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REVIEWS
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Paul O’Neill on Self-reflexivity,
Curating and the ‘Double Negative Syndrome’
Artists’ favourites: Act I & Act
II
ICA, LONDON
5 June – 5 September 2004
‘Self-reflexivity’ was always a good
thing to find in curating and art criticism alike. Even at its least
self-aware, it brought to the fore the idea that the ever-changing
roles of curator and critic were ideologically, historically and
culturally produced. But nowadays it is fast becoming the most over-used
buzzword linking the two activities. It is the term most often cited
to suggest an individual’s criticality in good practice. Rather
more worryingly, it is being emptied out of its own meaning. Gone
are the times when all you needed for a good art exhibition was
to show some really good works of art together. Apparently, we now
need more self-reflexivity. Exhibition curating has even become
self-reflexive about self-reflexivity itself. We are becoming so
self-reflexive that exhibitions often end up as nothing more, or
less, than art exhibitions curated by curators curating artists,
curating artworks, curating curators, curating exhibitions. ‘Self-reflexivity’
has become the new curatorial conundrum from which there is no escape
for the critic. Whether it is the practice of curator, or artist,
or writer, critical agency is being absorbed from within. The principle
is so dependent on the double negation of self that a responsible
proposition and the negation of its negation mean one and the same
thing. Self-reflexivity is the double-edged sword that likes to
present itself as the open book, but ends up as the shattered mirror.
Although not the first art space to do so,
Exit Art in New York has been organising a series of exhibitions
since the late ’90s, whereby artists take on the role of curator.
One premise for this curatorial initiative is that artists are invited
by Exit Art’s Papo Colo and Jeanette Ingberman to select works
by other artists that have influenced their practice. The ongoing
series of shows is called ‘The Choice’. Similarly, new
ICA curator Jens Hoffmann has invited over 40 artists to select
one of their favourite works of art by another artist, made between
1947 and the present day, for the show ‘Artists’ Favourites:
ACT I & II’. In his introductory notes for the exhibition
manual/guide, Hoffmann writes: ‘The significance of the artworks
is altered as it becomes apparent that, in this context, they stand
not only for themselves or the artists who created them, but also
represented the artists who selected them and the motives behind
their selections.’ The show is full of many good works. But
a show is more than a show of its parts. I started to wonder, but
not in any original curatorial way, if there was a Duchampian readymade
at hand, where artworks could become critique, and where this curator
as critic could use them deceitfully, while liberating them from
the benign yet conceitful curatorial structure. Upstairs in ACT
II, Art & Language had the same idea. Their favourite was Fairest
of Them All (2004) by Charles Harrison. This was a framed text panel
sitting upon a lectern-like plinth, spot-lit from above. It read
as follows:
‘We make distinctions. To do this is not
new and it makes almost no sense to say, as the authors of the “Exhibition
Summary and Narrative” do, that it’s on the increase.
It is simply necessary. Some distinctions and the “ranks”,
“categories” and “classifications” that follow
from them are enduring and others not. There is neither mystery
nor novelty in this. One more or less ordinary distinction is between
the artist and the curator. This exhibition “narrative”
suggests that there are shows that some artists dislike and that
this truism discloses a wrong to be righted. What is not admitted,
however, is that the institutional exhibition of contemporary art
is driven by the mechanisms of management power, a power that is
reflected in shabby cultural expedients and in curatorial imposture.
This is the prevalent condition. Curious then that an exhibition
whose declared purpose is to “give the lead back to artists”
seeks to accomplish this by making them curators. The institutional
instruments of management and curatorship are not here disrupted,
but rather magnified. The exhibition is founded on and seeks to
perpetuate a mystification, disguising the fact that artists have
already been drawn into the condition of the curator. It is curatorial-and-worse
work that the institution requires of the artist. The authors of
the “Summary” and the “Narrative” attest to
this, albeit unwittingly. But the mystification comes unstuck rather
easily. In appearing to make a real distinction between artist and
curator the organisers have proposed a single negation: “artists
are not curators.” In fact, the curatorial presence in the
exhibition has been doubled. The result is a double negative: the
artist is simply not not a curator. And that’s in fact how
it is. A different kind of work is needed if we are to reshape the
distinction and reintroduce a critical negation.’
I have been thinking of establishing a new
critical collective for the purpose of exhibition production. I
am thinking of calling it Curating & Language. All interested
parties should write c/o Curating & Language, ICA, London.
Paul O’Neill is an artist, writer and curator, researching
curatorial histories at Middlesex University. He writes regularly
for Art Monthly, Circa and Everything Magazine.
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