The Chance tactic seems to use analogies to interpret
feelings and matters subtle and vague into facts - things, processes - where
other extensions of issues that arise from the rational possibilities of the
resulting assemblages are layered onto the outcomes as further material
extensions to shape new analogies and develop other aspects of the original
concept. The strategy holds a sense of relevance that the rational mind can
analyse and appreciate, but emotionally it becomes more difficult to interpret
as the things and processes manufacture a gulf of difference in feeling that
distracts and distorts.
Here, within the framework of life, itemised as the tubular
metal scaffold, chance is given its role by randomly stopping a newspaper-like
run of 600 new-born images, faces of babies on an endless loop: like life
itself it just keeps on going. Sometimes the analogies can be seen to be trite.
Counters register births and deaths in the real world, as ‘real’ statistics
based on averages, and a computer randomly stops and selects the face to be
‘born’ - as if this mechanism might be anything like the sense of giving birth
or any prior selective opportunity. The whole becomes a mathematical
interpretation of the process of addition and subtraction, a counting of events,
managed with digital perfection. Emotions seem to stretch into a contrasting
exclusivity that incorporates one aspect of the understanding only by
diminishing the other. The emotional complexities of real births are much more
involved and mixed than those that might arise from the experience of this
system that reminds one of Sigfried Gidieon’s chicken processing plant
illustrated in his Mechanization Takes Command published not long after
the war in 1948, a work that was flavoured by the horror of hate.
The text in The Australian does not explain it, but
associated with this production line structure are images of aged faces
segmented into horizontal thirds and mixed on other screens to present randomly
collaged, composite portraits of ever-changing possibilities touching death,
dismantling. This concept suggests a variety of matters that can be put into
words derived from a review and analysis that describe the processes, and get
to be fabricated into objects and systems, just like as the baby births do; but
again there is a great emotional divide in these aspects of interpretation.
Unlike death itself, the changing interlaying of portrait pieces is somewhat
entertaining.
Is this art useful? What does it intend to do? The
diagrammatic conceptualisation of matters wreathed in an array of complex
feelings seems to placate the enquiring mind that seeks explanations as part of
the ‘appreciation,’ but can it change lives? Can it ‘touch’ one? Traditional
art was rooted in matters symbolic, where the symbol, no mere sign, was in fact
the thing itself being symbolised, one of its aspects. Chance seems to
reference issues as signs do, by pointing to them, alluding to them
diagrammatically. It may be very skilful and clever in its endeavour, but there
is a great gap between a sign and a symbol. The lion might be used as a sign
for a zoo, its logo, but traditionally it is seen as the sun. The relationship
with the zoo tells us that there might be lions there as well as many other
animals, complete with displays, cafes, and shops. As the symbol of the sun,
the lion is the sun, an aspect of it – its colour, its blazing mane; its power;
its authority: all of these qualities are seen to be those of the lion and the
sun - hence the symbolic significance.
There are many more such connections that involve feelings
that are integral in their shared experience rather than remaining a separate,
informative catalyst to project a message. Artworks like Chance do the
latter. Have we lost our sensibilities to participate in an art where symbols
thrive with vibrancy, resonating with life in a way that can invigorate and
stimulate the gentle and silent aspects of our being: truly enrich us?
Does it matter?
Architecture is not immune from this schism that is neatly
explored by Christopher Alexander in his set of books The Nature of Order.
It is ironical that Alexander brings his mathematical mind to these matters,
but it is intriguing to see how his rigour does not dismantle or destroy his
subject. Jimmy Webb does much the same in his study of song writing titled Tunesmith.
It seems that works like Chance can disrupt our sensitivities and
promote art as an event that can be rationally interpreted, considered and
explained all within a defined set of parameters, divorcing what might be seen
as the substance of life from its living - see: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2013/11/event-architecture.html
There is a bland coldness here. Is this why Boltanski has
‘sold’ his life: does he see it as a commodity that is capable of analysis and
resolution, even if this involves chance, a situation that can be expressed in
a card game or in gambling itself, just as it is in life. But this fact does
not turn the card game or gambling into a representation of or a diagram for
life, or vice versa, although gambling seems to be the core of Mr. Walsh’s
life: possibilities and statistics; and profits. Care, love and consideration
appear to have no role here, yet they do in life. Where might these be located
in art, in architecture - this necessity of being? Are we becoming just too
rationally visual, uniquely introvert and logically one-dimensional in our
singular extravert, promotional manner?
P.S.
Serendipity? Perhaps chance itself? After typing this piece, I looked up the
night’s television programme. SBS is showing Borgen, an episode entitled
What Is Lost Inwardly Must Be Gained Outwardly Part 1- 9:30pm, 08
January 2014. It seems to sum up the position perfectly. Is this our problem inward
loss: outward seeking? Chance, it appears, is more interesting than
necessity: less rigorous perhaps. Is it rigour that we are lacking, personal,
intimate rigour: this necessity?
The article is reproduced here complete with its ‘smarty’
title:
Chance encounter sees artist on a roll
Source: News Limited
FOUR years ago, French
artist Christian Boltanski sold his life on an instalment plan to David Walsh,
the Tasmanian gambler and founder of Hobart's Museum of Old and New Art.
Walsh pays Boltanski a
monthly, undisclosed fee for The Life of C.B., 2010, in which Boltanski is
continuously filmed by cameras in his Paris studio and the footage streamed to
MONA.
"If I die in two years,
he is going to win money, because he gets the piece for a low price," the
69-year-old said in Sydney yesterday.
"If I die in 10 years, it
is going to be awful for him."
The seeming randomness of life
is a theme of Boltanski's work, including his large-scale installation Chance,
which goes on public view tomorrow at the Carriageworks arts centre in Sydney.
Made to resemble an enormous
printing press, Chance runs a loop of photographs of about 600 newborn babies,
the images taken from the births section of a Polish newspaper. After several
minutes, an alarm sounds, the machine stops, and a computer selects the image
of one tiny individual.
"You have all these
possibilities of babies to be born and only one is chosen," Boltanski
said.
"That is the question of
the piece: if you are religious, it is destiny. If you are not religious, it is
only chance."
At opposite ends of the
installation, which stretches 50m along the length of the former rail workshop,
are electronic displays showing real-time calculations of the world's births
and deaths in a single day.
Chance was commissioned for
the French Pavilion at the 2011 Venice Biennale. The Sydney installation is the
fourth time it has been shown.
Boltanski's art practice since
the late 1950s has included painting, photography, sculpture and installation.
Some of his works are shrine-like memorials to victims of the Holocaust.
Boltanski said he met Walsh in
Paris several years ago and decided to make an artwork for MONA.
When they were discussing The
Life of C.B. and the payment plan, Walsh told him that he never loses a bet.
"When somebody believes
he is stronger than destiny, in a way he is like the Devil, he is stronger than
God," Boltanski said. "He is not the Devil at all, he is a very nice
man."
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