interviewed here on how the 'prophecies' of her book, Corporate Mentality (2003, pdf) are being fulfilled ten years later through cultural entrepreneurship courses, much like the one being created at my own university, and the one she mentions here:
"...I recently learned that the art school Central Saint Martins is offering a graduate degree in "Innovation Management," with the purpose to "synthesize opportunities." This is perhaps the closest to the Ford and Davies 1998 Art Futures prediction of the Culturepreneur. I find it hilarious that we have arrived at this. It is a symptom of an ever growing culture industry with lots of room for middle managers in it of course. Yet, I believe that no matter what forces or structures are in place, the art itself still always stems from a sensitive and delicate source, willing to take risks and thrive, not thanks to, but despite the odds."
Whereas contemporary artist collectives like K-HOLE or DIS magazine follow after collectives like the NE Thing Co, General Idea or Bernadette Corporation in their parody of corporate structures and jingoism (what writer Huw Lemmey calls the "language of dickheads") what distinguishes them is their apparent willingness to enter fully into the world they parody and profit from it – staking out a position of critique and at the same time profiting from that position when ostensibly selling their cultural savvy back to clients. In light of what critics have called the 'capitalist realism' of today's contemporary art, and its negative image – the well-intentioned "girl meets oil" cases of the corporate world – the point past which all differences between sincerity and cynicism can no longer be restored is both poetic and horrific territory.
Part I of the Art, Art History & Visual Studies Doctoral Student Speaker Series, "Art Conflict and the Politics of Memory," organized by Ivana Bago, Laura Moure Cecchini and I. Link here. Photos below.
Duke Professor Esther Gabara speaking with Dartmouth Professor Mary K. Coffey about her fantastic paper on Meso-American prophecy, José Clementé Orozco (details of his mural above), and Walter Benjamin.
Milica Tomić, “Container” image from a Forensic Performance –(Re) Construction of the Crime.
Art is just territorial pissing,
....or some other sort of angry display.
and talking is dirty.... But nothing is so shameful as the intellectuals who travel only to do so.
So this means you're leaving the university?Leaving if you want. I'm breaking with a widespread attitude....
|Isn't Vietnam an actor? Yes, Vietnam.|
|We are not the ones using obscure language! It's our society which hermetic and closed....|
I get excited about banknotes but more exciting than official banknotes are emergency banknotes. From the days when Germans used wheelbarrows as purses:
"Notgeld (emergency currency) was issued by cities, boroughs, even private companies while there was a shortage of official coins and bills. Nobody would pay in coins while their nominal value was less than the value of the metal. And when inflation went on, the state was just unable to print bills fast enough. Some companies couldn't pay their workers because the Reichsbank just couldn't provide enough bills. So they started to print their own money - they even asked the Reichsbank beforehand. As long as the Notgeld was accepted, no real harm was done and it just was a certificate of debt. Often it was even a more stable currency than real money, as sometimes the denomination was a certain amount of gold, dollars, corn, meat, etc."
These are all from the flickr site of Miguel Oks.
(Thanks to Michael Shick for sending these my way).
In my statement I wanted to explain my appeal for these books, describing my interest in the "how-to" manual as a genre. As the ancestor of the homesteading manual and the precursor of the DIY zine (or now, more generically, about.com) the "manual" quite radically cuts out the middle-man and the expenses of training.
However, I also wanted to show the other secret attraction of these books, which is that the manual also allows for the formation of an alternative identity, functioning as an aide in self-actualization/ transformation.
Ironically, it is to this very radical movement of intentional communities that we owe the greenwashed environmentalism of today. I stressed that perhaps the manuals were almost too effective, and that eventually, the radical subjectivities associated with the intentional communities movement were commodified, its fonts and design sensibilities were raided. The middle man was brought back into the picture, not as Whole Earth but as "Whole Foods".
|Et le soleil s'endormait sur l'adriatique by J.R. Boronali (1910)|
Merve Emre describes how writings on art by Bloomsbury member and patron John Maynard Keynes can be seen as adumbrations of The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money (1936) at The Modernism Lab.
I applaud all ideas, but nothing else, only the ideas interest me and not what gravitates around them, profiting from ideas disgusts me. "One has to live," you tell me? You know as well as I that our existence is short compared to the profit one can gain from an invention; we're on the earth since the day before yesterday and we'll die tomorrow. Cubism was born one morning only to die that evening, then Dada appeared and was, actually, just as ephemeral. The evolution continues; some person will find the name of a new package for a bygone spirit, and so forth.
The Dada spirit only really existed from 1913 to 1918, an era during which it
never stopped evolving and transforming itself. After that time, it became as
uninteresting as the output of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts or the static elucubrations
offered by the Nouvelle Revue Francaise and certain members of the Institute. In the
attempt to prolong its life, Dada has closed in upon itself. I am sorry if, with these
lines, I'm wounding friends whom I love dearly, or disturbing certain colleagues
who perhaps are counting on a profit from Dadaism!
I couldn't tell you what will happen at this point; all I can assure you is that
our state of mind is not the same as it was from 1913 to 1920 (if you like), and that consequently it will show itself differently. Don't think that I'm standing in my shirtsleeves at midnight in July, contemplating the moon, don't worry, I have my good sense-if there is such a thing as good sense! What I am sure of is that it is impossible to stop movement. Money itself has value-or it doesn't; paper would perhaps be worth more than gold if it were given to me to discover gold mines as large as the coal pits of Cardiff. People class individuals into two categories: "unserious" and "serious."No one until now has been able to explain to me what a serious man is. I will make the attempt here myself. I think that you call a man serious when he is able to provide for his neighbors, his family, his friends, on condition that to these ends he put the interest on his capital to work. An unserious man is one who confuses interest with capital, and doesn't seek to make dollars with his ideas-from an artistic viewpoint, a copyist at the Louvre will always be more serious than I am! Dada, you see, was not serious, and that is why it won over the world like wildfire. If some people take it seriously now, that's because it's dead! Many people will call me a killer, but they're deaf and shortsighted. Anyway, there are no killers; are tuberculosis and typhoid killers? Are we in control of our lives? In my opinion, there is only one killer, the one who created the world. But, since no one created the world, there are no killers, Dada will live forever! And thanks to that, art dealers will make their fortune, publishers will treat themselves to cars, writers will get the Legion of Honor, and I ... will stay Francis Picabia!
One must be a nomad, traveling through ideas as one travels through countries and cities, eating parakeets and hummingbirds, swallowing live marmosets, sucking the blood of giraffes, feeding on the feet of panthers! One must sleep with gulls, dance with a boa constrictor, make love with heliotropes, and wash one's feet in vermilion! One must disguise church interiors as ocean liners and ocean liners as artichokes with cream, make statues come out of the sea and recite verses to passing steamers, go out naked then put on a tuxedo at home; one must hear confessors' confessions, never again see the people one knows, above all, never put the same woman twice in one's bed, unless one has a mistress who cheats on you every day with a new lover! All that is a lot easier than the faith of a copper- smith, who always laughs at what's funny and finds black dark and white light. The coppersmith warms up in the sun because he's cold; don't be cold, and you'll see how much the sun looks like rain!
Existence is tolerable really only on condition that one lives among people who have no ulterior motives, no opportunists, but that would be asking the impossible...Talent doesn't exist, masterpieces are just documents, truth is the pivot on the scale. Everything is boring, no? Falling leaves are boring, new leaves are boring, heat is boring, cold is boring. Grandfather clocks that don't chime are boring, those that do chime are boring. Having a telephone is boring, not having a telephone is boring. People who die are boring, just as are those who don't! Look how badly the world is put together, why doesn't our brain have the force of our desires? But all that matters very little, paintings in museums are masterpiece- fossils. A man is called tasteful because he shares the taste of others; for you, life is a guitar on which one plucks only the same tune forever.
Translated by Matthew S. Witkovsky.
Francis Picabia, "M. Picabia se sépare des dadas," Comoedia, May 11, 1921, reprinted in Francis Picabia, Ecrits 2, ed. Olivier Revault d'Allonnes (Paris: P. Belfond, 1978), pp. 14-15.
September 8 (@4pm) French conceptual artist Fred Forest replicates his infamous 1973 sociological excursion through working-class neighborhood of Brooklin, São Paolo. Given that this time he is starting on N.7th street, (the heart of the party, so to speak) the tour should be an incisive study. Curated by the awesome Ruth Erickson.
"Can its underlying cause be expediently diagnosed as a generic effect of globalization, as anxiety over theses on “the end of history” (from Alexander Kojève to Francis Fukuyama), or the failure of utopian paradigms and loss of faith in western notions of historical causality and progress? For art historians and critics, this is a deeply paradoxical state of affairs because the unraveling of historical paradigms, especially those beholden to a teleological, revolutionary temporal logic, suggests we should no longer put our faith in future retrospective viewpoints or judgments. However, we have yet to invent satisfying critical-historical alternatives to looking forward or looking back as we live in the present. A heightened historical, sense of self-reflexivity, in the spirit of the sort found in the work of Mona Vătămanu and Florin Tudor, is indispensable."
More of Vivian Rehberg's crisp essay in Jeu de Paume's Le Magazine this month.