Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2218895
R. Butler
In the last room of the Queensland Art Gallery’s 2020 exhibition Unfinished Business—The Art of Gordon Bennett, just before the spectator exited the show, was a page from one of Bennett’s notebooks, blown up and applied to the wall. Unfinished Business was a survey exhibition of Bennett’s work, one of several that have so far taken place since his death, this time with an emphasis on works on paper. These were framed and mounted on walls throughout the exhibition, along with a selection of paintings from throughout Bennett’s career. But this particular page from the notebook was enlarged and applied directly to the wall of the final room, as though to serve as something of an artist’s signature in relation to what had come before—indeed, at the very bottom of the the wall were Bennett’s initials, GB, along with the date on which he originally made the entry, 25 August 1990 (Fig. 1). What we have on that last wall of the gallery is testament to the ongoing importance of language in Bennett’s work. Words enter Bennett’s practice at least as early as 1987 with The Persistence of Language and continue virtually all the way to the end. Indeed, critics would later come up with the evocative term ‘word stack’ to describe a similar run of words in Bennett’s Notes to Basquiat series (1998–2002), which this notebook page is clearly a forerunner to. Earlier in the show, in fact, there was another page from Bennett’s notebook, very similar to the one in the last room, although it was actually framed and mounted on the wall. Its series of statements reads ‘I am Australian’, ‘I am Aboriginal’, ‘I am Human Being’, ‘I am Spiritual Being’, ‘I am Body’ and ‘I am Spirit’, followed by a final ‘I am’, Bennett’s initials and the date on which he made the entry, which is the same as the other page, 25 August 1990. In that version on the final wall, we have in slightly more abbreviated form ‘I am Gordon Bennett’, ‘I am Australian’, ‘I am Human Being’ and ‘I am Spirit’, again followed by a final ‘I am’, Bennett’s initials and the date. But although the two versions have the same date, we might say that the version on the wall comes later, insofar as we do not have that same crossed-out ‘a’ before ‘Human Being’, as though by now Bennett had made up his mind as to its proper formulation (Fig. 2). As we read this series or sequence of categories, just to consider the earlier version mounted on the wall for a moment—Australian, Aboriginal, Human
{"title":"I AM GORDON BENNETT","authors":"R. Butler","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2023.2218895","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2023.2218895","url":null,"abstract":"In the last room of the Queensland Art Gallery’s 2020 exhibition Unfinished Business—The Art of Gordon Bennett, just before the spectator exited the show, was a page from one of Bennett’s notebooks, blown up and applied to the wall. Unfinished Business was a survey exhibition of Bennett’s work, one of several that have so far taken place since his death, this time with an emphasis on works on paper. These were framed and mounted on walls throughout the exhibition, along with a selection of paintings from throughout Bennett’s career. But this particular page from the notebook was enlarged and applied directly to the wall of the final room, as though to serve as something of an artist’s signature in relation to what had come before—indeed, at the very bottom of the the wall were Bennett’s initials, GB, along with the date on which he originally made the entry, 25 August 1990 (Fig. 1). What we have on that last wall of the gallery is testament to the ongoing importance of language in Bennett’s work. Words enter Bennett’s practice at least as early as 1987 with The Persistence of Language and continue virtually all the way to the end. Indeed, critics would later come up with the evocative term ‘word stack’ to describe a similar run of words in Bennett’s Notes to Basquiat series (1998–2002), which this notebook page is clearly a forerunner to. Earlier in the show, in fact, there was another page from Bennett’s notebook, very similar to the one in the last room, although it was actually framed and mounted on the wall. Its series of statements reads ‘I am Australian’, ‘I am Aboriginal’, ‘I am Human Being’, ‘I am Spiritual Being’, ‘I am Body’ and ‘I am Spirit’, followed by a final ‘I am’, Bennett’s initials and the date on which he made the entry, which is the same as the other page, 25 August 1990. In that version on the final wall, we have in slightly more abbreviated form ‘I am Gordon Bennett’, ‘I am Australian’, ‘I am Human Being’ and ‘I am Spirit’, again followed by a final ‘I am’, Bennett’s initials and the date. But although the two versions have the same date, we might say that the version on the wall comes later, insofar as we do not have that same crossed-out ‘a’ before ‘Human Being’, as though by now Bennett had made up his mind as to its proper formulation (Fig. 2). As we read this series or sequence of categories, just to consider the earlier version mounted on the wall for a moment—Australian, Aboriginal, Human","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42192534","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2222384
Giles Fielke
ed as ‘videodeath’, Smith wends his way only partly towards the images of executions for dissemination via video, like those used by Islamic terror organisations to shock and instil fear in their audience-enemies. The 17-year-old woman who filmed the police killing of Floyd, for nine unflinching minutes, was perhaps unwittingly participating in the structure of our spectacle culture that not only incites but in some sense always produces more violence. George Holliday, who used his Handycam to video LAPD officers beating Rodney King in 1991, and who died of COVID-19 on 21 September 2021, was in some ways responsible—or perhaps more pointedly, the video camcorder he used was responsible— for the 63 deaths that followed the trial of the officers, in the rioting that occurred when they were acquitted of wrongdoing in their arrest of King. (King himself died tragically in 2012 at age 47 after years of addiction and violence following the 1991 event that made him a globally famous victim of police brutality.) Yet even as Smith considers these possibilities (113–17), he skirts the existing arguments about media and violence already made so well by contemporary commentators such as Groys (‘we all know bin Laden as a video artist first and foremost’), in preference for the vague idea of ambient images as the more suitable vector for establishing the effectiveness of these recorded killings within the iconomy. The reader is left asking: why? This incongruence leads to a question that Smith seems reluctant to ask: what is it that mediates what he has gathered here in the section titled ‘Iconoclash’? As the central part of the text, there remains a very demanding debate to be had about the so-called ‘image-complex’ attributed to Meg McLagan and Yates McKee (61)—one that recapitulates the arguments against the medieval bans on the use of images made by the iconophile Nikephoros (via Mondzain’s thesis arguing for its contemporary significance). Is the answer to the question of iconoclash too much for Smith to bear? When the French philosopher Alain Badiou intervened into this question of the clash of contemporary images in a lecture from 2013 titled ‘Images of the Present Time’ (translated and published as The Pornographic Age), he argued, typically provocative, that ‘the emblem of the present age, its fetish, which covers with a false image naked power without image, is the word “democracy”’. What we have in reality is the unsolicited distribution of images by market-based, algorithmic, and visual regimes. In revealing the political contents Smith is aiming at, the anarchic solution that appears seems too difficult to fathom. Enter Donald Trump, the eventually successful presidential candidate announcing his campaign in 2015, initially as an independent, and initially distinct from the GOP. Trump’s interest in, and most often successful interventions into the media-sphere as a montage of attractions is closer to Soviet-style propaganda than the d eclass e li
{"title":"Iconomy: Towards a Political Economy of Images","authors":"Giles Fielke","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2023.2222384","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2023.2222384","url":null,"abstract":"ed as ‘videodeath’, Smith wends his way only partly towards the images of executions for dissemination via video, like those used by Islamic terror organisations to shock and instil fear in their audience-enemies. The 17-year-old woman who filmed the police killing of Floyd, for nine unflinching minutes, was perhaps unwittingly participating in the structure of our spectacle culture that not only incites but in some sense always produces more violence. George Holliday, who used his Handycam to video LAPD officers beating Rodney King in 1991, and who died of COVID-19 on 21 September 2021, was in some ways responsible—or perhaps more pointedly, the video camcorder he used was responsible— for the 63 deaths that followed the trial of the officers, in the rioting that occurred when they were acquitted of wrongdoing in their arrest of King. (King himself died tragically in 2012 at age 47 after years of addiction and violence following the 1991 event that made him a globally famous victim of police brutality.) Yet even as Smith considers these possibilities (113–17), he skirts the existing arguments about media and violence already made so well by contemporary commentators such as Groys (‘we all know bin Laden as a video artist first and foremost’), in preference for the vague idea of ambient images as the more suitable vector for establishing the effectiveness of these recorded killings within the iconomy. The reader is left asking: why? This incongruence leads to a question that Smith seems reluctant to ask: what is it that mediates what he has gathered here in the section titled ‘Iconoclash’? As the central part of the text, there remains a very demanding debate to be had about the so-called ‘image-complex’ attributed to Meg McLagan and Yates McKee (61)—one that recapitulates the arguments against the medieval bans on the use of images made by the iconophile Nikephoros (via Mondzain’s thesis arguing for its contemporary significance). Is the answer to the question of iconoclash too much for Smith to bear? When the French philosopher Alain Badiou intervened into this question of the clash of contemporary images in a lecture from 2013 titled ‘Images of the Present Time’ (translated and published as The Pornographic Age), he argued, typically provocative, that ‘the emblem of the present age, its fetish, which covers with a false image naked power without image, is the word “democracy”’. What we have in reality is the unsolicited distribution of images by market-based, algorithmic, and visual regimes. In revealing the political contents Smith is aiming at, the anarchic solution that appears seems too difficult to fathom. Enter Donald Trump, the eventually successful presidential candidate announcing his campaign in 2015, initially as an independent, and initially distinct from the GOP. Trump’s interest in, and most often successful interventions into the media-sphere as a montage of attractions is closer to Soviet-style propaganda than the d eclass e li","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46218375","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2222390
Susan Best
As the title indicates, Erin Brannigan’s new book Choreography, Visual Art and Experimental Composition 1950s–1970s is a history of the relationship between dance and the visual arts across three decades. Typically, this relationship has been presented as dance following trends in the visual arts. For example, American dance practitioner Yvonne Rainer is frequently classified as a minimalist; the assumption being that she followed the precepts of the visual arts movement, minimalism. Rainer, of course, contributed to this way of thinking about her work through her much-cited essay of 1968 ‘A Quasi Survey of Some “Minimalist” Tendencies in the Quantitatively Minimal Dance Activity Midst the Plethora, or an Analysis of Trio A’. Brannigan’s book is a radical repositioning of dance discourse and practice, proposing that dance is central to the changes that took place in the visual art scene of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s in the United States. In other words, she very convincingly reverses the art historical assumption that the visual arts were in the lead of major artistic innovations, with dance simply following in its wake. I was surprised to find that some of the evidence for the importance of dance is already in the art historical literature but strangely has not been properly acknowledged or digested. For example, Brannigan cites prominent art historian Thomas Crow on this issue. In his book The Rise of the Sixties (1996), he provides a list of visual art borrowings from the dance style of Judson Church: ‘serial repetition, equality of parts, anonymous surfaces, suspicion of self-aggrandizing emotion’. These and other de-subjectifying impulses of the 1960s and ’70s are often used to characterise minimalism in the visual arts. Brannigan demonstrates that they are inventions of dance in the first instance. For example, amplifying Crow’s point about the suspicion of emotion, Brannigan examines in depth how choreographer Anna Halprin pioneers the inexpressive task-based work that is such a strong feature of visual arts in this period. In this vein, I was particularly struck by the revelation that the famous adage of minimalist artist Donald Judd to describe a mundane approach to composition, ‘one thing after another’, from 1965, is preceded by dancer and choreographer Simone Forti’s ‘one thing followed another’ from 1960. And that the box form, which is so important for minimalist Robert Morris’s sculpture, begins when he makes dance props for Forti. Moreover, the book makes a major contribution to dance literature of this period, which has tended to focus on the Judson Dance Theater as the key point
{"title":"Choreography, Visual Art and Experimental Composition 1950s–1970s","authors":"Susan Best","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2023.2222390","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2023.2222390","url":null,"abstract":"As the title indicates, Erin Brannigan’s new book Choreography, Visual Art and Experimental Composition 1950s–1970s is a history of the relationship between dance and the visual arts across three decades. Typically, this relationship has been presented as dance following trends in the visual arts. For example, American dance practitioner Yvonne Rainer is frequently classified as a minimalist; the assumption being that she followed the precepts of the visual arts movement, minimalism. Rainer, of course, contributed to this way of thinking about her work through her much-cited essay of 1968 ‘A Quasi Survey of Some “Minimalist” Tendencies in the Quantitatively Minimal Dance Activity Midst the Plethora, or an Analysis of Trio A’. Brannigan’s book is a radical repositioning of dance discourse and practice, proposing that dance is central to the changes that took place in the visual art scene of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s in the United States. In other words, she very convincingly reverses the art historical assumption that the visual arts were in the lead of major artistic innovations, with dance simply following in its wake. I was surprised to find that some of the evidence for the importance of dance is already in the art historical literature but strangely has not been properly acknowledged or digested. For example, Brannigan cites prominent art historian Thomas Crow on this issue. In his book The Rise of the Sixties (1996), he provides a list of visual art borrowings from the dance style of Judson Church: ‘serial repetition, equality of parts, anonymous surfaces, suspicion of self-aggrandizing emotion’. These and other de-subjectifying impulses of the 1960s and ’70s are often used to characterise minimalism in the visual arts. Brannigan demonstrates that they are inventions of dance in the first instance. For example, amplifying Crow’s point about the suspicion of emotion, Brannigan examines in depth how choreographer Anna Halprin pioneers the inexpressive task-based work that is such a strong feature of visual arts in this period. In this vein, I was particularly struck by the revelation that the famous adage of minimalist artist Donald Judd to describe a mundane approach to composition, ‘one thing after another’, from 1965, is preceded by dancer and choreographer Simone Forti’s ‘one thing followed another’ from 1960. And that the box form, which is so important for minimalist Robert Morris’s sculpture, begins when he makes dance props for Forti. Moreover, the book makes a major contribution to dance literature of this period, which has tended to focus on the Judson Dance Theater as the key point","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47486480","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2214588
C. Hurst
Cultural studies scholar Jeremy Gilbert has argued for analysis of ‘the long 1990s’—a post-End of History period of technological advancement, cultural stagnation, and increasingly entrenched neoliberalism. According to Gilbert, the long 1990s are now—hopefully—over. This article argues that the Australian cyberfeminist artists VNS Matrix are, like the decade, overdue for comprehensive critical reassessment. As a starting point for this project, I set out three propositions for considering VNS Matrix’s artworks in light of current discourses at the intersection of art, technology, and feminism. Firstly, VNS Matrix wanted to abolish the family computer (meaning change the patriarchal structures of emotional attachment that shaped how women and queer people approached new technology). Secondly, VNS Matrix’s playful exploration of queer cyborgian sexuality pre-empted the ways in which sex, gender, and technology have become entwined in our ‘pharmacopornographic’ age, to quote Paul Preciado. Thirdly, decolonial critiques of art history mean that a technomaterialist approach is crucial for analysis of net art works; all that is digital begins in the physical. In the case of VNS Matrix, this framework means situating digital artworks in relation to the land that underpinned their genesis—Tartanya/Adelaide.
{"title":"VNS Matrix-Pilled: Three Propositions for Revisiting 1990s Cyberfeminist Art Now","authors":"C. Hurst","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2023.2214588","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2023.2214588","url":null,"abstract":"Cultural studies scholar Jeremy Gilbert has argued for analysis of ‘the long 1990s’—a post-End of History period of technological advancement, cultural stagnation, and increasingly entrenched neoliberalism. According to Gilbert, the long 1990s are now—hopefully—over. This article argues that the Australian cyberfeminist artists VNS Matrix are, like the decade, overdue for comprehensive critical reassessment. As a starting point for this project, I set out three propositions for considering VNS Matrix’s artworks in light of current discourses at the intersection of art, technology, and feminism. Firstly, VNS Matrix wanted to abolish the family computer (meaning change the patriarchal structures of emotional attachment that shaped how women and queer people approached new technology). Secondly, VNS Matrix’s playful exploration of queer cyborgian sexuality pre-empted the ways in which sex, gender, and technology have become entwined in our ‘pharmacopornographic’ age, to quote Paul Preciado. Thirdly, decolonial critiques of art history mean that a technomaterialist approach is crucial for analysis of net art works; all that is digital begins in the physical. In the case of VNS Matrix, this framework means situating digital artworks in relation to the land that underpinned their genesis—Tartanya/Adelaide.","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47528337","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2225258
Mark Ledbury, Terry Smith, Janet Laurence, M. Roberts, Chiara O’Reilly
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2212005
L. Chandler
Castaways and Cross-Cultural Interactions Prominent British maritime artist John Wilson Carmichael’s (1799–1868) two paintings, The Rescue of William D’Oyly, by the Isabella, from Murray Island, Torres Strait, 1836 (1839, fig. 1), and The Rescue of William D’Oyly (1841, fig. 2), depict a dramatic and once widely known episode in colonial Australian history. In 1834, whilst en route from Sydney to India, the barque Charles Eaton was destroyed in rough seas on a reef near the eastern tip of Cape York in northern Australia. It was unknown if there were survivors, although contradictory reports suggested that there might yet be hope. Almost two years later, in June 1836, the Government Schooner Isabella arrived at Mer (Murray Island) where Captain Lewis and his crew found two of the survivors, William D’Oyly (aged four) and John Ireland (aged seventeen), who were living with the Meriam people. Struggling to recall English, Ireland related his memories of events that ensued following the Charles Eaton’s demise, including the killing of all the adult survivors and John and William’s subsequent adoption into a Meriam family. John Ireland’s tale, which encompassed violence that fed colonial fears, as well as expressions of great compassion involving the adoption and care of the boys, captured public attention in Australia and abroad. Written accounts of the shipwreck and its aftermath included Ireland’s testimony (published as a children’s book), reports from rescue ship personnel, newspaper articles, pamphlets and other publications. There do not appear to be any publicly available paintings of the event apart from those by Carmichael, which are examined here. Like the written accounts, Carmichael’s works envisaged these encounters from a European worldview, and there is little documentary material revealing Islander perspectives of the events, although some information is conveyed through the European accounts, albeit in a mediated way. The artworks dramatically depict
{"title":"The Rescue of William D'Oyly: Colonial Castaway Encounters and the Imperial Gaze","authors":"L. Chandler","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2023.2212005","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2023.2212005","url":null,"abstract":"Castaways and Cross-Cultural Interactions Prominent British maritime artist John Wilson Carmichael’s (1799–1868) two paintings, The Rescue of William D’Oyly, by the Isabella, from Murray Island, Torres Strait, 1836 (1839, fig. 1), and The Rescue of William D’Oyly (1841, fig. 2), depict a dramatic and once widely known episode in colonial Australian history. In 1834, whilst en route from Sydney to India, the barque Charles Eaton was destroyed in rough seas on a reef near the eastern tip of Cape York in northern Australia. It was unknown if there were survivors, although contradictory reports suggested that there might yet be hope. Almost two years later, in June 1836, the Government Schooner Isabella arrived at Mer (Murray Island) where Captain Lewis and his crew found two of the survivors, William D’Oyly (aged four) and John Ireland (aged seventeen), who were living with the Meriam people. Struggling to recall English, Ireland related his memories of events that ensued following the Charles Eaton’s demise, including the killing of all the adult survivors and John and William’s subsequent adoption into a Meriam family. John Ireland’s tale, which encompassed violence that fed colonial fears, as well as expressions of great compassion involving the adoption and care of the boys, captured public attention in Australia and abroad. Written accounts of the shipwreck and its aftermath included Ireland’s testimony (published as a children’s book), reports from rescue ship personnel, newspaper articles, pamphlets and other publications. There do not appear to be any publicly available paintings of the event apart from those by Carmichael, which are examined here. Like the written accounts, Carmichael’s works envisaged these encounters from a European worldview, and there is little documentary material revealing Islander perspectives of the events, although some information is conveyed through the European accounts, albeit in a mediated way. The artworks dramatically depict","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43863113","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2215830
Christopher R. Marshall
Click to increase image sizeClick to decrease image size AcknowledgementsAn early version of the article was presented at the AAANZ 2022 Conference for the session ‘Museums and Risk’. I would like to thank the other participants for their contributions as well as the anonymous readers for their most helpful suggestions. Thanks are also due to David Hurlston and to Ivan Durrant for generously responding to my questions.Notes1 For the historical significance of the Modern Masters exhibition, see Understanding Museums: Australian Museums and Museology (2011), ed. Des Griffin and Leon Paroissien, National Museum of Australia, https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/Issues_museology_introduction.html; especially Daniel Thomas, ‘Art Museums in Australia: A Personal Account’, https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/DThomas_2011.html; and Caroline Turner, ‘International Exhibitions’, https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/CTurner_2011.html; Joanna Mendelssohn, Catherine de Lorenzo, Alison Inglis and Catherine Speck, Australian Art Exhibitions: Opening Our Eyes (Melbourne: Thames and Hudson, 2018), 95.2 ‘Notes for the Prime Minister for the opening of the exhibition, Modern Masters: Manet to Matisse at the Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, 9 April 1975’, available at https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/sites/default/files/original/00003691.pdf3 For the Australian Government’s role in indemnifying international loan exhibitions, see Jim Berryman, ‘Art and National Interest: The Diplomatic Origins of the “Blockbuster Exhibition” in Australia’, Journal of Australian Studies 37, no. 2 (2013): 163–66.4 For the Whitlam Government’s arts policy, see ibid., 163–64; and Mendelssohn et al., Australian Art Exhibitions, 46–52. For the 1973 acquisition of Jackson Pollock’s Blue Poles, see Lindsay Barrett, ‘The Work of Art in the Age of the Metropolitan Dailies’, in The Prime Minister’s Christmas Card: ‘Blue Poles’ and Cultural Politics in the Whitlam Era (Sydney: Power Publications, 2001), 13–44; and Terry Smith, ‘Putting Painting at Stake: Jackson Pollock’s Blue Poles’, in Jackson Pollock’s ‘Blue Poles’, ed. Anthony White, exhibition catalogue (Canberra: The National Gallery of Australia, 2002), 59–62.5 Maureen Gilchrist, ‘Great Day in Our History of Art’, The Age, Tuesday 27 May 1975; no author, ‘The Night the Modern Masters Came to Melbourne’, The Herald, May 27, 1975.6 Ibid.7 ‘And the Queue just goes on … and on … and on …’, The Herald, June 21, 1975.8 Greg McKenzie, ‘I’ll Kill the Cow on the Stage: Artist’, The Sun, May 25, 1975.9 ‘MONASH COW, TX 28/5/75, EX FILM NTV1639, 1.58’, ABC Research Archives; ‘Monash University Cancels Ivan Durrant Happening Planned for Alexander Theatre’, ABC Research Archives.10 A version of the footage is available online. The description reads: ‘Unedited version cow being slaughtered in paddock (actual shooting not included on ‘Current Affair’) cow being dumped on steps’. ‘Australia: Cow Killing an A
本文的早期版本已在AAANZ 2022年会议的“博物馆与风险”会议上发布。我要感谢其他与会者的贡献，以及匿名读者提供的最有帮助的建议。还要感谢David Hurlston和Ivan Durrant慷慨地回答了我的问题。注1“现代大师”展览的历史意义，见《了解博物馆:澳大利亚博物馆与博物馆学》(2011)，Des Griffin和Leon Paroissien主编，澳大利亚国家博物馆，https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/Issues_museology_introduction.html;尤其是丹尼尔·托马斯，“澳大利亚艺术博物馆:个人账户”，https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/DThomas_2011.html;卡罗琳·特纳，“国际展览”，https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/CTurner_2011.html;乔安娜·门德尔松、凯瑟琳·德·洛伦佐、艾莉森·英格利斯和凯瑟琳·斯佩克，澳大利亚艺术展:打开我们的眼睛(墨尔本:泰晤士和哈德逊，2018)，95.2《总理开幕致辞》，《现代大师:《马奈到马蒂斯，在新南威尔士美术馆，悉尼，1975年4月9日》，可在https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/sites/default/files/original/00003691.pdf3上查阅。关于澳大利亚政府在保护国际出借展览方面的作用，见Jim Berryman，《艺术与国家利益:澳大利亚“轰动展览”的外交起源》，《澳大利亚研究杂志》第37期。惠特拉姆政府的艺术政策，见同上，163-64;和门德尔松等人，澳大利亚艺术展览，46-52。关于1973年获得的杰克逊·波洛克的《蓝柱》，见《总理的圣诞贺卡:惠特拉姆时代的“蓝柱”和文化政治》(悉尼:Power Publications, 2001)， 13-44页，林赛·巴雷特，“大都会日报时代的艺术作品”;和特里·史密斯，“将绘画置于危险之中:杰克逊·波洛克的蓝杆”，杰克逊·波洛克的“蓝杆”，安东尼·怀特编辑，展览目录(堪培拉:澳大利亚国家美术馆，2002年)，59-62.5莫林·吉尔克里斯特，“我们艺术史上伟大的一天”，时代杂志，1975年5月27日星期二;无作者，“现代大师来到墨尔本的夜晚”，《先驱报》，1975.6，同上7，《先驱报》，1975.6,6月21日，格雷格·麦肯齐，“我要在舞台上杀死那头牛:艺术家”，《太阳报》，1975.9，“莫纳什牛，德克萨斯州28/5/75,EX FILM NTV1639, 1.58”，ABC研究档案馆;“莫纳什大学取消了原定在亚历山大剧院上演的伊万·达兰特的演出”，ABC研究档案。描述是这样写的:“未经编辑的版本，奶牛在围场被屠杀(真实的枪击事件没有出现在《时事》中)，奶牛被扔在台阶上。”澳大利亚:牛杀死一个愤怒的抗议浪潮(1975)“英国代,https://www.britishpathe.com/video/VLVA2GG9QNTKLPWC7HSJ0KE5O0BMR-AUSTRALIA-COW-KILLING-AN-ANGRY-WAVE-OF-PROTEST/query/durrant.11艺术家引用的100美元的罚款,倾销死牛”,年龄,7月24日,1975.12“Dead-Cow“艺术”在画廊”,太阳,星期二,5月27日1975.13维多利亚国家美术馆,受托人委员会,1975年6月3日,导演的报告,V (b)的下降的死牛的画廊”,肖研究图书馆,NGV.14裁判法院，墨尔本。1975年6月9日，《关于立即应受惩罚的罪行的资料和传票》，艺术家收藏关于1975年6月伊万·杜兰特的断手，见展览目录，大卫·赫尔斯顿与罗德尼·詹姆斯和巴里·迪金斯合著，澳大利亚维多利亚国家美术馆，2020年5月1日至10月25日(墨尔本:NGV出版社，2020年)，24-25页;68-69.16 Eva Dodd，“艺术新闻”，Toorak Times, 1975年6月10日。17“倾倒一头死牛罚款100美元”尼尔·豪，平行现实:澳大利亚行为艺术的发展(伦敦:泰晤士和哈德逊，2017)，275-76.19格雷姆·斯特金，“公共场合的私人仪式”，《澳大利亚人报》，1975年8月2日。20杰弗里·马金，“重症护理艺术:病了”，《太阳报》，1975年6月30日。查尔斯·格林，《周边视觉:当代澳大利亚艺术1970-1994》(墨尔本:Craftsman House, 1995)， 12-13;凯瑟琳·路易斯·格雷戈里，《艺术家和博物馆:1975-2002年澳大利亚艺术和博物馆学中有争议的历史和扩展叙事》(博士论文)。，墨尔本大学，2004)，18-24;和门德尔松等人，澳大利亚艺术展览，78-80.22星期四1975年8月21日-“抗议维多利亚国家美术馆”，肖研究图书馆，NGV。 23莫滕森1975年的熟食店装置和表演，见安妮·马什，《身体与自我:澳大利亚的行为艺术，1969-92》(墨尔本:澳大利亚视频艺术档案馆，莫纳什大学，1993)，8，以及对里士满Pinacotheca画廊的评论，这是这一时期行为艺术的另一个重要的早期背景卡尔多公共艺术项目，项目03:吉尔伯特和乔治，https://archive.kaldorartprojects.org.au/index.php/Detail/objects/26。关于讨论，见Sophie Forbat主编，Kaldor公共艺术项目，展览目录(悉尼:John Kaldor, Art Gallery of New South Wales, 2009)， 86-99.25，表演，文献，电影，录像，展览目录，维多利亚国家美术馆，墨尔本，1975年8月28日至9月28日。参见Stephen Jones，“维多利亚国家美术馆的录像艺术，1973-78”，Art Journal 52 (2013)， https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/essay/video-art-at-the-national-gallery-of-victoria-1973-78/;和Mendelssohn等人，澳大利亚艺术展览，78-79.26丹尼尔·托马斯指出“它暗示了对美国文化帝国主义的抗议，也可能是由于当时越南战争的泥潭而更广泛的反美主义”。丹尼尔·托马斯，“肉体的道德:墨尔本的伊万·杜兰特”，澳大利亚艺术月刊172(2004年8月):33.27这位艺术家在2023年2月13日对作者的采访中也强调，死牛的发生“与反美主义无关”。这位艺术家引用于吉尔·鲍恩，“伊凡雷帝:他又来了”，克莱奥，1976年8月，26.29。，见亚历山大·阿尔伯罗和布莱克·斯廷森主编。，《制度批判:艺术家作品选集》(马萨诸塞州剑桥:麻省理工学院出版社，2009)，第20-42页。关于与更当代实践相关的制度批判，见Janet Marstine，批判实践:艺术家，博物馆，伦理(Routledge: London, 2017)， 6
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2023.2216745
James Nguyen
For more than five years, I have been working with collaborator Victoria Pham on a project titled Re:Sounding. As artist-researchers, our work continues to bring together collaborators, organisations, and very different communities to reinvigorate, reclaim, and rematriate the sounds and musical culture of instruments held in museum and private collections. Our work began with the Dông Sơn drums, a group of Bronze Age instruments that were primarily excavated from the Red River Delta in the north of Vietnam during French occupation and collected from various tribes and cultures throughout Southeast Asia. As the children of boat people, Victoria and I regularly heard stories about these mythical bronze drums. Instead of focusing on the traumas of the war, our families told us stories about fantastical instruments that carried the sound of thunder from the ancient times of the Da: i Viê: t, ancestors to the Vietnamese Kinh majority three thousand years ago. These drums could summon thunderstorms and lightning, simultaneously bringing harvest rains and releasing wild torrents capable of washing away enemy invaders. Despite these stories, our parents had only ever seen archaeological and ethnographic photographs of Dông Sơn drums in old schoolbooks. In the aftermath of decolonial ruptures during the 1950s and 1960s, these drums had by then been largely looted or systematically ‘rescued’ for ethnographic and scientific study elsewhere. It was not until 2016, whilst visiting me during a funded travelling fellowship (from the Samstag Museum of Art and the University of South Australia) that my parents had their first encounter with a Dông Sơn drum. As tourists marking off the must dos of New York City, we happened on a small example of this mythical drum, displayed in the Florence and Herbert Irving Southeast Asian Galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My parents were unlikely to be motivated enough to visit similar museums back in Australia, but in this instance, visiting me during my arts research residency, they were willing to participate in popular high art and culture. Spot lit and arranged alongside other Bronze Age artefacts, this Dông Sơn drum was silently displayed behind thick museum glass. Contradicting the
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2143766
S. Albl
The novelty of Angelo Lo Conte’s book lies in its approach to the study of the Procaccini brothers’ careers which are analysed for the very first time through a socio-economic framework, interconnecting Camillo (1551-1629), Carlo Antonio (1555-1630) and Giulio Cesare’s (1574-1625) individual stories and understanding their success as the combination of family strategy, workshop practice and business organisation. The book investigates the practical reasons that prompted the Procaccini to leave Bologna between the end of 1587 and beginning of 1588 and relocate to Milan as well as the strategies enacted by the family members to settle in the new city. In doing so, the volume moves away from a focus on the individual brothers (especially Giulio Cesare, the most talented and widely collected artist of the three brothers) that appear in previous studies on the Procaccini and encloses Camillo, Carlo Antonio, and Giulio Cesare’s careers in a narrative that emphasises their achievements as painters and entrepreneurs. Such an approach allows for an investigation of the choices made by the Procaccini brothers at different times in their careers, the commissions they received, as well as the structure and the geographic focus they assigned to their family workshop. While art historical studies informed by a socio-economic approach have been devoted to cities such as Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples, Bologna, this has never been done for Milan. This fact alone reveals the ambitious, bold and innovative approach chosen by the author. The book is divided into six chapters. Chapter One “Old and New Approaches to the Procaccini” gives full credit to Carlo Cesare Malvasia who provides in his Felsina Pittrice (1678) the most complete source on the lives of the Procaccini brothers. Malvasia visited Milan in 1667 where he learned about the Procaccini from Ercole the Younger, Carlo Antonio’s son and the only remaining member of this dynasty of painters. Malvasia’s account on the Procaccini, as pointed out by Lo Conte, is an essay on a family story (p. 15). Before focusing on their individual achievements, Malvasia speaks about the connections between the brothers and states that the family members mutually agreed to leave Bologna. Malvasia also includes several excerpts from treatises written by seventeenth-century authors, such as Francesco Scanelli, Raffaello Soprani, Marco Boschini and Giambattista Marino, that document the fame and status the artists had gained during their lifetimes. Lo Conte draws attention to Girolamo Borsieri’s comments about Giulio Cesare’s excellence in sculpture and his stylistic closeness to Parmigianino as well Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art, 2022, vol. 22, no. 2, 234–236 https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2022.2143766
{"title":"The Procaccini and the Business of Painting in Early Modern Milan","authors":"S. Albl","doi":"10.1080/14434318.2022.2143766","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2022.2143766","url":null,"abstract":"The novelty of Angelo Lo Conte’s book lies in its approach to the study of the Procaccini brothers’ careers which are analysed for the very first time through a socio-economic framework, interconnecting Camillo (1551-1629), Carlo Antonio (1555-1630) and Giulio Cesare’s (1574-1625) individual stories and understanding their success as the combination of family strategy, workshop practice and business organisation. The book investigates the practical reasons that prompted the Procaccini to leave Bologna between the end of 1587 and beginning of 1588 and relocate to Milan as well as the strategies enacted by the family members to settle in the new city. In doing so, the volume moves away from a focus on the individual brothers (especially Giulio Cesare, the most talented and widely collected artist of the three brothers) that appear in previous studies on the Procaccini and encloses Camillo, Carlo Antonio, and Giulio Cesare’s careers in a narrative that emphasises their achievements as painters and entrepreneurs. Such an approach allows for an investigation of the choices made by the Procaccini brothers at different times in their careers, the commissions they received, as well as the structure and the geographic focus they assigned to their family workshop. While art historical studies informed by a socio-economic approach have been devoted to cities such as Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples, Bologna, this has never been done for Milan. This fact alone reveals the ambitious, bold and innovative approach chosen by the author. The book is divided into six chapters. Chapter One “Old and New Approaches to the Procaccini” gives full credit to Carlo Cesare Malvasia who provides in his Felsina Pittrice (1678) the most complete source on the lives of the Procaccini brothers. Malvasia visited Milan in 1667 where he learned about the Procaccini from Ercole the Younger, Carlo Antonio’s son and the only remaining member of this dynasty of painters. Malvasia’s account on the Procaccini, as pointed out by Lo Conte, is an essay on a family story (p. 15). Before focusing on their individual achievements, Malvasia speaks about the connections between the brothers and states that the family members mutually agreed to leave Bologna. Malvasia also includes several excerpts from treatises written by seventeenth-century authors, such as Francesco Scanelli, Raffaello Soprani, Marco Boschini and Giambattista Marino, that document the fame and status the artists had gained during their lifetimes. Lo Conte draws attention to Girolamo Borsieri’s comments about Giulio Cesare’s excellence in sculpture and his stylistic closeness to Parmigianino as well Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art, 2022, vol. 22, no. 2, 234–236 https://doi.org/10.1080/14434318.2022.2143766","PeriodicalId":29864,"journal":{"name":"Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-07-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47428457","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2149383
V. McInnes
As Ver onica Tello notes in her introduction to this issue, following the Know My Name conference in November 2020, several participants began conversations around ‘continuing the work of critiquing the gendered discrimination at the centre of Australian art institutions’. In fact, these conversations were already ongoing at that point, and they will no doubt continue. During one of the conference panel discussions, Janine Burke spoke to her frustration at the institutional amnesia and systemic resistance to feminist discourses she has encountered during a career in the visual arts that has spanned half a century. The discussion that follows was initiated to address this sense of despondency, not to provide a neat rationale but to continue picking at—or as Tello would have it, ‘unsettling’—the problems. It also provides an opportunity to bring into focus a series of personal and embodied Australian feminist art exhibition histories. During the course of our conversation, Burke proposes a ‘double gaze’ for feminism, positing that we must look back not only so that it is possible to move forwards but also so that we might understand and frame our present moment. Vikki McInnes (VM): Know My Name is a gender-equity initiative launched by the National Gallery of Australia (NGA) in 2019 that has comprised numerous exhibitions and events, a conference, and a major publication to date. The project is self-described as ‘a celebration, a commitment and a call to action’. In her review, in this journal, of the Know My Name exhibition, Jeanette Hoorn pointed out that you, in fact, had curated the first ‘know my name’ exhibition in 1975, with Australian Women Artists, 100 Years: 1840 to 1940, which opened at the Ewing and George Paton Galleries, University of Melbourne, and toured nationally. Janine, you have been at the forefront of feminist pedagogies and exhibitionmaking in Australia since that time. I’m interested in unpacking some of the histories of feminism, and feminism’s relationship to institutions in Australia, particularly by looking at women’s art exhibitions and the history and trajectory of
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