From Politics to Poetry: An analysis of explicitly and implicitly political artworks.
Steven Grainger
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Synopsis; This essay explores the ways in which political art, both oblique and explicit, can offer new ways of thinking about our changing accepted social or political structures. It has been written in response to the global financial crisis and subsequent protests around the world in an attempt to define the strengths and weaknesses of political art and what this means for creative practitioners in 2011.
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Contents List of Illustrations
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Introduction
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Chapter 1
Artworks that engage with politics obliquely: ‘Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing’ by Francis Alys ‘Acid Action Painting’ by Gustav Metzger
Chapter 2
Artworks that bridge the gap between explicit and implicit political engagement: ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflü’ by Joseph Beuys ‘To Cease to Believe in Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ by Ian Hamilton Findlay ‘Sunflower Seeds’ by Ai Weiwei
Chapter 3
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Artworks that act in a directly political way: ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ by Hans Haacke ‘Untitled’ from ‘Guerrilla Girls Talk Back: The First Five Years,’ by The Guerrilla Girls
Conclusion
Bibliography
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List of Illustrations
1. Francis Alys’ ‘Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing’ Mexico City 1997 Tate Modern, Online Exhibition Guide; (10/10/11) www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/francisalys/roomguide3.shtm 2. Gustav Metzger, ‘Acid Action Painting’, Southbank Centre London 1961, Yoko Ono Blog archive; (24/10/11) www.imaginepeace.com/archives/6415 3. ‘London Occupy Protest’ Personal photograph by Steven Grainger (2/11/11) 4. Joseph Beuys, ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflügel‘,1966 Pompidou Centre Website (2/10/11) www.centrepompidou.fr/education/ressources/ENS‐Object‐EN/popup11.html 5. Ian Hamilton Finlay, Lithograph on paper, ‘To Cease to Believe In Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ 1983 Tate Online Collection Website;(1/11/11) www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ViewWork?cgroupid=999999961&workid=78487&searchid=9660 6. Ai Weiwei ‘Sunflower Seeds’ Installation for Turbine Hall at Tate Modern 2010 Art News Website; (8/11/1) www.allartnews.com/tate‐moderns‐sunflower‐seed‐exhibit‐by‐ai‐weiwei‐closed‐to‐ visitors‐as‐health‐risk/ 7. Hans Haacke ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ 1991 Flash Art Online Magazine; (23/10/11) www.flashartonline.com/interno.php?pagina=articolo_det&id_art=493&det=ok&title=HANS ‐HAACKE 8. The Guerrilla Girls, ‘Untitled’ from ‘Guerrilla Girls Talk Back: The First Five Years,” 1985– 1990 Artist website;(7/10/11) www.guerrillagirls.com/posters/getnaked.shtml
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Introduction In this essay I will examine politically and socially engaged contemporary art; an investigation triggered by the current global recession and subsequent protests. I will analyse the approaches taken by a range of artists who engage with political ideas and assess the impact of their activities. I will attempt to evaluate the success of art activism and propose the most constructive way for artists to function within the field of political art. In order to critically engage with the vast and indistinct scope of politically engaged art, the essay is split into three chapters; art that engages with politics obliquely, art that engages with politics directly and the art that falls between these two extremities. I refer to contemporary and historical examples, both British and international, aiming to get a broad assessment of the topic. The discussion involves seven artworks from seven different artists: Francis Alys, Gustav Metzger, Joseph Beuys, Ian Hamilton Finlay, Ai Weiwei, Hans Haacke and the Guerrilla Girls. I have focused on individual case study artworks in order to provide a level of depth on each work. Rather than try to vaguely overview each artists entire practice, this approach allows the potency of one key work to be assessed on its own merits. The discussion of these examples serves to illustrate the central paradigms of this inquiry and to offer potential roads forward for creative practitioners currently engaged with social and political subject matter. Beyond the artworks interpreted and used as sources, I have gathered various research material, mainly from text based sources; literature on political and social art practice, direct political theory as well as articles and journals citing the latest developments and opinions on the subject. Although I am primarily concerned with the circumstances of contemporary Britain, globalisation makes it impossible to separate the British political terrain from other major powers and world events. To see and discuss the UK in a fair
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global context my discussion will make reference to significant events such the ‘Occupy’ protests while primarily focusing on British politics and society. I will analyse Britain’s position in relation to the global, commenting particularly on the neoliberalisation process that has persisted across the world under both right and left wing administrations. The definition of neoliberalism that I employ is taken from the English geographer and social theorist David Harvey’s A Brief History of Neoliberalism in which he deems that humanity is: ‘advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms and skills within an institutional framework characterised by strong private property rights, free markets, and free trade.’1
In the model neoliberal state the government must guarantee the integrity of money, set up military, defence, police and legal structures to support the proper functioning of the markets. In addition it must create markets where they do not exist, for example in areas such as land, water, education, health care, social security, or environmental pollution: beyond this framework the state must not intervene. I also broadly take the English philosopher and cultural critic Mark Fisher’s critical approach to capitalism on board as a starting point for discussing my own view. Throughout the essay I will refer to ‘artists’, which not only includes visual artists, musicians, writers and actors, but also refers to any human activity undertaken through a creative lens. This definition comes directly from Joseph Beuys’ and his ‘Expanded Theory of Art’.2 Beuys’ revolutionary perception of art reframed the discussion on creative practice and opened up the possibility of thinking about art as an approach rather than a product. Chapter One: Oblique political artworks.
1 David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (New York: Oxford Press 2005) p2 2 Heiner Stachelhaus Joseph Beuys (New York: Abbeville Press Publishers 1987) p48
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1. Francis Alys’ ‘Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing’ Mexico City 1997
2. Gustav Metzger, ‘Acid Action Painting’, Southbank Centre London 1961
In order to address artistic engagement with politics in its most oblique way, I have chosen two artworks to use as examples; ‘When Something Leads to Nothing’ (1997) by Francis Alys (b. 1959) and Gustav Metzger’s (b. 1926) public
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demonstration of Auto‐destructive painting on the South Bank in London (1961). Oblique political works are in some ways the most problematic as to define them as political can be a challenge, or at least a subjective predicament. Often, it is up to the viewer to define the political relationship and although this can be a complex opinion to form, it offers the viewer a real depth of engagement with the work that can lead to a sustained relationship to it and a sense of ownership over the content that develops between the work and the viewer. Francis Alys’ poetic undertaking in his performance, ‘Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing’ in Mexico City, 1997, (Fig. 1) is undoubtedly obliquely political, being formally ambiguous but executed in a charged context with clear political underpinning. He does not attempt to force the audience into his way of thinking or opt for grand gestures to make his point. Instead he opens up the possibility of engagement with a wide audience through futile, poetic action. The work, performed in Mexico City, was an ‘attempt to reflect on the economies of the South’3 and consider the ‘disproportion between effort and result in much of Latin American life.’4 If however, the viewer was unaware of the specific context of this work, they could still appreciate its poetry as an idea or concept and by overlaying personal contexts or histories, develop their own relationship with Alys’ action. The significance of poetry in politics is monumental. We may rarely see romanticism from the backbenches of the House of Parliament but as the Black Panther, Emory Douglas, tells us: Politics is based on action, politics starts with a hungry stomach, with dilapidated housing. Politics does not start in the political arena, it starts right down here in the community, where the suffering is. 5
For political action to be meaningful, its grassroots beginnings cannot be forgotten. Alys’ incisive action of pushing the block of ice around for more than nine hours encapsulates this fundamental idea of futile action that may lead to 3 Mark Godfrey, Francis Alys, A Story of Deception (Belgium: Die Keure, 2010) p19 4 Mark Godfrey, Francis Alys, A Story of Deception (Belgium: Die Keure, 2010) p19 5 Will Bradley and Charles Esche, Art and Social Change‐ A Critical Reader (London: Tate, Afterall 2007) p172
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nothing, but the attempt gives enough weight for the work to be genuinely powerful: the artist’s gift to the viewer is his action. For the work to really resonate the viewer must reciprocate with equal persistence and sincerity; as the American author and critic Lewis Hyde pertinently observes, ‘We are only alive to the degree that we let ourselves be moved.’ 6 The Chinese political artist Ai Weiwei similarly reflects on poetics: I think poetry is for keeping out intellect in the stage before rationality… it brings us to the innocent stage in which imagination and language can be most vulnerable and at the same time most penetrating.7
The vulnerable and penetrating states that Ai Weiwei describes, sum up the enormity of Alys’ work: in a way, he is left unprotected by his action yet he carries on in order to reveal new possibilities for himself and for others. Although the abstract language of this work is dominant, more literal readings begin to make themselves apparent. The correlation between Alys’ action (pushing the block of ice) and the capitalist workers’ toil is apparent. There is also a valid argument that the use of ice as a material hints at the melting polar ice caps in relation to industrial manufacturing. As the work’s nature is so implicit, attempting to find an absolute answer as to its meaning is almost as futile as pushing the block of ice itself. Rather than a particular message delivering the potency of the work, its intensity is derived largely from its indeterminate nature. From the opposite angle, Alys’ actions could equally be criticised for failing to make any real changes in the world. Mark Fisher summarises the emancipating theory that, ‘As long as we believe (in our hearts) that capitalism is bad, we are free to continue to participate in capitalist exchange.’8 Similarly, as long as Alys demonstrates his opposition to capitalism through his performance, he is free to display his work in a gallery or museum to make money to live within the system he is criticising. There is an element of self‐redemption, or self‐deception in this
6 Lewis Hyde, The Gift (Edinburgh: Canongate Books 2007)p21 7. Ai Weiwei and Hans Ulrich Obrist, Ai Weiwei Speaks (England: Penguin 2011) P51 8 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) p13
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approach that shouldn’t be ignored but ultimately, without changing the ideology of the western capitalist system, it would be impossible to talk about this system without some form of contradiction. Any hostility or suspicion toward Alys does not surprise me, as cynicism and expectations of ulterior motives resonate intensely in contemporary Western life. This attitude seems to come from the consistent let downs from governments: promises of jobs and growth, better public services, security for pensions, investments and so on which never seem to come to fruition. David Harvey suggests that cynicism is more deep‐seated than this: [A] conceptual apparatus has to be advanced that appeals to our intuitions and instincts, to our values and desires… If successful, this conceptual apparatus becomes so embedded in common sense as to be taken for granted and not open to question.9
The awareness that the way we interact with the world is changing, potentially deliberately for political or economic reasons, must be kept in the forefront of our minds. Regardless of Alys’ motives or intentions, his actions are precious. Lewis Hyde aptly identifies this when he comments, ‘Some knowledge cannot survive abstraction and to preserve this knowledge we must have art.’10 The relative autonomy of abstract, poetic artworks makes it difficult to categorise them in order to discuss their characteristics. However, the auto‐ destruction of Gustav Metzger has various conceptual and political similarities with ‘When Doing Something Leads to Nothing’ by Francis Alys. Most apparent of these resemblances is that both actions start with an object that through the process of the work, is destroyed. Each of these actions take place in public space, which places an extra layer of responsibility on the artist. On being asked about the responsibility of the artist, the Glaswegian prisoner Jimmy Boyle, who was interviewed by Caroline Tisdall about the impact of Beuys’ ‘I Like America and America Likes Me’ work responded:
9 David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (New York: Oxford Press 2005) p5 10 Lewis Hyde, The Gift (Edinburgh: Canongate Books 2007) p223
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If art and the artist wishes to take the statement to the public then he must clarify what he is saying, otherwise the statement will make the public feel stupid because he cannot understand. This will cause the public to withdraw and further alienate art and society. 11
This statement, juxtaposed with the idea from Ai Weiwei that the innocence of poetry is vulnerable and penetrating, reinforces the idea that oblique, poetic art is the most difficult to make, and that to make it in the public sphere and still be understood is more difficult still. However, Alys and Metzger were both driven to emancipate themselves from the power of the object and to give the gift, as Ross Birrell describes it, ‘that must sacrifice itself in order to give.’12 Gustav Metzger’s action of spraying acid onto three nylon ‘canvases’, one black, one white and one red, in the open air at the Southbank centre in 196113 (Fig. 2) could easily been regarded as a ridiculous, pointless and wasteful action. However, the action can only be defined as such when it is viewed through the lens of market capitalism. The reason it appears ridiculous is that it destroys manufactured objects, seems to have no ‘final outcome’, and most of all it defies the definition and limitations of an artwork as an object. It doesn’t offer a cure for market capitalism, but temporarily holds off what Mark Fisher describes as the ‘monstrous, infinitely plastic entity [of capitalism] capable of metabolizing and absorbing anything with which it comes into contact’.14 Metzger’s action is a protest that, similar to Alys’, destroys itself in order for its profound voice to be heard. The act of destruction takes the power away from commodity and places it back in the hands of the artist, at least for the time‐span of the action. Auto destruction may not offer an answer to our problems but it does work as a tool to re‐imagine possibilities for our future. Protest of today owes a debt to Metzger and various artists from the sixties and seventies who used their creative platform to further political or economic 11 Jimmy Boyle quoted in Caroline Tisdall, Joseph Beuys: Coyote (England: Thames and Hudson 2008) p6 12 Ross Birrell, The Gift of Terror, Art in the Age of Terror (London: Paul Holberton Press, 2005) p100 13 Ross Birrell website ‘Introduction to Gustav Metzger’(1996). Artist Project Website http://www.autogena.org/Breathing/Gustav/birrell.html (3/12/11)
14 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) P6
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debate and discussion rather than simply to further their own individual agenda. Then, as with now in 2011, protest and change saturated the political landscape. Stuart Hall describes the context of the May ’68 protests in Soundings Journal: ‘1968’ unleashed an avalanche of protest, dissident and disaffiliation: student occupations, participatory democracy, community politics, second‐wave feminism, ‘turn on, tune in and drop out’, an ambivalent libertarianism; but also the cult of ‘Che’ Guevara, Vietnam, the IRA, industrial unrest, black power, the red brigades…15
Not only does this description sound familiar, it is an almost word‐for‐word account of world political protest over the last year. The wars are in different countries and the rebel organisations have different names but the reactions are the same. On one level, protest has become a spectacle: avant‐garde leftist radicalism has become aesthetic harking back to May ’68 (Fig. 3). Mark Fisher comments on the dislocation between protest and progressive action: Protests have formed a kind of carnivalesque background noise to capitalist realism, and the anti‐capitalist protests share rather too much with hyper‐ corporate events like 2005’s Live 8, with their exorbitant demands that politicians legislate away poverty. 16
The broader point that is being made is that protest has become disempowered through its aestheticisation, or that its aestheticisation is due to its disempowerment. Either way, the rehashing of rainbow flags and peace signs has no positive impact on a present‐day political situation, and the regurgitation of the visual language of protest from the past actually hampers the chance for progress. The ‘Occupy’ protesters’ version of protest is similar to the difference between a genuine Andy Warhol screen‐print and a cheap reproduction; they may look similar but the social and political context they were created within, and in reaction to, endorses them and determines their worth. The appropriation of romanticised, idealistic language has not been confined to leftist ‘wanna‐be’ radicals. Even David Cameron is not ashamed to borrow phrases such as ‘power to the people’ in order to undermine the structures of
15 Stuart Hall, The Neoliberal Revolution (The Neoliberal Revolution: Soundings Journal 2011) p17 16 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) P14
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local democracy17 within his plan for the ‘Big Society’ which appears to be little more than a ‘Big’ cover for spending cuts.
3. Occupy London Protest, Taken outside St Paul’s Cathedral on (2/11/11) Note banner titles: ‘Compost Capitalism’ and ‘Grow Our Own Future’
Regardless of the rhetoric that surrounds any sort of political conflict, the fact that power has moved from the hands of governments to the largest corporations and most wealthy individuals is the regrettable truth that must be acknowledged. The feelings of ambivalence that this realisation incites are extremely dangerous. While auto destruction defies the power of commodity and emancipates (at least temporarily) the destructor from the tyranny of ownership, it cannot hold back the tide of neoliberalism that has been washing over the world population – its youth in particular – for so long it is hard to see how and when it began. Lewis Hyde offers some respite from this oppressive situation by suggesting that ‘one of the well springs of the creative spirit lies with the stupid…crazy…uneducated and idle’.18 Hopefully we have the collective wisdom to ensure that these qualities are not lost completely in the recalibration of the UK economy and that the approach of artists such as Francis Alys and 17 Stuart Hall, The Neoliberal Revolution (The Neoliberal Revolution: Soundings Journal 2011) p26 18 Lewis Hyde, The Gift (Edinburgh: Canongate Books 2007) p228
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Gustav Metzger will continue to be valued and continue to inspire new artists to revisit these ideas in relevant and stimulating ways.
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Chapter Two: Artworks that bridge the gap between oblique and direct political engagement.
4. Joseph Beuys, ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflü’
(1966)
5. Ian Hamilton Finlay, ‘To Cease To Believe in Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ (1983)
6. Ai Weiwei, ‘Sunflower Seeds’ (2010)
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Between the extremities of ‘oblique’ and ‘direct’ political art, there is a magnitude of work that exists along the sliding scale connecting these opposing positions. I have chosen three works by Joseph Beuys, Ian Hamilton Finlay and Ai Weiwei to use as examples of this continuum and to discuss the implications that each work has in relation to the political context it was made within and in reaction to. Joseph Beuys (b. 1921, d. 1986) had very particular views about the world, the environment and the ways in which individuals should activate their position by being involved in the decisions that affect them and the people around them. He delivered his political views via lectures, actions, and pedagogy and through his silently powerful sculptural works. As with Metzger, the works can be enjoyed formally and they allude to their makers’ purpose through his use of materials and imagery but, with little or no knowledge of their intent, the viewer can piece together the possibilities and implications that the object might offer. This sculptural work, ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflügel’ (Infiltration Homogen for Grand Piano), 1966, (Fig. 4) is a full size grand piano, which has been covered in felt, one of Beuys’ signature materials. Along with animal fat, Beuys use of felt was consistent through his career and related directly to the infamous story that Tartars rescued him when his plane crash‐landed. They apparently wrapped him in felt and fat to keep him warm and return him to health. The story is very likely to have been fabricated by Beuys’ to add to the myth of his artistic persona. It also explains quite plainly the reasons for his use of felt and fat‐ they are restoring, revitalizing materials that originally ‘healed’ Beuys’ wounds. These materials are then translated into actions and sculptures while maintaining their ‘healing’ qualities. In ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflügel’, the symbolic meaning of fat and felt as healing materials is extended to the wounds of society. For me, the piano, which remains silent and unplayable, represents the grand narrative of poetics. The piano’s felt covering metaphorically rejuvenates the idea of poetry and beauty in the same way as the felt literally kept Beuys alive after his crash‐landing. Although Beuys’ lectured his audience in other works, this sculpture does not preach, rather, it offers the
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viewer the space to consider what the work means to them and the time to consider the idea of peaceful renewal. The idea of social sculpture which Beuys created and advocated paved the way for artists to free themselves from the objects that they were tied to in order to develop new ways of thinking and working. Many artists had already begun to think along the same lines as Beuys but he pushed these ideas as far as he could, talking about them in lectures and interviews, as well as through his artwork. He embodied Gilles Deluze’s proposal that ‘art is not a notion but a motion. It’s not important what art is but what it does.’19 Beuys has maintained his stature as an artist who instigated real political changes in the way that art is produced and understood, and has consequently influenced generations of artists after him. Hans Ulrich Obrist recently used Ai Weiwei’s blog as an example of social sculpture, and as his work ‘Fairytale’ (2007)20 (when he flew 1001 Chinese people to ‘Documenta’ in Kassel, Germany) is an equally valid social sculpture example, which is particularly pertinent having happened in Beuys’ home country. Ai Weiwei’s understanding of being an artist is also clearly akin to Beuys’ beliefs that being an artist is more about a lifestyle and attitude than producing a product.21 One aspect of Beuys’ life that is not hidden but which is not regularly considered in relation to his work is his upbringing in Nazi Germany. In the late 1930s Beuys defied his family and joined Hitler Youth, a decision he later put down to an adolescent rowdiness although, tellingly, he did leave this period of his life out of his biography.22 Being on the side of the Nazis and flying for the Luftwaffe, regardless of his political beliefs during this period, must have had a vast impact on the life Beuys would go on to live. The egalitarian beliefs that Beuys advocates through his sculptures, lectures and actions could be interpreted in two ways: firstly, that Beuys’ experiences under the Nazis gave him the humility to be able 19 Lab of Insurrectionary Imagination, A User’s Guide to The Impossible (London: Minor Compositions 2010) p3 20 Ai Weiwei and Hans Ulrich Obrist, Ai Weiwei Speaks (England: Penguin 2011) P98 21 Ai Weiwei and Hans Ulrich Obrist, Ai Weiwei Speaks (England: Penguin 2011) P87 22 Heiner Stachelhaus, Joseph Beuys, (New York: Abbeville Press Publishers 1987) p13
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to make the work that he did, or secondly that by siding with the Nazis he saw, but could not fully absorb, the enormity of the situation from the perspective of the Holocaust victims. The Jewish critic Theodore Adorno states that there can be no poetry after Auschwitz23 but Beuys, through interpretation of his actions, seems to disagree. In order to advocate his views, Beuys was either colossally humble or enormously self‐righteous. There is potential hypocrisy between his actions and opinions, but for me Beuys’ work somehow rises above its contradictions and has a value that cannot be overlooked. Similarly to Beuys, Ian Hamilton Finlay (b. 1925, d. 2006) had very distinct political views and fought in the Second World War, albeit on the opposite side from Beuys. Finlay’s powerful and explicit political beliefs were obvious in some works and subtle in others. His lithographic print ‘To Cease to Believe in Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ (1983) (Fig. 5) falls somewhere in the mid‐ground between explicit and implicit political intentions. The statement could easily be interpreted at face value as a general suggestion of how to treat other people; however; if we take the context of the work into account, in particular that it was made in the UK in 1983, a larger picture begins to emerge. At the time this work was made, Finlay was living in a Britain under the rule of its first neoliberal government. The Keynesian policies of the 1970s were failing and had been replaced with ‘free market’ capitalism by the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, and her cabinet. Being the humble, placid man that he was, I believe in this lithograph, Findlay is responding directly to Thatcher and her infamous statement that, ‘[there is] no such thing as society, only individual men and women’.24 Finlay’s work calmly, proudly and succinctly opposes Thatcher’s proclamation that there is no alternative to her political and economic doctrine. He is telling us his political opinion but does so without forcing it on the viewer. The work is 23 Theodor W. Adorno, Prisms, Samuel and Sherry Weber (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1981) p34 24 David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (New York: Oxford Press 2005) p23
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specific whilst being subtle enough to allow the viewer space to consider their personal standing in relation to Finlay’s ideas. Unfortunately, not everyone who opposed Thatcher had the opportunity to speak their truth without becoming embroiled in a polarised stand off. The Miners’ strike of 1984‐1985 exposed the class antagonisms that the new political direction dictated. The defeat of the Miners’ was a key moment in the development of neoliberalism in the UK, both for its practical effects and also for what it symbolised. 25 The distrust and antagonism that took hold as a result of the changes to the political economy of the UK in the 1980s was cultivated in the friction between the acceptance that the changes were necessary for improved living conditions, and the scepticism that they would degenerate society into a disbanded, self‐ serving labour apparatus at the mercy of the rich. David Harvey concurs: We can, therefore, interpret neoliberalisation either as a utopian project to realise a theoretical design for the reorganisation of international capitalism or as a political project to re‐establish the conditions for capital accumulation and to restore the power of economic elites.26
This distrust and disempowerment is a problem that has recurred under the current coalition between the Conservative and Liberal Democrat parties. The confusion that surrounds the budget deficit, spending cuts and European policy makes it extremely difficult for even a knowledgeable economist to propose a route forward. Doreen Massey would suggest that far from this being an accidental side‐affect of an unavoidable situation, ‘the obscuring of the ideological issues momentarily laid bare by the financial crisis didn’t just happen – it was a political result.’ 27 She goes on to ask, ‘How did a crisis of banking turn into a crisis of spending?’28 This is a question that I will not attempt to comment on, never mind try to 25 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) P7 26 David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (New York: Oxford Press 2005) p19
27 Doreen Massey, Ideology and Economics in the Present Moment (The Neoliberal Revolution: Soundings Journal 2011) P31 28 Doreen Massey, Ideology and Economics in the Present Moment (The Neoliberal Revolution: Soundings Journal 2011) p30
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answer. Even if I could suggest an explanation, there would always be an angle on which to pivot in another direction completely, to gyrate between politics, economics, philosophy and morality. I will however, return to Finlay’s original point that ‘To Cease to Believe in Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ and suggest that, in the context of today, it should be seen as a wise warning to be kept in the forefront of our minds. In the last few years, the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei (b. 1957) has quickly become one of the most noteworthy political artists in the world. The son of Ai Qing, a celebrated Chinese poet, Weiwei moved to New York in 1981 to pursue his studies as an artist but when his father became ill he decided to return to China. After his father’s death, Weiwei chose to stay in China to extend his father’s critical voice against the communist government. In 2011, Ai Weiwei was voted number one on ArtReview’s ‘Power 100’ list of the most powerful people in the art world. Apart from Damien Hirst, who has topped the ‘Power 100’ twice in the nine years it has been running,29 Ai Weiwei is the only other artist who has attained the authoritative position of number one. This is most likely due to his detention in China, which caused worldwide outrage and condemnation of the ongoing human rights abuses by the Chinese government. The Tate Modern responded to Weiwei’s detention with a large vinyl on the glass section of their roof exclaiming ‘Release Ai Weiwei’ and by posting a photograph of the statement on their Twitter page.30 The strength of the Tate’s sentiments were no doubt connected to Ai Weiwei’s exhibition in the gallery’s Turbine Hall which ended in May 2011, while he was being held for alleged economic crimes by the Chinese government.31 The ‘Sunflower Seeds’ artwork by Ai Weiwei (fig. 6) that was shown in the Turbine Hall works on a variety of political and formal levels and combines material, experiential and contextual aspects to become one of the most politically charged artworks of recent years. The work comprised of a vast number of porcelain seeds which were individually handmade and painted 29 ArtReview Magazine Website, ‘Looking Back: Ten Years of Tears’ URL: www.artreview100.com/features/looking‐ back‐10‐years‐of‐power/ (2/12/2011) 30 Creative Review Magazine Blog, URL: www.creativereview.co.uk/cr‐blog/2011/april/tate‐ai‐weiwei‐sign (3/12/2011) 31 Free Ai Weiwei Website URL: www.freeaiweiwei.org/ (2/12/2011)
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in the Chinese town of Jingdezhen, a town which was once famed for producing porcelain for the imperial court: the town was saved from bankruptcy by income produced from making Weiwei’s seeds.32 The various ways in which the work interacts both with its material and context are what interest me most. Specifically, the explicit and implict political aspects of the artworks’ reach. Weiwei evokes the idea of Chinese tradition with his use of porcelain as material, and in the same breath provokes connotations of the contemporary Chinese factory worker by having such a vast number of the seeds on display. As each of the seeds was handmade and painted by an individual worker in Jingdezhen, the viewer has an immediate connection to the idea of the Chinese factory worker. Arguably, no more or less than a shopping trip to Primark, Topshop or most other high street shops in the UK, however, Weiwei directly confronts us with this reality and does not allow us to shy away from the uncomfortable idea that Western cultures are complicit in the thriving sweatshop trade. For me, Weiwei is not trying to accuse his Western viewers, rather he is highlighting the complex and unfair organization of global capitalism. The disjointed relationships often found in this type of situation are commented on aptly by Mark Fisher, ‘[Anger] is aggression in a vacuum, directed at someone who is a fellow victim of the system but with whom there is no possibility of communality.’33 Weiwei succinctly raises this frustration at the inherent failures of capitalism as an ideology through his Turbine Hall installation. Weiwei’s work highlights the freedoms of a neoliberal economy and the contradictions this holds. The artist was free to employ a whole village to make the sunflower seeds for his exhibition and was free to export his product to London, the financial capital of the world; however while his economic freedoms went unchallenged his freedom of expression was not. On the 3rd of April 2011, Ai Weiwei was detained by the Chinese authorities and held for eighty days, during which time his family and supporters were not informed of his location, 32 Adrian Searle, ‘Tate Modern's sunflower seeds: the world in the palm of your hand’ Guardian Newspaper Website, URL:www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/oct/11/tate‐modern‐sunflower‐seeds‐review (4/12/2011) 33 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) P64
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safety or even the reason for his detainment. Karl Polanyi highlighted the friction between different kinds of freedom in 1944: [There are] two kinds of freedom, one good and the other bad…the freedom to exploit ones fellows, or the freedom to make inordinate gains without commensurable service to the community, the freedom to keep technological inventions from being used for public benefit, or the freedom to profit from public calamities secretly engineered for private advantage.34
The juxtaposition of the freedom to produce and the freedom to speak, in Ai Weiwei’s work is the crucial relationship that moves his work from being referential toward material or context, to being supercharged political material. Using his platform to antagonise the Chinese government over their brutality, corruption and contradictory values, Weiwei moves to a level that few artists have managed to achieve; his work (including his approach to his work which is an inherent part of it) taunts the government until they are forced to act, but in doing so they expose the vulnerabilities of their own contradictory policies and actions. The most significant part of this game of political manoeuvring however, is the fact that it forces significant conversations and creates real change for the benefit of the Chinese people. It is difficult to view Ai Weiwei’s work without the very particular context within which it is made, however, on looking at the work in a purely objective way it quickly becomes evident that its political nature lies in its context. These circumstances are similar to that of Alys and Beuys, but Weiwei’s platform is arguably greater due to the success of his early career across art and architecture, the weight of his father’s legacy and the international community’s interest in Chinese affairs. Weiwei himself recognises that by standing up for what he believes in, his work becomes political almost automatically. He says: My blog is not that much different from anyone else’s. Only I am rather continuously paying attention to certain issues that attract my personal concern, these issues are mostly about artists’ rights of expression, and the ways personal rights are expressed. In a society like China’s, any issue concerning the rights and ways of expression unavoidably becomes political. So I naturally became a
34 Karl Polanyi quoted in David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (New York: Oxford Press 2005) p36
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political figure. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, because we were born in such a time and we need to face our own problems honestly. 35
Weiwei’s statement reinforces the idea that his work is not necessarily political, but the political context that it is built within leads to its strength. His beliefs about freedom of expression and human rights solidly come through without the need to directly affirm them through the work’s formal language. For me, Weiwei’s art strikes the balance between approaching politics with direct or implicit tactics, and this bestows on him an authority and capacity far outreaching what we have come to expect from politically engaged artists. 35 Ai Weiwei and Hans Ulrich Obrist, Ai Weiwei Speaks (England: Penguin 2011) P26
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Chapter Three: Directly political artworks.
7. Hans Haacke, ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ 1991
8. The Guerrilla Girls, ‘Untitled’ from ‘Guerrilla Girls Talk Back: The First Five Years,” 1985–1990
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Having looked at artworks that address political ideas in both an oblique way and in a subtly suggestive or implied way, I will use this final chapter to discuss two artworks that directly confront political ideas. The first is ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ (Raise The Flag!) (1991) (fig. 7) by Hans Haacke (b. 1936). Haacke is a German artist who lives and works in New York. He works in a wide variety of mediums that often relate to politics. The second work is ‘Untitled’ (from the series ‘Guerrilla Girls Talk Back: The First Five Years,’ 1985–1990) (1986), by the Guerrilla Girls (collective formed in 1985). The Guerilla Girls are a female artist collective who disguise their identity by wearing gorilla masks in a humorous manner. They produce various objects and prints to expose sexism and racism in the art world, film and culture at large.36 Although the two artworks for discussion address very different agendas, they both do so in a head‐on, matter of fact way. This confrontational approach is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the approach of Alys or Meztger’s works, creating a very different reaction and interpretation by the viewer. In ‘Die Fahne hoch!’, Haacke uses Nazi‐style imagery to highlight companies who profited from doing business with Saddam Hussein. The work was installed at the Königsplatz, where Hitler rallied Nazi troops and made provocative speeches. The point of the work is clearly and simply to highlight companies whose business dealings are corrupt, and compare them with totalitarian regimes. To take this a little further, it could be argued that Haacke is using the examples of specific companies to attack the more general idea that the limited capitalist viewpoint is constraining for citizens of western countries. While this work is obviously very powerful, its strength is in its context, which relates directly to particular events and histories. The motivations for making a public work that has such a focused endpoint may become clearer in light of Haacke’s own feelings on art, discussed upon hearing of the murder of Martin Luther King:
36 Guerilla Girls, Artist Website, URL:www.guerrillagirls.com/interview/faq.shtml (3/12/2011)
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What we are doing, the production and the talk about sculpture, has no relation to the urgent problems of our society. Whoever believes that art can make life more humane is utterly naïve… art is utterly unsuited as a political tool.37
Although I assume this statement was made in haste and shock at Dr. King’s death, it illustrates Haacke’s egalitarian convictions and his clear frustration at the inability of art to effect society, while reflecting his hopes for a better civilisation. Although his statement denounces art’s abilities to instigate real change, Haacke continued to make artwork with political motivations so it seems fair to assume that the artist did have a real belief in art’s ability to effect change and that he needed to do something that made a difference to the world. On one level, this could be interpreted as an act of self‐sacrifice similar to Metzger’s auto‐destruction. Metzger represents the idea of sacrifice through the destruction of objects, while Haacke embodies the sacrifice by using his creative energies not for himself, but for what he perceives to be the greater good. The relatively unquestioned business powers that Haacke attacks in ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ are in the same category as the pseudo‐omnipotent powers that Wikileaks condemned and exposed. They say in their manifesto: Authoritarian regimes give rise to forces which oppose them by pushing against the individual and collective will to freedom, truth and self realisation. Plans which assist authoritarian rule, once discovered, induce resistance. Hence these plans are concealed by successful authoritarian powers.38
Haacke is coming from the same stance of exposing the facts, although there is always inevitably a level of judgement implied deliberately or inadvertently. Haacke makes no bones about his opinion; companies who did business deals with Saddam Hussein are criminal and must be exposed. It is difficult to disagree with an intelligent, informed and fair opinion, but it is equally difficult to recognise and respect an artwork with an opinion so strong that it offers little or no opportunity for dialogue or for an alternative.
37 Bradley, Will and Esche, Charles, Art and Social Change‐ A Critical Reader (London: Tate, Afterall 2007) P174 38 Julian Assange, ‘Wikileaks Manifesto’ 2010, Online Manifesto, http://www.thecommentfactory.com/exclusive‐the‐ wikileaks‐manifesto‐by‐julian‐assange‐3342/ (23/10/2011)
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For me, the works strength is also its downfall. Giving such specific meaning to the work closes down opportunity for interpretation and restricts the work to a one‐dimensional existence. A recent review of a Thomas Hirschhorn work by J.J. Charlesworth in ArtReview makes similar criticisms remarking: I have no idea whether I know what Hirschhorn’s sculpture is supposed to mean, or what it should do, other than evoke a certain atmospheric sensation that, hey, everything is really terrible right now.39
Charlesworth continues: This isn’t to argue that art should be full of positive messages… that would be as artificial as art that endlessly repeats that everything is going to turn to shit.40
I cannot help but feel that ‘Die Fahne hoch!’ falls into the category of work that directly criticises, but that does not offer any practical or conceptual alternatives. The idea that ‘raising awareness’ is a meaningful, legitimate motive for making artwork is, in my opinion, not an acceptable justification and actually de‐values the idea of art. As Stefan Germer suggested, ‘Duchamp used the concept of the autonomy of art, Haacke attacked it’,41 but this attack may have done more harm than good. The discrete hampering of discussion is a powerful but dangerous exploit that potentially translates artwork into propaganda. Similarly, in protest when there is a lack of progressive dialogue, new possibilities become impossible missions: It has often been suggested that the relative defeat of the ’68 uprisings in Europe and the US, and the largely successful taming of the anti‐colonial revolutions elsewhere led to a loss of faith in the possibility of dramatic social transformation. 42
Not only are spirits trampled by previous failures, the visual experience of protest too, becomes one of perpetual disappointment and cynicism. The idea that change is unachievable seems to have burrowed into the aura of the West and settled like a dormant illness. When, however, the spark of protest reignites for whatever reason, it is nearly always stifled by its own self‐anticipation. For 39 J.J. Charlesworth, ‘A Critic Wonders’ from Art Review; November 2011 p66 40 J.J. Charlesworth, ‘A Critic Wonders’ from Art Review; November 2011 p66 41 Stefan Germer, ‘Beuys, Haacke, Broodthaers’ Joseph Beuys The Reader (London: I.B Taurus 2007) p52 42 Bradley, Will and Esche, Charles, Art and Social Change‐ A Critical Reader (London: Tate, Afterall 2007) P20
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example, on a visit to the ‘Occupy London’ protest outside St Paul’s Cathedral on November 2nd 2011, I was struck immediately by the way the aesthetic of the camp seemed to hark back to the 1960s. Peace signs, rainbow flags and painted cardboard signs seemed to hark back to simpler times but also seemed to forget that by imitating the protests of May ’68 they were setting off immediately on the wrong foot and almost admitting defeat before they had even begun. Mark Fisher sums up the underlying concern of this situation; ‘How long can a culture persist without the new? What happens if the young are no longer capable of producing surprises?’ 43 While Haacke’s work verges toward didactic, the Guerrilla Girls nimbly appropriate the language of advertising and use it against itself to promote their cause. Their work, ‘Untitled’ from the series ‘Guerrilla Girls Talk Back: The First Five Years,’ 1985–1990, (fig. 8) was originally designed for the Public Art Fund in New York but it was rejected so the group organized advertising space on New York buses and ran the poster under their own steam.44 The message is very simple and is literally spelled out for the audience; Less than 5% of the artists in the Modern Art section [of the Met. Museum] are woman, but 85% of the nudes are female. This shocking and confronting piece of information is articulated succinctly and supported by the brightly coloured image, which imitates promotional visual language. Visually, the Guerrilla Girls’ poster seems like it could easily be categorized as propaganda in a comparison with Haacke’s. The crucial difference however, is that Haacke’s lecturing style is subtle and unintentional where the Guerrilla Girls’ acerbic wit is skilful and deliberate. Although adeptly executed, the Guerrilla Girls tread a dangerous path by aligning themselves with the idea of advertising and the media. This work was originally made in 1995, long before the phone‐hacking scandal engulfing Rupert Murdoch’s media empire was uncovered, however, even then, distrust of the media was a concern and an ongoing battle for trust. The hacking scandal was not restricted to the media; it affected politicians as governmental policy was questioned and scrutinised, and various business interests were investigated 43 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism‐ Is There No Alternative? (Wiltshire: Zero Books 2009) P3 44 Guerrilla Girls artist website; http://www.guerrillagirls.com/posters/getnaked.shtml
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and criticised. I strongly doubt that the Guerrilla Girls could be connected to any unscrupulous dealings but, for me, their chosen advertising and media style aligns their message with the tainted world of media corruption. Despite my reservations over the Guerrilla Girls’ chosen style, to criticise an approach that works seems obtuse. The success the collective clearly achieve by spreading their message through irony and appropriation, however, is counterbalanced by what they lose in terms of lyricism, beauty and the chance to take the high ground above the bigotry they are criticising. At the same time, it seems better for the artists to forfeit one aspect of an argument in order to be heard, rather than being silenced by a potential unwillingness to sacrifice. When asked for his manifesto for the twenty‐first century, Ai Weiwei replied: The question is a bit grand. To be frank, I can’t say too much on this issue, since I feel that it is difficult for us to get something like the most basic needs and most fundamental dignity. 45
There is a parallel between his position and that of the Guerilla Girls. To begin to talk about poetics and beauty when lack of dignity or equality continues to overshadow creativity seems insular and contrived. If, however, we forget to nurture lyricism and impracticality at the same time as teaching pragmatism and egalitarianism, the artistic community risks neglecting what I consider to be one of its central tenets. 45 Ai Weiwei and Hans Ulrich Obrist, Ai Weiwei Speaks (England: Penguin 2011) P36
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Conclusion Between the aforementioned extremities of oblique and direct political art practice, there are a magnitude of artworks that employ and combine aspects of direct and indirect political ideas. To achieve a more straightforward explanation, I separated the two extremes (Alys and Metzger’s works at one end and Haacke and the Guerilla Girls’ at the other) from those artworks that are positioned between these extremes (by Beuys, Finlay and Ai Weiwei). It is important to note, however, that their categorisation was purely for ease of comment, and that the slippage between the political definition, each of these works is intrinsically fluid and subjective. From the artworks I have investigated, the main differences I draw begin in the beliefs and attitudes of the artists who produced them. For example, Alys and Metzger have, what I consider, an old world sensibility in relation to their practice. They are both profoundly aware of the futility of their actions yet continue their efforts regardless, as this approach is fundamental to the rationale behind their practice. Like captains of sinking ships they know that ultimately their efforts are in vain, except to continue to exist in the future as ideas or stories. I have immense respect for this romantic approach and see great value in the hope it instils. However, there is also a danger that these artists neglect their responsibility to engage with the struggle against the very real threat of disparity and corruption that impedes the potential of innumerable persons. Similarly to Alys and Metzger, Ian Hamilton Finlay and Joseph Beuys retain romanticism in their work while including a more evident degree of social and political criticism. In his work ‘To Cease To Believe in Others is an Impermissible Luxury’ (1983), Finlay states his opinion on how people should treat each other and it most likely refers to the governmental policy of the early 1980s. The extent of Finlay’s political engagement, however, is stifled as he is stating a point, rather than instigating a discussion, which closes down the viewers’ prospects of engaging with his work. Joseph Beuys on the other hand, separates his politics from the powerful romanticism of his work. Like Alys or Metzger, Beuys remains relatively oblique in his sculpture ‘Infiltration homogen für Konzertflü’, however,
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his lectures and pedagogy stridently contextualise the wide and political scope of his practice. The artworks that lie in the mid‐ground of the spectrum I analysed demonstrated the most fiery and divisive outcomes. Ai Weiwei’s ‘Sunflower Seeds’, for example, grabbed global media headlines over its criticism of the Chinese government and Weiwei’s subsequent detainment. The weight of this worldwide attention, coupled with the formal and conceptual success of ‘Sunflower Seeds’, make Weiwei the most adept, out of the artists I analysed, at balancing his responsibilities both as an artist and citizen. The capacity to balance these duties exponentially increases Weiwei’s authority as an artist and political figure, making his place at the top of the ArtReview ‘Power 100’ absolutely appropriate and deserved. At the other end of the spectrum, Haacke and the Guerilla Girls’ works lend themselves to an explicitly stated end; their success or failure can be measured wholly in terms of the response or reception they receive. The quantifiable outcomes of these works have a great appeal, especially in their succinct ability to explain themselves but this didactic route closes down the opportunity for the audience to engage with the work beyond the limits set by the artists. In a similarly single‐minded attitude to Alys and Metzger, Haacke and the Guerilla Girls risk alienating their audience, who are crucial to the activation of their work through the development of a discussion. Without subtly executing artwork, astutely aware of the complex audience/artist relationship, these artists risk their works becoming monologue. Contemporary artists must have a strong awareness of history and politics and of how artists before them have approached their practice, in order to learn from earlier successes and failures. Similarly, every individual has a responsibility to be aware of the politics of their time and place in order to support the progression of their society. As our collective legacy, we are duty‐bound to protect the culture we inherit and enrich it through progressive and critical discourse. Finding the aforementioned balance between the directly political and indirectly political artwork of the past, whilst keeping one eye on the collective aspirations for the future is imperative for artists to continue to fulfil one of their many functions; to shine a light on the world. From
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cavemen in the ice age to Ai Weiwei in 2011, art and artists have created a discourse about how politics embed themselves in our lives. For future works to be valued as a product of the society from which they were borne, artists must continue to enrich the tradition of established political art practice by finding a comfortable balance between direct and indirect political intentions.
 
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