It's Swell time again; the sculpture festival at Currumbin. What can one say? Yet again, we are getting the replay, the familiar format as that is seen year after year. It is as though the festival is run on auto, in accordance with the handbook.
What can one say other than “What can one say”? It has all been said before, and no one seems to care. Why is a sculpture festival so predictable? Why does it not set an example of experimentation, of variety, of challenges – inspired surprises, rather than the mere pushing of a product; the presentation of a brand – with the same graphics; the same formats; the same schematic map; the same blurbs; even the identical identity? The celebration seems to thrive on nostalgia. One can see some sense in this, but is it really just too predictable? No doubt the response will be the mantra: when one is on a good thing, one should stick to it. Why change something that is not ‘broken’?
Perusing the artworks submitted, one can see a very general environmental referencing in most of the ideas. The blurb written for each submission frequently mentions these environmental concerns: our planet, things green, climate change, nature, and the like; or some other lifestyle sentiment like well-being and wholeness that is intertwined with these concerns.
These intentions all appear admirable, but the major problem seems to be that the referencing is most generally managed by signs or similarities, or something like a suggestive, schematic parallel or allusion that has to be mentally manipulated to connect with some obscure analogy in order for one to perceive the proposed, supposed relevance which frequently has to be carefully calculated, assessed, deconstructed, reconstructed, and interpreted in order to be 'seen': “Ah!”
Often the words refer to subtleties and esoteric concepts using hard facts and figures of speech which destroy and deform rather than enlighten the vision, creating that stark contrast that lies at the heart of humour and farce, shattering the seemingly heartfelt concerns seeking to be expressed with dreary, hopeful, motherhood statements and the distracting bland realities of form.
Examples have been selected here in order to illustrate the problem. The choice of these works is not a personal critique as the issue is a general one.
For example, Number 29: I Believe I Can Fly by Gleb Dusavitskiy, presents a pair of butterfly wings fabricated in rusting Corten steel with angular strut stiffeners in order to provide the concept of delicate flight. It is a difficult challenge, turning the ambition to engage with this experienced, weightless illusion into a struggle, in spite of the idea that seeks to prompt it: “The work symbolises the limitless nature of dreams.” One is left to stand alone in front of the sculpture and be photographed to look like a person 'with wings,' using an idea similar to those playful, quirky, 'face in hole' photo boards painted with a fat lady: ‘Look at me! Ha! Ha!’: “It offers a moment of reflection, empowerment, and possibility.” The intentions are profound but the realisation appears to be everything that is is different.
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Likewise, Number 1, Of Sowing And Reaping, by Nadine Schmoll, which offers “Bales of Queensland sugarcane . . . with lines raked in the surrounding sand” to provide “a space for contemplation and reflection of the complexities and challenges within the agricultural industry.” The concept is admirable, but the idea that a few bales placed on the beach might be sufficient to induce the desired intention remains an inherent difficultly, being close to a folly. Oddly, the raked sand of the Ryoan-ji Temple in Kyoto is not referenced here when it might offer a more substantial base for understanding the idea. Rather, one is asked to make the leap and become meditative just because the artist wishes this to be the reaction. Alas, when we viewed the work, there was no raked sand, just the usual smudge of beach sand disturbed by feet; and the bales, even on this Tuesday, were looking tired, suffering under their sunny exposure. It was not a happy scene: POA. One might suggest that it might cost the artist to take this away.
Number 2 highlights the word game in these blurbs: Bright Buoy by John Macdonald “is a conceptual sculpture inspired by solar thermal sun-tracking devices.” The problem is that “the sculpture itself in non-functional,” but still “it is where sculpture meets climate and creativity meets innovation” Is this so? One might like it to be, but there remains a real gap between the experiential and conceptual desires here, and even with the realities. It is a common void that one repeatedly comes across in the texts that accompany the illustrations in the catalogue.
There seems to be a lack of understanding or appreciation here, with intentions being clear in the artists’ minds, but with the works sometimes verging on the trite when it comes to the sensitivities of the subject being explored. This might sound hard and harsh, but it appears to be so. One might reference John Betjeman’s response when he was asked what he thought about the presentation that put some of his poetry to music and dance. He noted that he admired the effort, but thought that it added very little to the poetry.
One might say the same about some sculptures: that one can admire the effort that has gone into the fabrication and presentation of these works, and even the time given to the thoughts behind them, but that the final sculptures add very little to the latter, standing boldly as manufactured signs for thinking about thoughtful intentions that operate on a different level to that of the perception of the piece.
Number 79, Dream Rider by Michael Brown “reflects the impact of consumerism on our environment.” One wonders how. The sculpture is of an impressive, big bird. The idea is “a dream that every human will respect our planet. This dream of coexistence rides on the wings of Dream Rider.” It is difficult to put the visuals together with the words as the artist might like us to do. There is a great gap that takes us away from these admirable intentions. There is no essential substance in the work that demands this reading; we see a big bird. We have to engage with the fantasy of the story in order to see the artist’s point, and then we find ourselves in a fairyland of make-believe rather than in any transformative experience that might achieve any outcome other than puzzlement.
To try to understand these subtle matters, one needs to look at symbols and how they are considered in tradition. Abū Bakr Sirāj ad-Dīn (Martin Lings) explains in The Book of Certainty The Islamic Texts Society, Cambridge, 2015:
p.29
. . . and since he (Satan) had in reality only the fruits of the Garden of the Soul to offer them, that is, the known and wonted objects of perception, being himself everlastingly barred from the Garden of the Heart, he could only tempt them with forgeries, giving the known and wonted objects of perception a semblance of strangeness by suggesting abnormal and irregular uses for them.
One could compare this situation with art today.
p.37
. . . when, in connection with the dhikr, the Qur’ān speaks of the mathal – ‘example’ or ‘symbol’ – it is referring to the essential or ‘vertical’ likeness between higher and lower domains, such as those already mentioned between the Heart and the soul. A symbol is something in a lower ‘known and wonted’ domain which the traveller considers not only for its own sake but also and above all in order to have an intuitive glimpse of the ‘universal and strange’ reality which corresponds to it in each of the hidden higher domains. Symbols are in fact none other than the illusory perfections of creation which have already been referred to as being guides and incentives to the traveller upon his journey, and they have the power to remind him of their counterparts in higher worlds not through merely incidental resemblance but because they are actually related to them in the way that a shadow is related to the object which it casts. There is not the least thing in existence which is not such a shadow . . . Nor is there anything which is any more than a shadow.
With this text in mind, one could say that the artist seeks to reveal the shadow rather than self-expression or some other rationalisation.
p.38
What is true of earthly objects applies also to acts: an earthly act is the last of a hierarchy of corresponding shadows which spans the whole Universe. Figuratively speaking, if each series of corresponding shadows or reflections throughout the different worlds be likened to the series of the rungs of a ladder, an earthly act is the lowest rung, or rather as the support upon which rests the foot of the ladder, and to stand at the foot in upward aspiration is precisely what constitutes an act of remembrance in the sense of the word dhikr. The traveller may thus sanctify all his acts in seeking to remember, through them, the Divine Qualities in which they are rooted.
p.39
The ladder as a symbol of the true rite and all that this rite implies recalls the tree which is mentioned in he opening quotation as a symbol of the good word;
Symbols hold a
necessity and are not mere fabricated signs that one hopes might
point the way to the message. Coomaraswamy noted that they are the
thing itself; one of its aspects.
Modernity leaves us blind to these matters:
Seyyed Hossein
Nasr, Traditional Islam in the Modern World, Kegan Paul
International, London, 1987.
p.103
. . . the modern concept of man as being ‘free’ of Heaven, complete master of his own destiny, earth-bound but also master of the earth, oblivious to all eschatological realities which he has replaced with some future state of perfection in profane historical time, indifferent if not totally opposed to the world of the Spirit and its demands, and lacking a sense of the sacred . . .
p.106
Once the Transcendent Principle is forgotten, the world becomes a circle without a centre and this experience of the loss of the centre remains an existential reality for anyone who accepts the theses of modernism.
p.109
. . . the intellectual challenges posed by modernism in the form of evolutionism, rationalism, existentialism, agnosticism and the like . . .
The frustration is that we are left with the struggle to feel and be involved, even with all the very best intentions. We have nothing with which to encapsulate these ambitions for the works that become weak verbal references and analogies, like puns that take ideas and turn them into facts from which we are asked to discover meaning, when perception leaves us with simple, exposed, self-conscious realities to juggle into some position of relevance.
A few sculptures touch on a more simple proposition. Number 30, even with the exotic title Love And Survival – Bush Stone-Curlews by Sam Gowing, is presented as being inspired simply by the artist’s having seen a couple of birds nesting in a carpark. The sculpture is sophisticated and bright, with a colourful elegance of refinement. Yet the suggestion of something deeper seems to be a necessity; “As habitats shrink, these resilient birds adapt, embodying survival in the face of humanity’s changing environment.” The gap here is very obvious, with the end statement able to stand alone, away from the initial enthusiasm to shape the birds simply in line and colour, creating a fun, minimalist sculpture with nothing more essential than what meets and delights the eye.
Unlike Number 27, Relics by Jeremy Sheehan where “Five stoic forms stand like ancient sentinels evoking the earthly and otherworldly,” with the idea being that “As we look toward the stars while making our planet less habitable and our society less hospitable, questions arise around our place in a galactic ecosystem.” One sees a set of five poles with knobs and swellings. What is one supposed to do with this? Think of Star Wars or Dr. Who? One is left hanging, feeling a little obscure about being so dumb as to not experience some galactic notion of doubt; but really, where is the necessity here other than in the artist’s intentions?# Giacometti's work comes to mind before any galactic enterprise.
One could go on and analyse each submission, but the point seems clear enough. We need to seek out substance and meaning, its essence, so that we can truly engage with ideas embodied in form that can transform. As it is, we linger on the border of things interesting and entertaining at the very best, with the possibility being that there is some work that remains on the level of being truly trite and boring, so shallow as to be a farce.
This is not a new or personal problem; it is the concern of Modernity. One can go back over the years of Swell sculptures and see the same problem. It is not an individual issue, and is no reflection on any particular artist. It has to do with today’s society; where we are in our centre-less world. If Swell does anything, it highlights this void for us to experience and become aware of, and, if we so choose, to do something about this.
Number 26, Mystic Passage by Mieke Van Den Berg “invites viewers to embark on a whimsical adventure.” The artist tells us that “Using recycled materials adds to the piece’s uniqueness and highlights the importance of sustainability and imaginative exploration.” We are grounded in this adventure by the sheer statement of facts rather than enlivened and enlightened by its viewing. This is the problem: a general lack of necessity and essence.
Sayyed Hossein Nasr Traditional Islam in the Modern World Kegan Paul International London 1987
p 14
If traditionalists insist on the complete opposition between tradition and modernism, it is precisely because the very nature of modernism creates in the religious and metaphysical realms a blurred image within which half truths appear as the truth itself and the integrity of all that tradition represents is thereby compromised.
Nasr responds to the sceptics:
p.15
The traditional perspective always remembers the famous principle of Islamic philosophy, that . . 'the non-existence of knowledge of something is not proof of its non-existence.'
One might say that there is a lack of depth in the works that interest the observer only with their difference, intrigue, and entertainment value that draw in the crowds. The situation is made clear in the way that people line up to be photographed with the work, seeking the surprising and quirky element as a context for ME to be seen with - ready for Instagram approval?*
Yet there is a glimmer of hope.
As one spends more time at Swell, one discovers that not all is quite the same this year. After a while one realises that the catalogue has been organised to present the sculptures in the order in which they have been displayed along the esplanade. This is a welcome change, but why is this organisation not made clear on the map, with the sequence spelt out clearly so as to make the map more useful to anyone wanting to seek out one work in particular. We had to ask where the much-promoted big bird was.
The other welcome difference is the marking of the works. It is a real pleasure to peruse the different works and have the title, the artist, and the blurb provided for the visitor to peruse high on the place marker adjacent to the work.
One can only be pleased with these variations that do improve the exhibition, but it would be good to see some other changes too: a greater exploration of possibilities beyond the mere repetition of the same, something along the lines of Google with its ever-changing graphic play that reinforces the brand rather than impedes its promotion.
This year has seen the southern expansion of the exhibits, with fewer placed on the less accessible sand. This is a great success that makes good use of the existing walkway, adding new experiences and facilities to the ocean frontage festival with the fluttering flag avenue connecting this growth area.
Being an art exhibition with works for sale, we experience the expectation stirred up by the remarkable prices paid for ‘art’ at auctions. It is this sometimes astonishing experience that gives rise to the circular game that uses the logic that the ‘better’ the work, whatever this might entail, the more it should cost. The rationale developed from this thinking seems to support the approach that the higher the value placed on a work, the better the ‘art.’ So, for example, we get Bright Bouy on sale for $30,000. Oddly, when we visited, this inflatable form was being fixed by the artist. One wonders what lifespan/guarantee it has for $30,000. One could go on, but . . .
All is not lost. We look forward to next year. While ideas for the festival have been repeatedly put forward and ignored, one can only hope that, with these little organisational changes, bigger and braver steps will be taken in the future to surprise and enrich. The saddest concept that gets ignored is the idea for Council to add something to the area each year so that there is a lingering legacy for the Coast, a commitment to place rather than this ‘sugar burst’ each year; and one’s repeatedly envisaging ‘artworks’ in the ordinary surroundings can only prompt one to again suggest that more needs to be done in a self-conscious manner to encourage the care and development of urban space.
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One has to note that there are some sculptures that seem more grounded than others in their ambition. The inspiration for the sulphur crested cockatoos – Number 59, Hello Cockies! by Julie M Milton - has simply been their comical playfulness. The sculpture has no intentions beyond sharing this experience as modelled birds swaying, spinning, and swinging joyfully in the wind. Likewise, the nearby Number 57, Cocoon by John Van Der Kolk, has a similar clear intention, wanting to do no more than to explore ‘a state of suspension, delicately balanced between what is and what will be.’ Neither of these works attempts to suggest some esoteric meaning is being expressed or implied in the work. One is left experiencing just what the artist has been exploring; what is before one’s eyes, rather than what has been presented in the blurb as some applied intellectual relevance that one struggles to perceive or sense without some mental gymnastics.
We like to say design reflects culture, but that’s only half the truth. Culture also reflects design. And the interfaces we are building today don’t just echo nihilism — they embed it, normalize it, and accelerate it. The real question isn’t whether design has agency, but whether designers are willing to own the meanings they create — or the voids they leave behind.
Part of the work is rhetorical. Designers can learn to reframe meaning as a kind of metric in itself — arguing that coherence builds retention, that conviction breeds loyalty. If the industry only speaks numbers, then one task is to translate values into that language without losing the values themselves.
If we refuse that responsibility, our interfaces will go on teaching the same lesson, swipe after swipe—that meaning itself is negotiable, optional, disposable. And the more we live inside those lessons, the more we risk losing the very capacity to imagine life beyond the abyss.
Michael Buckley
https://uxdesign.cc/contemporary-design-doesnt-just-reflect-nihilism-it-creates-it-4b8617293462
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