After the success of the first screening of the same name at London’s Lewisham Arthouse in August, the art criticism website and research project is back for round two, and comes with the following statement:
“The White Pube is tired of white ppl, white walls, and white wine. So for one night only, we are hosting brown ppl, white walls and chai. Come and view work by brown artists in a real vacuum, where brown-ness is banal, where you can O.O the art without the white-iarchy lookin over ur shoulder, askin if they can eat ur Other.”
Now signed to London’s Young Turks label, the Berlin-based electronic duo will present a new immersive installation, bringing together both visual and audio elements, potentially of a similar ilk to their ongoing Lexachast live collaboration with PAN‘s Bill Kouligas and artist Harm van den Dorpel. London-based French producer coucou chloé will open with a live performance.
The event is part of an ongoing programme selected by NTS Radio who are currently part of the ICA Music Associates. Set up to generate “collaborations with established and emerging record labels, artists and music organisations” it has also worked with Warp, Just Jam, and Factory Floor.
The London-based simulation artist, as well as producer and founder of London label Hyperdub have created an audio-visual show imagining a ‘post-scarcity’ world where the only thing in short supply is humans. The fully-automated, luxury hotel is inspired by themes of “full automation and post-work utopias set in the shadow of the existential threats posed by artificial intelligence.”
Guiding their audience through a first person/drone tour of the grand but empty spaces, the press trailer (see below) presents a bleak look at an uncomfortably possible future: “We built it all for nothing.”
Presented as part of the Culture Now programme, the series “for the culturally curious” has invited New York-based artist, musician and composer to discuss the rise of #BlackLivesMatter with Christina Heatherton and Jordan T. Camp, who co-edited the book Policing the Planet: Why the Policing Crisis Led to Black Lives Matter. It maps what the press release calls “the rise of broken-windows policing and how this led to the current policing crisis,” while the event as whole comes in response to “a series of high-profile police killings of people of colour and centuries of racist brutality,” that gave rise to the #BlackLivesMatter movement that questions “the issue of policing and mass incarceration to the central political question of the age.”
Dani Leventhal is presenting a screening of new work, followed by a Q&A at London’s ICA on October 27.
Showing as part of the ICA’s Artists’ Film Club programme, the Columbus-based artist works in video, installation and drawing to explore the relationship between the personal and the political. She will partake in a Q&A, led by writer Mason Leaver-Yap, following a screening of new works-in-progress, ’17 New Dam Rd.’ (2012) and ‘Hard As Opal’ (2015) will screen
Across media, Leventhal works with collage, collecting and accumulating images, materials and footage to then creating montages that are subject to a rigorous editing process. The incongruous images result in personal exploration of the lived experience, “unearthing a curious beauty in the minutiae of everyday life.”
ICA Live and PAN are presenting an audio-visual programme of lectures, live performances and screenings at the ICA on October 4.
Coinciding with Frieze 2016 and part of the week-long ICA Live programme, the evening includes talks, installations, screenings, and live performances from artists and ends with DJ sets in the ICA Bar hosted by Bala Club.
Multi-disciplinary label PAN has been building a network of international artists since 2008. It’s emphasis is on the “adaption to the rapidly changing cultural and material conditions of contemporary musicians and sound artists today”.
Frieze 2016 is on this week in London, opening October 6 and running to October 9. The event draws an international community of artist and exhibitors to its location in the centre of the city, but is also host to an exciting and diverse range of events offsite and on the fringe, including Miracle Marathon at Serpentine Galleries, Sunday Art Fair at Ambika P3, 1:54 Contemporary African Art Fair at Somerset House and more.
The ICA will be hosting a week of dance, performance, discussions and screenings, from October 3 to 8, with an accompanying program of DJs and other music guests including two after parties in collaboration with Berlin-based label PAN, one hosted by Bala Clubon October 4, and another hosted by PANon October 5. Artist Christopher Kulendran Thomaswill be in conversation with professor Suhail Malikand writer Tirdad Zolghadrto speak about ‘Art Post Capitalism’ on the evening of October 6.
K8 Hardy is presenting a screening of ‘Outfitumentary’ (2016), followed by a Q&A at the ICA on September 21.
The film, screening as part of the Artists’ Film Club programme, was produced by the New York-based artist over an eleven year period using a single low-quality mini-DV camera. Hardy documented her daily outfits, beginning in 2001, on video until the camera broke. She filmed in ever-changing living spaces and art studios in New York. What emerges is “a record of the way a young, lesbian feminist dressed and styled in her ‘coming of age’ and an examination of coded fashion statements”.
The footage was recently edited down to 82-minutes of video. The artist considers the film to be a “document for posterity, an important record of the dress codes of a radical lesbian underground”.
Following the screening, there will be a Q&A via Skype.
Following on from the success of the inaugural Artist Self-Publishers’ Fair in 2015, this year brings over seventy UK and international independent artist self-publishers for the one-day fair. The second incarnation is bigger, features artist self-publishers only, and “continues to avoid the restrictions and market dominance of much contemporary arts culture”.
The publications are considered art works, however, affordable and available, with “the ideas, images and text produced and published by artists who understand the restrictions and freedoms of the printed page”.
The original artwork accompanying Maxwell Sterling’s ‘Hollywood Medieval’ featured the British-born Los Angeles-based producer taking a selfie in the reflection of a window looking into the garish interior of a Psychic Store on Sunset Boulevard. It’s a picture that captures the sense of a space that the Manchester-born, Leeds-educated musician and composer does with sound. His first album, also called Hollywood Medievaland released on LA label Memory No. 36 Recordings, features seven songs inspired by and made up of layers —layers of iPhone recordings and analogue synthesisers, layers of simulated string sections and choral patches; car horns, bird song, traffic, an uncanny voice describing the theology of a New Age religion. Together they’re moulded into urgent and odd movements with titles like ‘Synthetic Beach’, ‘Funeral For A Building’ and ‘$50 Curse Removal’; songs for the Californian city made up of cascading melodies and vocal samples reminiscent of the likes of Oneohtrix Point Never or James Ferraro. In fact, after a stint as nanny to some children of the rich on Mulholland Drive and studying film scoring at UCLA extension, Sterling put his classical training in double-bass and composition to good use with cult-producer Ferraro’s ‘Burning Prius’to a cello ensemble, first performed at LA’s Château Shatto.
“When you know all the sites so well, and you’re aware of all this culture, I think you just have this pull”, says Sterling, over tea with milk at London’s Wellcome Collection about the reasons he found himself ‘visa-hopping’ in the home of fame and fortune for the last four years. He began his career in music production with the “old-fashioned notation on manuscript paper” of his early music education in Northern England’s Leeds, then nannied, then studied some more, then worked writing scores for moving image —here, a collaborative soundtrack for a video work by artist Sam Kenswil, there, a small-budget feature starring thirty-something child Disney star Raven-Symoné.
Even as we speak about the differences between native ‘Angelenos’ and cultural tourists like himself, as well as his very Baudrillardian approach to music production, Sterling is between rehearsals for the first of two projects he’s been doing with his mum, post-punk artist and musician Linder Sterling, commissioned by lofty cultural institutions ICA and Southbank Centre. Sterling Elder is perhaps as well known for her work and association with bands like The Buzzcocks and The Smiths as her claim to being the first to wear a meat dress, well before Lady Gaga, which is perhaps an appropriate access point for the kind of space that Sterling Younger himself occupies as an artist. It’s one that’s suspended between any conventional notion of old and the new, high and low, specialised and amateur, together crystallised in Hollywood Medieval‘s soundscape for a place that can’t be described.
It’s funny that when you speak of the “dark underbelly of LA” you’re talking about well-to-do suburban families.
Maxwell Sterling: Yeah, well I guess whenever you’re dealing with those sorts of people, if you’re working for them… I was just living in their home, it was great. But mostly they’re really keen on taking the kids to these kinds of schools in far, far out Pasadena or Downtown, so I think through that you see some really interesting sights and it really highlights the massive gap between wealth and poverty. I think it’s only really in LA where you see such a radical change.
Do you think that’s where that sense of dread comes from, because that wealth disparity is really visible?
MS: That is a good point, yeah. But I think a lot of Angelenos are pretty unaware of it. I think, perhaps with my experience of being a foreigner, or being even a tourist at some points, you’re really aware of it.
Someone might not be aware of it but they’re drinking Kombucha every day…
MS: [laughs] It’s true, it’s true. I think that’s a real desperation, that I think you’re more aware of as an outsider, or as somebody who is not an Angeleno. I was always terrified, I had this stupid fear at the back of my head: ‘what happens if I run out of money’. That line between comfortable and uncomfortable, it’s very thin and I was always slightly fearful of that but I do think that’s something you’re more aware of as somebody who’s an outsider there.
LA is a really weird community where there are Angelenos that live there but there’s also sense, like in London, of just all these people that are checking through, or checking in, or checking out. It’s just quite a transitory place, really. It feels like there are roots there but also people often go there to figure out their own shit, and you’re never unaware of that. Or at least that’s how I felt when I was there, that there is that sense of desperation and a lot of the people I was around seemed very lost too. For me actually coming back to the UK for a while has been a very refreshing period of time, moving back from that overbearing desperation that you feel sometimes…
I’m going to go through your album song titles, I have a screenshot… ‘Hollywood Medieval’, ‘Feeling Without Meaning’, ‘Your Last Cadenza’, ‘$50 Curse Removal’… what does that last one mean? Is that referring to the Psychic stores?
MS: Yeah, pretty much. For me it was kind of poking fun at that New Age-y or psychic love affair…
MS: Exactly, which is why so many young Californians are so, they might have their own private jet but they still want to make sure that they’re karmic-ally not in too much debt. So, to me, I was always fascinated by Koreatown and Los Feliz, where all these weird psychic stores were basically in people’s homes. That was part of it but it’s more of a humorous thing for me. I’m not an atheist myself, I’m actually quite interested in lots of different forms of spirituality but I was just really aware, in my time in LA, of just how gross it is. How people try to offset their way of living with some vague notion of spirituality to make sure they’re going to be okay.
Is there much of a concept underpinning ‘Hollywood Medieval’?
MS: I wanted to tell a very small story. There wasn’t a specific kind of character or anything but there was this very, with the whole album it deals with the artificial sounds and synthetic sounds of instruments and how far you can push those until they become neither the original, nor synthetic. It’s this weird uncomfortable hybrid, taking these found sounds, then cutting them up into very small pieces, then looping them, then building up on that until a point where you reach a certain level of tension that just releases.
This idea of hybrid music, Tim Hecker talks about it a little bit with his latest album [Love Streams] as well. He also lives in LA as an expat.
MS: Yeah, yeah I know [laughs]. I’m a big fan of his work definitely… For me, I made a really conscious decision with this album to only use sampled instruments and two synths, this Roland Juno and a Yamaha DX7, two synths that are very rooted in a kind of ‘1983’ sound and these samples that I find incredibly sterile, very saccharine. I really wanted a very specific sound palette. I wanted to convey certain emotions and ideas that typically would be easier to do with live instruments but I just really wanted the challenge of making something that kind of has a sense of struggle.
This idea of the feedback loop between live and synthesised sounds reminds me of this Baudrillardian notion of simulacra, of a reproduction of a reproduction of a reproduction; the way an image decays. LA as a space is very much like that, where there is no such thing as an ‘original’ or a ‘real’ space in the city.
MS: That’s very true. I think music that I’m really interested in is getting that sense of decay but also that augmentation; what happens, what is added within that dialogue, as well as what’s lost. For me, I’ll always be more comfortable with acoustic instruments, so it’s just really being quiet limited with the sound. When you’re working on a feature film there’s a sense that you have to get as real as possible, a bit like PhotoShop retouching visually. There’s this idea of ‘what is real’ or ‘what sounds real?’ And often it’s something that’s actually completely hyped and extended. I just got kind of bored of that. So, for me with this album, it’s almost like trying to push it and make it a quite vulgar usage of the sounds.
Have you heard of Los Angeles Plays Itself? It’s basically a history of LA as seen through its own cinema. It’s like a fictional documentary of its own fiction in a sense and it’s a real head fuck, in terms of how Los Angeles is its imagined self.
MS: Yeah, for me it’s such a fascinating thing, you know. Also, over my time there —I have moved maybe three or four times —and you really get a sense of, as vast a city as it is, you’re always aware of these micro-almost-villages, so to speak. You’re really aware of those different cultures and different communities and I think it’s a kind of paradoxical thing where it’s one of the busiest, densely populated cities but you can feel so lonely there too. I really wanted to explore that in my work as well. But there is no true, authentic experience, I guess, wherever you are.
It’s like it’s own filter bubble or something. The first time I was there as an adult I hated it. I didn’t understand why anyone would like it but that’s because I was hanging out with people from the film industry, then I saw a side of it that I like.
MS: Yeah, for me, it’s hard to really get a sense of it or understand it. Well, I’ll never really understand it fully but it’s taken me at least four years to even get an idea of how to relax into it because I think you can’t really ever escape the pace of LA too. To me it felt like you’re treading water, everything felt like such an effort to do there. Part of that is just to do with the geography of the city and just getting around but you’re also aware that everything just happens at half-speed, which, the more you relax into it, it becomes easier to deal with. It’s a fascinating place and I’m sure when I go back there I will get to revisit it and it will be a new place again.**
Arseny Zhilyaev will be appearing in conversation with Tate Liverpool artistic director Francesco Manacorda at London’s ICA on June 23.
The Moscow and Voronezh-based Russian artist will talk in the lead up to this year’s Liverpool Biennial, running July 6 to October 16, where he will present ‘Last Planet Parade’, a small museological exhibition and stained glass windows in one of the few remaining terraced houses of the once-lively and ethnically diverse area of Granby Four Streets.
Zhilyaev’s work focuses on artistic, political, scientific, and museological histories to “uncover and propose potential futures” and the space between fiction and non-fiction by casting “a revisionist lens” on the heritage of soviet museums and their meaning in relation to the history of Russian Cosmism.
Zhilyaev contributed work to the Rare Earth survey exhibition and catalogue (which aqnb reviewed here) and is an editorial board member of Moscow art magazine, Khudozhestvennyi Zhurnal and a contributor to online publishing and archiving platform e-flux.
casts a revisionist lens on the heritage of soviet museology.
The We do not speak but confine ourselves briefly to the surface (a dramaturgy of interiority) evening event is happening at London’s ICA on June 22.
Reflecting on the work of ceramic artist Betty Woodman,the trans-generational live event builds on the format of a screening to create a situation between theatre and exhibition using films, objects, movement, singing and speaking, while reflecting on interiority as a collective experience and “the affective potential of the surface”. It takes its title from J.W. Goethe’s Theory of Colours and aims to think through “feminised expectations and the possibility of an event as a decorative object”.
There’s something illicit about sitting in the dark with a group of strangers; something anticipatory. It allows a fantasy of privacy, of intimacy, even as the person who speaks remains behind the curtain that will not open. I think, at first, that I’m imagining this effect; that the performers at No Screening at London’s ICA on May 13 —co-curated by Cristine Brache, Cassandre Greenberg and Harry Bix —must have been in another room backstage. Eventually I spot shadows moving behind the curtain. I’m not imagining. There’s a bare shard of light, almost imperceptible.
This is only a hunch, but it feels like human beings of the ‘post-internet’ are less primed to be skeptical of aural information, of the ancient feeling of being told a story. Maybe it’s a primeval instinct, where the most important thing is how the story is told.
I wonder whether the performers feel the backstage feeling of childhood before a concert, it emanates suddenly a kind of sleepover feeling, like an allowance, outside of normal time. The room is comfortably expansive, not cavernous, and just the right temperature. Without other distractions, these things matter.
Harry Bixopens the performances with ‘Liquid Luther Vandross’. I think, that’s a magician’s impeccable timing. The darkness lasts just a few moments too long before his voice cuts in. He sings the post-disco soul singer’s ‘Never Too Much’in a voice oscillating between tender and cheeky, Oh my love, a thousand kisses from you are never too much.
Mary Vettise’s ‘So it was the same for me as everybody else’walks the audience through the house of an ex-boyfriend. It has some of the affect of a dream where you keep discovering rooms in a place you thought you knew by heart. Giving less information feels more confident, to trust the listener to build the story in their mind unhindered by specifics of time and place.
No Screening was organised as a response to ICA’s current exhibition, Martine Syms’ Fact & Trouble. Some performers seem to interact more with the US artist’s focus on gesture and the media, particularly Shenece Oretha’s ‘Sounding the Margin: (Inter)mission to James Brown’s Bridge’and Ana Maria Soubhia & Rhoda Boateng’s ‘It’s Ahead’.Both use the voice in a way that feels research-based or archival, communal maybe, as opposed to the personal narrative mode of other works. Stripped of all identity markers, the performers or their proxies step in and out of accent, song, rhyme and tone.
Unlike a sound piece in a gallery, which the viewer can move through at will, the No Screening performance capitalizes on its sense of movie-time: not an individual choice but a collective agreement to time spent. The accompanying compilation album, available for free download from East Anglia Records, declines to reproduce the event, but rather contains some variations of works performed on the night, and other new or parallel ones.
As the program progresses, certain recordings blend into one another; with layers of different voices, music and echo, loops and pauses. I lose track of who’s speaking the dark. Sarah Boulton’s contribution, however, is unmistakeable: a single clear voice, reading without embellishment. It makes her small poems into objects that could almost be held in the mouth: a bird wing, a pearl, a bruise.
Ulijona Odišarija’s ‘End of Summer International’appears the same in both the performance and on the album —a melancholy track of crows and overheard pop songs —apart from the presence of the artist at the back of the room. She is dancing slowly behind the audience, lit by a single small spotlight. It is almost too romantic, save for being seen by almost nobody.
Deprived of all other visual stimulus, I become obsessed with the glowing green icon of the exit sign. In the dark, the remaining senses become hyper-aware: my friend’s cardigan sleeve brushing against my bare arm makes me jump. On the hour, a few peoples’ watches go beep, beep. I’m aware of every gesture, hush, and shuffle. What darkness allows for is a moving through of space in the mind, an awareness of distance and proximity. Certain things, un-visible, become hard to prove.
Being told stories in this way feels childlike. It cuts through the sophisticated visual classification system necessary to build up as armour against an environment oversaturated with imagery. In short, a tale feels true when it’s told. When I got outside onto The Mall, near London’s Trafalgar Square, it is still just barely light and I’m surprised at the faces of the people around me. Echoing the earlier words of Mary Vetisse, “The world looked just the same except it didn’t and it wasn’t.”**