Nau mai, haere mai, welcome to eyeCONTACT, a forum built to encourage art reviews and critical discussion about the visual culture of Aotearoa New Zealand. I'm John Hurrell its editor, a New Zealand writer, artist and curator. While Creative New Zealand and other supporters are generously paying me and other contributors to review exhibitions over the following year, all expressed opinions are entirely our own.
Showing posts with label St. Paul St. Show all posts
Showing posts with label St. Paul St. Show all posts

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Negotiating institutional space


Infinite Leave to Remain: Richard Frater, Patrick Lundberg, Susie Thomas
St. Paul St Gallery - foyer and outer streetfront window
21 January - 12 February 2010

In this unusually located exhibition utilising ‘dead’ viewing space around and about (and not properly within) St. Paul St Gallery, three artists cleverly explore the theme of control of visual material, the space itself, and ideational ownership. With the huge Gallery One empty, they use its street frontage as a saluting ‘tip of the hat’ to the Window gallery at the Auckland University library, a couple of blocks downtown.

Thomas’s two lightboxes in the foyer next to Gallery Two are legally binding licensing agreements between herself and the institution exhibiting the work, where the material under discussion is the genetic information (DNA data) in two strands of her hair. The contract is elucidated in detail with graphs at the top of the two glowing squares. These drawn images are not identical, and the sequencing of the upper letter groupings also varies, as does the spacing below of the horizontal measuring digits. The work seems a comment on image ownership, deliberately paralleling copyright stipulations where the artist/creator (Licensor) has control of the reproduced image, not the owner or exhibiter (Licensee).

In the window of Gallery One Richard Frater has a creased, unfolded, white sheet pinned by its top corners to the back wall of the shallow space. In front of it he also has a life-size greyish blue photograph of another sheet printed onto a third sheet, attached by magnets to the front glass. The two hanging rectangles sag in their middles, causing baggy wrinkles at their bottom edges that catch the natural light bouncing in off the street. The imposed photographed sheet seen through the thick glass looks wet and sticky, with trapped v-shaped air bubbles bulging under the thin cotton. Inevitably the tonally dramatic front image tends to obscure the much subtler, more delicate piece of fabric behind it that almost dissolves in the reflected glare.

Patrick Lundberg has a pencil drawing on the back wall, presenting eight lead lines (replicable on tracing paper) that look like part of some dotted or continuous cursive script. These slightly ornate (slightly Celtic) glyphs can be interpreted in a number of ways. They can be indexical references to planar borders within the space. On occasion they can be vectors pointing at some quality nearby for directional emphasis. They also can be staked-out declarations that occupy parts of the space, like flags, graffiti or pegs – saying ‘Lundberg was here.’ They even interact with Frater’s loose white sheet, mimicking its lower edge, or going behind the fabric so the line becomes hidden.

This is a shrewd show because the three artists have more in common than you might suppose. The negotiation stated by Thomas is also alluded to in the front window by the two others using that space. Just as her lightboxes have a conversation together as well as with the institution, there is an amusing dialogue between the works of Frater and Lundberg about control of the narrow site and its dominant versus submissive options. This is highlighted by the need for viewer accessibility through the gallery interior as a supplementary countering alternative to only peering through the front glass.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

The end of Tertiary Art Education, the death of God


Simon Glaister: Push over
St. Paul St Gallery
AUT
13 August - 4 September 2009

In this stark Michael Asher–influenced installation we have an implied future collapse of the AUT St. Paul St building, a metaphor for the demise of institutional art education. Glaister has organised a display of great austerity using empty space, natural light and open doorways. This makes it an unusual experience for New Zealand audiences, one very similar aesthetically to some of the Billy Apple ‘subtraction’ projects of 1975.

That parallel is deceptive however because Glaister’s project is definitely ‘additive.’ He has made an 8.5 ton replica of the central supporting column that is a salient feature of Gallery 1 and which thankfully remains standing. His version is cross shaped, and you can see from the striations on the floor (and brittle shattered varnish) that the weighty structure – it is two feet thick - has been pushed around with something like a very strong forklift. Then at some point it has been raised up to become vertical and then suddenly toppled.

The two central cross-bars have snapped as it crunched into the floor, sending debris everywhere. Chunks of cement are scattered around; the speckled interior and reinforcing rods of the stem exposed; its smooth exterior fragmented.

What is particularly impressive about this installation is the sense of calming expansion (various large windows and fire doors are opened up; adjacent ventilation alcoves and heating cupboards exposed) contrasting with violent contraction (the shattered ruin). Nearby Gallery Two is empty, apart from two short columns of stacked newsprint posters showing four images of ancient ruins and earthquake-collapsed buildings. The wind has scattered some of these over the floor.

The smashed up cross-shape brings another dimension to this exhibition because it refers to the sacking of Christian Europe, the plundering of churches and end of so-called ‘civilization’ by the heathen hordes. It creates a parallel with current anxieties of economic collapse within the art education sector (though in fact enrolments have increased). It refers to the demise of ‘The True Faith’ perhaps, the imminent onslaught of barbaric anarchy, the possible end of art as we know it.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Perfect placement of props, yet intense






Roger Ballen
Curated by Leonhard Emmerling and the artist
St. Paul St
May 7 – May 29, 2009

This major survey of South African photographer Roger Ballen covers a period of about 24 years. His 48 black and white silver gelatin prints range from the sentimental and maudlin to the ferociously savage. Some are deeply disturbing, others ludicrously corny.

The ‘look’ is that of Walker Evans or Dorothea Lange’s documentary depression photography, mixed with more than a pinch of Diane Arbus, but somehow combined with more extreme elements that include the occasional feral viciousness of a Hannah Hoch collage, David Lynch film or Francis Bacon painting. The prevalent theme is that of rural people living in a state of economic hardship, often in conditions that are not squalid but extremely severe.

The mood is that of deprivation that leans into degradation (many of the subjects don’t seem nourished or healthy) combined surprisingly with great theatricality. Not real degradation as seen in some recent Russian photography where the subjects were poor, pitifully drunk and exposing intimate body parts, nor theatricality with wildly imaginative props like Boyd Webb or (blacker and much creepier) Joel–Peter Witkin.

Here there is no exploitative humiliation going on: Ballen knows many of his subjects well and though at times he gets them to improvise he always is in absolute control. The placement of elements within every composition is exceptionally tight. Almost irritatingly over-considered. The viewer is totally in thrall to the artist. Nothing’s negotiable. No informal arrangements anywhere. These images are very precise, never loose.

In fact they try too hard, even though, in a surrealist manner, some have considerable emotional impact. You can see the strain, the struggle for perfection. And they are extremely knowing. They combine cuteness (with kittens, puppies and white rats) with symbols of suffering (gnarled worn feet, striated pock-marked walls, decrepit tin roofs) and some over-used symbols of hope (white doves).

Linear configurations play a big role, creating a vivid contrast for angular, squat or humped human forms. We see a lot of Dubuffet (occasionally Murakami and Dunham) influenced chalk drawings on walls (I don’t think they are found; they are especially created), along with hanging tangled wires, falling clumps of roots or leafless branches, tubular table legs and entangled coat-hangers. Thin forms; dark skinny shadows.

There is a connection between art’s representation of extreme emotion and stagy theatricality. Oddly they invariably seem to appear together, especially in someone like Bacon. Yet Bacon loved to destroy an ordered painting, to throw in an unpredictable element that could ruin or conversely improve it. Ballen would never do that. I suspect his temperament is far too anal and averse to real risk taking.

That is why I’m not convinced that Ballen is that an important artist, though many of his images are unquestionably beautiful. The show seems too retro: too fifties with the wall drawings (Boarding House), too thirties with the austere, very staged, dreamlike interiors (Shadow Chamber). Though not over excited by this work - they are not of our time, technically or visually - I am pleased to have had the chance to think about his images. Stroll along to St. Paul St’s two galleries and have a look yourself.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Dramatic video installations








Gary Hill: Voice Grounds
Curated by Leonhard Emmerling and the artist
St Paul St
12 March – 24 April 2009

Voice Grounds presents a range of work from the wide-ranging corpus of Gary Hill, a most remarkable, innovative American artist – a video pioneer. In this rare programme of legendary and unusual projects, all are screened on walls; no monitors, or monitor tubes out of their cases – as he has sometimes done – but some split screens, and the sound is impeccable. Individual day screenings are with a single channel in Gallery 2, all week screenings with five channnels - in Gallery 1. Two works on every day.

Here is the list of works arranged chronologically – paralleling the images above:

1984 Why do things get in a muddle? (Come on Petunia) Wed. only
1986 Mediations (Towards a remake of Soundings [1979]) Tues. only
1987-8 Incidence of catastrophe Thurs. only
1989 Site Recite (a Prologue) Fri. only
1995-6 hanD hearD Tues – Sat after April 7
2001,July, Accordians (The Belsunce Recordings) Tues – Sat before April 4
2001 Goats & Sheep (from Withershins [1995]) Sat only

So seven works spread out on different week days are quite difficult to get to. You have to be keen – especially if you don’t work in town – but so you should, they are worth it. Six are currently screening at present. The seventh starts in the second week of April.

The most visceral installation, the five channel Accordians, features the faces and occasional movement of the inhabitants of Belsunce, a city in Algiers. The sound track is loud, random and staccato, very short bursts of sliced up spoken voices. The images of people in the street are similarly brief. They abruptly zoom in and then out: unloading of goods from vans; beggars on the footpath; busy passers by; dense crowds and a lot of faces. There is an all pervading paranoia, a sense of an outsider intruding – maybe a tourist with camera – a mood of hostility. It’s a disturbing, powerful experience.

Site Recite is a particularly carefully and precisely written work that uses Hill’s own slightly Beckett-like text and an actor’s voice. The soothing voiceover reveals a mind examining its own ocular and verbal limitations – literally a ‘head-trip’ scrutinizing its own physiology of senses outwards from within. Meanwhile the camera briefly focuses one at a time on bird skulls, insects, nuts, shells, crystals and unexpected natural objects on a flat round table, searching for parallel visual metaphors in the outer non-body world. We see quick glimpses amidst focussing and unfocussing blurs. Now and then the text and image synchronise. Usually they vaguely overlap, one hovering over the other and not really connecting, yet creating a peculiar haunting beauty.

Incidence of Catastrophe shows us Hill’s interest in Maurice Blanchot, using his novella Thomas the Obscure to riff in a long video about the collapse of the self, a mental breakdown. It dwells on a consciousness that scrutinises the act of reading with close-ups of the turning and scanned pages. It expands on Blanchot’s story, a strange, looping, condensed blend of Edgar Allan Poe and Beckett.

What is interesting about this film and another, Why do Things Get in a Muddle, is how similar they are to aspects of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks TV series, made five years later. A panicking reader running through the ferociously dense, moonlit woods; an animistic gushing river; the bizarre voices and movements of Alice (from ‘Alice in Wonderland’) and her father - these actors had to recite the script backwards while being filmed normally - all seem big influences on Lynch’s brand of filmic surrealism.

Interiority is the main preoccupation of Hill’s in all these works. Inner mental processes, self examination, and how they fit in with our social interaction – if and when that happens - and of course it does. The theme of reflexivity so apparent in Site Recite is made more obvious in Mediations (Towards a Remake of Soundings), where the voiceover comes out of the black flicking speaker being filmed. The commentary describes the artist’s actions (which we see occurring) pouring grains of sand over the undulating cone so that the accumulating layer muffles the sound quality. Oddly, it becomes more distant but then clearer.

In this cross-referencing suite of works the actions of the tongue or gestural movements of clasping, folding or pointing hands often serve as signing devices for language attempting to link signifier with signified, or study itself. The vulnerability of The Self is indicated by collapsing banks of sand worn away by foaming waves, or mouths of molars being picked at by dental probes searching for decay.

Any show of successive video installations like this, featuring such a programme of quality works, is a rare event. Of these dramatic and engrossing St. Paul St presentations, usually it is the shorter ones that are the most haunting (Site Recite, Mediations). Others are particularly intense (Goats and Sheep), if not exhausting (Why are Things in a Muddle). The last, seventh work, a soundless one with five projections, begins on the second Saturday morning in April. For any lover of quality contemporary art, several visits to this very special exhibition are essential.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Hands across the Tasman







Attrium Research Collective: the buzzing confusion of things
St. Paul St, Gallery 1
July 24 – August 22, 2008

The Attrium Research Collective is a group of Australian and New Zealand artists who have formed collegial links while working at AUT in Auckland and RMIT in Melbourne. A partnership has formed between the two art schools, resulting in convivial ties amongst the lecturers as they invariably got familiar with each other’s practices. This Auckland show slightly overlaps another nearly identical ARC exhibition just presented at RMIT. Four of the eight artists (Jonty Valentine, Greg Creek, Sally Mannall and Martine Corompt) have the same work in both.

The results are not really collaborations where you can dissect each work and see the contributions of different individuals. They seem to be more about dialogue between artists after they have made the work, not during. Jonty Valentine, an AUT teacher of graphic design, is the only case of a true interaction occurring between him and other artists, for he has taken their images and adapted them for presentation within an elegant hardcover book. Called A Commonplace Book, it is a collection of useful references and visual arguments, and alludes to Sally Mannall’s video, a work where she gets a group of individual students to examine an empty wooden gun case, figure out its function, and respond. Valentine has designed his book in relation to that unlatched, openable object – leaving the top folded edges of the pages intact so the owner has to cut them to open it.

Sally Mannall’s video of individuals investigating the felt-lined pistol case, makes assumptions more akin to a Kiwi sensibility than Australian. Firearms are more common (openly worn by police for example) across the Tasman, and not regarded with the great trepidation they are here, where we have more an ‘English’ than ‘American’ attitude towards them. I’ve seen people chasing each other through the streets of Melbourne, waving guns in their hands as they screamed at each other. I assumed at the time this was normal everyday behaviour for Australians.

Public fear, surveillance and the facial characteristics of criminals are all ingredients in the work of Martine Corompt. Her scroll of ersatz wallpaper depicts silhouettes of confronting, leering faces with scenes of potential petty crime. It has an inventiveness that takes a prolonged detailed examination to properly reveal, for initially it seems benign and sweet. Her other work, Cesspool, is mesmerising - an animated black puddle with transient menacing visages appearing in its rippling, flowing contours.

Greg Creek, like Corompt, likes black graphic forms, using them to explore a blending of several visual genres such as newspaper layout, comics, dribbled splatters, map contours and gestural brushmarks. His wall display is intriguing but it is his contribution to the Commonplace book that is particularly exciting, a sizzling display of riffs on speech bubbles, a set of playful extrapolations on the comic vocal convention. The highlight of the book.

Nova Paul’s The World of Interiors is a film and audio project that sit uneasily together. In fact the film is superfluous – though it does seem to refer to the title of this exhibition, a quotation form William James about the very early experiences of infants. What is striking is the intensity of the sound recording, an articulate monologue by a friend of Paul’s in Dunedin who is recovering from a breakdown. His rambling, debatable, but nevertheless pithy, comments on a huge range of subjects, such as denial (“denial is the engine room of the universe”), hospital bullying, drugs, wisdom, chakras, reflexology, and the elemental nature of psychic pain, make excellent - if not compelling - listening. It doesn’t need visual accompaniment.

David Thomas is a much admired RMIT teacher well known in both New Zealand and Australia, and a very interesting painter. His green and black site-specific contribution to the show on a tinted window and inside wall however is a disappointment, mainly because the work he had in Melbourne looked so much better – obviously the result of being extremely familiar with the spatial environs of where he works.

Part of the problem in Auckland with his painted installation results from the distracting given horizontal dotted lines on the dark window glass. However the tinted glass functions as a foil to his added shiny black rectangle inside and compels more viewer movement - and an inside/outside vertical green combination works well. In Melbourne (and I’m basing these views on online photographs) the spatial dynamic was more pronounced with its vertical planes of chroma, the rhythms of their position and orientation, and paired ‘chording’. Obviously having untinted glass windows made planar relationships clearer, and gave the work there more immediate wallop.

Ron Left is probably a better painter than Thomas (the year Sriwhana Spong won the Waikato Art Award, Left had a gloriously inventive painting in the final hang), but these days he seems far more interested in photography. The results are pretty ordinary, using processes and procedures in common usage for over thirty years now. However it is in Valentine’s book that you see Left’s talent for compositional placement being showcased. His playfulness in positioning lines of small photographs within certain sequences of pages, teasing out levels of height on different pages with repeated combinations, and contrasting colour of lines of images with tone, makes his contribution nuanced and distinctive.

The most sensual, methodical, yet haunting photographs in the show come from Monique Redmond: a series where she documents empty sections in the small, but once vibrant and busy, small town of Ohai in Southland. As population numbers dwindled and families moved north in search of work, they took their buildings with them, leaving rectangular paddocks oddly surrounded by the remaining houses, with the occasional remains of a path or garden in the middle. These subtle images show us where history has attempted to obliterate its own footsteps. You feel like an archaeologist looking at these images of absence, scrutinizing the surface ground-covering for clues. They have a discreet melancholy that forces you to imagine what was present, how it existed and why it left without a trace.

A show such as this – a collaboration between two tertiary institutions – you might expect to be dry and dully academic. While some of artists’ statements are, the work itself isn’t. There is a lot here to make a prolonged visit enjoyably memorable.

(Images from Jonty Valentine, Sally Mannall, Martine Corompt, Greg Creek, and Monique Redmond.)

Monday, July 28, 2008

Skin of Braddock's back







Chris Braddock: The artist will be present
St. Paul St. Gallery 2
24 July - 22 August 2008

This large installation in the left-hand St. Paul St gallery features three videoed films in interconnected darkened spaces. At first glance they seem to examine the skin on the back of Chris Braddock - an artist who is a lecturer at AUT - all filmed at different angles, with different quantities and qualities of epiderm.

Actually two images only are of Braddock’s back. The third is of a sheet of thin plasticky paper that is fibrous, translucent and pale pink. It takes you a while to figure out what it is not, that it is not a human body part. It curls at the edges and has stretched and warped under pressure from heavy objects. These have left unhumanlike creases and indentations.

The filmed back shots are of the artist sitting naked - but leaning forward - while kneading, slapping and pummelling what is probably some wet clay. One camera is positioned directly behind (level with his shoulder blades) and one is above, looking down his neck. The latter shows images that alter rapidly when Braddock leans far forward. When the angle of his body changes the fleshy and sinewy image suddenly stretches and flattens out, no longer at an oblique orientation.

There are also speakers loudly playing the crisp, snappy, staccato sounds of Braddock’s ‘performance’ in the more public foyer.

As the witty title suggests (referring to the wording on invitations), a certain amount of preening narcissism is necesary for such artist body-focussed projects. The project succeeds because, and not in spite, of that. Braddock’s wiry anaemic freckled back presented this way has its own muscular eroticism. Its taut bony outcrops and translucent moving skin are surprisingly engaging - especially when coupled with a sense of the clandestine. His moderately sized images are presented in three dark alley-like spaces that seem conspicuously remote and private.

In this installation the four elements (behind-back moving image; above-back moving image; above-paper moving image; spanking sound effects) work well spatially. Their meaning is extremely mysterious, and bizarrely funny – perhaps about some sort of violent solitary masturbation that desires the collusion of a furtively voyeuristic audience (mainly male but not necessarily). It is immensely absorbing visually and aurally. The best work Braddock has made for many many years. A wonderful installation.

(The images are from Above, Back and Caress. Courtesy of the artist.)

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

A way in








Digital Heritage: Video Art in Germany from 1963 to the present (Part 1)
St Paul St Gallery, AUT, Auckland
13 May -13 June 2008


We have here twenty-seven hours of moving image on twelve monitors, each small screen showing a selection that is part of a larger chronological sequence. There is no ordering at all in terms of thematic content or size.

This show is sprawling. Overwhelmingly so. Fifty-nine artists with works that vary between two hours and two minutes long, and you can’t click on to specific items using an index or remote control. You get what happens to be on when you walk into the room. So it is chaotic and rambling. You on the other hand, are expected to be curious. If you are that, you need to make several visits. With a big thermos and a knapsack of chocolate every time. Maybe a hip-flask.

Not all of it is from German artists, though the work by non-Germans was made in Germany. Some film is included. And television news too. There is a lot of untranslated German – so it is viewer hostile from a Kiwi viewpoint. And there are no handouts or wall labels to introduce you to the work. Plus with one monitor going without headphones it is noisy enough to intrude on those others with them. Definitely not user-friendly.

Yet, yet, if you – like me – are really curious because, after all, it is art (and you know some video is fantastic), it is possible to figure out a means of access.

Here’s what you can do.

First of all, take a look at this link and the list of works, zero in on half a dozen names that catch your eye, google some info on their contributions to the show, and then when you come to St. Paul St. look for them on the laminated cards by each monitor listing artists, works and time durations.

Then look in the beautifully produced catalogue on the table by the office. It has small essays on each artist and excellent illustrations. That will show you what to look out for.

Because very long works are mixed with very short ones on each DVD, each monitor is highly unpredictable. You can’t sit down and watch each from beginning to end. But if you start off with one that faces across the room you can routinely observe what is showing on several screens in front of you. And because the headphone leads are long you can get out of your chair and move around. You can squiz at several monitors at once, make snap decisions if you are bored and move on to other screens.

All this means that it is hard to devote all your attention to one work at a time. That is easier if you work nearby and can come during lunchtime. Then you can really concentrate.

So using the above procedure, I found an assortment of works (complete or in portions) which I really liked. Some, like Marcel Odenbach’s study of the bourgeois life style, As if memories could deceive me, I only saw the tail end of, but what I did catch, fascinated. Others like Rosemarie Trockel’s Buffalo Billy and Milly, of drawn upon film of actors dressed as animals, I saw starting on the other side of the room, so on quickly realising who made it I sprinted over and grabbed a seat. I managed to see Joseph Beuys’ Filz TV in its entirety and likewise Jan Verbeek’s film of commuters being crammed into a train during Tokyo’s rush hour. I also managed to regularly dip into films by Rebecca Horn (of bizarre bird costumes that extended the human form) and Corinna Schnitt (whose very long zoom shot of a dinky housing village owes a lot to Michael Snow’s Wavelength).

Probably the highlights were Heike Baranowsky’s Passage I (a short silent film of a freighter travelling in the open sea being seemingly repeatedly passed by another ship with the camera) and Harun Farocki’s very long Prison Images, an exploration of the theme of Foucauldian surveillance, comparing the camera with weaponry, and using archival footage and old movies. The more I saw of these the more intrigued I became. Therefore I am considering more visits. (I also really want to see the rest of the Odenbach). I barely scratched the surface.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Actions and Events









Roman Signer: Sculpting in time
St. Paul St Gallery, AUT, 14 March - 2 May 2008
ARTSPACE, 14 March - 19 April 2008
Also window projections at Porcelain World (Karangahape Rd) and Auckland University Library.

‘desires, wantings, urgings, promptings, and a great variety of moral views, aesthetic principles, economic prejudices, social conventions, and public and private goals...these can be interpreted as attitudes of an agent directed toward actions of a certain kind.’ (1)
Donald Davidson

In this piece of writing I want to try something a little unusual. I want to mix into a discussion of the Signer exhibitions some ideas from the American analytic philosopher Donald Davidson (1917-2003) for reasons I hope will gradually become apparent. Davidson is widely known in the philosophy world for his wide ranging, highly influential, short essays dealing with topics such as truth and interpretation, and the belief assumptions behind a social activity like linguistic communication. When he published a couple of essays on ‘Actions’ in 1963, to be followed by four others on ‘Events’ in 1970, he began spearheading a causalist ‘commonsense’ charge against Wittgenstein (and the later influence of Ryle) who had argued that reasons and causes cannot be the same thing. A cause as an event may repeatedly precede an action but reasons cannot be causes because they are not observable mechanisms but mental states.

Davidson developed the notion of a ‘primary reason’ where he paired belief with desire so that an action is explained as a rational activity: a wish to make something happen is blended with an anticipation that it will happen.

His complex argument partially involved seeing causation as a logical connection between event descriptions. ‘Events’ he understood as ‘changes in a more or less permanent object or substance’(2). Actions, to be such, Davidson thought, must be intentional. They need to be rationalised by a reason in order to ‘lead us to see something the agent saw, or thought he saw, in his action – some feature, consequence, or aspect of the action the agent wanted, desired, held dear, thought dutiful, beneficial, obligatory or agreeable.’(3)

Roman Signer is not a philosopher but a Swiss artist interested in the spatial-temporal aspects of sculpture. Apart from the occasional sculpture of comparatively long temporal duration (usually involving running water) such as a drivable truck that when attached to a hose becomes also a fountain, Signer makes ‘Events’ that are movement-based occurrences made in private and filmed by himself or his wife Aleksandra, and ‘Actions’ that are public movement-based displays made for much bigger live audiences. Accordingly his definitions of ‘Events’ and ‘Actions’ are species of sculpture and more about spectator numbers and his own methods, than intentions of an agent.

Curiously there is a strange parallel in the fact that Signer’s Actions are public, while those of Davidson are rational in that some intention is involved and that is comprehensible by others because rationality is normative. Also while Signer’s Events are private, Davidson’s do not require intentions or causes, they are just changes in matter. Yet as Davidson’s two most energetic explicators, Ernie Lepore and Kirk Ludwig elucidate, ‘Actions in Davidson’s view are an expression of our nature as agents, being with interlocking propositional attitudes of different types: beliefs, desire, and intentions. Each is defined by its relations to the others and its mediated relations to actions. We identify a person’s beliefs, desires and intentions by projecting a rational pattern which makes sense of his or her behaviour.’(4) Our linguistic community values rationality.

With the Signer shows, while two of his Events are presented in window projections at the University and on K’ Rd, the other fifteen short films (including some ‘Actions’) documenting his temporary sculptures are shown at St. Paul Street and ARTSPACE. The former’s large gallery is intersected with freestanding screens positioned at acute angles. Eight films are shown on these and the walls using random selection, with up to four films possibly shown at once. Even the same film can be repeated simultaneously – with a slight delay - three times on different screens. The effect is to create surprise by bodily inserting the moving images into the visitor’s field of vision, and to get them to make unexpected connections between works.

At ARTSPACE, the gallery experience is much more stable. In the large square room the films are shown one at a time, moving in an anti-clockwise sequence around the four walls. If you are unfortunately distracted and miss a detail you can wait till the film comes around to be screened again at the same spot.

After you’ve looked at these films a few times you start noticing patterns within Signer’s Fluxus-style activities (as you do within Davidson’s precisely worded, very stylish essays), and the way Signer thinks through transitive verbs. Such verbs need objects (in several meanings of the word) and can be expressed in active or passive forms. In these Actions or Events, the artist’s body is not always being filmed, though he is in most.

Looking at Signer’s films, you start to make paired combinations. I found ten. Here are four:

The helmet wearing artist sits in a booth and waits. When a canister explodes he and the walls are covered with splattered paint.

Wearing a goggle and a gas mask, the seated artist attempts to read a book while being showered with freshly cut hay expelled upwards from a nearby hole in the floor.

The artist marches around three sides of a rooftop in Geneva, firing bursts from a dry-powder fire extinguisher that is attached to a nozzle on his right boot, so that like some sort of fascist robot, his foot ‘goosesteps’ high in the air.

Following a predetermined path and methodically stamping on lines of detonating switches, the artist stomps around a large space in a tobacco factory. These set off beside him explosive flashes and puffs of smoke.

The artist drops large putty balls from out of a tall building’s windows attempting to detonate an explosive device on the street on which is a water-filled bucket supporting a hat. The hat flies high into the air, and wearing a safety harness he tries to catch it so he can wear it.

On a rooftop the artist places a camera in a bucket that has fins, packing around it shock absorbers and aiming its lens through a hole in the bottom. It is turned on and the bucket dropped so that the descent is recorded - as it is ‘experienced’ by the falling projectile.

Some of Signer’s sculptures are related to the sixties conceptual work of artists like Richard Serra, Lawrence Weiner and William Anastasi. American artists of this time such as Nauman, Johns (earlier), Weiner and Serra were influenced by Wittgenstein. Robert Morris though, unusually, knew of Davidson’s work. Davidson later wrote a catalogue essay on his practice as did Morris on his writing.(5)

Unlike say Weiner, Signer’s projects are not just ideas, they need to be implemented, and they are not usually just simple actions - but performances with carefully thought-out detail. And the dispositions that interested Davidson, when activated as causes to become primary reasons, include, in Signer’s case, satire, melancholy, anti-climax and humour.

Here are some examples of his satire, often with anti-climax:

Book readers: one in bed is terrorised by an angry model helicopter, and another, a more preoccupied, seated, hay-fever sufferer, is covered with hay. Signer seems to be saying that first-hand experience takes precedence over recorded second-hand experience, even if you try to deny it and it is his documentary film that tells you so.

The armed forces: the army with his absurd marching antics, the navy with a ‘burial at sea’ (a dead frog is placed in a can to be thrown into a river), and the airforce, with his manic helicopter works.

The police: a tape barrier that says ‘police line: do not cross’ is whisked aloft beyond the street by three balloons.

Even the horrific activity of hanging and its accompanying ghoulish voyeurism is commented on. The artist-victim, standing on an exploding platform that collapses, is given sight by having his black hat yanked off his eyes and head. He is sprung into ‘the light’ instead of the expected darkness, and unexpectedly falls only a small distance.

Both Signer and Davidson work in short units (films and essays) that interconnect within far larger corpora. Davidson’s writing helps provide some insight into the non-psychological ramifications of Signer’s Actions, and those of actions and events (artistic or otherwise) in general.

Signer’s temporary artworks draw out or exploit the event descriptions that a philosopher like Davidson is preoccupied with. The artist drops the putty ball; the hat flies up towards the artist. The performer explodes the tin of paint; the paint covers the seated performer. The platform beneath the man’s feet explodes; the man is separated from his hat.

In the very fine publication that accompanies these shows, there are two essays by Leonhard Emmerling and Brian Butler, the directors of St. Paul St. and ARTSPACE. The two writers have refreshingly distinctive and separate approaches. Butler briefly links Signer’s projects with his life in Switzerland and various twentieth century Swiss literary figures and existentialist thinkers, looking at notions of identity. Emmerling on the other hand sees the work through a ‘French’ filter of Albert Camus and Alain Badiou’s writings on ethics and truth.

Within these discussions Emmerling’s use of Hegel and Badiou, and Butler of Walter Benjamin and Fernando Pessoa (the fabulous Portuguese poet) - when discussing experience - are particularly interesting. Signer’s satirical ‘book readers’ seem to confirm the value of the authenticity Emmerling and Butler are advocating. (Incidentally Bob Dylan’s ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ album is also a fascinating dissertation on this same theme.)

In part of his essay Emmerling discusses Signer’s 1997 work ‘Simultaneous’ in Venice, where he released 117 blue iron balls all at once from a ceiling so they dropped into a grid of damp clay blocks positioned on the floor. To create this rapidly moving spectacle the artist turned an ignition key.

In talking about such a manual action Davidson writes:

‘I flip the switch, turn on the light, and illuminate the room. Unbeknownst to me I also alert a prowler to the fact that I am home. Here I need not have done four things, but only one. I flipped the switch because I wanted to turn on the light and by saying I wanted to turn on the light I explain (give my reason for, rationalize) the flipping. But I do not rationalize my alerting of the prowler or my illuminating of the room….’(6)

‘Because ‘I wanted to turn on the light’ and ‘I turned on the light’ are logically independent, the first can be used to give a reason why the second is true….It is not unnatural, in fact, to treat wanting as a genus including all pro attitudes as species. When we do this and when we know some action is intentional, it is easy to answer the question, ’Why did you do it?’ with ‘For no reason’, meaning not that there is no reason but that there is no further reason, no reason that cannot be inferred from the fact that the action was done intentionally; no reason, in other words, besides wanting to do it.’(7)

If Signer were not a now famous artist, would he still continue with his Actions and Events? I think he would, even if they were not accepted by others as art. Why? Because he wants to. That is a reason.

So why am I saying all this: why have I written this longish article putting these two individuals together? You want to know a reason for this action: a rationale? Because I wanted to. There are intriguing overlaps in their various lifetime preoccupations and it interests me to say so. So I have.


(1) Davidson, Donald, ‘Actions, Reasons and Causes’ in Essays on Actions and Events, Oxford University Press paperback, 1980, p.4
(2) Davidson, op. cit., p.173
(3) Ibid, p.3
(4) Lepore, E. and Ludwig, K, Introduction to The Essential Davidson, Oxford University Press paperback, 2006, p.8
(5) See Morris R. ‘The Philosophy of Donald Davidson’ and Davidson’s discussion of Morris’ ‘Blind Time Drawings with Davidson,’ in Hahn, L.E., The Philosophy of Donald Davidson, Open Court paperback, 1999, pp 127-138
(6) Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, ibid, p.4
(7) Ibid, p.5