Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837383
P. Adsett
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837382
M. Edmond
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837380
Marie Geissler
‘The dawn is at hand’, declared Kath Walker (Oodgeroo Noonuccal). This declaration served as the title of a poem and of her book of poems published in 1966. The dawn at hand was her dream of a postcolonial Australia. In the mid-1960s, her poems struck such a chord with the Australian public that they helped make her Australia’s bestselling poet. More extraordinarily, an Aboriginal person was articulating a rising Australian consciousness—a groundswell of hope that united many Australians around the idea that amends could be made for the nation’s original sin against the country’s Indigenous peoples. This groundswell culminated in the ninety-one per cent vote for constitutional change in the 1967 Referendum, which had been called by the Holt Liberal government. By including Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the population of the nation, the passing of the referendum gave them the legal rights of other Australians to self-determination. Preparation for Australia’s journey of national deliverance began immediately after the referendum and was put into full swing with the election of the Whitlam Labor government in December 1972. The Whitlam government launched a veritable cultural revolution, of which the Aboriginal Arts Board (AAB), which is the subject of this essay, was just one small aspect of its path to delivering Indigenous self-determination and also a new Australian cultural consciousness. Translating constitutional change into social practice, however, was an altogether more difficult task. If the ideal of self-determination provided a clear and noble vision, its practical realisation inadvertently created numerous new problems. There were many reasons for this. Because the nation had been founded on the exclusion, if not extermination or extinction, of the Indigenous population, a racist mindset penetrated the deepest recesses of its psyche, social habits, and ideological practices. As the Aboriginal activist Gary Foley discovered, government departmental regulations honed by years of institutional racism and
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837372
Lyn Merrington
Thomas Girst laments, in The Duchamp Dictionary, ‘most writing on Duchamp introduces humour as an afterthought, at best playing lip service to what was for him “a great power” and “liberation”’. Perhaps, Girst thought, ‘Humour, by definition, escapes the seriousness of scholarly scrutiny, yet it is through humour that Duchamp questions its very raison d’être’. While agreeing with Girst’s general point, I will argue that Duchamp’s humour isn’t particularly aimed at debunking scholarly scrutiny—as if his humour is a form of anti-intellectualism—but has the positive purpose of establishing the raison d’̂etre of his art. The reason it has been overlooked is less the humourlessness of scholars and more the theoretical turn that art took in the 1960s, with the advent of conceptual art and its paradigms largely framing the reception of Duchamp’s art. Much of Duchamp’s humour has been overlooked in favour of highly complex and theoretical readings of his work, following his adoption by art theorists as an historical anchor for many different contemporary (post-1960s) art forms. Larry Witham rhetorically asks: ‘had Duchamp really invented just about everything in Contemporary art?’ To Duchamp’s amusement, fame came late. While he had a small, loyal, even cult, following in American surrealist circles, the mainstream art world considered Duchamp a relatively minor artist for most of his life. His luck turned in the 1960s, with a new generation of conceptual artists. A 2004 survey of artists and art professionals acknowledged him as the most important artist in the twentieth century. Further, the scholarship has for the most part taken place in the United States, an Anglophone environment that easily misses the subtle linguistic ironies that drive his humour. Consequently, contemporary scholarship of Duchamp tends to earnestly understand his visual art practice, rather than laugh with its jokes.
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1846990
Jenepher Duncan
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837381
U. Rey
Brook Andrew’s 22nd Biennale of Sydney came with great expectations, and for a mounting tide of reviews it delivered the edge it promised. Seizing the urgency of our time, hope, the man and the moment collide in Andrew’s 2020 vision. Though he ardently denies alpha-authority—widely promoting the project as artist and First Nations-led–don’t be fooled by methodology: with visual panache and savvy exhibition design, the ‘Look-is-Brook’, Artistic Director par excellence. Weeks out from the opening, Andrew wrote to international artists reassuring them that Sydney was ‘safe to visit’. At the time, he was referring to the summer’s ‘unprecedented’ fires, but none predicted the pandemic on the horizon or the biennale’s eight week closure. Nor would anyone imagine how ‘I can’t breathe’ would shift from bushfire smoke to corona-virus respiratory failure and then the chilling refrain of the Black Lives Matter campaign. Such cataclysmic events will forever bracket this biennale, which reads in retrospect like a predictive sign of our times. And if timing is Andrew’s forte, temporality is his medium. He treats the expanded exhibition’s form as a vehicle to slip between past, present and future, thereby folding history into the contemporary, from colonial catastrophe to the shattered now. NIRIN, meaning ‘edge’ in the Wiradjuri language of Andrew’s maternal country, spans six sites across which multi-sensory works of spatial, cultural, environmental and biological difference are cannily displayed and performed. As a connecting device, Indigenous language and relational exchange become the poetic coda, made explicit in NIRIN’s seven Wiradjuri-named themes: Dhaagun (Earth: Sovereignty and Working Together); Bagaray-Bang (Healing); YirawyDhuray (Yam-Connection: Food); Gurray (Transformation); Muriguwal Giiland (Different Stories); Ngawaal-Guyungan (Powerful-Ideas: The Power of Objects) and Bila (River: Environment). Despite NIRIN’s ‘non-hierarchical web of connections’, my custom is (still) to enter the BoS at its native home, the sandstone pile of the Art Gallery of NSW (though the BoS’s birthplace was a stone’s-throw north in the wings of the Sydney Opera House). This temple on the hill offers the low hanging fruit, beginning in the neoclassical vestibule where Wiradjuri star Karla Dickens’s Dickensian Circus
布鲁克·安德鲁（Brook Andrew）的第22届悉尼双年展带来了巨大的期望，对于越来越多的评论，它实现了它所承诺的优势。抓住我们时代的紧迫性，希望、人和时刻在安德鲁的2020愿景中碰撞。尽管他极力否认阿尔法权威——以艺术家和原住民领导的身份广泛宣传该项目——但不要被方法论所愚弄：凭借视觉华丽和精明的展览设计，艺术总监“Look is Brook”堪称卓越。开幕几周后，安德鲁写信给国际艺术家，向他们保证悉尼“参观安全”。当时，他指的是今年夏天“前所未有”的火灾，但没有人预测疫情即将到来，也没有人预测双年展将关闭八周。也没有人能想象“我无法呼吸”会如何从丛林大火的烟雾转变为冠状病毒的呼吸衰竭，然后是“黑人的命也是命”运动中令人不寒而栗的副歌。这样的灾难性事件将永远伴随着这个双年展，回顾过去，它就像是我们时代的一个预测标志。如果时间是安德鲁的强项，那么时间就是他的媒介。他将扩大后的展览形式视为一种在过去、现在和未来之间穿梭的工具，从而将历史折叠到当代，从殖民灾难到破碎的现在。NIRIN，在安德鲁的祖国维拉德朱里语中的意思是“边缘”，横跨六个地点，在这些地点，空间、文化、环境和生物差异的多感官作品被巧妙地展示和表演。作为一种连接手段，土著语言和关系交流成为诗歌的结尾，在NIRIN的七个Wiradjuri命名的主题中得到了明确：Dhaagun（地球：主权和合作）；Bagaray Bang（治疗）；YirawyDhuray（Yam连接：食物）；Gurray（转型）；穆里古瓦尔·吉兰（不同的故事）；Ngawaal Guyungan（强大的思想：物体的力量）和Bila（河流：环境）。尽管NIRIN有“非层级的联系网”，但我的习惯是（仍然）在新南威尔士州美术馆的砂岩堆里进入BoS（尽管BoS的出生地离悉尼歌剧院的侧翼只有一箭之遥）。这座山上的寺庙提供了低垂的果实，从维拉德朱里主演卡拉·狄更斯的狄更斯马戏团的新古典主义门廊开始
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837378
D. Manderson
Introduction Before his untimely death in 2014, not yet aged sixty, Gordon Bennett produced a body of work that must surely count among the most careful and comprehensive reflections on the colonial project undertaken by an Australian artist. His paintings unpack the complex temporal logic that underpinned Australian colonialism, focusing on the central role played by images in colonialism’s construction and legitimation. Unlike, for example, several Australian prime ministers I could mention, Bennett refuses to consign these events to the past, to some concluded historical moment. He demonstrates how the images and visual tropes of colonial representation still form, on some imaginary or subconscious level, a fundamental backdrop to the legitimacy of the Australian legal and political order. In his Home D ecor series (1995–2010), in Terra Nullius (Teaching Aid) As Far as the Eye Can See (1993), and, as we will see, in several versions of Possession Island (fig. 1) painted in 1991, Bennett’s art explores tropes of the colonial imaginary without letting the viewer off the hook. He represents, satirises, and critiques the colonial past’s fantasies of whiteness and blackness, and the crucial role they played in the construction of the Australian state and Australian identity. But we are not permitted to indulge our voyeuristic or nostalgic urges about that past under the protective alibi of our supposed distance from it. That distance he radically foreshortens. Several major contemporary Indigenous artists—Judy Watson and Fiona Foley, among others—describe their art practice in terms of truth-telling or historical research: ‘History’, says Foley, ‘is a weapon’. Bennett approached the problem of Australian memory differently. He chose to excavate not ‘Aboriginal history’ as ‘facts’, but rather representations of that history in the visual archive of Australian colonialism. His raw materials are paintings, drawings, stamps, old newspapers, and school textbooks, a host of fantasies and delusions that nourished and
引言在2014年英年早逝之前，戈登·贝内特（Gordon Bennett）创作了一系列作品，这些作品无疑是对澳大利亚艺术家进行的殖民项目最仔细、最全面的反思之一。他的画作揭示了支撑澳大利亚殖民主义的复杂时间逻辑，重点关注图像在殖民主义的构建和合法化中所扮演的核心角色。例如，与我可以提到的几位澳大利亚总理不同，贝内特拒绝将这些事件归咎于过去，归咎于某个已经结束的历史时刻。他展示了殖民地代表的图像和视觉比喻如何在某种想象或潜意识层面上仍然构成澳大利亚法律和政治秩序合法性的基本背景。在他的Home D ecor系列（1995-2010）、Terra Nullius（Teaching Aid）As Far As the Eye Can See（1993）中，以及我们将看到的，在1991年绘制的《占有岛》的几个版本中（图1），Bennett的艺术探索了殖民想象的比喻，而没有让观众摆脱困境。他代表、讽刺和批评了殖民地过去对白人和黑人的幻想，以及他们在澳大利亚国家和澳大利亚身份建构中发挥的关键作用。但我们不允许在我们与过去的距离的保护性不在场证明下，放纵我们对过去的偷窥或怀旧冲动。他从根本上缩短了这种距离。当代几位主要的土著艺术家——朱迪·沃森（Judy Watson）和Fiona·福利（Fiona Foley）等——从真相传播或历史研究的角度描述了他们的艺术实践：福利说，“历史”“是一种武器”。Bennett对澳大利亚记忆问题的处理方式不同。他选择挖掘的不是“原住民历史”作为“事实”，而是在澳大利亚殖民主义的视觉档案中对那段历史的再现。他的原材料是绘画、素描、邮票、旧报纸和学校课本，这些都是滋养和
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837374
J. Stein
Introduction: Engineering Patternmaking The subjects of this article are not ordinarily discussed in writing about Australian art. For that matter, the subjects of this article are not ordinarily discussed at all, in almost any discipline. The subjects in question are engineering patternmakers— and patternmaking is now a relatively obscure industrial trade. From the midnineteenth to the late twentieth centuries, patternmakers performed a fundamental role in pre-production for metal casting and also, by the mid-twentieth century, for a variety of plastics manufacturing methods. The trade produced the threedimensional forms that were necessary for moulds to be successfully produced. Patternmakers were not designers, since in their industrial roles they did not generate the original ideas for the forms to be manufactured. But neither were they production-line workers: their hands did not touch the finished products, and their work was rarely repetitive. Working from engineering drawings, patternmakers planned and produced the three-dimensional shapes used to generate mass-produced objects, usually using wood, but also resin, fibreglass, plaster, or metal. Alongside toolmakers, patternmakers made the forms for everything that was cast or moulded: from large earthmoving equipment to Tupperware containers, from glucose sweets to a car’s rear-vision mirror. In essence, patternmakers physically generated the original forms expressive of twentieth-century mass-production and consumerism. But to be a patternmaker who is also an artist? That is another thing altogether. The patternmakers discussed in this article are not examined in relation to their industrial work. Instead, I engage with the deindustrialised aftermath, when many patternmakers have shifted out of the manufacturing industry and into more creative endeavours. This article reveals how, for some patternmakers, their art practice can be seen as an assertion of technical, craft-based mastery in a context that no longer values their trade skills. For others, moving from patternmaking to art has fulfilled
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837377
Edwin Jurriëns
Introduction Artivism, a contraction of art and activism, has been described as the first new art form of the twenty-first century. But what is artistic, new, or twenty-first century about it? This article seeks to critically address this question by focusing on Indonesian environmental activism, particularly the pioneering socially engaged art of Moelyono (b. 1957) since the 1980s and the campaigns ‘Melawan Asap’ (Fighting the Haze) and ‘Save Rimbang Baling’ in the province of Riau, central eastern Sumatra, since 2014. The environmental campaigns in Riau have been steered by local artist Heri Budiman (b. 1971) and the art centre and collective Rumah Budaya Siku Keluang (The Siku Keluang Cultural House, established in 2010). They have been directly inspired by Moelyono and artivism from other regions in Indonesia, including West Java. I seek to demonstrate that in Indonesian environmental art and artivism the entanglement between art and activism produces the performativity and connectivity needed to move people and to effect change both within and beyond the art world. I try to show that art in Indonesian artivism is not limited to a singular object or action, but is spatially and temporarily dispersed across various platforms and shaped by a diverse group of actors. In Moelyono’s work and the environmental campaigns in Sumatra, art can be found in layers and combinations of contemporary and traditional media; (semi-)institutionalised and independent creative projects, spaces and networks; and various forms of engagement with government. Both individually and collectively, the creative platforms facilitate performativity and connectivity for reclaiming public space, redefining urbanity and economic development, and promoting environmental sustainability. The history and multilayeredness of Indonesian environmental art complicates common perceptions and scholarly critique of the nature, scope, and impact of artivism.
艺术主义是艺术和行动主义的结合，被认为是21世纪的第一种新艺术形式。但它有什么艺术性、新颖性或21世纪性呢?本文试图通过关注印度尼西亚的环境行动主义来批判性地解决这个问题，特别是自20世纪80年代以来开创性的社会参与艺术Moelyono(出生于1957年)，以及自2014年以来在苏门答腊中东部廖内省开展的“Melawan Asap”(对抗雾霾)和“拯救Rimbang Baling”运动。廖内省的环保运动由当地艺术家Heri Budiman(生于1971年)、艺术中心和集体Rumah Budaya Siku Keluang(成立于2010年的Siku Keluang文化之家)领导。他们直接受到Moelyono和来自印度尼西亚其他地区的艺术主义的启发，包括西爪哇。我试图证明，在印度尼西亚的环境艺术和艺术主义中，艺术与行动主义之间的纠缠产生了移动人们所需的表演性和连接性，并在艺术世界内外产生了变化。我试图展示印度尼西亚艺术主义的艺术并不局限于单一的物体或行动，而是在空间上和暂时分散在各种平台上，由不同的演员群体塑造。在Moelyono的作品和苏门答腊岛的环保运动中，艺术可以在当代和传统媒体的层次和组合中找到;(半)制度化和独立的创意项目、空间和网络;以及与政府的各种形式的接触。无论是单独的还是集体的，这些创造性的平台都促进了公共空间的表演性和连接性，重新定义了城市和经济发展，促进了环境的可持续性。印度尼西亚环境艺术的历史和多层性使对艺术主义的性质、范围和影响的普遍看法和学术批评变得复杂。
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Pub Date : 2020-07-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2020.1837375
G. McQuilten
On May Day in 2018, artist Ceri Hann sat on a small stool in a large domed room at the Mission to Seafarers, a community building on the docks of Melbourne that provides support to visiting ship-workers, and methodically stamped the words ‘OF WORK OF ART’ onto hundreds of circular metal washers. The small objects were then gifted to visitors and passers-by as a means to start a conversation about the relationship between work, labour, and artistic practice. The circular nature of the metal disc meant that the phrase could be interpreted in many different ways: ‘OF WORK, OF ART’, in one reading, or ‘WORK OF ART’ in another, or perhaps even ‘ART OF WORK’. This unclear or open readability of the words was emphasised in the way that the artist stamped the words backwards, so they could only be ‘read’ clearly when reflected in a mirror or other reflective surface. After several hours, Hann packed up his gear, and nothing remained of the performative work other than the circulating objects, which, like material currency these days, are of questionable value. The performance brought together physical work and industrial production in a public display of human labour, although without any obvious economic purpose or gain. These were not objects that could be easily sold or traded, nor were they being produced as part of an industrial process that would generate any other tangible products or outcomes. The backward printing of the text made the objects even harder to consume or read as ‘branding’ for the artist or the performance. The performance epitomised the futility of work and labour as we move from an industrial to a post-industrial society, where human labour is increasingly understood as inefficient, flawed, and unproductive compared to the work of machines and computers (as simplistic as this may seem). The artist’s performance also captured the futility of work and labour for many artists who live below the poverty line. Taking Hann’s performative work OF WORK OF ART as a starting provocation, this article explores the work of several contemporary Australian artists whose different approaches to labour address the simultaneous dignity and futility of waged labour in a post-industrial society. In his book Rise of the Robots: Technology and the Threat of a Jobless Future (2015), American futurist Martin Ford presents a vision of a world where work is on the brink of becoming immaterial, a
2018年五一节，艺术家塞里·汉恩坐在墨尔本码头上的社区建筑“海员使命”（Mission to Seafarers）一个大圆顶房间的小凳子上，有条不紊地在数百个圆形金属垫圈上印上“艺术作品”的字样。然后，这些小物品被赠送给游客和路人，作为开始谈论工作、劳动和艺术实践之间关系的一种手段。金属圆盘的圆形性质意味着这个短语可以用多种不同的方式来解释：一种解读是“作品，艺术”，另一种解读则是“艺术作品”，甚至可能是“作品的艺术”。艺术家将单词向后戳，强调了单词的这种不清晰或开放的可读性，因此只有在镜子或其他反射面上反射时才能“阅读”清楚。几个小时后，Hann收拾好他的装备，除了流通的物品外，表演作品什么都没有留下，这些物品就像现在的物质货币一样，价值值得怀疑。这场演出将体力劳动和工业生产结合在一起，公开展示了人类的劳动，尽管没有任何明显的经济目的或收益。这些物品不是可以轻易出售或交易的，也不是作为工业过程的一部分生产的，从而产生任何其他有形产品或成果。文本的反向打印使这些物品更难消费，也更难被解读为艺术家或表演的“品牌”。当我们从工业社会走向后工业社会时，这种表现体现了工作和劳动的徒劳，在后工业社会中，与机器和计算机的工作相比，人类劳动越来越被理解为低效、有缺陷和没有生产力（尽管这看起来很简单）。这位艺术家的表演也捕捉到了许多生活在贫困线以下的艺术家工作和劳动的徒劳。本文以Hann的表演作品《艺术作品》为起点，探讨了几位当代澳大利亚艺术家的作品，他们对劳动的不同态度解决了后工业社会中有偿劳动的尊严和徒劳。在2015年出版的《机器人的崛起：技术与失业未来的威胁》一书中，美国未来学家马丁·福特提出了一个世界的愿景，在这个世界上，工作正处于非物质化的边缘
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