| Original Text Frieze Issue 149 September 2012 By Jennifer Higgie Shouts & MurmursArt’s disputed relationship to activism I’ve had a lot of conversations recently about what exactly constitutes activism in relation to art. It’s obviously not a simple discussion: in recent years, there have been countless exhibitions, books and symposia around the subject. Most debates tend to get tangled up with the word ‘activism’ itself, which usually implies some kind of collective endeavour. But I like to think of it in a more expanded way; after all, there are more ways of being active and socially engaged than organizing a meeting.Although art production has always had a relationship to politics – either bluntly, as a form of propaganda, or more subtly as a product of patronage – in the last century or so its use as a tool for critiquing society has become more explicit. Yet for some, the idea that art can effect real change is laughable; after all, even at its most radical, it’s part of a massive, unregulated market awash with money and funded, on the whole, by very rich people, many of whom aren’t as liberal or as left-leaning as their buying tastes might suggest. Art, say the doubters, is simply a reflection of its times; it’s a response not a solution, and change is brought about not by performance or images (as if art were simply surface) but by direct political action. This is a line of argument that runs the risk of being prescriptive about art’s function – and thus limiting its potential for transformation. Witness, for example, the woeful statements that emerged from ‘Forget Fear’, the 7th Berlin Biennale, earlier this year, a largely state-funded exhibition that purported to be about the intermingling of politics and art but that in many ways ended up perpetuating the kind of thinking it claimed to be complaining about. As curator Artur Żmijewski stated in his introduction: ‘My critique of my own field is ultimately very simple and can be summarized in one sentence: art doesn’t act, and doesn’t work.’ By this, I assume he means that he can’t gauge art’s efficacy, which strikes me as a very narrow way of thinking about art’s myriad functions. Associate curators of the Biennale, the Russian art collective Voina (War), told the following anecdote in one of the show’s accompanying publications: ‘Kazimir Malevich, after the revolution in Petrograd, armed with a pistol, passed through artists’ studios asking who was still painting birches and demanded real art. Armed with a weapon. That is real art.’ Reading this immediately made me want to reach for a brush to paint a picture of a birch tree. The moment vehemence and violence go unchallenged is the time to start ringing the warning bells. Right-wing rhetoric disguised as activism – for this is what Voina is spouting – is always bizarrely simplistic: it implies that the world isn’t large enough to accommodate a multitude of responses to its many problems. I prefer to ask: How can change be manifested if it can’t first be imagined? And who would ever assume that imaginations run along straight lines? What might be seen as an innocuous creative act in one country can be seen as a threat to national security in another. For many artists, the simple act of expression can be a radical gesture of defiance: one that refuses to allow the imagination to be censored, whatever the consequences – and thousands of artists are jailed as a result. In this issue of frieze, Elizabeth Rush looks at performance in Burma, a country brutalized by decades of military rule and censorship. She concludes: ‘The most tenacious and telling art in Burma isn’t painted, printed or hewn. It simply takes place.’ dOCUMENTA (13) is about to close in Kassel, Germany. Curated by Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev, it is possibly the most admired large exhibition I have visited – its complexities an antidote to the over-simplifications that took place in Berlin. In her response to the exhibition in this issue, Kaelen Wilson-Goldie cites the career of octogenarian Lebanese artist and writer Etel Adnan as being symbolic of the show’s intentions. She notes: ‘Adnan has been responding to wars and unconscionable acts of violence with great sensitivity and steadfastness for more than half a century. Her commitment to her role as an increasingly endangered species of public intellectual, and her belief in the capacity of her art not only to make sense of the world but to allow her to fall in love with it over and over again – these are the qualities […] that give Christov-Bakargiev’s exhibition its heart.’ Adnan’s paintings, one of which is on the cover of this issue, might not appear initially particularly radical: they are modest, delicate, thoughtful things. And yet, for so many people, the simple act of being able to respond to the world they find themselves in is an enormous privilege, and one that Adnan embodies, declaring: ‘I write what I see, I paint what I am.’ I interviewed the American artist Suzanne Lacy for this issue, an artist who – despite the fact that for over four decades she has worked tirelessly for social justice – still makes art ‘for what some might consider quite romantic reasons: to invent, to give shape through imagination, to play’. I asked Lacy how she gauged the success or failure of a work of art. She replied: ‘The best I can hope for is to relate a set of experiences that move us in a direction of understanding each other better, understanding social systems better, thinking about new ways to make art.’ I can’t think of a more timely way to define what activism is, or could be. |
Translated Text （标题）吆喝和细语 （内容）我近来听到不少说法，是关于“社会行动”（activism）与艺术之间的关系。艺术是不是社会行动的一种方式呢？这当然不是一个简单的问题。近些年来，不少的艺术展览、书籍和研讨会，都就这个问题展开探讨。有人认为是，有人以为非，其关键在于如何对社会行动这个名词概念的理解。这个概念通常暗指某种集体的行为、一种尝试改变社会政治而努力的行为。然而，我的理解却是更加广义的，毕竟，参与政治社会行动可以有不同的方式，不一定只有集会才算是社会行动。 艺术创作与政治是分不开的，它们之间的关系可以是赤裸裸的，也可以是很微妙的。比如以直接政治宣传为目的艺术就是赤裸裸的，而通过资助或赞助的形式来间接影响艺术活动则是微妙的。纵观二十世纪，艺术作为政治工具来批评社会是越来越直接了当。然而，对于有些人来说，艺术并不能够改变社会。他们的理由是：即使是最激进的社会行动艺术，也不外乎是自由市场经济的一部分。艺术市场的背后都是金钱的逻辑，由大富豪控制着。对于这些大富豪，我们不要被他们的收藏品味所蒙蔽：他们表面上收藏自由派或者偏政治左派的艺术品，但其实他们在政治上并不是真的自由派。所以，在艺术怀疑论者看来，艺术无非就是时代的反射，艺术创作只是对各种社会现象的反应，而不是为这些现象提供解决办法。因此，他们得出这样的结论：艺术改变不了社会，真正能够改变社会的是直接介入的政治行动。在我看来，这些怀改论调有失偏颇：他们是在给艺术开处方，处方限制了艺术的潜在可能性。 举个例子，在今年初的第七届柏林双年展上，官方主题是“忘掉恐惧”，该展览想探讨政治与艺术的纠缠。然而，展览的结果不但没有理清政治与艺术的关系，而是延续了艺术无能于政治的看法。策展人Artur Zmijewski在开幕时声称：“我[作为策展人]，对这个展览会的看法很简单，可以用一句话来概括：艺术不行动，艺术不奏效。”我想Artur是在说自己无法知晓艺术的效能。这种提法是很狭隘的，忽视了艺术众多的社会效能。这届双年展的助理策展人、来自俄罗斯的艺术团体Voina（这名字是战争的意思）在随后的活动上还讲述了一则小故事：“在前苏联革命队伍拿下彼得格勒后，先锋艺术家马勒维奇（Kazimir Malevich）拿着一把手枪到艺术区去，询问谁还在画白桦树，要求他们搞真正的艺术创作。像他那样拿着手枪，才是有行动能力的艺术。”听到这里，我很想马上拿起画笔去画白桦树。激烈的暴力如果没有遭遇抗争，那就要敲响警钟了。Voina的说法，就是右派的言辞佯装成为社会行动的主张，这些言辞把艺术和政治的关系简单化，暗示着这个世界不存在解决问题的多种方法。我倒是想问：如果连艺术想像都不可能了，那么又如何能改变社会呢？ 相比之下，即将落幕的第13届卡塞尔文献展则没有把艺术与政治的问题简单化，而是展示了两者之间关系的复杂性。卡塞尔文献展是我最敬仰的大型艺术展览，这一届的策展人是 Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev。她说此次展览的目的可以用一位黎巴嫩艺术家的艺术生涯来类比。这位黎巴嫩艺术家叫Etel Adnan，她同时也是作家，目前已八十多岁了。Carolyn说：“半个世纪以来，对于战争和没有良心的暴力行为，Adnan的反应总是带有很高的敏锐感，并且持之以恒。她充分体现了一个公共知识分子的角色。在公共知识分子正渐渐成为稀有物种的今天，她的奉献就显得更加重要。她的艺术生涯，体现了她对艺术效能的信仰，这种信仰使她一次次地爱上艺术。她的这些素质……也就是我们此次文献展的心脏。” Adnan有一幅油画刊登在这一期的Frieze杂志封面上。乍看上去并不是很激进，而是谦逊的、精巧的以及深思熟虑的。但是，对于许多人来说，这么简单的艺术表现已然是很了不起了，因为他们生活在不同的国家，在这些国家里，能这样做需要很大的勇气。正因为如此，Adnan声称：“我书写我所看到的东西，我用油画记录我是什么。” 就艺术和政治的关系，我还采访了美国的艺术家Suzanne Lacy。她四十年来都不辞辛劳地为了社会正义而努力工作。但她的回答却带着浪漫主义情调。她说她的艺术创作就是从无到有的创造，将脑海里想像的东西具体化为一个型，艺术创作就是要好玩。这种回答听起来似乎与她为社会所做的事情无关。我接着问她如何衡量一件艺术品的成败，她说：“我最希望看到的[成功的艺术品]，就是这些艺术品可以促发某些体验，从而让我们更好地互相理解，更多地了解体社会体系，促发我们去想像新的方法，来创造艺术。”我觉得这句话就是社会行动（Activism）这个概念的时代注脚。 |
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