spinofflive
FAFSWAG vogue ball, Auckland Art Gallery 2018.
FAFSWAG vogue ball, Auckland Art Gallery 2018.

ArtMay 2, 2020

The future of art is not on a screen, it’s with people

FAFSWAG vogue ball, Auckland Art Gallery 2018.
FAFSWAG vogue ball, Auckland Art Gallery 2018.

What makes Zoom so exhausting? And where to for art? For Auckland artist Cushla Donaldson it’s about work that embraces the social and physical in new ways.

Increasingly in Zoom meetings, rather than staring stoically at me from the other side of the screen, my opposite zoomer is asking if it’s OK if they do just audio or make it an old-school phone call.

In one recent Zoom, Campbell Jones, associate professor of sociology at Auckland University, mentioned research suggesting that Zoom fatigue could be caused by the lack of body language and other non-verbal communication. The unconscious communication that goes on between humans is absent. On a phone call, the mind relaxes, following a known pattern of taking turns to speak. It’s like the difference between radio and TV; in the absence of the visual, the mind can imagine, fantasise even, the missing information.

After lockdown was announced, it seemed that many art galleries rushed into the digital world, as if in a panic to keep up production and visibility. Yet the quality has been mixed. Really, how interested is the art audience in looking at work made for the physical world as flat images, or the cinematic opulence of film on an iPhone? These are representations of the artworks, symbols of productivity. They yearn for relevance at a time when the dice are in the air and we have no idea what they will reveal when they land.

It seems many of us have decided we are all now trapped in the “internet of things” long term. But where to from there? How interesting is this wholesale digital world when what we all own as humans – the bodily and the social – is denied? Art on Instagram, Facebook and online galleries flattens out the work; the act of looking becomes hard work rather than pleasure. 

Lockdown is a term associated with incarceration. The punishment is not only where they are kept, but the separation of their bodies from physical society, and where they can’t be. What we can take from lockdown is the experience of absence, which is exactly what we are missing when we try to simulate the experience of the artwork separated from its power sources.

Cushla Donaldson, “501s”, displayed message from detainee, Melbourne Art Fair 2018

I have been working on an art project for the last two years that uses the internet to have messages “hacked” into the gallery space from detention centres in Australia where people are in indefinite lockdown, sectioned under ‘501’ (the work ‘501s’ has been shown at Melbourne Art Fair, Gus Fisher Gallery Auckland and the Physics Room Christchurch). This messaging was one of the only ways their direct testimony could enter public life. This work has made me think a lot about how to celebrate and find ways to enter public life. There is tragedy in the 501s’ communication method, where the only representation of the human can be digital.  

Cemeti – Institute for Art and Society work, part of Most Things Happen When I Am Asleep, Artspace Aotearoa 2018

An exhibition featuring a less stark example of this was held two years ago at Artspace Aotearoa. Most Things Happen When I’m Asleep brought to Auckland work from artist-run spaces in Colombia, Puerto Rico, Trinidad and Tobago, Costa Rica, and Indonesia. Given the inability of most of the spaces to be represented by their communities (reasons included the impact of  travel restrictions imposed at the time by the Trump administration), Instagram was used to provide a window into the daily activities of these communities, appearing in New Zealand in the morning due to time differences. This was a successful, wistful way of highlighting distance and absence, encouraging the viewer to contemplate comparative economic and political constraints. A thoughtful example of the digital as a tool in highlighting our relationship to the physical.

A friend once described the feeling of living with her family as being as if they were all one body. I thought at the time that being present with good art might be similar. The intermingling of self with work in space can set alight neural pathways that we’re not consciously aware of. This is a timeless use of aesthetics, just as a religious painting or precious object you travel to may become imbued with ceremonial wisdom. 

Then there’s the smell. One thing I have noticed now the streets are busier in level three is that I smell people. I have never consciously noticed this before.

I miss my friends’ bodies; their deodorants, perfumes, body odours, and hair products mixed with beer. A friend’s nervous way of standing. Or the way a colleague has made a special effort with their outfit.

As Tanu Gogo of South Auckland artist collective FAFSWAG recently noted, shifting an entire community-based practice online is not an easy task. And it is projects like FAFSWAG’s that have in recent years been showing us that the future of art is in the social, in community gathering in space.

Raul Walch work for ‘Die Balknoe’ Berlin, 2020.

‘Die Balkone’ (The Balconies) is a project running in Berlin during lockdown organised by curators Övül Ö. Durmusoglu and Joanna Warsza. Durmusoglu was recently here for a residency based in Ōtautahi, hosted jointly by The Physics Room and the Arts Centre. She and Warsza have a “working class partnership” Durmusoglu tells me, representative of the two biggest working class minorities in Germany, Polish and Turkish. 

As part of the project, local artists have been displaying work on balconies for people to spot on their “state sanctioned” lockdown walks. The project quickly gained a large following along with coverage in the arts media. The desire for this kind of reclamation is clear and there is a new currency in the windows and in-between spaces available now that galleries are closed.  

“We are at the beginning of a new cycle that we cannot yet situate ourselves in,” Durmusoglu and Warsza wrote in their accompanying statement. “Its first palpable experiences are shifts in the relationship between inside and outside; in the distance between one day and another; between what is private, public, and political. At the same time, care protection and vulnerability are growing new meanings. 

“We are asked to commit to the digital space without critically estimating the effects of for-profit information technologies,” they continue. This is an excellent point that has had too little discussion in Aotearoa, particularly considering the actions of Facebook and Twitter following the Christchurch massacre last year. How are we to make the digital future safe and “our home”?

Tosh Mosta, creating with things around her in lockdown. Courtesy of the artist.

Using the small socialities and physicalities available to us is in ways like ‘Die Balkone’ feels politically important right now. That’s why, of all the content that has come out of lockdown in New Zealand, I think the best has been teddy bears in windows. 

Even before Covid-19, austerity and limited resources made the art world in Aotearoa often feel stilted and stale, but the work made by artist collectives tended to be brave and aspirational, despite receiving little initial institutional or financial support. Two of the most impressive of these collectives are South Auckland’s FAFSWAG, who have broken through once rigid art world barriers, and Mata Aho, who have just been nominated for the Walters Prize. 

An Auckland protest in support of the Ihumātao protectors. Documentation by Raymond Sagapolutele.

Others include Rebecca Hobbs and her work with S.O.U.L to protect Ihumātao; Tosh Monsta who works with youth, underrepresented communities and people who have experienced homelessness; Bronwyn Holloway-Smith whose investigative practice links histories with contemporary conditions; and Owen Connors who connects his queer community through involvement in the making process.

All are beautiful examples of the thoughtful response required to stem the descent into the purely digital. During lockdown they have been pushing collective work and participation with those often outside the art bubble. Post-Covid, there will be a thirst for this kind of physical, political and cross-disciplinary work. 

Yet as these artists and their collective practices are increasingly incorporated into the art world, the art markets, fairs, funding bodies and larger institutions need to start a conversation with these practitioners about what is actually required to support their work. 

The commissioning of this kind of new work should become a key focus for institutions. Traditional shows of public collections will make financial sense, but it’s vital that there’s also room for new work in new forms in a world where new models are being sought. 

I’m looking forward to the first exhibition after lockdown; the excitement of art, bodies and all that accompanying non-verbal communication in a visceral mix. When thinking about art in the post-Covid environment we should dream, imagine and aim high – looking up to see we what’s on each other’s “balconies”. To quote the Black Orchid collective, “Let’s take care of each other, so we can be dangerous together.”

Keep going!
Detail from ‘Self Portrait (Dilemma)’ 2019, Meg Porteous
Detail from ‘Self Portrait (Dilemma)’ 2019, Meg Porteous

ArtApril 29, 2020

Facial gash: The troubling self-portraiture of Meg Porteous

Detail from ‘Self Portrait (Dilemma)’ 2019, Meg Porteous
Detail from ‘Self Portrait (Dilemma)’ 2019, Meg Porteous

In the age of the selfie and mundane domestic photography recontextualised for social media, Auckland artist Meg Porteous’s work speaks strongly to the politics of representation. Art editor Mark Amery shares words and images with Porteous across bubbles, via screens, in advance of her show at the Auckland Virtual Art Fair from this Thursday.  

‘Self-Portrait (the spectator)’, 2019. Inkjet print. 570 x 810 mm. ed 2 + 1AP

I was struck by the way so many images in your debut at Hopkinson Mossman ricocheted off each other at interesting new angles. This one [‘Self-Portrait (the spectator)’, above] particularly struck me as a gateway to the exhibition. For me it spoke of a ambiguous socially-distanced perspective born of apartment living –  a dark domestic voyeurism with me since Hitchcock’s Rear Window.

I live in a central Auckland city apartment on the fourth floor. This image was taken from the perspective of my window outlook onto the street. I guess with apartment living, your world is slightly more compressed as far as being around people is concerned. The view out my window is a way for me to watch and see people on the street. 

With this image I was thinking about more conventional modes of documentary ‘street’ photography, where a power dynamic is at play. The photographer in a position of power photographing its subjects. I wanted to confuse this logic by subjecting myself to the gaze of the camera. I made the image by running around the block as my brother photographed me from my bedroom window. The running from the camera applies this melodramatic narrative of escaping the camera’s gaze. It is a self-portrait, but one where I am both the subject and the spectator.

‘NZ Surfer, gash gore of the month (reject)’, 2019. Inkjet print. 350 x 250mm. ed 2 + 1AP

The juxtaposition of [‘Self-portrait (the spectator)’] with this one is troubling, but it also feels far more open than just a domestic violence reading. I end up asking again who is in control of the camera and whether the woman in the first image is fleeing from danger. It’s nice to read you affirm that this is as much about freedom as subjugation. Who is this in the photograph?

Me again. The facial gash was actually a result of a surfing accident. The surfboard fin came down on my face and sliced my lip open. I was 13 at the time. I remember my Dad driving me to the hospital and crying, not because of the pain but because I thought the gash would make me disfigured and ugly. 

The nurse at the hospital was also a surfer and asked if he could photograph me, and encouraged me to send the image to New Zealand Surfer magazine. They used to run this section called ‘gash gore of the month’ where surfers would send in images of body/surfing accidents. My older brother, who was experimenting with photoshop at the time edited the photo slightly so the gash looked more exaggerated. I submitted the image to the magazine but it was never published and I never received a reply from the magazine, which I was always bewildered and annoyed by as I thought the image was gnarly enough. Maybe they thought I looked too young, or it was too confronting having an image of a 13-year-old girl. The surfing world and magazine is pretty male dominated.

It was cool to finally show the image that was rejected for whatever reason in an art context. 

Readers can now tell we’ve never Zoomed! So, two images right there where you don’t hold the camera, but manipulate the image allowing you to explore different kinds of spaces and times. Breaking outmoded unwritten rules about photography in so many ways. A kind of performance. 

I keep thinking how different yet in other ways similar your exploration is to Yvonne Todd’s. Perhaps that comparison is very broad brush, but it just seems to me that despite us living in the era we do where people are obsessed with manipulating their own image on phones, the kind of dynamic work with the portrait you and Yvonne do with camera isn’t that common in Aotearoa. 

‘Self-portrait (the dilemma)’ 2019. Inkjet print. 594 x 841mm. ed 3 + 1AP

Which brings me to ‘Self Portrait (the dilemma)’. What’s the dilemma?   

Yeah, Yvonne Todd is my favourite NZ photographer. ‘Self-portrait (the Dilemma)’ is a recreation of an image my mother took of herself in the mirror when she was pregnant with me. My t-shirt has a basketball stuffed in it to give the impression I was pregnant. I was reading Sheila Heti’s Motherhood at the time and was thinking about a woman’s decision to procreate or not. With other works in the show I revisited negatives of images my mother had taken of me as a three year old. I like this idea of re-authoring and recreating images that were previously seen in family albums. 

The gloves I am wearing were sort of a performative gesture – inspired by the character Agatha in David Cronenberg’s 2014 film Maps to the Stars. 

Again the image is slippery in its veracity in all kinds of ways. The gloves, that cushy belly. It’s Todd-smart-funny. And it’s directing the camera back at the viewer. Speaking of which, what is the camera? 

The camera in the image is a Contax, but I use a variety of cameras (both digital and film). 

Another kind of look back at us with camera: ‘Carrera Lady, Quasi Femme, The Watches’, 2019. Why did you pair that with the surfer with a gash in the exhibition? 

‘Carrera Lady, Quasi Femme, The Watches’ 2019. Inkjet print. 841 x 1189mm. ed 3 + 1AP

‘Carrera Lady, Quasi Femme, The Watches’ is two different images overlaid. The first image is a screenshot of some footage I took of a luxury watch billboard at the Auckland Airport on my camcorder, the brand is TAG Heuer. I really enjoy watch advertisements, they are always really slick and high production. I was also really obsessed with this National Bank ad at the time, which has an image of a ticking clock throughout. It’s high drama and I love it. The second image laid overtop is a naked self-portrait, but my face is obscured by the camera. I liked this idea of literally putting my body up as object of desire, but cropping my face out. 

Where my face is obscured in ‘Carrera Lady, Quasi Femme, The Watches’, in ‘NZ Surfer, gash gore of the month (reject)’ I stare straight into the camera, at the viewers. There is tension between the two images and the control one has over their own image; growing up and becoming more aware of the way you market yourself.

The group show you’re in at Christchurch Art Gallery, Uncomfortable Silence, must have been up just a matter of a fortnight when it closed due to Covid-19. And then Auckland Art Fair and Photo 2020 in Melbourne were both physically postponed until next year. But I see you’re in the Auckland Virtual Art Fair.   

The work for the Auckland Art Fair is a series of c-type prints (colour darkroom prints). This is the first time I’ve done colour darkroom photography and I really enjoyed the process. These are photographs of car interiors (in the back of Ubers) and women’s hosiery. Accompanying these c-type prints is a work titled ‘teeth grinder’, a digital image sent to me by my dentist.

‘Teeth Grinder’ 2020. Digital inkjet print. Edition 3 + 1AP

With several images of an Uber ride, not to mention teeth, there’s a sense of a story there. Your story is implicated. They’re your teeth grinding away. Is there a story in its making? Or do stories come later?

I really enjoy going to the dentist and looking at all of the dental equipment, particularly the little oral camera on the stick that connects to a monitor. Here my use of the teeth image is referencing an anxiety. 

Storytelling in my work can be intuitive. I will often have three or four different ideas or trains of thought that can seem unrelated at the time of making. The narrative comes to fruition in the installation through different pairings or sequences of images. I like the way a number of different works presented together can create subplots and tensions. I want to keep a reading open, and not close it down too much. 

‘Drive’ 2019. c-type hand print. 20 x 16 inches (508 x 406 mm). Edition 3 + 1AP

I’m interested in your thoughts on ‘exhibiting’ work online when your juxtapositions are so important. This at a time when Instagram and other platforms have given photography a new focus. Is exhibiting physically important to you or, quite frankly, just where the market is?  

Exhibiting in a physical space is and has been really important to me. And while I do have hesitations about having work re-contextualised as an online show, at this moment we are all having to reconsider what we took for granted as normal. 

There are plenty of artists who create work with the intention of it existing online and it is nothing new. Last year I created a work for Window Gallery online. I made my first video as it felt appropriate to the context. I’ve always preferred viewing a moving image work online vs the gallery space.

Meg Porteous shows with Mossman Gallery online at the Virtual Art Fair, organised by Auckland Art Fair, 30 April-17 May.