilliantly in the video, ‘THE WITNESSES’ at Centre d’art contemporain d’Ivry – le Crédac, an exhibition of particular value to him, and he explains generously why. To him, this exhibition on industrialisation in the last century; was pertinent to its location in an once billowing industrial town of Ivry. Intrigued at how film and industry developed at the same time; he conjectures, that what has been most compelling about the 20th century, has been the development of the industrial world and the worker; premising that what was siginificant to the 20th century in particular was the worker as an individual with rights, worker’s strikes, as capable of forming trade unions. One of the achievements of the Western European system has indeed been the welfare of workers.

 

5. Necklace of strategies

The political subject matter in Alexandre and Florentine Lamarche-Ovize in ‘LAMARCHE-OVIZE, A COLLABORATION PROJECT’ for Micro-Onde, centre d’art de l’Onde, show a work dealing with women’s prisons. Antoine Marchand in ‘LET’S MEET IN TROYES, AUBE’ at Centre d’art contemporain / Passages, discusses being invited to devise ways to dispose of nuclear waste, and the ability of an artist to respond, or give value, to such a residency. Fabien Faure in ‘THE TIME OF SITE’ at CAIRN, centre d’art, writes of mining and its relationship to land art. Yet, there is also political strategy latent in the writings, for example, of Olivier BossCentre rhénan d’art contemporain, has a moment, where so as not to be surveilled, by the number of webcameras one takes in the subway, is suddenly a face, painted like the dazzle-pattern used in submarines during the First World War. It gives a moment to delve underwater and dip into art history, as something actively working as strategies in a politicized world – if one thinks of cinema, then terrifyingly and increasingly used today. In another discussion of cinematic effect, ‘EMPOWERMENT’, at Jeu de Paume, Antoine Thirion a critic, responds to an artist Claudio Zulian, who has been using cinema as a political tool, using historical re-enactments, and repetition as a strategy. I end this arrangement, with a performance: Emma Dusong makes the web-performnace ‘DOOR’ for Centre régional d’art contemporain Languedoc-Roussillon.

 

Zasha Colah
February, Bombay

 

ABOUT

Bolstered by its success and visibility, uncoupdedés.net is restarting and subjecting existing content to new voices. In 2014 and 2015, several personalities from outside France will be asked to become our editorial writers for one season. Their task will be to place the contents of the whole magazine in perspective, presenting them differently through the prism of their subjectivity and their own work contexts. Catalina Lozano (Colombia), Zasha Colah (India), Moe Satt (Myanmar) and Manuela Moscoso (Brazil): each guest editor will reformulate the actions of the centres d’art, various aspects of which they will have been able to perceive through the magazine. Each editor-in-chief will “roll off” a cross-cutting text, presenting an original re-examination of the resolutely fluid geography of the centres d’art. uncoupdedés.net repeats the challenge from the poet Mallarmé, resurrected in the cinematographic art of Jean-Marie Straub and Danièle Huillet (Every Revolution is a Roll of the Dice, 1977). The guest editors, coming from a variety of disciplines, will widen the circle of expression even more. Choral and fragmentary, uncoupdedés.net takes just as much after puzzles as it does after memories, and naturally calls for cut-outs of every kind…

ZASHA COLAH

(Bombay, India)

Zasha Colah co-founded ‘blackrice’ in 2008 in Nagaland, and the Clark House Initiative in Bombay in 2010, after studying art history at Oxford University and curatorial studies at the RCA, London. She was the curator of modern Indian art at the Jehangir Nicholson Art Foundation at the CSMVS museum (2008- 2011), and was head of Public Programs at the National Gallery of Modern Art (2004-2005) in Mumbai. In 2012 she co-edited ‘In Search of Vanished Blood’ a monograph on artist Nalini Malani for documenta 13, and she curated two exhibitions of Burmese art, ‘Yay-Zeq: Two Burmese Artists Meet Again’ at ISCP New York and ‘I C U JEST’ in Kochi.