The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Author: DC (Page 324 of 1067)

Gig #156: Select Experimental Film & Video @ Los Angeles (1965 – 2021): Sharon Lockhart, Peter Mays, Wallace Berman, John Baldessari, Michael Scroggins, Lynda Benglis, Adam Beckett, Jack Goldstein, Gary Beydler, Richard Newton, Bruce and Norman Yonemoto, Larry Cuba, Chick Strand, Pat O’Neill, Paul McCarthy, Thom Andersen, Morgan Fisher, Louis Hock, Allan Sekula, Fred Worden, Kandis Williams

 

 

_____________
Sharon Lockhart Podwórka (2009)
‘Sharon Lockhart’s film, Podwórka, takes as its subject matter the courtyards of Łódź, Poland, and the children that inhabit them. A ubiquitous architectural element of the city, Łódź’ courtyards are the playgrounds of the children that live in the surrounding apartment buildings. Separated from the streets, they provide a sanctuary from the traffic and commotion of the city. Yet far from the overdetermined playgrounds of America, the courtyards are still very much urban environments. In six different courtyards throughout the city of Łódź, we see parking lots, storage units, and metal armatures become jungle gyms, sandboxes, and soccer fields in the children’s world. A series of fleeting interludes within city life, Podwórka is both a study of a specific place and an evocation of the resourcefulness of childhood.’ — Lockhart Studio


Excerpt


Excerpt


Excerpt

 

_____________
Peter Mays The Star Curtain Tantra (1965-1969)
‘A trance film originally released in 1966 as THE STAR CURTAIN, about the settling and relaxation of the senses after a climax. “Sentences” of cosmic imagry were added in 1969 to form the vision glimpsed in the trance. Dialectic opposition of picture and sound. TANTRA played at the San Francisco Film Festival of 1970.’ — collaged


Part 1


Part 2

 

____________
Wallace Berman Aleph (1966)
Aleph is an artist’s meditation on life, death, mysticism, politics, and pop culture. In an eight-minute loop of film, Wallace Berman uses Hebrew letters to frame a hypnotic, rapid-fire montage that captures the go-go energy of the 1960s. Aleph includes stills of collages created using a Verifax machine, Eastman Kodak’s precursor to the photocopier. These collages depict a hand-held radio that seems to broadcast or receive popular and esoteric icons. Signs, symbols, and diverse mass-media images (e.g., Flash Gordon, John F. Kennedy, Mick Jagger) flow like a deck of tarot cards, infinitely shuffled in order that the viewer may construct his or her own set of personal interpretations. The transistor radio, the most ubiquitous portable form of mass communication in the 1960s, exemplifies the democratic potential of electronic culture and serves as a metaphor for Jewish mysticism. The Hebrew term kabbalah translates as “reception” for knowledge, enlightenment, and divinity.’ — The Jewish Museum

 

_______________
John Baldessari I Am Making Art (1971)
‘A good example of Baldessari’s deadpan irreverence is the 1971 black-and-white video entitled I Am Making Art, in which he moves different parts of his body slightly while saying, after each move, ‘I am making art.’ The statement, he says, ‘hovers between assertion and belief.’ On one level, the piece spoofs the work of artists who, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, explored the use of their own bodies and gestures as an art medium. The endless repetition, awkwardness of the movements made by the artist, and the reiteration of the statement ‘I am making art,’ create a synthesis of gestural and linguistic modes which is both innovative (in the same way that the more serious work of his peers is innovative) and absurdly self-evident.’ — Marcia Tucker

 

______________
Michael Scroggins What Are You Looking At? (1973)
What Are You Looking At? was shot on the new ½ inch reel to reel EIAJ Sony Portapak’s that made portable videotape recording open to a wide range of people for the first time in history. Access to this artist friendly means of production allowed for a form of long take experimentation that was not constrained by the economics of shooting 16mm sound film. The video opens with a brief moment with Nam June Paik in the CalArts parking lot, Burbank, 1970, and moves on to the core of the piece which revolves around a casual morning’s recording at the Hillside House in Topanga Canyon, 1973, in which the young child, Tucker, directs the gaze of the videographer –and thus the video viewer. The synchronicity of developing events unfolds in a dance of subjective and objective relationships revolving around the question quoted in the title.’ — MS

 

______________
Lynda Benglis Female Sensibility (1974)
‘Two women, faces framed in tight focus, kiss and caress. Their interaction is silent, muted by Benglis’ superimposition of a noisy, distracting soundtrack of appropriated AM radio: bawdy wisecracks of talk-show hosts and male callers, interacting in the gruff terms of normative masculinity; male country-western singers plying women with complaints about bad love and bad coffee; a man preaching on the creation of Adam and Eve. The tape’s challenge may, in part, direct itself at the viewer. While one might find it easy to dismiss the gender clichés of the soundtrack, it may be harder to resolve the hermetically-sealed indifference and disconcerting ambiguity (lovers? performers?) of the two women. By turns conscious of the camera and seemingly oblivious to it, their dreamy indifference is a rebuke to the disruptive chatter hovering around them, and perhaps also to the expectations of those who watch.’ — Electronic Arts Intermix


Excerpt

 

____________
Adam Beckett Flesh Flows (1974)
‘A young artist, a career full of promise, a life of innovation and energy tragically cut short. Such a summary barely begins to describe the bright, fast burn that was rising star Adam Beckett (1950-1979), one of the first graduates of the CalArts Experimental Animation program, and a prolific animator, sketch artist, and effects prodigy. Known for his unique abstract film loops, as well as for his precise, yet organic work with the optical printer, Beckett’s work continues to influence young animators both at his alma mater, where he is frequently mentioned, as well as in the wider animation world.’ — Animation World Network


Excerpt

 

______________
Jack Goldstein Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (1975)
‘From 1972 to 1978, Goldstein produced a number of short films in which a single action is repeated continuously. For Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Goldstein appropriated the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio’s familiar production logo, which was used to introduce each of their movies. He did not simply re-use the original footage, but rather altered it, stripping away the company name, tinting the background a deep hue of red, and repeating the lion’s thundering roar on a continuous loop, thereby highlighting the artifice involved in commercial filmmaking.’ — MoCA

 

_____________
Gary Beydler Hand Held Day (1975)
‘Over the course of two Kodachrome camera rolls, we simultaneously witness eastward and westward views of the surrounding landscape as the skies, shadows, colors, and light change dramatically. Beydler’s hand, holding the mirror carefully in front of the camera, quivers and vibrates, suggesting the relatively miniscule scale of humanity in the face of a monumental landscape and its dramatic transformations. Yet the use of the mirror also projects an idealized human desire to frame and understand what we see around us, without destroying or changing any of its inherent fascination and beauty.’ — Mark Toscano

 

______________
Richard Newton A Glancing Blow (1979)
‘An invitation was sent out with date, maps, and times for each location. There was no announcement to the general public. No permissions or special arrangements were requested or granted from city or state authorities. Spectators arrived and gathered at nearby corners. Traffic was moving along at a normal pace. Two cars, a 1963 white Dodge Dart GT, and a 1969 dark blue Dodge Polara station wagon arrived from opposite directions. As the 2 cars approached each other, the drivers moved in close and bumped, banged and scrapped their way along the bodies of the two Dodges. The drivers immediately turned the cars around and repeated the action – 5 sharp glances on the Whittier Blvd. Bridge in Boyle Heights, East Los Angeles, and 6 solid blows where Cañon meets Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills.’ — Ric Martin


Trailer

 

______________
Bruce and Norman Yonemoto Vault (1984)
‘In Vault, Bruce and Norman Yonemoto rewrite a traditional narrative of desire: boy meets girl, boy loses girl. Employing the hyperbolic, melodramatic syntax of Hollywood movies and commercial TV, they decode the Freudian symbology and manipulative tactics that underlie media representations of romantic love, and expose the power of this media “reality” to construct personal fictions. Using the psychoanalytic language of advertising, cinematic and television texts to tell the love story of a pole vaulter/concert cellist and a cowboy/Abstract Expressionist painter, they rupture the narrative with psychosexual metaphors and references to pop media and art. Self-conscious strategies such as overtly Freudian symbols, flashback reconstructions of childhood traumas, Wagnerian orchestration and loaded cliches are wielded with deft irony.’ — MoCA

 

______________
Larry Cuba Calculated Movements (1985)
‘In the pure form of abstraction that Cuba pursues, visual perception is paramount. But because the images are generated via algorithms written in computer language, there is a paradox in trying to use words to describe images for which words do not exist. As Raphael Bassan wrote in a 1981 issue of La Revue du Cinema, “The computer animation establishes a parallel between visual perception and a structure of linguistic or mathematical order: it is concerned with establishing a new organizational field for the aesthetic material. …In the sphere of abstract cinema (lacking a better term), Larry Cuba’s research is, in fact, at the origin of a new direction which does not yet have a name…”‘ — collaged

 

______________
Chick Strand Fake Food Factory (1986)
‘Added to the National Film Registry’s 2011 list of culturally significant films, Chick Strand’s glorious short film Fake Fruit Factory guides us through the experience of women crafting papier-mâché fruit and vegetables in a small factory in Mexico. Filmed over the course of a year, the film focuses on close-ups of the production as we hear voices of the women making the objects for domestic and international sale. Through their thoughts and feelings, we gain a unique insight into their experiences through extremely candid conversation about sex, food and work. Utilizing the language barrier to speak frankly about their gringo boss and his Mexican wife, in his presence, the workers’ raunchy discussions bring us onto the factory floor and through the production line. A kaleidoscopic blend of music, atmosphere and gossip, Fake Fruit Factory is a beautiful ode to the voice of the worker.’ — Charlotte Cook

Watch it here


Excerpt

 

______________
Pat O’Neill Messages (2021)
‘Photographer, filmmaker and artist Pat O’Neill tells us about his photographs.’ — Sundance Institute


Messages 1


Messages 2


Messages 3


Messages 4


Messages 5

 

______________
Paul McCarthy Painter (1995)
Painter (1995) is a brilliant interrogation of the senility and late paintings of Willem de Kooning, complete with collectors and dealers puppet-mastering around him. It’s a video deploying, as so many of his videos do, the mise-en-scène of instructional television (from the Galloping Gourmet to Martha Stewart), but one in which the painter mumbles and cries: ‘You can’t do it anymore you can’t do it anymore.’ And later: ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ He means painting, he means art-making, he may mean life. At the end of Painter the artist gets up on a table, pulls down his pants and a collector with a protuberant fake nose sniffs at his bare arse, McCarthy’s own.’ — Dangerous Minds

 

_______________
Frances Stark Nothing is enough (2012)
‘In her video work Nothing is enough (2012), Frances Stark draws from self-reflective Skype conversations with random men met online. She transcribes her libidinous encounters with an Italian architect, and sets them to a score of a slow piano improvisation. Lacking physical imagery, only two voices appear in the piece, depicted by different fonts. The artist and the architect question their own physical and intellectual engagement as well as how the Internet has changed their lives, raising the delicate moral issue of whether their behavior is bad or not. The video’s soundtrack is performed by yet another man she met online—one of the characters in My Best Thing (2011), a video also on view in this exhibition. Stark paid her chat partner-cum-composer for the use of his music, formalizing the collaborative nature of their relationship.’ — ICA

Watch it here

 

___________
Morgan Fisher () (2003)
( ) is a 2003 silent film directed by Morgan Fisher. The film consists entirely of insert shots extracted from feature films, considering the “status of the insert shot in an ingenious way”, according to film expert Susan Oxtoby. Fisher said of his movie, “Inserts are above all instrumental. They have a job to do, and they do it; and they do little, if anything, else. Sometimes inserts are remarkably beautiful, but this beauty is usually hard to see because the only thing that registers is the news, the expository information, that the insert conveys… By chance, I learned that the root of ‘parenthesis’ is a Greek word that means the act of inserting. And so I was given the title of the film.”‘ — collaged

 

___________
Louis Hock Feral (2004)
‘Louis Hock is an experimental filmmaker and School of the Art Institute graduate whose work has been referred to as a “hypnotic study in motion” (Nora Sayre, The New York Times). “Our eyes are virtually goaded out of our heads” (Richard Eder, The New York Times). A recent work, Feral (2004), asks the viewer to contemplate theatricality of our homeland security experience.’ — First Person Cinema


Excerpt

 

___________
Allan Sekula Gala (2005)
‘I decided to slow the shutter speed just to see into the dark recesses of the music center on opening night. It was a way of going “behind the scenes” or into the wings. I was thinking of it as a silent movie device, a way of looking at the rehearsal for the opening as a big experiment with images thrown onto a challenging surface, a gigantic outdoor cinema screen. They were projecting videos, of Esa-Pekka Salonen conducting, of Ed Harris painting in Pollock (2000), a veritable feast of creative gestures. The only imaginable way to respond to such spectacle was to regress to “primitive” film modes. But all in all, what I’ve made here is an ethnographic film of sorts, with the symphony audience as disoriented voyagers in a potentially hostile environment waiting for their limousines at the corner of First and Grand, fearful of being swept away by an invisible torrent into the Los Angeles River. It’s a view of the Los Angeles elite rather different from what we see at the Academy Awards, for example. The carnival in Venice must have been like this. While one waited for the gondola, everyone was drunk and wearing a mask but at the same time feeling sort of miserable. The frightened West Sider downtown. I think the discomfort of people waiting for their cars is a sign of how hard it is to re-center this city.’ — Allan Sekula



Excerpt

 

______________
Fred Worden Possessed (2010)
‘Once, when I was about 18 years old, my friend Eddie Moulton and I were taking a short cut across the local hig- school parking lot and we happened to notice that one of the school buses parked there had an open door and we could see the keys sitting on the driver’s seat. It was a Sunday afternoon and no one was around, so just for the illicit thrill of it we got in and drove the bus from one end of the school parking lot to the other. I think if the cops had caught us driving the bus, the charge would have been something like “joy riding.” A similar impulse explains Possessed. I had a strong, slightly illicit, urge to commandeer the original train sequence from the 1931 film Possessed and make it move in such a way as to give the girl (Joan Crawford) what she thought she wanted: a position on the inside. To do that, I had to create my own (all encompassing) vehicle. By my count, the original sequence provides three orders of motion: the motion (and stillness) of the passengers on the train, the motion of the train itself, and finally the motion of the girl (Joan) outside of the train. By injecting my own additional level of motion, I was able to move Joan from her position on the outside looking in (played melodramatically as desire’s longing for the just-out-of-reach) to a position inside, looking around (played as pure vision). But maybe that’s really just my fanciful imagining and, as such, pretty much situates me in Joan’s original position: projecting desire onto a handy passing vehicle. In the end, at least this much is true: we both love staring into this passing train. In fact, we never seem to tire of it.’ — Fred Worden

 

_____________
Kandis Williams Eurydice, 2018
‘Williams’ ‘Eurydice’ is an immersive two-channel video installation which includes footage of performances by the same name. These performances take the Greek myth of Eurydice as their starting point: Eurydice, daughter of the god Apollo, is sent to the underworld but offered rescue by her lover, Orpheus, under the condition that he not look at her until they have left. Despite his great journey to save Eurydice, Orpheus is unable to resist looking back at her, and she is immediately condemned back to eternity in Hell, lost in the act of being seen. Williams’ project revisits the myth’s dynamics of spectatorship and agency to explore the status of the Black figure as a symbol, co-opted in an immediate cycle of fetishization and erasure. Drawing from psychoanalyst Bracha Ettinger’s structure of the “matrixial gaze,” the system of discontinuous influences from which we develop senses of identity, Williams surrounds the viewer with layered and contrasting images, challenging intuitive processes of reconciliation by embracing or rejecting a logic of coherence. Within these schema of representation and rupture, the viewer is left to their own devices, asked at once to draw from and discard the frameworks by which we make meaning of what we see.’ — curate.la

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. Warning: my head is still clogged, and my brain is only semi-usable. ** Tomk, Hi, Tom. Thanks. Fleeting doesn’t seem to be doable but short-lived is still the hope. ** Conrad, Hi, Conrad! Oh, that was you asking that question? I thought, is that Conrad?, but I didn’t have my glasses on, so I wasn’t sure. Thank you for being there. I have to do an event for the ‘Jerk’ DVD at Potemkine on Friday night, otherwise the Grandrieux screening would be very tempting. The Roni Horn was nice, not amazing. I think I’ve seen Gonzales-Torres’s lightbulb string pieces so many times that they don’t have anything left for me. The DG-T hologram piece is quite eerie and very nice. I haven’t been around the galleries of late due to busyness and now sickness so I’m behind. I want to see the Sturtevant show at Ropac. And I guess the probably shitty show at Palais de Tokyo. You seen anything you recommend? Nice to see you, bud. ** David Ehrenstein, Happy you liked it. ** Jack Skelley, Hi, Jack! Shit, I owe you an email. Sorry, I’ll get on that. I’ve just been overly swamped lately. Book updates! I look forward to them, natch. And to seeing you on Saturday. xo. ** Dominik, Hi, D!!!! I don’t think I’ve ever wanted every copy of anything either. I do want to have everything Robert Pollard puts out, but that has become basically an impossibility at this point. Your love of yesterday would be so nice. Maybe my seriously impaired brain can come up with some interestingly dumb or weird film scenarios. Maybe I’ll try. Love making cigarette smoke a miraculous decongestant, G. ** Tosh Berman, Hi. Right. I actually did a post about his project here at some point, although I’m not sure I’ve restored it yet. I remember what a total wow that blank album cover was when it first came out. The first blank rock album cover that wasn’t a bootleg. Thanks, Tosh. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi! I planned to tell you I was going to do that when you were here, but I spaced and forgot to mention it. It was so good to see you, sir, and I’m happy to hear your trip revived you! Love, me. ** _Black_Acrylic, It does not seem at all impossible that Oscar will have some kind of show in your vicinity, and I will hope so. He’s amazing. ** Misanthrope, If you do want to make it a gif, you can use the site ezGif. I’ve never made a gif from a photo there — only from video –but I know it’s possible. I have a serious dislike of Mexican fusion, or at least I’ve never eaten any that wasn’t just an unnecessarily self-consciously clever abomination. If it ain’t broke, … etc. I’m not a fan of chains, but I’m very grateful that Paris has a Chipotle. Thanks for the well wishes. Yeah, I need to get this stupid cold behind me immediately. ** Steve Erickson, I’m feeling slightly worse, but thank you. I’m grateful for the ‘slightly’. I am definitely not immune to extremely horrible US news of which you speak. Oh, sure, about Vox Populi. I’ve liked them, but I haven’t dipped in for a while. I should. I think some extremely watered down and re-populated version of then still plays here sometimes. ** Robert, Hi, Robert! Thank you! Awesome stuff you’re reading. Yeah, Thomas Bernhard, incredible, right? Do you have a fave? Are you in a situation where you can concentrate on greatness input and output of whatever sort for a while? Happy to see you again. ** Right. I made you a gig of films and videos instead of music this time, all generated by that city-shaped fount of the weird and new aka Los Angeles. Some really good stuff in there if you have the time and inclination. See you, hopefully less foggily on my end, tomorrow.

Galerie Dennis Cooper presents … Oscar Tuazon, co-curated by Thomas Moore

 

‘Oscar Tuazon’s art may be vulnerable, but you’d never guess. His sculpture-cum-architecture has used raw slabs of concrete, steel and untreated wooden beams, bark-encrusted tree trunks and weighty metal chains.

‘Born in 1975, Tuazon grew up outside Seattle, coming of age watching bands like Mudhoney and Nirvana (one spell in the mosh pit was so frenzied he once broke his leg). Having graduated from the elite Independent Study Program at New York’s Whitney Museum in 2003, he cut his teeth working for renowned extremist Vito Acconci, a performance artist and poet-turned-architect. After moving to Paris in 2007, Tuazon set up the gallery castillo/corrales with a group of artist and curator friends, and the past three years have seen his constructions of wood and concrete take over exhibition spaces across Europe.

‘Inspired by what he calls “outlaw architecture”, Tuazon channels the extreme DIY and freethinking of hippy survivalists who decide to go off-grid. If his industrial materials suggest a minimalistic stress on concept over making, he’s just as interested in the physical side of sculpture. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty: working with riggers and technicians, he starts off with a sketch, chain-sawing wood, developing ideas and patching up problems on the hoof. From the impromptu-looking concrete slab that intersects the two-storey wooden frame of his 2009 work, Bend It Till It Breaks, to the neon strip light glowing two and a half metres up an untreated tree-trunk buttressed by planks in I Wanna Live, his structures have a rough-shod, improvised feel.

‘As muscular and uncompromising as it can first appear, Tuazon’s work is ephemeral. Like the hippy idealists defining their environment on their own terms, the artist will always have to pack up and move on. Yet while they stand, pushing at walls and ceilings and taking over space, these makeshift constructions remind us of the imaginative struggle to make what we want of the world, no matter what rules and boundaries seem to press down on us.’ — Skye Sherwin

 

_____
Further

Tuazon, Oscar (b. 1975)
OT @ Luhring Augustine
OT @ Galerie Chantal Crousel
OT @ instagram
a sculpture is a hole in the world
STRUCTURAL TENSION: THE ART OF OSCAR TUAZON
Sylvia Lavin and Oscar Tuazon
Oscar Tuazon: Living as a sculptural process
DOROTHÉE PERRET & OSCAR TUAZON
Los Angeles Water School – LAND
Book: ‘Oscar Tuazon: Live’
Book: ‘I Can’t See’
OSCAR TUAZON — PEOPLE
Oscar Tuazon – Bend it till it breaks
Lanvin’s Lucas Ossendrijver speaks of space and the functionality of design with artist Oscar Tuazon.
Pipe dreams: Oscar Tuazon emulates LA’s aqueducts in his latest body of work
Gather Round Oscar Tuazon’s “Fire Worship”
Lauren Bon and Oscar Tuazon
Oscar Tuazon at Le Consortium

 

_____
Extras


Hammer Projects: Oscar Tuazon


Oscar Tuazon, “L’École de l’eau”, Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris (2021)


“In Plain Sight” artist Oscar Tuazon on mapping waterways and landscapes


The Language of Less: Oscar Tuazon


Production Oscar Tuazon, I use my body for something, I use it to make something, I make something with my body, …

______
Interview

 

Sylvia Lavin: Can I ask you just a quick question? It’s weirdly wonderful to be thrown into an intimate conversation with somebody you’ve never met before, so it’s hard to know how much preliminary background is useful. But some of it is useful for me.

Oscar Tuazon: Yeah.

SL: The critical reception of your work that I am aware of always frames your work through the lens of the art/architecture problem. Do I have that impression because I come from architecture? Is it imposed as a bias from within the interests of art criticism? Or does it reflect your own thinking? Is that a boring, overworked conversation?

OT: No, for me it’s really essential to think about. I guess that’s probably where it starts. You know as a sculptor you’re thinking—or I was thinking—how does an object work in this space? How does an object intervene in a building? Now, I’m more and more trying to design spaces, and I guess I still do it in a very—I’m not quite sure how to describe it—I don’t think that I use design the way that an architect does to solve design problems, but I use the same tools.

SL: Well, I guess I’m thinking that from minimalism on—I mean obviously there’s a prehistory to it also—but let’s just say in relation to what you’re doing, the most relevant history seems the one from minimalism on. I suppose you could describe that history as having added various things to the debate, so let’s say: architectural materials, an architectural situation is part of it. I don’t think that when you’re looking at a Carl Andre floor, let’s say, that you’re really thinking of it as an architectural floor—you wouldn’t hire him to do your floor.

OT: Right.

SL: But people have hired Jorge Pardo to do their floors. I know you had a conversation with Pardo along these lines, because I looked it up on YouTube. I’m curious what you thought of that conversation, which was less about sculpture as such and more about “artists” working as architects, like Pardo, [Olafur] Eliasson and [Vito] Acconci—and now you. I’ve called you all “super producers.” Where and how do you think you do or do not fit into that category or way of working?

OT: Well, I think there’re so many different angles, but yeah, you never hire Carl Andre to do your floor, but also he wouldn’t. I guess what I’m saying is that the artwork was still an object—discrete, a thing in a space… You know to me what was interesting about Jorge Pardo and that whole generation was that it’s really hard to identify where the work ends and begins. It’s a space—I mean the interesting and kind of perilous territory is that not all the decisions really matter.

SL: So it seems to me that the maybe art/architecture is even too broad because really it’s mostly sculpture and architecture. Although there’re all kinds of other things, but I guess what I’m trying to think about is that the contact has become more urgent, and prevalent, and pressing, and yet increasingly less defined. I’m wondering about the stakes of that, and I’m trying to make sure that we think about where writing fits into this. Part of what was in the back of my mind is that the art/architecture situation has been largely discursively defined by the October crowd. So it’s a very specific channel within the world—Yve-Alain [Bois], [Benjamin] Buchloh, and Hal Foster, and so forth. So those are the people who have really attended to it, and as far as I know, the fact that that group is the one that established the parameters is itself not an object of much analysis, so I’m trying to figure out what are the stakes for them. For Buchloh, the stakes were very clear: architecture is always intrinsically a negative object, that’s its job for sculpture. Hal Foster, I think, would pretend otherwise, but I think it is also intrinsically…

OT: He’s always setting it up as, what would you call it, the kind of relationship…

SL: The bad boy, yeah, antagonistic…

OT: Antagonistic relationship, exactly! Also the figure of the architect as this kind of like…

SL: Complicit capitalist, that’s it!

OT: Exactly.

SL: That’s it. So that’s its job. Its job for the artist is to clarify the problems of capitalism. So, fine, as long as we’re understanding that you have to invent your antithesis, but what that discursive work doesn’t account for is this emerging generation of people who are crossing enough of the lines to make that symbolization of the architect no longer useful. So, if you’re entering competitions, let’s say—you don’t have to tell me any of the details, I’m just really curious—if you enter a competition and you win, do you get paid as an artist or an architect?

OT: I think in pretty much every case so far the competitions that I’ve entered have been defined as public art–type projects. I’ve tried to fit architecture into those, but they’re not really fit to make buildings in those kinds of situations. But they’re typically in it as sculpture commissions, but…

SL: But your bridge [Un Pont, a memorial project in Belfort, France], for example, and the different ways that you were imagining that bridge would have, amongst other things, huge economic considerations.

OT: Yeah.

SL: A concrete bridge versus a rope bridge, you know. Thinking about those budgets—how do you think about that? So when you were saying that you use a lot of the same tools as architects, I guess I’m trying to take the Buchloh/Foster thing and say that for them—and this comes from a long line of thinking about architecture—for them, the constraint of architecture that makes it essentially, fundamentally, and always problematic was not its space and those kinds of things but its relation to capital, its economic system. So if we think of the specificity of architecture as an economic condition—is that one of your tools as well?

OT: But that seems like that’s architecture with a capital “A,” right? If we’re talking about architecture as a representative force of a dominant, capitalist situation, then yeah, I agree. But I don’t think that’s necessarily the architecture that I’m interested in, I’m just interested in building stuff, you know what I mean? I’m interested in general contractor-type spaces and situations and using kind of simple tools. I’m fascinated by international architecture, but that doesn’t have much relevance to me. What is relevant to me is much simpler, like creating a space to sit down or those kinds of things. And to do those kinds of things, you need all of the tools, I’m interested in using the tools. But I don’t actually do any computer drafting myself, I work with someone who does, to be able to visualize spaces and then create in those situations.

SL: It’s funny that you would refer to architecture with a capital “A,” those are all very typically architectural, architect-speak distinctions. Do people say sculpture with a capital “S?”

OT: That’s a good question, I mean, isn’t it always? [laughs]

SL: With a capital “S?”

OT: No, I’m just kidding! But as a concept, sculpture necessarily dignifies itself and separates itself from the world, right? That’s my struggle, I have to fight against that all the time. To try and make lowercase sculpture, that’s what I want to do. But I think it’s challenging because, you know, where does this stuff end up? Well mostly, unfortunately, it’s destined to end up in an art gallery, or maybe somebody’s house, or a museum. Where else would it end up?

SL: So then maybe architecture is a misnomer, in other words, maybe what interests you about architecture is not architecture but building, if that’s a distinction, and you might be interested in building in order to invent a lowercase sculpture. Just so that you know my view of things—I think the distinction between capital “A” architecture and lowercase “b” building is a fantasy. And I think that lowercase building also imagines itself to be architecture, and I think architecture with a capital “A” is always full of innumerable prosaic everyday sorts of things. But the distinction is useful for various reasons, and I suppose this is why I was pressing on the competition. Competitions are very typical in architecture. For me, they’re stand-ins for all of the constraints that architecture both resists and embraces. I mean, architecture is envious of artists, because it imagines that they don’t have constraints. And I guess I’m thinking that now that you all are working in these new ways, I think you do have them. [laughs] You do. But maybe there isn’t the habit of talking about them in the same way.

OT: Totally. It’s so weird ’cause for example, I’m working on a project now for the Seattle Waterfront. It’s a project I’ve been working on for maybe a year and a half or two, and it’s interesting because the commissioning agency invited artists at the very beginning of the process. But rather than defining a site and completely defining where and what this thing is going to be, they invited the artist at the very early stage of the process with the landscape architect and the architect, when things are still nebulous enough that something could be proposed. To me, that’s the ideal situation, but it’s also really complicated because it’s almost like speaking a different language.

So I’ve been working on this for a long time. I came up with a really elaborate, developed proposal, finished engineering, consultation, and design, and I came to them with a question. I said, I want to put a pylon because I wanted to suspend this tree. This is the really pie-in-the-sky version. It’s an elevated walkway that would take you up to this tree, and the tree is suspended over the water. I came to my senses. Sometimes the design process tells you when the project isn’t working. The project that I came up with after realizing the constraints is way better and much lighter. It fits in and responds to the conditions in a much better way, but somehow getting to “no” is always important, I think. To me that’s what was always appealing about the architectural process is this fighting for a “yes” or a “no”—fighting for a “yes” and getting a “no”—maybe that’s what it is.

SL: Well some people have said that the distinction between architecture and other things is the toilet. I mean in the end, every practice has its own form of “yes” and “no;” every practice has its own form of economy. Every practice, at least post-minimalism, has its own form of space and social engagement.

OT: And function! I mean, as much as artworks are supposed to be functionless, and that’s the distinction.

SL: Right, I agree. I think that being responsible to the toilet is still the architect’s job. The notion of the function of a work of art is so expanded, that I would agree we can’t hold functionalism as an architectural problem, but what about the bathroom?

OT: By the toilet do you mean the plumbing? The infrastructure?

SL: Yeah, like some base condition for survival, let’s say. You can chip it away, and you can go live in The Land [Foundation] project in Thailand and cook and eat and do all of those kinds of things, but somehow fundamentally the toilet is not an art project.

OT: Yeah, well I did make a toilet sculpture, but… [laughs]

SL: Well, lots of people have made toilet sculptures! Those are very famous! But I’m not sure anybody ever took a shit in one of them. [both laugh]

OT: Exactly! Yeah, I think that’s kind of the answer right there…my toilet is not one that you’d want to have in your house.

 

_____________
What I like about Oscar Tuazon
by Thomas Moore

I like Oscar Tuazon’s work because it feels like it’s taking over the room that’s holding it.

I like it because it feels like it’s trying to do an impression of the room it’s in and getting it wrong.

I like it because it doesn’t really need the room that’s containing it at all.

I like it because it contains itself.

I like Oscar Tuazon’s work because it looks strong.

Because it looks like you could break it.

Because it looks like someone already tried to break it and failed.

Because it’s already damaged.

I like it because it reminds me of things.

I like it because it doesn’t look like anything else.

I like it because it reminds me of Black Metal music.

I like it because it’s totally unmusical.

I like it because it doesn’t need anything else.

I like the work because it feels horny.

I like it because it looks useful.

I like it because it has no function.

I like it because it’s independent.

I like it because it needs you.

I like it because it doesn’t solve any problems.

I like it because I don’t always like myself.

I like it because it’s limited.

I like it because it feels infinite.

I like it because it’s precise.

I like it because it’s clumsy.

I like it because it’s intimate.

I like it because it’s private.

I like it because I can’t stop sleeping with strangers.

I like it because I’m lonely.

I like it because I’m happy on my own.

I like it because I stopped drinking.

I like it because the work can’t answer questions.

I like it because the work doesn’t need to justify itself.

I like it because I feel like it’s seen things that I haven’t.

I like it because I’ve touched it with my own hands.

I like it because it feels like it feels anarchic.

I like it because it follows rules.

I like it because sometimes I feel like a failure.

I like it because I’ve done too many things that I can’t take back.

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. I have a semi-nasty head cold which will likely effect the quality of my comments today, apologies. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. It certainly wouldn’t shock me if they reopened that case. ** Misanthrope, Is it a gif? Because if it isn’t it wouldn’t have been in there come hell or high water. If it was, I didn’t find it. Paris has good Mexican places, or one or two — El Guacamole in the 10th is probably the best — but not good enough to make one helpless to stuff oneself with their wares. There are a lot of blah ones, even French Mexican fast food chains. They’re catching on over here, but fitfully and gradually. ** Bernard, So great to see you last night, obviously, Mr. W. Talk/chat today? ** Bill, The slow dying out of blogs as a popular destination has been an interesting yet melancholy thing to witness from the relative inside. ** Dominik, Hi, thank you! Me too. In fact I did get lost in it for days while making it. I think the reading went well. Seemed to. The audience was sizeable and attentive, I think. My head cold “kindly” waited until this morning to become a blown annoyance. What’s love going to do with all those copies of ‘Just Kids’. There’s a guy out there whose goal in life to buy every extant copy of The Beatles’ ‘White Album’ in its original vinyl-only release. I don’t know why other than to become very, very, very slightly famous? Love’s foggy brain spending a minute trying to think up a charming and unexpected form of love to present to you before giving up and just saying love, G. ** Tosh Berman, Of course I went back and looked at the seventh one down, and, yes, I see! How interesting. Glad you’re re-right as rain. ** Robert, Hi, Robert! Welcome, and thank you for coming in! Ah, good eye. I do think one of the sniffers is also a fake but a convincing fake at least. How are you? What are you and doing and enjoying? ** T.J. Hi. Yeah, I’m a Tyrell fan too. I did a post about her a while back. Let me see if I can find it. Here. There are a few now-dead videos in it, but it’s mostly still in tact. Being from LA, there was a time when Bukowski was inescapable. And a time when he was the only LA poet anyone outside of LA knew of. That colored things. I saw him read a few times, and he was very entertaining live. They love him in France. Yes, I’ve seen ‘Letters Home’. I thought out was fantastic. A not well known film by Akerman that she made for TV and is really a total jewel if you can ever see it is ‘Portrait d’une jeune fille de la fin des années 60 à Bruxelles’ (1994). The main girl in it is really incredible. Thanks a lot, T.J.! ** Okay. Today’s galerie show featuring works by the terrific artist Oscar Tuazon is a combo of the brand new and a Tuazon-related post that Thomas Moore made for the blog many years ago. I hope it interests. See you tomorrow.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2024 DC's

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑