Free gifts from artists – an attempt at deconstructing the obligations of sculpture.

I haven’t updated for a while, mainly because installing the exhibition took up nearly all the waking hours that I had. But I have been making notes and half finishing some posts – So now that the exhibition is open, I hope to fill in some details about the installation of the work retrospectively in the next few days.
Here is the first, one that almost got posted a week ago…

2 weeks pass, in a blink. The first one was, in theory, a short burst of R&R but then that is the great thing about theory. The second introduced Vincent, the sculptor and 250 8×4 sheets of Stirling board into what is becoming my second home, Fabrica. I am greatly relieved that the chemistry of the production group was easily a match for the five massive pallets of wood, right from the start. It is a good sign when you can recognise everyone in the room by their laugh, (as these posts have a 500 word limit I wont mention everyone by name).

Fabrica really is a unique organization, one that manages to do more than hold its own amongst contemporary art venues, but unlike many, has managed to retain an almost family like feel. Ok I realize that working like a family isn’t perhaps the most efficient way of running an organization, but it is the most human, and it reflects the artist led ethos of the organization far better than any business model I can think of.

The reason that I say this, is that in most galleries the installation of such an exhibition would be ‘executed’ by a specialist group of installers, who more likely than not, would turn the place into a macho machine fest ‘site’ while the ‘staff’ were kept out of the way.

Our team was the antithesis of that, consisting predominantly of women, wide age groups and levels of experience, skills were invented and shared and the whole process was collaboratively managed as an evolving response to the various challenges that occurred.

The work was heavy and complex, but by the end of the installation we each came away feeling that we were deeply involved in Vincent’s work, having learned a great deal in completely unexpected ways.

Taking such an approach to installing an exhibition is a huge risk, but one that provides insights for those involved that most ‘workshops’ or ‘gallery educators’ can only dream of.

Fabrica has got it about right, in making its installations a form of artist's resource, even if it does shave a few years off the life expectancy of the project managers and directors.

But then everything is sweetened by risk.

Being involved to some extent in the planning of the installation I am intrigued by what seemed at first to be a simple miscalculation in the amount of time scheduled for the work to be put up.

Making the usual assumptions, and running through the process in our minds it seemed reasonable that, with enough bodies, the work could be done in a week, with a few days spare. Two days into the installation it became painfully obvious that it would be extremely tight, if not impossible, no matter how many people we got in to help.

I got very grumpy at this point, mainly because I felt entirely responsible for what was looking like a disastrous error, grumpiness doesn’t help much in that situation. Jonathan came to the rescue by making the process just about as efficient as was possible, but it still didn’t look good.

Then Vincent, who was probably more concerned than the rest of us, said something.

He said “I would usually need a month to do this work”

For me this was a bit of an epiphany, We had made the huge assumption that this work was an installation, however it was actually a work in progress. Being used to installed works being pre-planned and executed, like some sort of fitted kitchen, we had entirely overlooked the un-delegatable nature of the task that Vincent was performing. Of course getting more people wouldn’t help, we needed more Vincent. The answer was to adjust the work-flow so that Vincent only spent time doing what couldn’t feasibly be done by others. It worked.

This led me to consider just how few works are actually made in-situ, anything that can’t be carried is usually planned, in advance, in some abstract form, using tried and tested techniques, then assembled as efficiently as possible. Not that this is a bad thing, it is just a process that requires a good deal of prediction, participation in the final form tends toward solving problems of conformity, of unforeseen variations on the pre-existing plan. – working in this manner means that at the point of construction, the actual site is likely to force compromise on the plan.
Of course it makes good financial sense, but it means the works relationship with its context is pre-conceived and to some extent assumed rather than authentic.

come to think of it, many large works often attempt to retain a bit of the unplanned, the unpredictable about them. But this is usually added as a final treatment, a finish that gets applied at the end – This puts me in mind of a certain brand of 'focacia' bread which undergoes a single daub from latex gloved fingers as it passes on the conveyor belt, allowing it to be sold as 'Hand finished'.

Vincent has, I think, bravely managed to keep the unknown outcome a major part of this work, throughout. I admire him for it.

Thursday I found myself in London, something that I’ve tried to avoid ever since leaving aged 18. But I had two good reasons to go;

First I was invited by International Art Consultants to present my ‘recent work’, by which I mean, my corporate/civic sculpture, to the new director and staff.

Second I had arranged lunch with my dear friend Anna who I hadn’t seen since she became director of ‘Learning’ at Tate Modern.
Anna always nourishes me, and I hoped that a chat with her would leave me feeling empowered, I wasn’t disappointed, but I was a bit surprised.

An hour and a half of verbal lunch with Anna, left me feeling that we really do have our work cut out for us. If, as artists, we want to present an alternative to the ubiquitous business culture that insists we all share uniform values, to maintain the arts as somewhere that true inclusive diversity can happen, we have got to be brave enough to question the paradigms we work within. We have to be wary of what others ask from us, especially if they are paying.
We are in real danger of being complicit in a national curriculisation of creativity – fully accredited and certified, of course (so it’s trustworthy).

My second meeting, a fairly straightforward opportunity to talk about my work, was as it should be, familiar and comfortable, It was a marketing exercise I suppose, I found myself torn between being a salesman and inviting dialogue. I was surprised just how irrelevant most of what I would consider to be part of contemporary arts practise was to this situation, I found that talking beyond the object itself required too much unfamiliar contextualisation, a bit like discussing Carl Andre’s work with old aunt Nelly, worthwhile, but perhaps too much of an investment.

It wasn’t exactly an epiphany but the days contrast confirmed something that has been sneaking up on me for years.
It is one thing to make a nifty object, but without integrity of process you will end up simply a manufacturer working in an ‘art’ commodity market that differs little from any other small business. Exciting for a while, but essentially superficial.
Where this business differs from manufacturing, or design is that it involves personal interpretation of what it is to be a quirky human being, in a manner that invites others to engage with their respective quirky human individuality. It is about multiple interpretations with multiple unknown outcomes. Any object that is involved is simply the vehicle for transmitting evidence about the process of being a human being. It mirrors life in being a stochastic process – It is the antithesis of collective corporate strategy, target oriented thinking, terms such as ‘public’, ‘consumer’ and ‘qualification’.

Time to stop working to a brief.

The reason I avoid London? It usually makes me feel competitive. This time it didn’t. It usually wears off.

Emerging from an unhealthy bout of work, making things for 'others' (14 days continual at 12 hours a day) I feel like I've been holding my breath underwater and have no idea what has been going on . It seems that Jonathan has been housekeeping the project nicely, even getting round to adding a bit about my task to:HIS BLOG

Jonathan's kind words will of course oblige me to warm-heartedly push him off of a ladder at some later date. I say this because I am convinced that he had to search long and hard for alternative words for obscure, irrational and pedantic (stimulating, lateral and warm-hearted). But to be fair we both sometimes look at each other as though the trolley has come adrift, while secretly recognising a shared sense that we are both still getting away with it at our age, and dreading the day that we might have to decide what it is exactly that we do for a living.
All I can say is that if you ever get a chance to work with Jonathan Swain, jump at the opportunity, you'd be foolish not to.

Another bubbling undercurrent has been the technical details of how Vincent intends to construct his sculpture – I raised a few concerns about the structure a month or so ago, and since then a few e-mails have crept between us (via a translator as my French is sub-kindergarten). Vincent's absolute professionalism and sheer determination has proven these concerns to be trivial – so now I am really looking forward to the build, and overcoming any problems that may show themselves in a spirit of adventure.

The major part of my concern stemmed from how badly methods of making can translate, not just verbally but in the different available materials and tooling, for instance;
Zinc sheet in the USA is a very different substance from the galvanised steel that seems the obvious UK alternative.
It is possible that the dowel that Vincent's structure relies upon may not replace well with the ubiquitous B&Q/Homebase equivalent.
I also wondered if Vincent was familiar with PU glue and biscuit joints. But I remembered that in France you can still buy acid in supermarkets, and that it is the UK that has been modularised to a safe, creativity excluding, IKEA norm.

I am sure that I was being too cautious, but then the verbal translation of the french for dowel into 'spandrel' is enough to cause a cold shudder.

It could be worse, as a very dear friend found out, when she tried to offer some giclee print reproductions of her mono-prints for sale in a French gallery and was greeted with howls of laughter.
Giclee translates as 'spurt' and is used in normandy at least, as a euphemism for ejaculate.

Perhaps in a form of inverted snobbery we should label our inkjet prints on the continent as 'cum gravure'.

Time for a new post. There’s always something unsettling about reading stuff written a while ago. Like finding some forgotten adolescent writing and only half believing that you could have been like that. The first few posts could be by someone else, but this is mainly because I was attempting to find my boundaries, by trying out whatever came to hand, and sinking into books and theory.
Since then I have had to earn some money, always a great leveller – In a way it suits me, because it fits with the way that I tend to work on projects – something akin to a brewing process;
Put loads of unlikely ingredients into the pot, dilute with generalities, boil with intense concentration, put on lid, and let the process happen, lift lid occasionally to add carbohydrates (careful not to disturb contents). Wait/do something else until you think you have forgotten about it, and no longer notice the all pervading smell. When the time is right siphon off some of the stuff and try it – If you are lucky it will be good for cooking.

So you see some completely unrelated work purely for the money is a great way of forgetting the real work – plus the all pervading smell of the stuff that is fermenting means that everything that occurs in the surrogate workplace, could provide the magic ingredient, the thing that could never have been planned.

Some themes are beginning to emerge – I have been working in a barn on a dairy-farm, along with 3 others, making a faux building for some press-launch photo-shoot. While there I have noticed the way that the people I am working with have very different involvement with the day’s tasks. A younger maker seems to suspend life during the work hours, and treats everything like a race. Another older maker is moralistic about the disciplines of work, he’s the one that times coffee-breaks, gives the impression that although like sour medicine, work somehow builds dignity and the sort of respect that he values. Yet another was once a go-getter, but a fairly unpleasant brush with bankruptcy, made him philosophical about suspending quality of existence to fund some notional better life in the future. The farmer moves things around all day, he is always at work, and yet he never leaves home, he plays with his kids while he fills the udder-wash container, there is no work/play distinction that you would notice. Then the clients arrive, they are shockingly young, with them comes corporate culture – positive strokes – primacy of paperwork – friendly management banter, a learned language that says far more than it seems. The ‘creatives’ (bored photographers), up talking everything, aware of their feint celebrity and using it well to get what they want painlessly. Then there are the cows, who feed, then feed some more – drag themselves to the parlour, and feed while they wait. Dead curious.