You’ve Lost That Conceptual Feeling

 

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Book burning Latham style…

John Latham at the Serpentine Gallery/’Speak’ at the Serpentine Sackler Gallery (Tania Bruguera, Douglas Gordon, Laure Prouvost and Cally Spooner)

2 Mar 2017 to 21 May 2017

John Latham is an artist whose repuation rests on nothing. Or very little. This show – a survey of his most exhibitable works – puts the late artist at the centre of the minimalist conceptual movement that emerged in the 1960s and 1970s. This movement embraced counter cultural vaules, is uncomfortable with the production of objects, mistrusts the art market and  attempts to achieve transfiguration through ideas. Latham conceived the concept of the Noit – the ‘No It’ – as a motif, or indeed a motive, for his work. He was very thin.

I decided to go for a little trip to the Serpentine today – didn’t know what was on, but it’s one of the few galleries to open on a Bank Holiday Monday. While parking my bike I heard someone walking round the outside who had not been in say to their companion, actually say out loud: “…conceptual rubbish, Emperor’s New Clothes…”. I cannot think of any other single phrase that irritates me as much. If I hear it I know that person is not only unwilling to approach new ideas but is unable to think up an original way in which to flaunt that ignorance.

So I was feeling quite favourably towards John Latham as I walked in. He is an artist that will test your patience though.  When I go to a gallery I like to think, but not necessarily just ‘What the hell is that?’

In truth I have not always been a fan and I’m probably still not. Mostly because I know he burned a lot of books, and I find that troubling. Joesph Beuys was a fan though, and I am a huge admirer of Beuys. But then again Joseph Beuys was bonkers. I strongly suspect Latham was bonkers too. In this revealing interview he seems oblivious to the obvious impressions the book burning would make and focuses instead on secondary formal considerations: how the book stuck out of the canvas, how the open pages at once denied the time based notions of reading but exposed the ‘strata’ of the book. I don’t know if they were good books or not, but book burning still has its authoritarian censorship stigma. Latham was making these works when Pol Pot was rounding up anyone who wore glasses in Cambodia, so he cannot have been unaware.  This peversely oblique attitude to how his work might be received is one of Latham’s many opaque attributes. Burning a stack of Encyclopedia Brittanica in London in 1966 surely had obvious symbolism and it disingenuous to ignore it. The burnt book works remain Latham’s most iconic output.

Some of these works are genuinely powerful and arresting such as his reworking of El Greco’s The Burial of Count Orgaz, (1958). This painting is surely as good as anything Rauschenberg was doing at the time.

Somewhere in the second part of last century the mirror of art splintered into the bewildering array of fragments that we see today. Not just different styles but different modes of activity altogether. Matisse and Mondrian for example had very different ideas and approaches but they expressed them through the same medium – paint on canvas. If you remove that commonality and allow art to be made of anything – or nothing – artists have less and less in common with one another. Some people are making objects, striving to make them original and new. Others are making more of a cultural commentary of that historical moment.

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The Cosmos as envisioned by Latham

Latham stands at the root of this bifurcation or at least of one splinter. He is a maker of objects, aesthetic ones too – but they are tangential to his practice. Really they are nothing more (or less) than a snapshot of his lively but rambling mind; so the show is pleasantly full and varied. Given that we are living in the post-conceptual age, this show with videos, floor based objects and things hanging on the wall looks familiar and almost traditional. Moreover you can feel these works were the product of a lively (if somewhat deranged) mind. There is a lot of cosmic subtext to the works and a time-based element. There is the inevitable film that I did not have time for, but seemed to evoke Norman McLaren – it seemed quite playful and sensual, lots of abstract form and colour. Not what I expected from the Godfather of Minimalism at all.

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Stars and stripes featuring ironically on a Latham roller blind painting.

The paintings on roller blinds seemed conceived in a spirit of fun also – time based mutational paintings which sardonincally reference the giant unstretched canvasses of colour field painting then in vogue. Ah…so he was mates with Barry Flanagan. Now it makes a bit more sense! There are a number of ‘One Second Drawings’ leaning on a characteristically grubby white shelf. Black dots on a white ground – they do have a sort of negative cosmic intensity to them, a snapshot of an artistic black hole you are looking at for a lot longer than it took him to make. God filling the void, first mark best mark. Pollock redux. It is all of those things and none of them: either you buy the link or you don’t. At the other end of the scale there is monumental land art – The Five Sisters – which although simply shaped and iconic is anything but minimal in scale. All these seem a pointed and sarcastic responses to the land grab of the artistic high ground by abstract expressionism and its children – by American art in other words. Along with his (in)famous ‘Still and Chew’ (1966-7) where he invited his students to chew and regurgitate Clement Greenberg’s ‘Art and Culture’, it makes his cultural position very clear in place and time. It is a rejection of received wisdom and authority in the first instance and then a further rejection of the Transatlantic respawning of it – a rejection of the whole process of authoritarian paternalistic culture’s self-regeneration. The ghost of Dada permeates this as many other things – not least his American contemporary Robert Rauschenberg – and the description of Dada as ‘a little yes and a big no’ also fits Latham pretty well.

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‘One Second Drawings’ leaning on a characteristically grubby white shelf.

Latham’s talk of ‘skoobs’ – backwards ideas of books – and ‘noits’ sound like words from the Bizarro universe. They suggest that he was great at unravelling ideas but not so great at stringing them together again in a comprehensible way. He comes over as a sort of English Duchamp – but without a manifesto,  an English eccentric rather than a French Revolutionary or an English Beuys – a sardonic dreamer rather than a charismatic radical. The white wood mounts for some of these works are showing their age and quite a lot of scuffs and fingermarks from handling that speak of a history. They are a bit projecty and charming – they are objects, objects from which the ideas have blown away and what remains is just the husk of the work. Charming, yes, but it can’t lead me anywhere. This feeling is confirmed when I wander up to the Serpentine Sackler Gallery for ‘Speak’: a disparate and unengaging tribute show featuring contemporary artists’ response to Latham’s iconic minimalism. But sadly anything times zero will always be zero.

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Conceptual door outside Serpentine gallery…leading nowhere.

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Worship the god Nothing

The New Trinity

The New Trinity

 

Where Were You? -Lisson Gallery

The Space Where I Am – Blain|Southern

The titles of these shows hint coyly at the existential nature of abstraction, but it is easy to forget.
Much of the earliest art from the caves through the Eyptians to the Renaissance has a religious purpose. Beyond religious art is figurative art – the Modernism pioneered by the Impressionists and Expressionists; humanist representation of contemporary people as masters of their own destiny. Beyond figuration is abstraction – where the essence of being is represented without its physical appearance. For a hundred years abstract painting has been the refuge of artists who had the urge to make divine images, but in the language of contemporary art and without the constraining iconography of a specific religion.

The whole idea of abstraction is one of reduction – as the figure is taken out there is no reason not to take out other things. The outward appearance of this art logically tends toward the symbolic as the reduction of extraneous matter strips each form.  As the essence become clear the transcendent religious qualities of the abstract image become apparent. They are the symbols of a new religion. Not the cross or the crescent, or the human image but a religion of nothing, or rather one that worships the reductivist journey towards nothing.

 

Judd - sitting pretty

Judd – sitting pretty

Carl Andre’s floor piece in particular invites veneration. A religion that venerated the square. The fact of it being a floor based sculpture – and one that you very obviously cannot walk across – separates its space as sacred. Its cuboid form suggests that it might be an empty plinth for the god of nothing. Donald Judd’s wall piece painted in quiet tones of grey suggests a delineation of space, but that is its content and silently rebukes you for thinking of things that you might fill the space with. For me this is the outstanding piece in the show – its shadows and reflections create a visual harmonic that resonates in this arid, churchy box.

Fontana’s slash feels like the gate to another world, but not so much as Turrell’s piece: a projection in a darkened room. He invites into the chapel of the red triangle, where purity of light and colour lift us gently, invite us to see the form as part of the infinite.

Turrell. Loses a bit in the photo...

Turrell. Loses a bit in the photo…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile at the Lisson a bunch of contemporary abstract painters are revisiting the idiom. Their work seems comparatively whimsical and self conscious. Perhaps this is an echo of our historical moment. We do not have to contend with the aftermath of war or revolution, but deal instead with the death of artistic style. Sorry I didn’t get any pics of this!

Monteiro’s painting deliberately irritates the viewer by disrupting the edges of each field with a drawn line impasto (if that is the right term) of the same colour simultaneously implying and denying spatial qualities. Almost as if he is using paint as a sculptural material that references painting. Cory Arcangel creates gradients, we are told, in Photoshop and then reproduces them as full scale abstract works. There is the usual Lisson detachment and irony at work here. Art, like Pop before it is eating itself. Before shitting itself. This work mocks and undermines the religious qualities that we have been schooled to admire in Rothko or Pollock. The sense of cosmic vastness, or the sense you can lose yourself in pure colour and form is dented. When not even nothing is left, there isn’t a lot of fun to be had.