Everybody tells me, there is no center in Berlin. It is a city that moves from district to district, place to place, neighborhood to neighborhood, and scene to scene. Each is constantly changing, reinventing itself and transforming. And its people, like the city, seem to be equally transitory. Every couple of years they move to a different area. Or perhaps they travel to and from this city, living only part time here and part-time in other towns. One can’t escape this decentered condition; change and renewal is part of the cities very publicized and ever-present history. This is its character.

A little over a month ago when I began planning the project Berlin: Open Your Windows! with Sparwasser HQ (the residency program that produced this project), I asked Katja Meyer[ii], over Skype, to find me people who have lived in Berlin for a long time, and in neighborhoods where not much has changed during the last 10-20 years. Her response was “IN BERLIN???”, followed by an emoticon of a smiley face holding a hand over its mouth stifling a giggle.

It was a silly question…I guess.

This sensation of placeless movement must be a bit disconcerting and dizzying for the politicians, city planners and the citizens who live in this city. Having no center can be a bit disorienting. However in reverse I suppose the sensation could be felt as actually liberating: a city of multiple centers, multiple personalities, and multiple scenes. A city, which is made from many cities, has a lot of potential. In this way, Berlin can be understood as a place with a continually rewritten narrative. Here, one can start over or simply carry on unnoticed.

—-

Berlin: Open Your Windows! began with a question, what is public space to a Berliner during a cold and snowy mid winter? I thought, in winter public spaces are mainly transitory. We don’t linger in public areas, we move through them retreating into the private spaces of our homes and apartments. We wrap ourselves in our domestic interiors, safe intimate spaces that shield us from the darkness, cold, rain and snow outside. And the windows of our apartments become gateways from our interior lives to the exterior. Our windows are both connections and separations from the external world of the public space outside.

So, I considered, what if one was to open a window and transform these private spaces into semi-public spaces. I proposed using an open window from several apartments throughout the city, for a series of personal declarations aimed at defining the character of the neighborhood and the various individuals living there who intern define it; and I aimed to conflate the space of the interior with the exterior, defying the enclosure of winter.

An opera singer became the perfect vehicle for these declarations; for opera singers are performers trained to project their voices to large audiences without the aid of mechanical amplification generating clearly audible declarations, and because opera is not normally heard outside of the concert hall or music school, these operatic declarations would increase each performance’s conspicuousness, prompting greater awareness and attention from curious listeners as to what was happening in their space.

Berlin, a city in a constant state of change, provided ample content for each declaration. I talked to the residents of several apartments throughout the city–where each declaration would subsequently be performed–about their feelings regarding their neighborhood and Berlin: what they liked, what they didn’t, and how their impressions have changed over time. When I went out to bars, cafes, opening or public events, I, asked other people similar questions. Most provided their perspectives without my prodding; the city is a common subject of conversation here. People gave their opinions and stated facts about their neighborhoods and they suggested movies, books, news articles, and songs dealing with the city: all of this content ended up in some part, in each aria. [iii]

When I met with Emily Dirks, the opera singer hired to perform this project, we dicided together to use Susana’s recitativo and aria, from the fourth act of Le Nozze di Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Emily knew the song well and the setting of the aria fit the subject of the project—Susana is standing in a garden outside a palace singing to the count inside and to a jealous Figaro hiding in the bushes—she sings in a public space to an unseen and private listener.

——-

Four performances took place from four apartments throughout the city.

On Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 16:00 hours, an aria was sung from a window in the apartment of Jana Berkhardt and Markus Eek, in Kreuzberg, Berlin.

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On Friday, February 26 2010, 18:30 hours, an aria was sung from a window in the apartment of Jan Gadow and Julia Lieb in Friedrichshain, Berlin.

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On Friday, February 26, 2010 at 24:00 hours an aria was sung from a window in the apartment of Christian Hegemann and Jan Steadman in Mitte, Berlin.

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On Saturday, February 27, 2010 at 15:00 Hours an aria was sung from a window in the apartment of Lise Nellman and Janos Foder in Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin.

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[i] This text is a transcript from a talk I gave on my project Berlin: Open Your Windows! on March 1, 2010 at 20:00. It was presented by Sparwasser HQ at gallery Feinkost.

[ii] Katja Mayer is an intern at Sparwasser HQ who worked very closely with me on this project. Katja assisted with the documentation and organization of each event, she translated the text I wrote from English to German and also served as speech or pronunciation coach to the opera singer Emily Dirks. She was instrumental to the projects successful completion and I owe her a great deal of thanks.

[iii] Some of the references mentioned in the arias were: the songs, “Kreuzberger Nächte” (1978) by Gebrüder Blattschuss, “Castingallee” by Rainald Grebe, and the film “Herr Lehmann” (2003) by Leander Haussmann.

What Sticks to the Real, front page

A new issue of News of Common Possibility has just been published featuring contributions, imitations, intimations, affectations, affirmations and reproductions by the following individuals: Dodie Bellamy (SF), James Bidgood (NYC), Jorge Luis Borges (Argentina), Anna Craycroft (NYC), Friedrich Froebel (Germany), Jerzy Kosinski (NYC), Kevin Killian (SF), Erle Stanley Gardner (California) , Goldin+Senneby (Stockholm), Pierre Guyotat (Paris), Kim Einarsson (Berlin, Stockholm), Forrest Lewinger (SF), Jill Magid (NYC), Maria Montessori (Italy), Jason Morris (SF), Jean Piaget (Switzerland), Larry Rinder (SF), Bruce Springsteen (NJ), Jack Spicer (SF), and Gareth Spor (SF). This issue was produced in collaboration with the perceptive and sage-like artist Colter Jacobsen (SF).

“What Sticks to the Real” began when Colter introduced me to the book After Lorca, by the San Francisco poet Jack Spicer. A kind of address to the Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca, this book contains a selection of so-called ‘translated’ Garcia Lorca poems, odes to Lorca and a series of letters from Spicer to Lorca. But in actuality, all of its content is fabricated by Spicer; there are no full translations and Spicer’s letters were never sent because the book was published in 1957, 20 years after Federico Garcia Lorca had died.

What was interesting to both Colter and I was not any sort of deception on Spicer’s part, but rather his liberty—after all the title After Lorca clearly indicates that it is more about admiration then accurate translation. By using Lorca as a stimulant Spicer was able to play another role, permitting him the freedom to step outside his habits and comforts. It was a method, which also enabled Spicer to converse with someone he greatly admired but was never be able to talk to, i.e. Lorca. Using this book as our muse we invited several artists, writers, poets, and curators to play with the notion of an imitation, translation, embodiment, a possession or any other approach that allowed them to perform, to pretend, or to simply be someone else.

This issue is part of an ongoing series of thematic newspapers titled News of Common Possibility. I initiated the project as a way to explore the potentials for aesthetic experimentation and research, structured by an informal form of public address, a printed newspaper; and to serve as a platform to work with individuals and subjects from diverse arenas.

Though the publication is assembled on a computer, and advertised through digital media, the paper is only made available as a printed document. It is therefore distributed from hand-to-hand, through the post, or made available for free in several galleries, as these tend to be more interpersonal forms of exchange. If you would like a copy you can receive one through a number of methods. In San Francisco you can pick one up at Southern Exposure Gallery, 3030 20th St, San Francisco, CA 94110, USA, (415) 863-2141, www.soex.org. Or if you see/know any of the artists or writers involved they can give you copy. In a couple of weeks several copies will be available at Printed Matter in New York and again you will be able to receive copies from the artists there. If you happen to be in Goteborg, Sweden you can pick one up from me, and if you are in Berlin after February 10 copies will be left at the office of Sparwasser HQ. They are also available through the post, send $3.00 US inside the continental United States, $5 US for the rest of the world to 1118 Keith Ave, Berkeley, CA 94708

The first three issues of this paper have been made possible through an Alternative Exposure Grant from Southern Exposure gallery.

To give a little more background to the first Issue of News of Common Possibility (which is focused on the August 7, 1965 protest in Lafayette Park, (SF) by the San Francisco Mime Troupe) I uploaded this video shot last year for the project. In this piece I asked the SFMT’s founder Ronald G. Davis, wearing a Commedia dell’arte costume, to reenact the actions leading up to his arrest, but to perform it without using verbal language. I then slowed the video down to emphasize his gestures and movements, which I felt to be an equally important language to the verbal one. The words he spoke on that day serve as the title of this work. This video and the newspaper together with an audio work and a large sculpture of the Mime Troupe’s unbuilt stage comprise the elements of this project, titled “Create the Condition You Describe”.

Artist: Anthony Marcellini
Title: “Mesdames et messieurs, signore e signori, ladies and gentlemen, El Trupo de Mimo de San Francisco presents for your enjoyment today an ARREST!”
Duration: Video loop
Actor: Ronald G. Davis
Year: 2009

Three seating arrangements, theater, round table and banquet.

During the last couple of weeks I have attended 8 solid days of theoretical and aesthetic conferences. They began on November 9th with an all-day symposium focused on artists writing titled The Art Text, in which various artists and curators presented texts trying to expand the notion of artistic research and writing could be. Then from November 10-11 I attended a two-day theory and urbanism conference titled The Commons, which examined everything from public space, to urban planning, to ecology, to the past and present revolutions in Iran, to the legacy of Marx and so on, and it featured some very big names, Harvey, Negri, Ranciere. Then finally from November 14-18 I attended a five-day series of marathon-length talks or dialogs, titled The Saloon, where several artists associated with the Goteborg Biennial spoke each day, for around three to four hours each, about their work to another artist, curator or theorist of similar or related persuasion. These talks were followed each night by intimate dinners with the artists, curators and many of the audience members that were involved.

I mention all these events not to boast on the shear number of symposia that I have sat through in the past week, in the class rooms, auditoriums and parlors of three formidable institutions; nor to remark on the avalanche of information, almost too much to retain and which left me quite mentally and physically drained; no…I mention them because they have made me reconsider how public conferences, like these, can function as pedagogical situations. Though all of these events had their problems, from the duration of some of the presentations—some too short and some too long; to the performances of some of the speakers—many whose presentations I would much rather have read than have been read to; and the content of some of the presentations—unrelated to the subject of their conference or simply redundant. But what was successful in both The Art Text conference and The Saloon (and unfortunately a bit lacking from The Commons) was how they enabled all ages and ranges of experience to learn and present together. These events were open to anyone wishing to attend and anyone wishing to present (of course not all participants were selected) and in their attempt at combining larger presentation forums with smaller more intimate gatherings, they seemed to me to offer an experience of collaborative learning, involve all the participants in the process of knowledge production across disciplines, across respective educations and ages.

Certainly there were inherent hierarchies and contests for position during these events, where the established professionals tended to hold council over the less established. And particularly during The Commons conference the overly competitive academic and sometimes combative tone of this event tended to squelch questions from those not thoroughly schooled in theoretical rhetoric and debate. But in the smaller sessions of The Art Text and in the more dialogical moments of The Saloon presentations—especially in the intimate dinners following most of the talks—this feeling of collaborative learning and teaching was most particularly felt. The best events were ones that combined a kind of close-knit learning environment in which all were required to participate by request and by the arrangement of the room—through round tables or enclosed seating arrangements, in which it was difficult to be on the periphery—with the addition of more public and formal orations presented from podiums to rooms of people, which required a more performative presentation. One needed both the formal and the informal to establish a structure for presentation while also giving space, in the smaller scenarios, to a slightly more private comfortable and open dialog to occur.

Conferences are of course pedagogic projects. They are organized to spread and challenge knowledge. We sometimes forget the pedagogic role that conferences can have when we become overawed by the notoriety of keynote speakers or the public performance of our professionalism. And of course presentations or lectures by renown individuals are an important part of these events (though I am not so sure about public displays of our professionalism), but conferences without situations for active informal conversation in which all participants are invited and given space to talk, lack something from the pedagogical experience. The Latin root of conference, conferre, means to bring together and when a conference is organized as much around the participants as the presenters then it will most clearly represent this origin, and bring all together to learn.

News of Common Possibility, Issue 1

On Friday, August 28, 2009, the first issue of News of Common Possibility was released. This issue began as research into an event in the mid sixties, involving a radical theater group, the San Francisco Mime Troupe (SFMT) who was beginning to make aesthetic advances into public space by bringing their political theater into the parks. My concern was with one particular performance in Lafayette Park on August 7, 1965, when the SFMT was arrested for attempting to perform without a permit (their permit was revoked by the Park Service who believed their performance to be lewd and therefore not fit for public consumption).

On this day the troupe’s founder Ronald Davis, after realizing that the cops assembled would not let the troupe build their stage, nor perform their play without arresting them, decides to perform anyway, without the stage and on the grass. Knowing that they will be arrested the second they begin to perform, Davis decides to take ownership of the confrontation and begins the performance by telling the audience and the cops assembled, that the Mime Troupe was presenting for their enjoyment, not their scheduled performance (“Il Candelaio” by Giordano Bruno) but the forthcoming ARREST! With this remark the cops are cued and rush in to arrest him. This causes great commotion, cops are tripped, their hats are knocked of and they are generally cursed and ridiculed. Davis and two audience members are arrested and carted off.

What was exciting for me (and what prompted this issue and an installation) is not the arrest as an act of defiance in the name of free speech, (the troupe is not really censored, they perform their scheduled play, Il Candelaio, anyway after the cops leave) but the moment right prior to the arrest when the result was uncertain and potential endless, when Davis decides to present the arrest. The act of owning the incarceration that follows represents for me, a moment of possibility, a split second of weightlessness, when the systems of power and control are rendered subservient and mocked by an act of freedom. This is the political of the aesthetic experience, a hint of freedom that can spark revolution. It is this possibility, that first drew me to the arts and it is what still keeps me here.

The newspaper is composed of interviews and texts with people involved in the SFMT or offshoots (The Diggers) as well as, artists, curators, and writers with peripheral interests to this history. Contributors are: Peter Berg And Judy Goldhaft (San Francisco), Ronald G. Davis (San Francisco), Michael William Doyle (Indiana), Aurélien Froment (Dublin, Paris), Fawn Krieger (New York City), Beatriz Santiago Munoz (San Juan, Puerto Rico), Paola Santoscoy (Mexico City, Palo Alto), Nato Thompson (New York City), Lee Walton (Greensboro, North Carolina).

There are no digital copies of this newspaper, it is only available in print. If you would like a copy of the newspaper, you can send $2 (if you are outside of the US please send $4) in the mail to my US address (1118 Keith Avenue, Berkeley CA 94708) and I will have a paper sent to you or if you will be in Europe (Goteborg, Sweden or some other place that I happen to be traveling) I can give you one personally. Southern Exposure who supported this project also has 100 copies; pick one up from them at their grand opening on October 16th. And all the contributors to the newspaper have extra copies. If you know them or meet them you can ask them for an issue.

—-

This newspaper is the first edition of “News of Common Possibility” an ongoing series of thematic newspapers, initiated by Anthony Marcellini and produced in collaboration with invited guest editors. It has been made possible through an Alternative Exposure Grant from Southern Exposure Gallery.

The next issue is titled, What Sticks to the Real. Issue 2 concerns imitation, translation, embodiment, role playing, possession, channeling or any approach which allows the author to be someone else in order to achieve some freedom and/or to start a conversation with someone who they have always wanted to meet or maybe just be. This paper is edited and produced with the SF artist Colter Jacobsen. It is scheduled for release November 2009.

From SFMOMA's Open Space Blog

This is a text I wrote and posted to SFMOMA’s Open Space Blog. The text was written in response to a series of discussion that erupted in regards to an article by art historian Julian Myers, titled New Langton Arts in Crisis, on the fate of the wonderful San Francisco non-profit gallery New Langton Arts, Though the fate of Langton is a very sad and lamentable one, many in the SF arts community were given some consolation by the energetic discussions that erupted due to it’s fate. We realized that despite opinions otherwise, we do actually have a vibrant, concerned and active art world in this often criticized city.

—–

You say we’re on the brink of destruction and you’re right. But it’s only on the brink that people find the will to change. Only at the precipice do we evolve.

- John Cleese to Keanu Reeves, in “The Day the Earth Stood Still”,

It is very difficult for any institution to change. And there is usually a period of discord and in the worst cases, total collapse before any change is possible. This is not a novel idea, we all know this, it constantly reoccurring theme. From our climate, to Obama, to the economy, to our banks, to the auto industry, we are surrounded by the word change. You could say change is the theme of the late 2000’s and to mollify the uncertainty of it we are told change is good. But this knowledge doesn’t lessen the sting and it doesn’t make it any easier to change. In fact, the hardest thing is knowing when to change, what to change, who to change and how. What does change mean if you can’t see it until it is too late?

Having worked at the non-proft gallery, Art in General (1), in New York City, a space that was also going through similar (though perhaps not quite so grave) challenges as Langton (not to mention being married to someone who is also dealing with the closing of another important bay area non-profit arts institution), I can somewhat contemplate the difficulties of keeping a non-profit institution, not only open and running, but germane and vital in a shifting art world. It was hard enough in New York I can only imagine the difficulties of running a non-profit now and here, in the elusive and under-supported San Francisco Art World.

The most important question for me that has been asked here, and the one that requires the most change, was asked way before this blog exchange started, in Julian Myers’ Tercerunquinto article. And that million-dollar question was to ask Langton why they should survive? Which is actually a very existential question. I think Myers is basically asking Langton, if you want to live then explain why you are alive. What is your reason for being? And why should we the San Francisco Art world support that.

In Sartre’s essay “Existentialism is a Humanism” he explains that existentialism means mainly that existence precedes essence. Furthermore Sartre says, and here I paraphrase, that the most important charge of Existentialism is to make everyone aware of what they are and to understand that the full responsibility of their existence rests on them. But as he continues we learn that it doesn’t stop here. Responsibility is not simply about an individual’s singular existence but about everyone else. Or as Sartre says “And when we say that a man is responsible for himself, we do not mean that he is responsible for his own individuality, but that he is responsible for all men.”

If we, as Sartre suggests, have a responsibility to each other perhaps we should use the condition of Langton as a mirror for the sustainability of the entire bay area art world. If Langton is flailing, then our art world is flailing and we need a new model or models to sustain ourselves. So perhaps we should not simply be asking Langton why they should survive or in my existential translation, what is their reason for being, but we should be asking ourselves (as of course many of us have, if Julian’s blog is any indication) what do we want Langton to be and beyond that, what do we want the Bay Area art world to be and how do we get there?

This Langton situation is bittersweet. It has been horrible for the difficulties it has caused the staff, artists, and curators not to mention the audiences, who depend on Langton for support, both financial and inspirational. However I am quite excited by the dialog it has created within the arts community here. It gives me hope for the future.

——————–

(1) At Art in General we (given direction by the then curator Sofia Hernandez Chong Cuy) realized that things had shifted drastically from the 70’s and 80’s when most of the NYC non-profits began (as many of the non-profits elsewhere have also realized and changed to try and meet the shifting demand). The need for non-profits to simply grant exposure to underrepresented and emerging artists had changed. Artists in New York needed more than exposure to survive, they needed financial and administrative backing. So we reduced the numbers of shows produced each year and subsequently the numbers of artists supported, and shifted to a commissioning institution, providing artists both a production budget and a separate honorarium to create new and complex projects that otherwise might not get made. This was not an easy change to make. It was difficult for our audience, the board, the funders and the granting organizations to understand the reduction in the number shows presented each year and numbers of artists shown, even though our support could help sustain an artist’s practice and thereby the New York art world, much more than our previous model.

Composite image: left, "Socle du Monde" (1961) right, altered image of a security guard in a gallery (this is not the same security guard as the one in the text here).

The security guard tells me that there are figures hidden everywhere in the work, I just need to look closer to see them. “See this sculpture?” he says pointing to a minimalist cube, “It looks like rusted steel, but it is not. It is painted and in the paint are figures. See …there are faces everywhere. You have to look closer”, he says, “You have to analyze the details”.

It is March 4, 2009, I am in the Gagosian gallery in New York City at a retrospectives for the short lived Italian artist Piero Manzoni (1933-1963). Manzoni’s beautiful though irreverent conceptual artworks, such as cans of his own excrement and balloon sculptures activated by the artists breath, were hugely influential to a great many artists in Europe and American–this work preceded conceptual art by almost ten years–however, perhaps due to his short career (he died at the age of 29) this was the first time a retrospective of his work had been assembled.

After walking through most of the show, I find myself standing and looking at one of Manzoni’s most famous works, his “Socle du Monde” (1961) a pedestal cast in bronze with the words “Socle du Monde” written on one side and presented flipped upside-down so that the top of the pedestal is now resting on the earth or vice versa. This work belongs to a series of works that Manzoni termed “Magic Bases”, all small platforms that raise the person (or thing) standing on them into a work or art.

Because the title is written only in French, and even though I know the meaning of the piece, I cannot remember what the word ‘socle’ means, I decide to ask a knowledgeable looking security guard if he knows the definition of the French word. “Does it mean pedestal”, I ask? He answers, “yes, it means base”. And then a strange thing occurs. Coming closer the security guard tells me, almost in a whisper, that there are faces and figures hidden everywhere in Manzoni’s work. “Huh”? I pause, look at him a little quizzically and deciding to reason with him I say, “but don’t you see that the work is a pedestal flipped upside down, making the world the artwork?” He says, “yes, of course” brushing away my explanation with a wave of his hand, “but can’t you see the faces in it”. Curious, I half-heartedly agree and urged him on with an “OK” to see where this conversation is going.

With my interest peaked he begins to take me around the room and show me the faces in all the works. He says, “if you look closer and analyze the details the exhibition changes.” Pulling me by the arm he points me towards another work by Manzoni, a framed piece where long white fur has been affixed to a shiny fire engine red background, both placed inside a frame. “ What do you see?” he asks me and pauses to let me contemplate. “Now, step over here”. He continues beckoning me five feet forward and says, “look at the same work. Now what do you see. Ah ha, ah ha, right. See, I told you, do you see it now?” gesticulated wildly and pointing to the fur. “The figures are everywhere,” he says. “It is amazing. The artist is a Genius.” He gives this same explanation to two more pieces. When he asks me if I see the faces, I nod in silent agreement. When he is done, I thank him and move on.

This was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had in a gallery or a museum. No guard has ever taken me around a gallery to show me an exhibition in this way before and with so much excitement, conviction and engagement. Though I never once saw the figures or faces that that security guard had tried to show me, I did not refute his vision. When asked I would always answer him in the affirmative because somehow it did not seem appropriate to say no or to tell him that for me they did not exist. In one sense I think the security guards perception of this work was totally crazy. Despite the guard’s certitude, Piero Manzoni did not paint hidden figures and faces into the patinas of his minimalist sculptures, nor did he hide them in billows of fur or in any part of his works.

In “Restitutions: The Truth in Pointing” from his book The Truth in Painting, Jacques Derrida deconstructs an argument between Martin Heidegger and Meyer Shapiro concerning the origin of a ghost haunting a pair of shoes in a Van Gogh painting. Derrida analyzes both Heidegger’s position—who believes that the shoes are those of an unnamed peasant—and Mayer Shapiro’s—who believes that the shoes belong to the artist Van Gogh. Despite both thinkers very thorough arguments in the end Derrida resolves that neither Shapiro nor Heidegger are right, because there is really no way to know to whom the shoes belong. Everything is a presumption of truth. “nothing proves or can prove that ‘they are the shoes of the artist’”. Derrida says. “Each time you read ‘they are clearly…,’ ‘this is clearly…,’ ‘are evidently…,’ it does not signify that it is clear or evident, very much the contrary, but that it is necessary to deny the intrinsic obscurity of the thing, its essential crypt, and that it’s necessary to make us believe that it is clear, quite simply because the proof will always be lacking” (1), he says.

To close down individual interpretation, by claiming that the shoes can only be read in one way, seems to Derrida to be entirely against the purpose of the arts. Making them specific and prescribed rather than interpretive. He recounts the disenchantment he feels following these philosophers words. “One follows step by step the moves of a ‘great thinker,’ as he returns to the origin of the work of art and of truth, traversing the whole history of the West and then suddenly, at a bend in a corridor, here we are on a guided tour, as schoolchildren or tourists.” (2) The thinker has ceased to be a thinker for Derrida and is now simply dictating his own presumptions as fact, like the tour guide of the museum. There is but one answer, follow blindly the guide.

Here, I am reminded of a story told to me by a professor of mine, Joseph Tanke, about a boy who is harshly silenced and rebuked by a museum tour guide when he responds to her question what might have influenced the visual form of a certain Jasper Johns painting, that perhaps it was the floor of the museum, which looks very similar to the painting. Here the boy is as right about Johns as Heidegger and Shapiro are about Van Gogh. There is no way of knowing what Van Gogh or Johns intended and why bother anyway, why close our interpretations down. The truth of art is the boy, the museum guide, Shapiro and Heidegger all agreeing that there are multiple truths.

The shoes are hallucinogenic says Derrrida using a word which in Latin means to go astray with thought. The viewer of these shoes places his own vision upon them and makes them appear, as he wants them to appear. For the Security guard the work of Manzoni also offers hallucinations. “There are faces everywhere.” He see what he wants to see in the work. Perhaps this was his second month of policing the exhibition, and this revelation, whether premeditated or brought on by the boredom and the distress of the job, was his way of being continually interested and engaged in this work. I am finding that I can’t argue with the security guard’s assessment of Manzoni’s work and I am not sure that Manzoni would have argued either. In fact he may have been quite pleased with the guards claim.

Manzoni’s work was about playing with people’s expectations of the artist as some kind of magician and genius who can change his own breath into art or can claim the world as his work simply by building a pedestal for it. So, perhaps it is not too much of a stretch to imagine that he could make people and faces appear in his work. His art was about people after all and the world; it needed people. His “Magic Bases” possessed the potential for people to stand on them and make them active as artworks. Deflated balloons, called “Fiato d’artista” (the Artist’s Breath), could be, and at one time were, filled with Manzoni’s breath. Even old broken eggshells with a single fingerprint on them—remnants from a piece called “Consumption of dynamic art by the art-devouring public”, where Manzoni served boiled eggs signed with his thumbprint to visitors to eat—now placed inside glass cases, they still retained the potential for human interaction. Preserved and historicized in vitrines or protected from the visitors hands and feet by security guards, only ghosts of people remain. All we are left with are impressions of figures and faces. Is it untruthful, or a lie to say this about Manzoni’s work? Is this a fiction or was it the security guards way of seeing the artist’s intention through his own narrative of it. Is this is something we all do when we look at work.

In a long passage from the Politics of Aesthetics Jacques Rancier talks about the relationship between fiction and reality or perhaps it would be better to say, fiction as a form of reality. He says this,

Political Statements and literary locutions produce effects in reality. They define models of speech or action but also regimes of sensible intensity. They draft maps of the visible, trajectories between the visible and the sayable, relationships between modes of being, modes of saying and modes of doing and making. They define variations of sensible intensities, perceptions, and the abilities of bodies. They thereby take hold of unspecified groups of people, adhere to a condition, react to situations, recognize their images. They reconfigure the map of the sensible by interfering with the functionality of gestures and rhythms adapted to the natural cycles of production, reproduction and submission. Man is a political animal because he is a literary animal who lets himself be diverted from his ‘natural’ purpose by the power of words. (3)

The fiction told to me by the security guard was as much truth as it was a tale or a story. It was his political act. The guards is disrupting reality, offering an alternate perspective or a position. In a situation that has been divorced of human presence by time, money and preservation, he offers a new way to see the life that has been removed.

In one of his more poetic reflections on art, Theodor Adorno says, “What guarantees the aesthetic quality of modern art? It is the scars of damage and disruption inflicted by them on the smooth surface of the immutable. (4)” I would like to consider expanding this quote beyond simply modern works of art, to suggest that it is the function of all aesthetic acts to disrupt, or inscribe new narratives into the smooth surface of the immutable. The security guard is producing an aesthetic act when he makes the suggestion that faces can be seen anywhere. It is his way of etching the surface of this cold, sterile, boring gallery space. It is his way of disrupting and breathing life (like Manzoni’s breath) back into the exhibition.

——–

1. Jacques Derrida, “Restitutions”, The Truth in Painting (Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1987). 364
2. ibid. 293
3. Jacques Ranciere, The Politics of Aesthetics (New York: Continuum 2004). 39
4. Theodor Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, (New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1984. First published in German 1970). 34

Wayne Collins on the Karl Marx Tree, SF Express Time May 23, 1968. Click on the image above to download a PDF version.

Recently while doing some research on 1960’s radical publications, I came across this text on Kaweah and the Karl Marx Tree, by Wayne Collins, from the San Francisco Express Times, of May 23, 1968. The SF Express Times was an underground newspaper, published in SF, which lasted for about two years before changing its name to SF Good Times. It was edited by Marvin Garson and Robert Novick.

It was exciting to come across this article as a link to my other projects The Karl Marx Tree Marker, but also to learn that an interest in Kaweah has been ongoing. But perhaps what was most interesting for me is Collins lack of position, vacillating between criticism and commemoration. The article was printed in an issue mainly focused around the ongoing student protests in Paris, and was included likely to suggest that the ‘great refusal’ was far from novel; that it had a foundation, even in the pristine west? But what was amazing to realize, granted I am someone consumed by questions around the good place or no place, is that the word Utopia is never mentioned. It seems clear to me and to many others that Kaweah was most certainly a utopian society, based partially on the ideas of Utopian fiction, namely Edward Bellamy’s “Looking Backward: 2000-1887″. So then what does it mean not to use the word utopia? What did Utopia mean to these SF radicals in 1968? Was it seen as an elitist and separatist idea or a totalitarian one, as the attacks against it, by Hannah Arendt, Isaiah Berlin, Karl Popper and others, have suggested? This attitude is certainly suggested by Collins derision of the colonists for leaving, growing “tired of the struggle in the city” and retiring “to the countryside”. Suggesting they were more like businessmen, retiring to a life of leisure in their country home, then radicals, though we know this was certainly not the case, life in Kaweah was not easy.

Yet despite this derision, Collins still seems impressed by their endeavor, their struggles against capitalism and a bit saddened by their colonies petty downfall. Though this all sounds quite familiar, the patricide, the resentment and disillusionment combined with the championing of Labor, the disenfranchised, and self praise that was so much a part of the 60’s counter culture sentiment by the end of 68. But perhaps the new age and the new radical movement that Collins is now a part of, was not so distant as it may seem, to the struggles and the triumphs of the preceding generations.

Sarah Elliot holding the most recent issue of The Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper (2008), and right John Elliot holding the first issue of the original Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper (1890)

On Monday November 17th I drove a sculpture called Karl Marx Tree Marker, down to the offices of the The Kaweah Commonwealth a weekly newspaper of Three Rivers and all of Kaweah Country, California. I invited the French artist Aurelien Froment to come with me, both to help me photograph the sculpture in the offices of the Kaweah Commonwealth, and also to see the huge sequoia trees—giants symbolizing the hopes and failures of American westward idealism—in the Sequoia National Park nearby.

Karl Marx Tree Marker, was one of several objects I produced in collaboration with the artist Matthew David Rana, for a project titled How to Talk About Utopia Without Saying Utopia . This project took the form of an exhibition examining hope, failure and creativity within the history of three California social Utopian communes from the 19th Century, Alturia, Icaria-Speranza and Kaweah. Karl Marx Tree Marker was created to contest the pivotal renaming of one of the largest sequoia trees in the world, now known as the General Sherman. This tree was originally named “Karl Marx” by the anarcho-socialist Kaweah Co-operative Commonwealth (1885-1892) — who for almost 8 years ran a communal socialist colony in the area surrounding Three Rivers, subsisting though a major logging operation. In 1892 the National Park Service—under the United States government and in cahoots with the Southern Pacific Railroad, wary of the colonies increasing power—expropriated the Kaweah colonies’ land by turning the area into the United States’ second national park. The renaming of the Sequoia to commemorate the general William Tecumseh Sherman—a figure largely associated with scorched earth campaigns during the civil war, through widespread destruction of civilian supplies and infrastructure; and American westward expansion, through his ‘protection’ of the United States railroads at all costs by way of unceasing attacks on indigenous peoples and the systematic devastation of large herds of Buffalo—was a clear slight to the former Kaweah colony. For a more complete history than this simple description, see Jay O’Connell, Co-Operative Dreams: A History of the Kaweah Colony; or Robert V. Hine, California’s Utopian Colonies.

The Karl Marx Tree Marker was modeled on the design of the NPS’s ‘General Sherman Tree’ plaque but with the name Karl Marx carved into it replacing the former general and left unpainted to indicate an incomplete history, yet to be resolved. Rather than letting the artwork sit idle in storage or be isolated in a collectors house, I decided to gift this artwork to the offices of The Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper—a local paper named after the newspaper of The Kaweah colony—to keep the artwork alive by placing where it would spark further conversations on the history of the Kaweah colony, resistance, collectivity and Utopia.

The facade of the Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper's offices.

Sarah and John Elliot, an editor/writer and a historian respectively, bought The Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper in 1995 changing its name from the Sequoia Sentinel to honor of the first newspaper published in area by the Kaweah Colony. For the masthead of the paper they used the same masthead as the colonies paper, with only slight revisions, but the tag line remains the same,”The Kaweah Commonwealth, A Journal For Those Who Labor and Who Think.” After our four and a half hour drive down to Three Rivers, we were met by Sarah and John, at the newspaper’s office. They had just arrived back from Mexico the day before. John greeted us wearing a shirt he had picked up there, a yellow and black tie-dyed t-shirt printed with newspaper articles featuring the Zapatistas, which is a pretty clear indicator of their political affiliations.

Front cover of the November 7-20, 2008, Kaweah Commonwealth newspaper.

My gift sparked many conversions, from the radicalism of the colonies vision, to revolutionary history, to Utopian visions, to art and politics, and especially the subject of their recent issue, with the headline “CHANGE! Barack Obama elected 44th president in milestone election!” What Utopian hopes does this presidency hold? They also showed us a postcard that the local high school had just sent them, where all the students were posing around the General Sherman plaque in the Sequoia National Park. I thought to myself, ‘how would their perceptions change if these high-school students posed around this marker instead’. For the next two hours Aurelien and I staged different shots of the marker in the KC offices surrounded by various political, protest, or counter-culture ephemera from John and Sarah’s collection, as well as copies of the original Kaweah Co-Operative Commonwealth newspapers and other tracts. Sarah and John said that they would run a feature on the sculpture in the next issue of the paper being printed on Friday. Here is a link to the online version.

By the time we were done the sun was beginning to set. We had less then an hour of sunlight left to make it up the windy road into the Sequoia National Park to see the giant forest. So we quickly said our goodbyes and forty-five minutes later, as dusk was setting in, we finally arrived at the Karl Marx (General Sherman) tree. There was still enough light to appreciate the magnitude of the 36 foot wide (and a still growing), by 275 foot tall tree. And the dusk lent a peculiar intoxicating ambiance to the experience. Aurelien and I were the only people there, except for a couple, whom we heard but never saw. The woods felt larger, more alive, and I much less significant than the last time I visited, surrounded by so many tourists. It was eerily quiet walking on the path towards the tree and we almost didn’t see a large buck until it bounded away from us through the fallen leaves. The experience left us feeling somewhat delirious and we spent half an hour taking some ridiculous pictures, posing in front of the tree.

The Karl Marx Tree with its erroneous designation "General Sherman", in the background you can see me standing on the tree.

As we drove away from the forest in total darkness, occasionally dive bombed by bats catching bugs attracted to the cars headlights, Aurelien and I talked enthusiastically about our day. Aurelien said when he first saw the sculpture he did not really understand it, even after I had explained it to him. But he said, as soon as we placed the work on the floor of The Kaweah Commonwealth’s offices and began talking with Sarah and John, it’s meaning became completely clear. For Aurelien this gesture was almost the reverse of arts move from the realm of utility in the everyday towards the symbolic and functionless realm of the museum. For Aurelien I was taking a symbolic object and giving it new function by placing the artwork back in it’s conceptual site of origin.

Aurelien and I jumping in the air in front the the Karl Marx Tree at dusk using the flash.

*All Images by Aurelien Froment (2008)

Joseph Tanke with my written example of Robert Barrys Marcuse Piece behind him, right Joseph Tanke speaking before an audience.

On October 18, 2008 the philosopher Joseph Tanke stood on the grass mound, behind a redwood colored podium and spoke about the philosopher Herbert Marcuse’s The Aesthetic Dimension. Below you will find my brief introduction to the event, describing a speech/action I preformed prior to Joseph’s presentation, an audio recording podcast of Josephs talk, followed by a text interview between Joseph and I on the subject of Marcuse’s protest and art. This talk was the sixth and final event that I produced as part of A Grass Mound (With Kind Regards to Utopia).

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As a way of introducing philosopher Joseph Tanke and to tie the subject of Marcusian Aesthetics, to utopia and art or the gallery - in which this event was taking place, I wrote the following words on the gallery wall with a marker.

SOME PLACES TO WHICH WE CAN COME AND FOR A WHILE, “BE FREE TO THINK ABOUT WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO” (MARCUSE)

I wrote this text on the wall to illustrate a work by the artist Robert Barry, titled Marcuse Piece, from 1970. If you were to see this work correctly displayed it would be placed on the wall with vinyl lettering more or less like this, but with no other artworks around it, perhaps just a couple of chairs to sit in.

This work is called Marcuse Piece because the text in quotes is from the last sentence of Marcuse’s book An Essay on Liberation published in 1969. In the book this quote comes as an answer to a question that Marcuse asks regarding the role of production in a free society or a utopia. Marcuse says that because in exploitative societies people work or produce mainly to earn a living, we are restricted from thinking about work in regards to our instinctual striving for the enhancement and fulfillment of our lives. Hence a free society would allow for the creation of new more fulfilling incentives for work. But what, Marcuse asks “are people in a free society going to do?” As a response he presents a quote from a ‘young black girl’ [Marcuse’s words], who responded to this question by proposing, “For the first time in our life, we shall be free to think about what we are going to do.”

It is important here to note and this may seem like a slight digression, that Marcuse believed art was not a revolution in itself but rather a tool towards it. Marcuse said in an interview just following the publishing of The Aesthetic Dimension that, “Art, by itself, cannot under any circumstances change the social condition. That is the necessary and essential powerlessness of art, that it cannot have an effective, direct impact on the praxis of change. I don’t know of any case in which you could say that art has changed the established society. Art can prepare such change. Art can contribute to it only via several negations and mediations, the most important being the change of consciousness and, especially, the change of perception.” 1.

This position I think, should not be read as pessimistic or defeatist. I return to Robert Barry’s piece on this wall for support for this work deals directly with this contention in a very interesting and clarifying way. For Barry the artwork does two things, one it suggests that this space, the space of the gallery is a place of Freedom and fulfillment. And, two, that the artwork places an emphasis back on the viewer, asking them to consider both what the purpose of the gallery is and what their role is within this relationship. In this way the artwork, like many of Barry’s other works, and in agreement with Marcuse, disappears placing emphasis on the space itself and the audience. Like Marcuse the work transcends placing emphasis on the individual to consider their productive relationship to the rest of the world. This is an essential question and has been I think the central question to the A Grass Mound project. I wrote the text on the wall to act as a reminder to the audience to consider, while Joseph was talking, the space, the gallery as a space of potential, and a site to ponder not just form or what the show, or the artwork means, but to “think about what ‘we’ are going to do?”

Joseph Tanke, Aesthetics and Utopian Possibility podcast recording from the talk

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The first sentence from Herbert Marcuse's The Aesthetic Dimension

This interview between Joseph Tanke and myself was recorded on Tuesday, October 7, 2008, in Joseph’s office at the California College of the Arts (CCA). We began the interview by talking about the art project “A Grass Mound (With Kind Regards to Utopia)” itself. Joseph asked me how the project was going and how it was being received. The conversation then quickly moved into a discussion on pedagogy and learning in this project and in our lives. I have been a teaching assistant in the first year program at CCA this year, and Joseph is assistant professor in visual and critical studies at CCA. Not coincidentally, teaching and learning has been a recurrent theme throughout this project. The topic reappears throughout many of the interviews that I have conducted. All of the performers, it turns out, are teachers and pedagogy it seems, is an important part of any project concerning Utopia for it allows for the education of difference and optimistic possibility. Though much of our dialogue was interesting, I believed it to be a little too rambling and too personal, let alone abstracted from the topic of Herbert Marcuse’s aesthetics which Joseph was asked to speak about, to be of complete interest to the reader. Therefore, the interview transcribed here begins twenty minutes into our conversation at the first mention of Marcuse. Joseph begins by discussing Marcuse’s philosophical strategies, and his attempts at clarity. For Joseph, they are part of Marcuse’s broader effort to conduct his own analysis of contemporary culture, and to bring the history of philosophy to bear his present.

JT: Marcuse is someone who tries to make the thought of the Frankfurt School very clear. Compared to Adorno and Horkheimer, he is obviously the most accessible writer of the school. He is someone who was deliberately engaging with the contemporary moment in which he was living. This, in a sense, might make his thought obsolete; sometimes when you read certain passages they sound very dated. But I think that is a very deliberate choice on his part to extend philosophy to a broader audience. One Dimensional Man, for example, sold millions of copies. It was read and probably understood in a way that a lot of books, which are fashionable to carry around, are not always understood. People understood Marcuse in the sixties; Marcuse’s works were debated by students, workers, organizers and academics. So, much of his thought was built by reflecting on the sixties. Thus, if and when, and to the degree that he was wrong, in the kind of historical analysis that he was conducting, that is to say, of the aspirations and hopes he built into the counter-cultural movements, some of his thought could be said to fall with those movements.

AM: Then how do you talk about The Aesthetic Dimension [a book that has been quite influential on the themes and intentions in A Grass Mound (With Kind Regards to Utopia)]? A book that in many regards seems quite optimistic towards the project of art, but is published in 1979 after the counter-cultural movements certainly did fall.

JT: That is an interesting book to talk about. And this is probably something that I would say in that respect: The Aesthetic Dimension has been interpreted, and I don’t know if this is right yet, as a retreat on Marcuse’s part, as a pessimistic move. Marcuse writes in Essay on Liberation—and he is practically giddy that the revolution is imminent—that by looking at what he calls the “new sensibility,” historical analysis can discern the roots of a subjective rebellion against capitalism. He sees in counter-cultural movements a new sensibility, a new way of feeling, relating to others, and being-in-the-world, which will lead to some sort of massive change. Marcuse was fond of this term, “The Great Refusal”, which he always capitalized. He thought that there was going to be this massive stoppage in society where people would refuse the conditions under which reality had been handed to them and demand fundamental change. He is really excited about this in the late sixties, and when that dream starts to go out the window, when these same people start to get white-collar jobs, begin to move out to the suburbs and buy Hummers he gets very disillusioned. Up until that point he had been interested in contemporary artistic movements and analyzes them from a political perspective. He was interested in “anti-art,” Surrealism, and impromptu street performances, these kinds of things. He gives up on that in the aesthetic dimension.

AM: Sort of, he does not entirely give up on art, he says at the beginning of the book that he is only going to apply it to literature though he thinks that it could be equally applicable to art and music.

JT: But what is the art he is looking at in that book? He is looking at what he calls bourgeois culture, “high bourgeois culture” even, nineteenth century artistic products, which are not immediately political from anyone’s point of view. The book is a strong critique of Marxist aesthetics—I think it’s even in the subtitle, in German at least—by which he means that the hope he once put in the more directly political artistic movements, the more direct engagements that you have in street performances and such, to prompt political change have proven to be false. So, Marcuse revisits the art, literature and other imaginary products of the nineteenth century in order to think about the subversive potential that they harbor.

AM: Which I think is actually very interesting. In the sections where he talks about politics, in art, and the implicit political aims of some art, Marcuse says “There is more subversive potential in the poetry of Rimbaud and Baudelaire than in the didactic plays of Brecht.” He continues, “The more immediately political the work of art the more it reduces the power of estrangement and the radical transcendent goals of change.”

JT: Very interesting, right? He is saying that art is alienating estrangement. This is a reversal of Marx’s conception of alienation, and Marcuse is here ascribing a positive value to it.

AM: Like Brecht?

JT: Well, not like Brecht. He is critiquing Brecht.

AM: Well, he is critiquing the didactic nature of Brecht, but not necessarily the alienation effect, of breaking the fourth wall.

JT: As I read him, he is critiquing that in this book. He would be very critical of breaking the fourth wall, of merging art and life. Marcuse does not want to do that at this point. Earlier he does. In Essay On Liberation, for example, he is in favor of those kinds of movements. Here, the key concept is “aesthetic form.” This is precisely the preservation of that boundary between the artwork and the audience. This is where the alienation comes from. The work of art must be made to take leave from reality. It must define itself as different from reality. There is a very good succinct quote where he says, “art re-presents reality while accusing it.” The bracketing off of aesthetic form, the systematic estrangement, if you will, is necessary in order to do this. He is deeply influenced by Adorno’s Aesthetic Theory. Marcuse reads this at a time when he is disillusioned by the fallout of the sixties. He begins to rethink what some might see as the more radical challenges in his aesthetics, this idea of blurring the boundary between art and life. Hence, his interest in Baudelaire and Rimbaud, people who don’t look like they are engaged in politics at all. The ability of these artists to be estranged, to be separated out from reality, is precisely what gives the work of art its political–I don’t want to say political use value–but makes it something which harbors, a subversive potential, or images of past happiness. What do they do? Works of art teach us how life could be different, and that the way in which we practice, form communities, and are forced to work, are fundamentally incompatible with human happiness. Alternative fantasies, dreams of another life are preserved in works of art. They thus serve as the vantage point from which reality can be viewed as unnecessarily alienating, corrupt, etc.

AM: I read it a little bit differently. I thought he was saying that the form could be revolutionary based on two senses. Marcuse defines the first one as representing “a radical change in style and technique” and the second as “by virtue of its aesthetic transformation it represents the prevailing un-freedom and rebelling forces thus breaking through the mystified and petrified social reality.” This is something that I have been thinking about a lot lately. In my conversations with Iain Boal and in the presentation on October 11th, that there are two needs for art, one is for the aesthetic form–the form of the activity–to be radical, pushing against the boundaries of however that form manifests itself, and two, that ingrained within the form is an interest and need to transform, reflecting the problems and conditions that should be fought against in the greater society as a whole. Making the issues apparent without doing it in a didactic way.

JT: I don’t think that is incompatible with what I said. It would probably hinge on what one means by “radical.” For Marcuse, the drawing of boundaries—he talks about the end of a play as I recall—demonstrates that this is play and not reality. It turns the work of art into a vessel, a time capsule, an alternative universe, or to use his expression, an aesthetic dimension, from which we then gain the capacity to be critical of our reality. It’s an old argument that goes back to German Idealism and the formulations of aesthetics that you find there. People like Kant, Schiller, Schelling, as well as Goethe, define the aesthetic as different from our ordinary ways of being in the world and the normal functioning of the mind—what Kant would call cognition. Relating to an object aesthetically is different from relating to an object in terms of whether or not it is good and serves our practical purposes or commercial interests. This is part of where Marcuse is coming from. The aesthetic is the moment when the imagination and the sensibility are freed from the domination of reason, calculation, etc. The aesthetic is autonomous; more precisely, the aesthetic dimension is autonomous. This is not to say that art is autonomous—abstracted from and devoid of life—but that the aesthetic dimension has some sort of boundary to it, which separates it off from reality. And it is precisely this separateness, which gives it force for Marcuse.

AM: I think he suggests that there should be more play within Brechtian ideas; one needs to be able to play with breaking the fourth wall of Brecht and almost breaking it, indicating the wall but giving the audience a choice to break it or not. The plays or performances, which seem to me the most successful after Brecht are ones which utilize this interplay, this space between play and life. I wonder would this be an area that Marcuse would be interested in? I thought that Marcuse was against the more didactic politics of Brecht, meaning the almost patronizing pedagogic, slamming-the-point-home, kind of black and white, politics of his work.

JT: These are the Marxist aestheticians that Marcuse is responding to, those who think that art should be like Brecht, that it should create a mobilizing force, that it should be reflective of the ascending proletariat class, these kinds of clichés. That authentic, he uses that word, that authentic art comes only from the proletariat, the class of the future, and that the bourgeoisie can produce nothing but decadent culture. He rejects that notion. It is interesting in that line that you quote; “There may be more subversive potential in the poetry of Baudelaire and Rimbaud than in the didactic plays of Brecht.” It reminds me of something that Jacques Rancière wrote in this journal that he edited that takes its title from a line of Rimbaud’s poem, “Democracy.” The journal that he edited was called Les Révoltes logiques. Rancière wrote in there, and I paraphrase, a worker taking pleasure in composing poetry and rhymes is much more subversive than a worker learning to sing “The Internationale.” It is very interesting to hear you quote this now.

AM: And why do you think that this is important in regards to Rancière? My interpretation of that would be that this does not imply a subjectivity, it does not allow the worker to understand themselves as a being, as a thing that acts, when they are just mimicking Marxist anthems. To understand oneself as a creator, which is a very basic tenet of Marx, to understand that you are a producer of things, that you make the world you live in, I believe Marx thinks that there is real potential in that.

JT: Yes, I think that is part of it. The word you did not use, that I think Rancière would use, is “identity.” Artistic expression pertains to, it changes, the identity of the worker. He is interested in these workers who compose verse because it is the way in which they contest the identity, which, for their contemporaries is assumed to be natural. Workers work from 9-8 then they go home and sleep and they obey these confines of time and space. They are beings not thought capable of anything else. The art of politics is precisely the ability to show up in places and at times when one is not expected. That is one of the things that art does for Rancière. It gives these workers a different identity and it allows for them to appear in different ways. This demonstration of capacity then serves as basis for their claims of equality. For example, in the nineteenth century, when workers want to make demands before a boss, they are often seeking the help of these marginal worker figures who also tend to write poetry, those who form part of “an aesthete working class.” This choice is deliberate, and not simply because they are better writers, but to show that workers too are capable of this kind of thinking, this kind of appreciation, this way of being.

AM: This makes me think of the importance of subjectivity in Marcuse’s aesthetics. There is a passage where he says that subjectivity is the necessary and transformative result of revolutionary artwork.

JT: And not just revolutionary artwork, but bourgeois art—“high art”—like Flaubert, Rimbaud, Cezanne, all these characters.

AM: Maybe revolutionary is a moot point here because Marcuse, at least in the aesthetic dimension, believes that all of this art is revolutionary. Again I will quote from him, “with the affirmation of the inwardness of subjectivity the individual steps out of the network of exchange relationships and exchange values withdraws from the reality of bourgeois society and enters another dimension of existence. This shifts the individuals realization from the domain of the performance principle and the profit motive to that of the inner resources of the human being.” For me, this is key.

JT: In my mind, the target is again the Marxist aesthetician who puts emphasis on works of art that attempt to give us an objective lesson on history or, more simply, works of art that are about social problems. Marxists for a long time had dismissed inwardness. The language takes us all the way back to the nineteenth century, to the critique that Kierkegaard levels against Hegel. Hegel was interested in the objective unfolding of historical processes; in the type of truth that he describes, the subject was secondary. Kierkegaard argues for a kind of truth as inwardness. This is obviously dismissed by Marxists, informed by the Hegelian perspective, as a bourgeois affectation, as the exclusive province of someone who does not have to work for a living. Marcuse rejects this too easy conclusion—which I am not convinced, is actually borne out by the texts of Hegel and Marx—quite strongly. This is where the contrast with Rancière seems to come into existence. I am still too close to both of these philosophers to be able to take them apart in as precise of a fashion as I would like. And I am always suspicious of philosophical work that brings together two difficult thinkers, tries to explain one in terms of the other, and ends up effacing the differences. I am not sure what the differences are yet between the two, so I am hesitant to speak about this. I would want to analyze the ways in which they are different very carefully. But this is one of the ways in which they are apparently very similar. They are both critics of the Marxist tradition in aesthetics. Marcuse is obviously much closer in time to some of these debates. And they both valorize this type of inwardness, to use Marcuse’s word. Rancière understands the importance of aesthetics, in a political sense, as the ability to play the part of the disinterested, casual observer. The way of looking, the way of relating to the world that is found and formulated in aesthetics is something that is very important. It is precisely what workers appropriate as an essential premise in the demonstration of their humanity. I recently followed Rancière’s seminar at Berkeley. There, he frequently quoted this carpenter, Gabriel Gauny, who was fixing up an apartment that overlooked a park or something. Rancier was especially intrigued, has been for sometime, with these reflections in his diary where by contemplating it aesthetically, Gauny takes possession of it and comes into full humanity. This is pretty important for Rancière. Marcuse would call this the aesthetic dimension, the ability to be alienated from social reality, to resist it and reconfigure it through an action of the imagination. That distance, that new relationship with the world, for Marcuse, provides the impetus for social critique.
Maybe the difference between the two of them—just thinking off the cuff here—is that for Rancière this act is already social critique, already active in the transformation of identity and what he calls the “distribution of the sensible.” Marcuse, however, talks about it as the refuge of forgotten values, an image of past happiness that then provides the grounds for social critique. It is more indirect: the aesthetic dimension is just that, a dimension that gives us the incentive to engage in political transformation. Whereas with Rancière it is already part of the process, it is more intimate. For him, one stages, demonstrates, and manifests equality by apprehending something aesthetically.

AM: I also see the following difference: Marcuse writes about revolutionary art as something that precedes revolution. It is necessary that it precedes revolution but it simply aids in it, it does not play a part in the revolution itself.

JT: Right, and it should be said that Rancière is critical of a lot of this Marxist teleology that you still find in Marcuse. There is still the underlying faith that the dialectics of history are tending towards a revolution. This is a word that is, to my knowledge, absent from Rancière, which is not to say that he isn’t interested in emancipation.

AM: I am also interested in how this Marxist notion of base and superstructure which I believe, despite Marcuse’s Marxist critiques, is still at the core of his writing on art. In The Aesthetic Dimension he says, “the evaluation of art is through interpreting the quality and truth of a work of art in terms of the totality of the prevailing relations to its productions…The work of art represents the interests and world outlook of particular social classes in a more or less accurate manner. The truth of art lies in this, that the world really is as it appears in the work of art.” I think it is important to note that what he is talking about is a relationship between art and a material base, between art and the totality of the relations of production. Does this framework through which he is looking at aesthetics still apply now?

JT: Correct me if I am wrong, but I think he is being critical of those notions. He is critical of this strict Marxist relationship between base and superstructure. He is definitely critical of just thinking about art as ideology. And I don’t even know that he would say that the best work, or the truest work, is art that gives us a clear perspective on the prevailing material conditions in society. This need not be what art does. Art has this future leaning quality. It also has a retrospective quality. It looks at the past—memory is an important category for Marcuse—and carries something forward, projecting it into the future.

AM: Yeah, I think you are right. I may have slightly muddled his critique and his theory. But I do think that at the core of Marcuse there is still an emphasis on the material relations, or a base and superstructure relation, or rather he doesn’t stray far from the base and superstructure relation. He talks about art as reflecting what is happening within society in a material way. And I wonder can art be discussed in this way anymore?

JT: Yes, is art now a world unto itself, its own conversation, such that it no longer relates to society, as some would claim? I would turn that question back on you, as a working artist. I don’t think that the way you initially put it is true. I don’t think that art has become an exclusively bourgeois affair, and I don’t think Marcuse would find this to be the case, despite the fact that he uses the word “autonomy” so frequently. Has art, however, become such an insider’s affair that only specialists, regardless of their class, can find it to be meaningful?

AM: Or, on the contrary, have all the tools and structures of art been co-opted or utilized as part of what Adorno’s would call The Culture Industry? But I guess I don’t really believe that either, though it is a question that gets continually asked or even stated as fact.

JT: Yeah, I don’t think Marcuse would believe that either, or he is crushed. He is writing this book as he is dying and he does not want to believe that. He wants to believe that some of the things he takes pleasure in—which I think is his bottom line dollar—and which certain Marxists would make him feel guilty for, like Baudelaire. Baudelaire writes a poem about beating up a beggar with his cane. He gives the beggar a coin only after the beggar gets up and trounces him. Not exactly the art of working class people. Yet, Baudelaire is a lot more rebellious than many nineteenth century poets, both at the level of his text and his personal life. He performed a major act of class dis-identification when he took part in the working-class uprising of 1848. Marcuse is really responding to people who are influenced by Brechtian aesthetics, and Brecht’s idea about what art should do. He is responding to them, near the end of his life, and saying that maybe these things that he has found pleasure in could have been what inspired him to engage in the process of social critique in the first place.

1. Larry Hartwick “On the Aesthetic Dimension: A Conversation with Herbert Marcuse” (originally appeared in a locally distributed publication at the University of California, San Diego, 1978)