A laboratory of sorts.

André Breton in his studio, c. 1939.

The past couple of weeks had me split my time between writing at home and working in an office. The latter is part of a very open, friendly and creative institution, a place that does not confirm clichés often associated with an office - such as routine, boredom, bullying, regulations or gossip.

Still, it makes me appreciate days spent in the house writing much more than before. To describe it, I would borrow photographer and filmmaker Perry Ogden’s words, who characterises his idea of an artist’s studio in the following terms:

What is the studio? Where is the studio? Ideas can come at any time, any place - and at the slightest suggestion. For me the studio is where these ideas take shape. A laboratory of sorts. A space in which to research and experiment. To read, to sleep, to love, to listen. To dream. Music. Chaos. Uncertainty. Silence. A place to be alone - and not alone. I’m still looking.

Shouldn’t the world be more like this studio? Shouldn’t offices be more like this studio? Places to research and experiment? To read, to sleep, to love, to listen? To dream?

Music. Chaos. Uncertainty. Silence.

Places to be alone - but for the most part not alone.

Quote from Jens Hoffmann and Christina Kennedy (eds), The Studio (catalogue to an exhibition at Dublin City Gallery The Hugh Lane).

Every Little Thing

Every Little Thing,
shop on Princess Road, Moss Side, Manchester, England.

I couldn’t tell you if Every Little Thing carries every little thing or even a bit of everything for that matter - the shutter remains closed, no one has ever been witnessed venturing inside. There’s a whiff of mystery about it that is rare in this part of the city and that won’t go away…

In the laboratory of doubt.

Carsten Höller, Key to the Laboratory of Doubt, 2006.

Doubt and its semantic cousin, perplexity, which are both equally important to me, are considered unattractive states of mind we’d rather keep under lock and key because we associate them with uneasiness, with a failure of values. But wouldn’t it be more appropriate to claim the opposite - that certainty in the sense of a brazen, untenable assumption is much more pathetic?

Carsten Höller in a conversation with Hans-Ulrich Obrist, quoted in Say It Isn’t So.

Alien Invaders

Threats to biodiversity and causes for the extinction of ecosystems and species are often summarised with the acronym HIPPO: habitat destruction, invasive species, pollution, overpopulation and overexploitation. Two recent artist’s projects are concerned with the i in HIPPO: Jacob Cartwright’s and Nick Jordan’s Alien Invaders: A Guide to Non-Native Species of the Britisher Isles and 2005 Turner Prize winner Simon Starling’s Henry Moore/Zebra Mussel project commissioned by the Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery in Toronto.

The former, a small artist’s book published by BookWorks, takes the form of an illustrated natural history guide listing invasive species introduced to the British Isles, such as the American Bullfrog, the Chinese Mitten Crab, the Giant Hogweed, the Grey Squirrel, the Pharaoh Ant, the Ring-necked Parakeet, the Ruddy Duck and the Wels Catfish. In the manner of a scientific guidebook, each entry gives information on the category and origins of introduction, problems caused by the introduction and efforts of control or eradication. It is only upon closer examination that one begins to doubt the scientific objectivity and reliability of the entries, which appear to be interspersed with rather obscure references and bizarre cultural anecdotes. The artists intervene by providing us with highly selective and sometimes dubious information. Thus we read under the heading ‘Origins of Introduction of the Grey Squirrel‘:

In ‘Dixieland‘, Gray Squirrels have long been desirable table fare, enriching the poor rural diet (Metzger, 1953). Skinned and simmered in broth until the meat falls off the bone, this traditional dish (called ‘limb chicken‘) was said to be a favourite of the young Elvis, and is typically served with jalapeno fritters and deep-fried grits.

(The reference ‘Metzger, 1953‘ isn’t traceable, since the book lacks both footnotes and bibliography; and do I need to mention that, quite fittingly, ‘Metzger‘ translates into ‘butcher‘…)

Simon Starling’s Toronto project involves sinking a replica of Henry Moore’s bronze statue Warrior with Shield into Lake Ontario, where it will become encrusted with Zebra Mussels, one of the most aggressive invasive species introduced to North America (for a synopsis of how English sculptor Henry Moore is linked with the city of Toronto, see here).

While Cartwright’s and Jordan’s book, sort of a cross-pollination of fact and fiction, of science and art, raises questions of authenticity and the impossibility of scientific objectivity and detachment, the Zebra Mussel project is concerned with issues of transformation and cultural colonialism. Both projects, which by far exceed instances of more ‘conservationist‘ environmental art from the 1960s onwards, are examples of how artists use processes of nature to reflect on broader cultural issues.

Enjoy uncertainty.

“Enjoy uncertainty.”
iPod shuffle banner on John Rylands Library Deansgate, Manchester, during construction work.

I came across this photograph today and couldn’t help overinterpreting: the iPod as a collection of songs mirroring the collection of books that is the library, whereby the randomness of the shuffle mode, its undermining of taxonomy and order, corresponds with the precariousness of a collection that is being re-organised (see the scaffolding).

I also thought, while the iPod shuffle slogan “Enjoy uncertainty” has prompted many ironic comments on the reliability of the device, for me it’s pure genius. It succinctly captures the nature of random song choice: unpredictability and the pleasure afforded by the element of chance and surprise. I’m pretty sure that at some point, in retrospect, the iPod shuffle will be considered the icon of an age characterised by insecurity and the uncertainty of knowing.

More Linnaeus, less doubt.

Carolus Linnaeus (1707-1778) in Lapp costume.

In Uppsala last year, we didn’t make it to the Linnaean Garden, but honouring Linnaeus’s 300th birthday this year, I decided to make the “father of modern taxonomy” (he came up with the two-part Latin name for living organisms, the binomial nomenclature that is still in use today) the “godfather” of my thesis, for the following reason:

With a kind of get-things-done attitude, Linnaeus pushed ahead with Aristotelian logic under his arm, beating back the tendrils of taxonomic confusion.

(quoted from Stephen T. Asma, Stuffed Animals and Pickled Heads: The Culture and Evolution of Natural History Museums)

It’s exactly the attitude you need for academic writing - don’t worry about things you haven’t read or things you’ve read but forgotten or lost in your chaos of notes, books and photocopied articles, or about the quality of your writing - just pretend there’s a system and push ahead.

On Bullshit

Came across Harry G. Frankfurt’s little philosophical treatise On Bullshit today, published in 2005, and decided to read it some time soon, because, alongside the slightly lurid but admittedly intriguing title, the following small quote made me curious:

the production of bullshit is stimulated whenever a person’s obligations or opportunities to speak about some topic exceed his knowledge of the facts that are relevant to that topic.

Being sceptical as I am, I sense convoluted language and the attempt to be controversial and provocative just for the sake of it, but it might be relevant in terms of

• artists concerned with lying, faking, “truth” and hoaxes
• makeshift modes of production - botching, tinkering
• aesthetics of uncertainty
• decline of expert knowledge
• rise of amateur culture
• reconsideration of dilettantism.

See here for a slightly longer extract from Frankfurt’s book.