contemporary monkey

As an artist - as a hungry, wanting, miserable-existing, low-rent-living, desperately seeking appreciation artist - wouldn’t you want to have maximum exposure so that any one of us buyers and lovers of art might catch on that you, well, exist?  More philosophically, if you have a showing of your work, and it lasts only one day, do you, or the art itself, really exist?

In the November issue of Art Forum (the leading industry publication, but really the advertising brochure for the art gallery world), we find ourselves an artist committed to producing multiple pieces, only to show them for one, single, here today, gone tomorrow, 24 hour period.  This mysterious exhibit, called Dia de Frutas y Nubes Negras (Day of Fruits and Black Clouds) showed (past tense) a series of empty wooden crates devised by Gabriel Sierra, hanging about the whole of the otherwise empty art space.  His inspiration for the empty crates are taken from a broader idea, the success of which is not worth debating, mostly because nobody saw them.  It is, however, worth pointing out, and reflecting upon, and possibly even to remedy the situation for, the myriad and colourful ways contemporary artists seem to find for lodging bullet firmly in foot.

Gabriel Sierra: Artist for a Day

What’s more, for our intrepid artist above, the one day opening wasn’t enough of a operational hurdle.  The show was held in an area between the centre of Bogata, Columbia and a nearby slum.  For all of us clairvoyant enough to be there on this day of magic, the signage on the outside of the artist-run studio was nearly non-existent (hmmm,  “artist run” you say, perhaps a hint for what went wrong).  Above the art space doorway was one of the artist’s pieces signaling to all passers-by for what lay inside; like a flag for the secret tribe of the world’s least ambitious carpenters.  This was art determined to be ignored.

But let us not cast stones in the house of glass.  Perhaps our artist friend could do with aid from my favourite subject,  “Mathematics for Artists”.  For this second chapter, I thought to help the poor lad out with a bit of logical instruction, in the hopes that other artists might learn from a brethren’s mistake.

KEY TO GRAPH

P = Population. Think of this number as people, animals, even plants that might want to see your show.  You want this number to be a large one.

T = Time. This is a number working against you.  Against all of us actually. This number will always increase, and rarely, if ever,  go backwards (even in the artist world).

The horizontal line has two important points: “o” for open, and “c” for close.  The distance between the two is the duration of your show.  If measured in days, you want this to be a big number; certainly bigger than one, as exemplified by our dauntless friend above.

The vertical axis has two points as well.  The lower one, “n” = nobody. This “n” happens to everyone, even a Jeff Koons or a Damien Hirst.  There has to be a nobody before the show opens; otherwise, it wouldn’t need opening.  The second point, “m” correlates with your new goal, and represents the multitude, or mob, if you like.  As time moves forward, your goal is to get more people to see your work.  That’s why you do, what you do.  This unpleasant, but indispensable “strategy” will greatly benefit your future, and help us out as well.

The third point on the horizontal axis, “r” represents the point in time that critical reviews are published in art magazines.  Reviews have nothing to do with adding more people to your visitor list.  In fact, nearly all reviews surface in the public pool of influence after shows have been closed.  Nobody knows why this is, but keep in mind that it doesn’t matter.  Critical reviews are to the artist, what a spatula is to an athlete: completely useless.

Commit this graphical image to memory and your success is nearly guaranteed.  All you have to do is produce original, thought-provoking art (a mathematical lesson for a later time).

Imagine you’re floating in a narrow hole in the ground, a mile deep in the earth’s crust.  It’s useless to scream because nobody would hear you.  And there you are, for the rest of your very quiet and still life, getting to know your new neighbor, mother earth.  It wouldn’t be a comfortable way to complete your up to now agitated and anxiety filled life, but if you were promised a hoist back up to civilization after an hour or so, it might be worth the day-long effort it would take to get you down and back up.  Your day would be filled with the earth belching, squealing, screaming, farting, rumbling, whatever earths do when they’re not being paid attention to.  If you’re an environmentalist, it’s your version of swimming with dolphins.  If you’re a monk, it would make your wooden, mountain-top shanty seem like Las Vegas in comparison.  In fact, if you’re a monk, you’d buy a one way ticket.

Doug Aitlen

Los Angeles artist, Doug Aitken has made such a hole.  While you can’t go down it, he makes the trip more convenient by bringing the sonic chat show up to the surface.  Aitken has just completed a five-year project that demands you to make a visit to a sculpture park in the middle of Brazil.  In the same vein as James Turrell, Aitken’s project requires remoteness, a sense of place, and a nice spot to move some dirt.  He’s in luck because a collector by the name of Bernardo Paz has provided him space to do it in Brazil’s Instituto Inhotim.  We mere dreamers, however, are out of luck because the space is a six hour drive from Rio de Janeiro.  Aitken’s Sonic Pavilion is billed as a quiet space on a hill, lined with frosted glass on all sides, presumably to take you out of one world, and into another.  Inside the room is the hole, with a microphone - a really good and brave microphone - dropped one mile down into a concrete-reinforced earth barrel.  The sounds are retrieved, amplified and filtered through room speakers, where, we’re told, the noise never repeats itself.  We’re going on the theory that Aitken isn’t taking us for a ride, and the microphone really is down there.  And it’s really making the sound coming out of the speakers.

The project is such a great idea that it’s unthinkable no one has thought to use the internet as a delivery network.  Earth racket to everyone, anytime, anywhere.  Science museums, to mention the obvious patron, would love this, but it’s equally interesting as art.  Keep the hubbub going 24 hours a day by sealing it inside a quiet room in a gallery or museum.  I’m sure there isn’t money to be had by Aitken’s gallerists to do this, but the outrageous publicity wouldn’t hurt sales for any of Aitken’s other projects either.

Spock, the better days

I’d even settle for a peaceful room in a gallery with limited visitation rights.  The gallery could sort out a queue system where visitors spend 15 minutes in a darkened, sound-baffled room, and we could all imagine ourselves trapped in the great void of nothingness.  Like Spock when his body was shot off into space.  Except Spock was dead, sort of.  You could even send in a hopelessly stubborn child to correct misbehaviour.  Let him scream his complaining little lungs out.  You couldn’t send in Paris Hilton though, because the earth would probably run away.  And then where would we be?  Floating in Spock-like nothingness watching the earth flee the solar system.