A mix of installation, still photography, video, painting, sound, water and black sand, are installed in all three MAC galleries:
Ceremony, 2017 in Upper Gallery
Delete Beach, 2o16, in the Tall Gallery
Free Fotolab, 2009 in the adjacent room
The meaning of Style,2011 in the Sunken Gallery
John Stuart Mill thought in On Liberty (1859) that a largely mistaken position can still contain some small elements of truth, as well as serving as a stimulus to thought by provoking us to demonstrate what is wrong with it. By “a mistaken position” I mean the decision to stretch the story of moving a mediocre sculpture of F Engels from a Ukrainian village to Manchester to 60 minutes. Visitors to the art gallery were overheard on returning the handout with words – “I do not have an hour ” – few others stayed. I did not watch it in its entirety, although visited it twice.
This installation with HD video, colour and sound have been supported by Arts Council England’s Ambition for Excellence, the BBC, the Henry Moore Foundation and My Festival Circle. No mere visitor can add to these fanfares. It was co-commissioned by 14 – 18 Now, Home, Manchester and the Manchester International Festival and produced by them, Shady Lane Production and Tigerlily Production.
Collins has a master’s touch to enliven the elements of truth with a chance and a whim as well as with meticulously planned and executed craft, which I sensed to be valuable for a film director.
The installation underestimates mute poetry, propping the visual thoughts at all times with words. As if the appropriation of a documentary mode cannot be visually beautiful and exciting without speaking. As if a video had not a gate for every value from vulgar curiosity to sublime imagination. Whim aligns with the description in visual terms, I recall one powerful detail, when the screen is filled with a part of the side of the container lorry. Vertigo ensued. Or the comical details of the torso of the statue anchored in a car tyre for stability. The images on the sides of the screen were bloodless. Lifeless in the shadows. Banal. They attracted curiosity and repelled the attention.
The world does not need another video. As if anticipating that fatigue, the appropriated mode and look of Japanese anime was projected in darkness on the screen and accessed over heaps of – what seems to be – polluted sand, black from oil, with puddles of dark liquid. Ostensibly, the environmental “death” revives the need to end dependence on fossil fuels.
Delete Beach (4 min 50 sec) was commissioned by Bergen Assembly and supported by Vestnorsk Filmsenter and the German Cultural Foundation.
Again, it is quite verbose, as if not trusting that visual thought can stand alone. It is an erroneous hope that independence from fossil fuels will remove inequality.
The Free Fotolab is a 35 mm slide projection of 80 anonymous archival photographs, the result of Collins’s call for rolls of undeveloped films. After being developed, they were returned to participants on condition that they relinquish the copyright to the artist. The images come from Milton Keynes, St Gallen, Belgrade, Eindhoven and Banja Luka (=my favourite stopover).
A jet photographic print Mici’s Last Night, 2002, completes the Tall Gallery installation.
As art belongs more to the viewer than its creator, Collins’s propulsive efficiency sways the installations and projections into a spectacle. The Meaning of Style, 2011, is a particularly immersive take on cinéma verité. Aesthetically it flattens into a stasis which insists on sameness. The wish to break free descends palpably in the views of men silently reading, or letting butterflies perch on one’s ear.
Made me think of Fluxus – specifically Eric Andersen’s mastery of “being busy” reading words backward.
Indeed, the economy of means matters, when escaping from that cave (Plato)
Fenderesky Gallery (Belfast, August 2 – September 7, 2018) has displayed paintings from 41 artists, the larger ones on Gallery Ground Floor, the small ones upstairs on two walls facing each other.
Good eye and sense of adventure allowed the diagonals to stutter, turn back on themselves, make room for other lines of vision or just be confident to keep their initial direction. Visual melody effortlessly issues, insisting that each painting submits its difference to connect to the others. I see it as an installation, as a chorus of different voices harmonizing with the others. Polyphony – mute and visible.
Compare the confidence of Dan Shipsides application of golden section
with Helen G Blake patiently breathing spirit into a pattern and repeat and willful red destroyers of the sameness. That hers is twice the size of the enigmatic three tones above seems to undermine the popular understanding of scale as determining aesthetic value. Both deliciously private, to the point and without fanfare.
The majority of paintings upstairs are the size of a postcard or a little less or little more. They all are full blooded compositions, confident not to ask for more support than a holding palm.
Barbara Freeman feeds the hues with energy sufficient for a larger size of canvas. Yet – these are not miniatures.
A miniature refuses such promiscuity, insisting on the chosen small scale.
Anja Markiewicz makes contemporary miniatures, which, like butterflies or flowers, are faithful to the determined size. I noted few of the small paintings on either wall heading in that direction too but stopping just there.
It appears to me that the eye zooms on the size of the “brushstroke” to become convinced that the size is right. The onscreen reproduction removes that certainty.
The intense open-ended scale allows intoxication by playful promiscuity. In the sense and to what extent mute poetry belonged to the audience, numerous of these small paintings are sedulous.
And immersive. Evocative like medieval portable small paintings can be.
The promiscuity of scale in abstract paintings allows access to enjoyable insecurity – it is not threatening. Does it work differently in narrative, figurative mode? Possibly – the scale is internally bound to the size of the brushstroke in its descriptive mode. If the canvas were bigger – the marks would need to be bigger – like in a fresco. I recall that Goya preferred to use a sponge instead of a brush while working on the fresco at San Antonio de la Florida.
Whereas abstraction sits comfortably with brush strokes or stains of any size.
Whereas – when Sharon Kelly combines stains with writing the image gets locked in the small size.
It is representational as well as autonomous.
In the space of several yards, the distance between Fenderesky and Engine Room galleries, there were around 130 paintings on show. Some harvest! Some trust in the mute poetry.
The artist (he is a painter) selects photographs from archives and turns them 90 degrees either way.
FitzGerald invites the reader / viewer thus:
“Look at a ‘great’ photo – that is, a photo by one of the many great photographers. Rotate it 90 degrees (either way). Are you seeing new things / new aspects / a different story in the photo? Almost certainly the answer is ‘yes’; the photo is showing you something you hadn’t registered before. The message has changed – unsurprisingly – between the physical thing and you.”
In the illustration above the meaning of the portrait of a cactus morphs into appendages of an alien, as if a tolerant monster calmly allows human fingers, the index finger is still pointing, to nestle in the cavity. It also looks like a torso of a figure in protective clothing.
On what does this “morphing” depend? The details are clearly defined, there is no deformation of the whole, the acuity of vision is not in any way impaired. The knowledge what a cactus looks like also collaborate. I trust there is a secret working of play and imagination.
As children, we would hang head-down from farming instruments, railings and tree branches to see the same world “wrongly”. In hindsight, it seems like a training in differences triggered by one’s position in the world, but then it was just daring and play. Growing up, we dare less and play less.
Reflection in water easily triggers both admiration and a strong – almost mythical – force of beauty. Its power is enhanced by the removal of the practical aspect – like safety, a direction of walking, etc.
FitzGerald’s offer is an invitation to recover some of both, they cultivate our powers to recognise differences and to make comparisons. Both are perceived as significant for the cognitive process. Armin W Schultz recently advanced some of the arguments in an example of a decision whether to accept a new job:
He defines “internal models: intermediaries between the world and your reactions to the world”; it appears as the same space where aesthetic experience lives. The sublime rock valley appears to overwhelm any viewing angle. In this right turn the rocks nonchalantly drop the narrative of human presence that is quite strong when seen upright. Schultz significantly zooms in on the “meaning” of our mental representations: “To the extent that it moves you at all, it does so via the way it is represented in your mind.”
What is this “via the way”? Is it distinct from knowing what and from knowing how? I sense that it offers the viewer freedom in constructing a meaning. This statement holds an implication that there are differences in representation of the world in our mind. FitzGerald sees it as meddling with smooth perceptions and gives an example from Modernism:
“‘Verfremdung’, ‘making-strange’: by distancing us from the commonplace and making it seem odd, we see the everyday differently and hopefully in a new way. The process is discomfiting. We’re used to perception and interpretation functioning seamlessly, and Verfremdung-like effects mess with the underlying processes on which smooth reception relies.”
In the above cluster – the smooth reception happens… the wheat in both an upright and rotated variant appear convincingly growing and entangled. The change of viewing angle is subtly disabled by the multitude of directions taken by individual stems.
The concept of “making strange”has a sibling: in ‘Art as Technique’ (1917) Viktor Shklovsky calls it defamiliarisations / foregrounding. Also, the aesthetic function’s ability to switch meaning, as observed by Jan Mukařovský in Aesthetic Function, Norm and Value as Social Facts (publ 1936), introduced foregroundingwith a difference: aesthetic function is transparent and can switch meaning by attaching itself to different social contexts. Can it switch meaning by attaching itself to different viewpoints? No doubt. The European painting offers a multitude of examples between use and not use of perspective. This image offers an optical illusion: what was the overgrown ground I see as a sunlit tree on the left – why do the tiny scale of the trees and house at the top of cliff appear like an uneven edge of rock sliced off from the big mass?
However, the process is not easily described; Wellek and Warren also referred to it in their Theory of Literature published in 1949: “Poetic language organises, tightens, the resources of everyday language, and sometimes does even violence to them, in an effort to force us into awareness and attention … every work of art imposes an order, an organisation, a unity on its material” (my emphasis).
Turning an image is a kind of violence. FitzGerald proposes that it enhances awareness and trains attention. No doubt, it does redirect attention, replaces some of the meaning. But not always. So when? What is the constellation of conditions that will secure that change? When metamorphosis takes over is one of the constellation of conditions. Below, the monstrous head is convincing.
Leonardo defined seeking meaning in stains on the wall and clouds as a training for painters, as an inspiration to make mute poetry. Here the defining trope caresses the contrast between dark and light.
It is possible that nature is more susceptible to morphing into something it is not?
Schultz questions why we need mental representation on top of reflexes, habits and conditional behaviour. Why does our organism allow it? He points out that habitual thinking carries a great deal of redundancy. Whereas mental representations allow reasoning without such waste: “… the organism can streamline its decision-making machinery.” If so it should apply to human bodies.
The rotated photograph of the woman in her bedroom (above) replaces the atmosphere of the calm private moment with an unexplained upheaval. She is falling or searching under the bed, keeping the certainty inaccessible in the dark nothingness. That creates mystery where there was a narrative.
The question arises, when is the experiential narrative replaced? And why it works without any change to the detail? What are the constellations of conditions for this convincing lie? Is viewing angle stronger than the intended composition?
There is no metamorphosis. Clarity of the image forbids entry to fantasy – it is what it is. Classicism at work: clarity, order, emphasis on austere linear design in the depiction of classical themes and subject matter, using archaeologically correct settings and costumes. The authority of the original photography allows me to see this only as unchanged by rotation. However – something changed, even if subtly: in an upright view I sense the pulse of life, on this rotated version the life form is once removed, it is a print presented sideways. So rotating may also take away.
Almost an opposite happens above. The rotated version conjures up that the subject of the gaze is above that corner. In the original, its siting is “somewhere around there” on the parallel in front.
What happens when there is more than one subject? In addition, this photograph turns each of the three figures around a different axis. Upright the man is the vertical centre, one young listener comes from the depth, the other from the front and engages me with direct gaze out. This dynamic of volumes becomes flattened in the rotated version The volumes flatten, his left hand could be mistaken for hers (in a split second only before the eye attends the signs of age), his other hand orders my eye to get out of frame, and the little girl is the only one upright, real, domineering. As if standing in front of a painting leaning sideways at the wall.
The classic principle of “moira” – measure – comes to mind as one key. In parallel Italo Calvino introduced the value we should protect: “exactitude” as in the ancient Egyptians’ Maat definition of a standard brick and of a fundamental note on the flute. (Six memos…, p55). Calvino lists three conditions:
a well-defined plan: FitzGerald’s decision to turn images by 90 degrees is demonstrably that.
an evocation of … memorable visual image: this is not guaranteed for all of FitzGerald’s samples.
as Calvino thinks of literature he defines this condition as “a language as precise as possible both in a choice of words and in the expression of subtleties of thoughts and imaginations” (ibidem, p56)
Given our familiarity with flying rotating this image adds height to the viewer’s viewpoint, a habitual surrender. Not so when the original image transforms so much that its rotated version rounds on imaginary truth.
The windows obediently become flat rectangles on a flat floor with derelict construction that leads nowhere. Is it sky or smoke? That question is one of many raised by rotation of the perfectly understandable descriptive image. It amazes me how the rational correctness disappears so completely by turning the viewing angle. The change is convincing in its clarity, akin to Magritte’s rock in the sky. Where it indulges in intimate feelings it reminds me of the testimony by Rothko.
In parallel to Calvino’s reasoning, I sense that photography is used in a random, careless manner, flooding our perception. Indeed, we live “in an unending rainfall of images.” He proposes that images are being stripped of the “inner inevitability that ought to mark every image as form and as meaning, as a claim on the attention and as a source of possible meaning” (p57). I do not doubt that the photographs of bridges are ubiquitous. In the upright view, Abbott presents form and function with clarity in crisp successful choices. At first, I ignored the pedestrians, and read it as two roofs at different height, the one on the left unfinished. The juxtaposition of full and empty harmoniously supported my incorrect identification of what it was I saw. I prefer it for allowing me to insert different meaning into clear description. The rotation found an opening for imagining what it may be.
There is a caveat: Calvino adheres to Giacomo Leopardi’s thought that “the more vague and imprecise language is, the more poetic it becomes” … and in turn, given Mukarovsky’s offer of a transparent aesthetic, function more powerfully to produce multiple mental representations. Or at least to revive the power to do so.
So – what is the power of Pythagorean geometry?
Elegant equations suggest some perfection, gracefulness and pleasure; the right angle is not formless, random or confused. A right-angle turn may be sufficient and necessary to create another valuable version of what the lens saw – or insufficient or unnecessary.
(more on a constellation of conditions in J L MACKIE, The Cement of the Universe: A Study of Causation, Clarendon Press (1980))
My last example entangles angles and clarity of meaning with morphing with such a freedom that it succeeded in making me smile.
No doubt my seeing the head of a medieval warrior with a lighthouse for a hat was not intended. The rotation freed it from the artist’s intention, making space for mine, as a viewer.
On fast viewing FitzGerald’s three e-books – Land succeeded more often than Portrait and Built. In particular, in Portrait there was not enough emptiness to fill or replace, or the right-angle turn was not powerful enough to remove the original meaning or to shift the image beyond an awkward to a persuasive new experience. Those multiple stages of departure from the original intention highlight that the rotation needs to switch on the power to replace the original optical perception. At times, I concluded, 90 degrees is too feeble to achieve change, but FitzGerald offers contrary evidence.