Valerie Solanas did. Author of SCUM, a feminist manifesto. Often referred to as the Society for Cutting Up Men. She used silver bullets. Or bullets coated in tin-foil. Andy Warhol was a vampire after all. I had never known who shot Andy Warhol. I knew there was a movie about it. I never watched it. I didn’t think I needed to know who shot Andy Warhol. But I do. Valerie Solanas shot Andy Warhol.

Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic -minded, responsible, thrill seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex. Solanas in SCUM (1968)

In the recent issue of October that focuses on Any Warhol, Catherine Lord writes about Valerie Solanas, in an article titled ‘Wonder Waif Meets Super Neutuer.

Solanas didn’t like the term feminist.

SCUM will not picket, demonstrate, march or strike to achieve its ends. Such tactics are for nice genteel ladies who scrupulously take only such action as is guaranteed to be effective… SCUM will not subject itself to getting rapped on the head with billy clubs. – Solanas in SCUM (1968)

Feminists were ‘daddy’s girls’. She was queer. Lord describers her as “not just a working girl, but a working class queer who was either behind the times or ahead of her time or who never really had a time or whose fifteen minutes turned out to be more like five.”

American artist Carolee Schneeman credited Solanas with accelerating the “issues that would carry feminist theory and practice into our present moment”. Swedish author Sara Stridsberg wrote the book Dromfakulteten based on Salonas’ story. Delphine Seyrig and Christine Roussoplos made a video that documents Seyrig dictating the SCUM manuscript while Roussoplos types it up on an old typewriter.

To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he’s a machine, a walking dildo – Solanas in SCUM

Lord claims that “queer theory would not have happened without ACT UP would not have happened without the feminist movement. The feminist movement would not have happened not have happened without Valerie Solanas”. Lord also refers to curator Connie Butler’s 2007 exhibition “WACK!: Art and the Feminist Revolution” at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles to posit that “absolutely nothing in the twentieth century was more influential than the feminist movement”. So who shot Andy Warhol? Valerie Solanas did. And I should know about Valeri Solanas.

The first object Kevin Platt built was a boat. In Nostalgia for the never known (2008), Platt builds a boat, ties himself to it, and swims out to sea, towing the boat behind him. Platt created a vessel but did not enter it. He was building an object that could take him places. Instead he took the object places.

In the exhibition Invested Objects currently at Firstdraft Gallery, Platt creates more vessels, but unlike the boat in Nostalgia for the never known, these objects suffer no illusion of functionality. They are only ideas of objects. Sketches of objects. Skeletons of objects.

The skeleton of a structure is something we build upon. But the skeleton of a body is what is left when the carcass rots away. Something we can remember the body by. The Invested Objects are both kinds of skeletons. They are structures we can stand outside of and build upon. Fulfilling sculptural blueprints, we can create our own vessels. Take them on our own voyages. Yet soon the imaginary disconnects from the object. We are left drifting in the bay. We climb out of the vessel. Stamp feet flat on ground and watch the imaginary vessel deteriorate before our eyes. We see only its skeleton. Then we remember the vessel. Remember when we were in it.

When we fill the jug, the pouring that fills it flows into the empty jug. The emptiness, the void, is what does the vessel’s holding. The empty space, this nothing of the jug, is what the jug is as the holding vessel. … But if the holding is done by the jug’s void, then the potter who forms sides and bottom on his wheel does not, strictly speaking, make the jug. He only shapes the clay. No — he shapes the void. … The vessel’s thingness does not lie at all in the material of which it consists, but in the void that it holds.

Heidegger’s vessels come into being not by their frames, not by their sides and bottoms, but by their void. Their emptiness. Platt did not enter the boat because he did not want to fill the vessel. He desired the void to persist. In Invested Objects, Platt creates skeletal objects so that the vessel cannot be filled. Everything slips through. The void cannot be entered. Platt does this because he does not want to defile the vessel. Once Platt enters the boat and it takes him some place, the potential of the void, the vast emptiness it consists of, dissipates. To paraphrase Fitzgerald, by entering the boat, Platt’s count of enchanted objects would diminish by one.

The Invested Objects are in… Read more

Postmodernism is so yesterday.

That was the response I received on Twitter from ApostrophePong when I tweeted  about writing something on the representation of postmodernism in the media. I quickly typed up a reply insisting that I knew that postmodernism was ’so yesterday’ and that was exactly what I was going to write about. I didn’t want to sound out of touch.

I didn’t know why it was so yesterday. I wasn’t too sure when today had begun and I wasn’t completely confident that I even knew what postmodernism was. I didn’t mention this of course. That would have been uncool. But how had postmodernism lost its cool?

I thought I would start on the autopsy table analysing the corpse. Postmodernism, when you cut it apart, literally means ‘after the modernist movement,’ while modernism itself was originally used to refer to things ‘of the present’. In that sense, postmodernism should mean ‘after the present’. Postmodernism should mean tomorrow. Not yesterday. This meaning must be a bit muddled. We didn’t start traveling through time.

In an effort to cement some kind of definition of postmodernism I scrounged around some postmodern texts about postmodernism that were written by postmodernists. Hal Foster wrote of a postmodernism that ’seeks to question rather than exploit cultural codes, to explore rather than conceal social and poltical affiliations’ . Margaret Iversen wrote of a postmodernism borne of a postructuralism that is defined by its ‘resistance to meaning’ . My efforts revealed that the ghost of postmodernism past was having a great big belly laugh at my attempts to corner it into some sort of definition. I was only cornering it so I could discover how it died, but I soon discovered that the weapon I was wielding as I poked and prodded it into its corner, was in fact the weapon that had slayed it. A definition was used to murder postmodernism.

The failure of all the student authors to appreciate the significance of the distinction between language and the use of language (and the determinism that is produced) was also closely bound up with their conception of the meaning of words. Nearly always these students treated abstract nouns as if they were the names of curious sorts of hollow objects. And ‘doing theory’ therefore consists of looking at ’society’ (another object) from somewhere imaginatively outside ‘it’, and seeing how the people who, as it were, have to live inside these hollow spaces are constrained in their thoughts and actions as a result.

According to Gavin Kitching, the students at the School of Politics at the University of New South Wales have been allowing their Honours essays to be corrupted by postmodernism. The students were treating abstract nouns as ‘hollow objects’ devoid of meaning. By treating these words as such, the students had created a society of people living in hollow spaces where their thoughts and actions were constrained as a result. Generally I myself do… Read more

Andrew Frost, from the Art Life on the ABC, writes that music is ‘software for the latest playback devices’ and that it has ‘become an almost worthless commodity’. He has a point. The thrill has gone. The hunting and gathering in record store shelves has succumbed to the ease of the search box and the one-click shop. I hear a song on the radio. I pick up my phone. I type the artist’s name. I click ‘buy album’. I listen to it for half an hour. I forget I own it.

Frost proposes that it is the proliferation of music that has thinned its inherent value. Music is no longer rare, nor difficult to obtain. He writes that ‘the purchase of music has become a sordid and shameful gluttony’. We have become pigs with our snouts stuck in the troughs. The question is, do we need to starve ourselves of something in order to value it?

Frost writes that art with its emphasis on the original object is able to resist the wholesale commodification experienced by music and that its cultural value is measured by more than its materials. He states that rarity is everything. He proposes that the proliferation of video art online and on the shelves of retail stores is hampered by the artist’s desire to maintain the artwork’s ‘aura of specialness’ by keeping the work as a limited edition, available to only a few discerning collectors.

I as a video artist have chosen not to show my video works online, on youtube or on my own website. It isn’t because I feel that it will cheapen the works value through mass proliferation. It is because I want to control the experience of my work. I want the pilgrimage to the white walled temple of the gallery or museum. I want the quiet space. I want the artwork to belong to a cultural ritual that extracts the viewer from the ‘real world’ and places them in that other empty space. It is like listening to an album for the first time. The bedroom floor. The ceiling. There needs to be a ritual of escape.

Listening to a new album while reading the paper or peeking at video art on youtube in between phone calls at the office does not belong to that ritual.

We do not need to starve ourselves of something in order to value it. Rarity isn’t everything. Ritual is everything.

The bread that is the body of… Read more

Pull up. The artist hangs as he lifts his body up. He carries his own weight. The force of his suspended weight, the pressure, is rendered visible on his face. His cheeks expand, his jaw clenches and his eyes and brow scrunch up. His body descends. He lifts himself back up. Tightening. Then releasing. The artist moves but remains static. Dangling there he lifts his head high for a moment before dropping down again.  He stays there in that same place. Struggling.
 

Why does an artist paint a self-portrait?  I propose it is a form of resistance training. An artist creates, renders something visible, and that creation then exerts force upon the viewer. There is a sensation. An impact. But when the artist’s creation is an image of the artist themselves, the force of the artists own symbolic body impacts their physical body. The imagined self feedbacks onto the physical self. The act of painting self-portraits becomes an existential push up, or in Heesco’s case, a pull up. Heesco pushes his image away from himself , projects it on to paper, and then pulls his image back to himself, through the sensation of seeing his own projected image. The repetitive nature of Heesco’s series of self-portraits also enforces the idea that his painting is a form of existential exercise:

I am / I show that I am / I see that I am / I am : 9 Repetitions

It is evident from Heesco’s previous work that he considers existence as a choice. An exercise that one chooses to undertake.

Heesco left Mongolia in controversy. He had self published a book with a friend that had the Mongolian press claiming as a guide to suicide. Only 150 copies were printed and were distributed mainly among friends and university students, but copies of the book found their way to government officials, and Internal Affairs, the equivalent to ASIO, started an investigation into Heesco.

The book was called ‘Caffeine Deficiency’ and was a collection of short stories, poetry and illustrations about a group of teenagers coming to terms with a post-communist Mongolia. It reflected a disaffected and depressed generation that Heesco belonged to.

“It didn’t say go and kill yourself really. It just portrayed our state of mind at the time, which was pretty bleak,” Heesco said.

Francesca Alfano Miglietti writes that existence itself can be a form of artistic expression. The title of the series ‘Six Feet Over’ as opposed to ‘Six Feet Under’ demonstrates that Heesco views these works as representative of his survival, of not being pulled under. The works show the artist struggling against the weight… Read more