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Highlights 2014 – Quinn Latimer

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By Quinn Latimer

Highlights 2014 – Quinn Latimer

Painting by Etel Adnan, used on the cover of To Look At the Sea Is To Become What One Is: An Etel Adnan Reader, (2014) edited by Thom Donovan and Brandon Shimoda

In December, while the international papers were busy excerpting the American Senate report on the Bush-era’s CIA torture, nay, ‘extraordinary rendition’ programme (use the language they choose for you), I sat at a table with my students in Geneva reading Etel Adnan’s epic poem from 1980 The Arab Apocalypse. ‘[A]n Arab tortured mutilated vomits the sun hangs from his feet. Meticulously. A yellow sun,‘ a student read. In August, I lay by the sea on Samos – Turkey glittering and bleaching just across the blue sea at my feet – and read Adnan’s seminal novella Sitt Marie-Rose, from 1978. It refracts the Lebanese Civil War through the story of a woman, sun-like, at its centre – a teacher, mother, revolutionary, and lover of a Palestinian doctor – a centre slowly ripped apart in front of the deaf-blind children she teaches. ‘Fouad is the perfect killer […] He prefers jeep-speed-desert-bird-bullet to girl-in-a-bed-and-fuck […] Bullets crack and resonate in the amphitheatre that is Beirut. The location is perfect.’

The pool at my feet is a sea filled with the bodies of tourists during the day and the bodies of refugees at night, attempting to crack Europe, to survive it. I am in Greece for an art project, as these things go, but I can’t stop reading To Look At the Sea Is To Become What One Is: An Etel Adnan Reader, edited by Thom Donovan and Brandon Shimoda (Nightboat Books). The two-volume book, which gathers work Adnan wrote between 1965 and 2011, burns through my whole year and punctuates the flares of state violence and public protest that mark it. ‘We’re all the contemplatives of an ongoing apocalypse’, Adnan notes. How to do that.

Highlights 2014 – Quinn Latimer

Installation view of Cerith Wyn Evans at the Serpentine Sackler Gallery, London. Courtesy the artist and Serpentine Galleries, London; photograph © 2014 Lewis Ronald

No exhibitions I saw this year came close to the necessity and virtuosity – political, philosophical, poetic – of Adnan’s Reader. Still, those I loved included Cerith Wyn Evans’s lucid show at Serpentine Gallery, London, with its strange, pulsating missives of communication: chandeliers blinking Morse code of theory, neon tubes of text blaring fragments like ‘she begs you to sacrifice yourself to your country.’ At the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia, two concurrent shows made me incredibly happy: ‘Dear Nemesis, Nicole Eisenman 1993–2013’, an expert survey of one of the best painters working today, and ‘Moyra Davey: Burn the Diaries’, which elliptically explores Davey’s reading – and not – of Jean Genet.

Artist, architect, and curator Andreas Angelidakis touched me with two projects: his brilliant retrospective ‘Every End is a Beginning’, at Athens’s National Museum of Contemporary Art (EMST), and his Swiss Institute New York exhibition ‘Fin de Siècle’, a witty nod to Eugène Ionesco’s 1952 play The Chairs, and psychedelic send-up of our fetishization of 20th-century design. In Basel, Switzerland, I found myself into composer and filmmaker Jannik Giger’s video installation Gabrys und Henneberger – Transformation, at Ausstellungsraum Klingental, and ‘Source Amnesia’, at Oslo 10, a show of text and sound pieces by Robert Ashley, Dora Garcia, Pauline Oliveros, Hannah Weiner, and others, that employed ‘subconscious processes and extrasensory perception’. In Zurich, ‘Essential Loneliness‘, curated by Nikola Deitrich, at Taylor Macklin, with its nervy, feminist engagement of the abject, was a weird relief. At MoCA, Los Angeles, ‘Andy Warhol: Shadows’ (1978–79), showing his late monumental painting series of more than a hundred canvases, made us all nearly fluorescent with feeling.

Highlights 2014 – Quinn Latimer

Andreas Angelidakis, Hand House, 2011, 3D rendering

In Norway, two lectures this autumn contextualized some of the spasms of state and other violence we’re currently undergoing: at the University of Oslo, Julia Kristeva’s Holberg Prize talk on new forms of political protest and experimental psychosis was ace, reminding me again of Adnan’s similarly charged, psychologically acute writing. Likewise, Sami Khatib’s lecture on ‘Divine Violence and the Ban of the Law’, at the Office for Contemporary Art, Norway, traced the institutional underpinnings of our now omnipresent state of exception via a close reading of Walter Benjamin’s 1921 Critique of Violence. Related, Francisco Goldman’s beautiful reporting and New Yorker essays from Mexico about the Ayotzinapa student massacre and the popular movement that has resulted, were devastating and instructive in equal measure, as was Lagos-based Alexis Okeowo’s reporting on modern-day and sexual slavery from Nigeria and Mauritania. Poet Cathy Park Hong’s essay Delusions of Whiteness in the Avant Garde, in the Lana Turner Journal was deft, right.

Highlights 2014 – Quinn Latimer

Installation view of Andy Warhol: Shadows at Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; courtesy: The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; photograph: Brian Forrest

What else was right? Not so much. As I waited on edge this year in Europe, watching the incredible movements against police violence and institutional racism in the US unfold, my touchiness reminded me that I am more American than I ever thought possible. Moving through the international papers and journals trying to find the journalistic voice that might best transmit to me what was happening, I found it, unsurprisingly, in poetry. Claudia Rankine’s prescient, inescapable Citizen: An American Lyric (Graywolf), yes, but also this, by Danez Smith, from his first book [insert] Boy (YesYes Books) and reprinted at AtLengthMag.com: ‘I am sick of writing this poem / but bring the boy. his new name / his same old body. ordinary, black / dead thing. bring him.‘ And this: ‘The endless army of hyenas played by a gust / choked tight with bullet shells, the bullets themselves / now dressed in a boy.’


Highlights 2014 – Barbara Casavecchia

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By Barbara Casavecchia

Highlights 2014 – Barbara Casavecchia

Harun Farocki, Inextinguishable Fire (1969). © Harun Farocki Filmproduktion, Berlin

‘If we show you napalm burns you’ll close your eyes. First you’ll close your eyes to the pictures. Then you’ll close your eyes to the memory. Then you’ll close your eyes to the facts. Then you’ll close your eyes to the entire context,’

*says Harun Farocki in the opening sequence of Inextinguishable Fire (1969), his first film, before stubbing a cigarette out on his own arm to demonstrate the effects of high temperatures on our skin. I saw it after reading Hito Steyerl’s moving piece of ‘fan prose’, as she called it, ‘Beginnings: Harun Farocki 1944-2014’, on e-flux journal, after his passing away. It was a powerful beginning indeed, and a perfect introduction to one of my favourite exhibitions – small, simple, dense: ‘Ernste Spiele’ (Serious Games), curated by Henriette Huldisch, at Berlin’s Hamburger Banhof – of 2014. A year when the violence of unwatchable images coming from Ukraine, Syria, Gaza, Afghanistan, Pakistan, the Italian island of Lampedusa, Sierra Leone, to name but a few, made it really hard to keep eyes open, and to take in the violence, generated by humans and circulated by the media. Farocki’s four-part series ‘Ernste Spiele’ (2009-10), also on show in Berlin, is still running in my head, with images of real and computer-generated US warfare intertwining as much on screen as in real life, while the video cycle ‘Parallel I-IV’ (2012-14), a highlight from Art Basel Unlimited, is still asking critical questions on how machines and dystopian game worlds are reprogramming our connection with reality.

Highlights 2014 – Barbara Casavecchia

Paul Chan, The argument: Antietam, 2013, Volumes, 2012 and Tablet 3, 2014, exhibition view, © Paul Chan. Photo Tom Bisig

Paul Chan’s retrospective Selected Works at Basel’s Schaulager brought up further questions on what we are collectively made to see, what we want other people to see, and what is visible, in the post-Internet realm, thanks to works such as My birds . . . trash . . . the future(2004), the series of installations ‘The Arguments’ (2013), with their networks of power cords and concrete-filled shoes, and the Non-projections (2013), minuscule films that became perceptible only when placing a hand in front of the projectors. Simple gestures work their magic with me.

As to museum exhibitions in my home country Italy, I’ll pick the twin, anxiety-triggering solo of Ian Cheng (curated by Filipa Ramos) and Michael E. Smith (curated by Simone Menegoi and Alexis Vaillant) at the Triennale in Milan, the white cavernous rooms of which were left almost empty for a change, in resistance to the overwhelming monumentality of the building.

Another stunning exhibition was ‘Soleil Politique. The museum between light and shadow’, curated by Pierre Bal-Blanc at Museion in Bozen/Bolzano, as part of the programme Piano (Prepared Platform for Contemporary Art 2014/15) of collaborations between French and Italian institutions. It owes its title to an eponymous work (exhibited at the entrance desk) by Marcel Broodthaers, dated 1972: a map of our solar system showing the size of all planets, altered by the artist who cancelled the tiny Earth with a black dot and added the word “politique” (political) to the towering Sun, the quintessential image of power. While rigorously retracing the history of Museion, as well as of Bozen and its conflicted architecture before and after Fascism and WWII, Bal-Blanc assembled documents, artworks, models, films, installations and references in the most personal way, disclosed by an intimate visual ‘diary’ on display, which maps the construction of the exhibition.

Bal-Blanc also reversed the hierarchic and functional structure of the museum, by leaving the last floor, with its breath-taking views of the Dolomites, entirely empty and freely accessible to the public, while packing instead the show into the ground-floor space of the building normally used for events. Together with Walter Pichler’s and Gianni Pettena’s anarchitectural interventions, a personal favourite was the recreation of the decor of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s set for Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) made by Berlin-based artist duo Prinz Gholam using works from the museum’s collection (faces, shapes, gestures, tones, acts, places, 2014), as well as their silent performance in front of the piece on the opening night.

Highlights 2014 – Barbara Casavecchia

Joan Jonas, Reanimation (2010/2012/2013). Performance: Fondazione HangarBicocca, Milan, 2014. Photo: MatteoScarpellini/almaphotos.net Courtesy the artist.

In terms of the soothing powers of art, Joan Jonas’ retrospective Light Time Tales, curated by Andrea Lissoni at Hangar Bicocca in Milan (until 1 February 2015), is a trip to wonderland and I’m much looking forward to see Jonas take over the American pavilion at the upcoming Venice Biennale. To walk around the huge space, where the works are displayed with no partition, like hyperlinks, from her first videos to the last one, Beautiful Dog (2014), is an invitation to the voyage. Being able to see Jonas perform live Reanimation (2013, after Halldor Laxness’ great novel Under the Glacier of 1968), and thus to draw, read, play, shake, dance along Jason Moran’s music, filled me with enough energy to keep me going for months: ‘Time’, Jonas said, ‘is the only thing we can agree to be supernatural.’

During Frieze Week in London, for ‘An Evening of Performances’ at David Roberts Art Foundation, I was glad to hear Quinn Latimer and Megan Rooney fuse together their voices and poems in O LABORSISTERCONTINENTS (2014), as well as to be carried away by Planningtorock’s hypnotic Human Drama.

Highlights 2014 – Barbara Casavecchia

Invernomuto, Black Ark, 2014. Installation view. Photo: Giulio Boem. Courtesy of the artists and Marsèlleria, Milan.

To my record of positive vibes I’ll add also Italian artist duo Invernomuto’s recent solo at Marsèlleria in Milan, where from the last floor erupted the almighty voice of Lee Scratch Perry screaming: ‘Fire! Fire!’. As part of their ‘Negus Cycle’ (2011–ongoing), the artists have invited the great Rastafarian musician to their hometown (the small village of Vernasca, near Piacenza), in order to perform a purifying ritual, in reaction to the burning of an image of Haile Sélassié on the main square, after Italy’s colonial occupation of Ethiopia in the 1930s.

Another moment of personal bliss came from Yamamoto Takayuki’s installation New Hell: What Kind of Hell Will We Go To? (2014), that I saw at Mori Museum in Tokyo, in the group show ‘The World Seen through Children’. The artist asked a group of kids to imagine, assemble with paper and cardboard, and describe in depth their ideal hells, based on personal (non-traumatic) experiences of childhood and education. Fire and brimstone aside, it was exhilarating.

A positive note about last year in Italy was the undercurrent of shows self-organized by artists (or by joint ventures of artists and curators) across a network of small independent spaces – for instance Tile Project and Armada in Milan, where meanwhile Gasconade has closed its doors to become a project of collective novel-writing. If this seems partly the effect of a lack of attention from the side of galleries and official institutions, it signals the presence of a local scene with a good deal of energy.

In spring, Ludovica Carbotta asked a vast group of artists and curators for definitions of ‘community’ and then used them to create installations and sculptures at Milan’s non-profit space CareOf, under the guidance of Martina Angelotti. From June to September, in San Giovanni Valdarno (Renaissance painter Masaccio’s birthplace in Tuscany), Rita Salvaggio coordinated an array of exhibitions and performances that occupied the whole town with a lively group portrait of the current generation (Alessandro Agudio, Marco Basta, Lupo Borgonovo, Cleo Fariselli, Dario Guccio, Helena Hladilovà, Invernomuto, Andrea Kvas, Alice Mandelli, Beatrice Marchi, Anna Mostosi, Gianni Politi, Lisa Rampilli, Giangiacomo Rossetti, Manuel Scano, Namsal Siedlecki, Davide Stucchi, and Serena Vestrucci).

In Rome, in late September, artists Stanislao Di Giugno, Giuseppe Pietroniro, Marco Raparelli and Alessandro Cicoria brought together around 30 participants under the title There Is No Place Like Home, and took over a building site for three days and three nights. In Milan, again in September, artists Alis/Filliol, Luca De Leva, Andrea De Stefani, Helena Hladilovà, Invernomuto, Diego Marcon, Giovanni Oberti, Namsal Siedlecki and Gianandrea Poletta, together with Vittorio Rappa and Daniele Sansavini, produced and installed the group show Keep It Real in the Lambrate area. Many more should be mentioned here, and in far less central locations, so my apologies: for a good daily coverage of exhibitions and projects happening around Italy please go to Elena Bordignon’s blog Art * Texts * Pics (www.atpdiary.com).

Looking forward to: seeing the Venice Biennale, curated by Okwui Enwezor; reading Helen Mirra: Edge Habit Materials (Whitewalls/University of Chicago Press), a survey of the artist’s works between 1995 and 2009; watching more episodes of The Amazing World of Gumball with my son.

Highlights 2014: Jennifer Higgie

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By Jennifer Higgie

Highlights 2014: Jennifer Higgie

Kerry James Marshall, Believed to be a portrait of David Walker (Circa 1830), 2009

12 months is 525949 minutes, which sounds both like a very long time and nothing at all. In a year in which global atrocity was commonplace, ‘Rembrandt: The Late Works’, which is on show at the National Gallery in London until 18 January, is a reminder that the greatest art is often the most empathic, and that an artist born centuries ago can be as well-placed to reflect our contemporary crises as those alive today. Who could look at Rembrandt’s self-scrutiny and remain unmoved about how hard it is to be human? 2014 was the year of extraordinary shows by artists in the final years of their life. ‘Matisse: The Cut-Outs’ – which was attended by more than half-a-million visitors at Tate Modern, making it the most popular in the institution’s history – focussed on the work that the great French painter made in the last 17 years of his life, when he was dogged by ill-health. No sign of self-pity was in evidence: these works are, quite simply, jaw-droppingly beautiful and life-affirming: room after room of deceptively simple collages that, seen together, spin into a near-hallucinogenic celebration of colour and composition. 2014 was an extraordinary one for Tate Modern: if Matisse wasn’t enough, it also played host to ‘Malevich: Revolutionary of Russian Art’, the first-ever UK retrospective of this unpredictable genius who, desperate in his longing to give shape to a new world, moved from figuration to abstraction and back again. Similarly, the atmospheric paintings J.M.W Turner made late in his life at a time of personal difficulty are – in their quoting of Classicism and anticipation of Impressionism – in equal parts fascinating and affecting. ‘Late Turner: Painting Set Free’ at Tate Britain, was the first exhibition devoted to this period in the artist’s life and coincidentally staged in the year that Mike Leigh’s enjoyable homage – and surprising box-office hit – Mr Turner was released. Speaking of Turner, the prize that honours his name, also at Tate Britain, was deservedly won by Duncan Campbell, who is an artist I admire, but walking around the show was dispiriting. Why, I wondered again and again, do the wall texts for contemporary art so often deaden, rather than enlighten, our understanding of the work on show? In ‘Late Turner’ the wall texts were clear and concise, while in the Turner Prize they were full of dense, humourless art speak. Why?

Across the channel, Sonia Delaunay’s work was a reiteration, in the most joyful way imaginable, of how useful a wild imagination can be. Her retrospective ‘Les Couleurs de l’abstraction’ at the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, which runs until the 22 February and then travels to Tate Modern, is the first major show of Delaunay’s work since 1967 and it’s an embarrassment of riches. I can’t remember enjoying an exhibition more. Delaunay (who, in 1964, was the first living female artist to have a retrospective at the Louvre) had a mind that rejected hierarchies between design and art: for her, the pattern of a dress was as vital and as important as a large abstract painting. A case in point: George Lepape’s 1925 cover for British Vogue that features Delaunay’s ‘Simultaneous’ dress, next to a ‘Simultaneous’ car. Swoon. Also in Paris, ‘Marcel Duchamp: La Peinture, Même’, which runs at the Pompidou in Paris until 5 January, is a totally absorbing exhibition about the enduring importance of painting to the artist who we tend to assume rejected it outright.

Cars again: the ambition and invention of Eric van Hove’s V12 Laraki (2013) – a series of sculptures recreating the Mercedes-Benz V12 engine used in Morocco’s first luxury car, and handcrafted by 42 Moroccan artisans in ceramic, bone, tin, goatskin, and terracotta – has stayed with me since I saw it at the 5th Marrakech Biennale in March. Curated by the Dutch-Moroccan curator Hicham Khalidi and held in multiple venues across the town, this important show included the work of 43 artists either from Morocco, or with strong links to the region. It was aptly titled ‘Where are we now?’ a question that emerged from Khalidi’s experiences as a migrant. Among much strong work, the non-profit African Fabbers project was particularly inspiring: it’s a social innovation initiative based on the idea of bridging the African and the European makers communities through workshops, collaborative projects and talks.

Highlights 2014: Jennifer Higgie

George Lepape’s cover for British Vogue, 1925, featuring a ‘Simultaneous’ dress and ‘Simultaneous’ car by Sonia Delaunay

In London, the wonderful Chisenhale Gallery, under the directorship of Polly Staple (who is also a frieze contributing editor) continued its run of brilliant shows: the year finished with Caragh Thuring, whose sparse, witty paintings I especially love. Sylvia Kouvali’s Rodeo Gallery, which originated in Istanbul, opened a new space in a great address: 123 Charing Cross Road. Its current show of 30 years of Lukas Düwenhogger’s works on paper is utterly brilliant. It runs until 28 February – go! There’s been a lot of movement with London’s commercial galleries: Soho is jumping with both Marian Goodman and Herald St opening spaces on Golden Square, and Frith Street Gallery – who are now, of course, also on Golden Square – re-opening their original gallery on, yes, Frith Street, as a project space. I am very happy to tread those creaky floorboards once more. Stuart Shave’s Modern Art moved to a great new space in Clerkenwell while Hauser & Wirth reversed the move to the West End by opening their new gallery and arts centre in Bruton, Somerset.

As I fear I am going on too long, here’s a list, in no particular order, of other things that made me happy this year.

– The ongoing vitality of Open School East, a brilliant non-profit education facility in London’s Dalston that, thanks to a recent fundraiser, can keep serving its community for another two years.

– Glasgow International, under the sterling directorship of Sarah McCrory. Including an enormous host of local and international artists from Laura Aldridge and Bedwyr Williams, to Jordan Wolfson and Avery Singer, this year’s edition spread throughout the city’s large and small spaces. It zinged!

– The Liverpool Biennial under the directorship of Sally Tallant, who understands that for a show like this to mean anything significant to the city, a long-term vision is necessary.

– The Borealis music festival in Bergen, Norway. The 2015 edition is directed by Peter Meanwell: interesting sounds guaranteed.

– ‘Play What’s Not There’, curated by Michael Bracewell at London’s most beautiful gallery, Raven Row. An elegant, enigmatic exhibition that paired, in wonderfully surprising ways, work by artists including Steven Campbell, Linder, Cerith Wyn Evans and Katharina Wulff.

– Lisa Brice’s first solo show in London at the best-named gallery in London’s Bethnal Green, French Riviera. Dreamy paintings of poodles, in a former poodle-parlour.

– Julian Stair’s ceramic dinner setting at Corvi-Mora, which I was privileged to enjoy a dinner from. Never have I been made more aware of the importance of the weight of a plate.

Highlights 2014: Jennifer Higgie

Caragh Thuring, Golf, 2014. Courtesy: the artist and Thomas Dane Gallery, London; commissioned: Chisenhale Gallery, London; photograph: Richard Ivey

– Ben Rivers new film and photographs at Kate McGarry gallery, a Super 8 love letter to the objects he lives with.

– Giuseppe Gabellone at Greengrassi, an artist whose next move is impossible to predict: using only a small sewing machine, he created an enormous multi-coloured cloth which filled the huge space, and paired it with mysterious, geometric wall drawings.

– Philosopher Jean-Francois Chevrier’s astonishing exhibition at Madrid’s Reina Sofia, ‘Biographical forms, Construction and Individual Mythology’, which included works by artists ranging from Antonin Artaud, Claude Cahun, Philip Guston to Dorothea Tanning and Valie Export. My only complaint was that to do it justice would have taken me days.

– Glenn Ligon’s minimal, furious solo show of sculpture and film at Camden Arts Centre.

– Pierre Huyghe at Hauser & Wirth: a fantastic show of new work, including a genuinely unsettling film of a monkey in a child’s mask (which I have written about in the January/February issue of frieze), aquariums filled with fish and lily pads from Monet’s pond in Giverny, and a film of amber filled with copulating bugs: the oldest known example of sex on earth. Utterly compelling.

– Kerry James Marshall ‘Painting and Other Stuff’. The most important show to date of this great artist in Europe, and what a show it was! It was held in two venues, the Fundació Antoni Tàpies in Barcelona, and the Reina Sofia in Madrid. I only got to see the Barcelona iteration, but it blew my socks off.

– Beatrice Gibson’s ‘F’ for Fibonacci’ at Laura Bartlett Gallery in London: a new film that spins off William Gaddis, Stockhausen, John Paynter and the economic crisis, and is voiced by Adam Chodzko’s son. Perplexing and compelling.

– Kai Althoff at Michael Werner: remarkable new paintings, one amazing drawing and some sculptures and clothes, all of which he made in order to soothe himself and the viewer. As you walked into the gallery, an assistant put on a record of gentle music, to ease you into it. It worked.

– David Hammons, Senga Nengudi and Etel Adnan at White Cube. Amazing shows, amazing artists.

– Melvin Edwards at Stephen Friedman: about time London hosted a show of this important African-American sculptor, whose work spans five decades.

– Lynda Benglis’s ceramics at Thomas Dane: brilliantly nuts.

– Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard’s 20,000 Days on Earth, a documentary homage to the musician Nick Cave, who co-wrote the script, and which was the deserved winner of the 2014 British Independent Film Award Douglas Hickox Award (Directorial Debut).

– Simon Bill’s trippy oval paintings at Baltic.

– Martino Gamper ‘Design is a State of Mind’ and Ed Atkins at the Serpentine Gallery. Unfettered imaginations run amok.

– ‘Welcome to Iraq’, South London Gallery: curated by Jonathan Watkins of Birmingham’s IKON, this show travelled from the Venice Biennale. It’s impossible and humbling to imagine the challenges faced by artists living in Iraq today, but this exhibition revealed profound levels of imagination, resilience and humour. It should be noted that none of them were able to get visas to travel to the opening.

– The wild and wonderful paintings of Rose Wylie, who was the deserved winner of the 2014 John Moore’s painting prize.

– Marlene Dumas’s retrospective at the Stedelijk. It’s travelling to Tate Modern in 2015, praise be.

– Melbourne: my old home town! From ACCA, Gertrude Contemporary, Heide and the NGV, and galleries including Anna Schwartz, Neon, Sarah Scout and Sutton Gallery, the city is always a joy to return to.

– Athens: Despite the economic disaster – or perhaps because of it – rents are low, food is cheap and art is thriving. There is a great energy in the city, which will be co-hosting the next Documenta in 2017: I loved ‘This is not my beautiful house’ at the Kunsthalle Athena, a non-profit initiative set up by Marina Fokidis in a crumbling, atmospheric building. The city is also lucky to have the dynamic non-profit organization Neon, which staged Tino Sehgal’s first-ever public performance at the Roman agora; and State of Concept, a great new non-profit space run by Iliana Folkianiki. When I visited, The Breeder gallery, who support a slew of good artists in the city and internationally, had memorable wall hangings in their office by Zoi Gaitainidou (whose work reminded me of a young Geta Bratescu).

– The Fiorucci Art Trust who, from their headquarters off Sloane Square, continue to exhibit, support and promote art in ever-generous and surprising ways. Their first site-specific commission for its London’s HQ, Nick Mauss’s By, With, To & From turned a living room into an atmospheric dreamscape.

I’m sure there’s a slew of things I’ve forgotten, so forgive me. In terms of what I’m looking forward to in 2015? I’m making my first trip to India, in March, and will be visiting Mumbai, Delhi and Kochi. And, of course, in May it’s off to Venice to see what Okwui Enwezor – and so many other curators, writers and artists – have dreamed up.

Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

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By Sarah McCrory

Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

Cosima von Bonin, 'Hermit Crab in Fake Royère', 2010, mixed media, dimensions variable. Courtesy: Magasin 3, Stockholm Konsthall, and MUMOK, Vienna

Highlights of 2014, in a particular order:

1
Cosima von Bonin, ‘HIPPIES USE SIDE DOOR. THE YEAR 2014 HAS LOST THE PLOT.’, MUMOK, Vienna

This major exhibition was my highlight of the year. Von Bonin is undeniably brilliant – her recent show at MUMOK, the largest survey of her work to date, went from her earliest work through to today and included pieces by affiliates Mike Kelley and Isa Genzken, as well as poignant recreations of previous performance installations. These were rendered in white card, as ghost pieces to inhabit the space, with a nod to their past as living breathing situations, present now as memories.

Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

2
Ella Krugylanskaya, ‘How to Work Together’, at Studio Voltaire, London, and Frieze Art Fair, London
I cannot get enough of her work. Bold, powerful, humorous and technically brilliant. In an art world currently over-populated with big boys making small paintings, Krugylanskaya’s women pound the streets making mincemeat of them all.
Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

Ella Kruglyanskaya, Singing Maids, 2014, oil and oil stick on linen
213 × 168 cm. Courtesy: the artist, Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York, and Studio Voltaire, London


3
David Hammons, White Cube, Mason’s Yard, London
Mr. Hammons certainly has the last laugh. His exhibition at White Cube baffled me. I felt like I was being invited to listen to one joke but ended up being told the punch line to another. These brilliant works questioned ideas of personal and artistic value and status, yet Hammons threw a real curveball by showing them at White Cube. Hammons always has the last laugh.
Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

David Hammons, installation view, White Cube Mason’s Yard, London. Courtesy: the artist and White Cube; photograph: Jack Hems and Patrick Dandy


4
Matisse, ‘The Cut-Outs’, MoMA, New York (and Tate Modern, London, where I didn’t catch it)
When an exhibition from painted cut paper makes you feel wholly better about life itself.
Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

Henri Matisse, Two Masks (The Tomato) (Deux Masques [La Tomate]), 1947, gouache on paper, cut and pasted, 48 × 52 cm. Courtesy: Mr. and Mrs. Donald B. Marron, New York. © 2014 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Honourable mentions:

Jonathan Gardner at Mary Mary
Ida Ekblad at Herald Street
Ettore Sottsass published by Phaidon
Shellac’s Dude Incredible
Glasgow International – oh come on, allow it …
Sarah Lucas at Tramway
Mark Leckey at Gavin Brown’s enterprise
Jungle’s Jungle– despite myself I loved this album
Richard Wright’s beautiful windows at The Modern Institute

Highlights 2014 – Sarah McCrory

Jonathan Gardner, Superga, 2014, oil on canvas, 92 × 102 cm. Courtesy: Mary Mary, Glasgow

Looking Forward:
Choosing the highlights of the year involves casting my mind back to moments that left me full of joy or delighted confusion – all not without a sense of privilege. Trying to access those emotions is a tempered act when writing this less than a week since 132 children and 9 staff were massacred in Peshawar.
Protests across the US following the sad deaths (murders) of Eric Garner and Michael Brown continue, yet the deaths of black people at the hands of the police don’t seem to stop.
Closer to home the poor in the UK get poorer and food banks (food banks! In Britain in 2014!) do their best to pick up the government’s ‘slack’, and there seems to be little sign of this changing.

Whilst I’m looking forward to a host of events in 2015, I’m not looking forward to them as much as I am to these situations improving.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

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By Jörg Heiser

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Margaret Harrison, Take One Lemon, 1971, Lithograph on paper

The year 2014 feels fragmented and torn by culminating conflicts, war atrocities and political disasters connected to names of places like Ferguson, Kobane, Gaza, Donetsk, Dresden (with its shameful anti-Islam Monday protests of Germany’s far right silent minority); hence naming cultural ‘highlights’ in this shitty landscape of lows seems to sit somewhere on the scale between ignorant and defiant.

Which is just to say that this year it became even more obvious than in other years that the act of making art is, per se, fragile and futile – and yet all the more vital exactly in the face of it all. Don’t get me wrong, this is not to say that the only justifiable art therefore is engagé– quite the opposite, I firmly believe that the light-hearted and silly, or the unashamedly idiosyncratic, or the formally experimental, are not only much-needed indicators that there is still air to breathe; they are the air. That said, the jarring soundtrack of political events this year makes a certain kind of complacent, a certain kind of blasé-bullyish artmaking even less tolerable. All the more the highlights of the light-hearted, the silly, the idiosyncratic, and the engaged, do deserve mentioning. But it feels all the more appropriate to describe them, rather than in terms of holistic experiences and well-rounded œuvres, in terms of glimpses of details and small epiphanies – single artworks instead of whole shows, songs instead of albums, scenes instead of plots.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

For me the year began with a curious and somehow very rewarding exercise; collecting together artist books by Stanley Brouwn for them to be still-photographed, the only images to run along Oscar van den Boogaard’s beautiful piece on the artist published in March’s issue themed around Big Data. Brouwn for decades has resisted his work otherwise being reproduced. An artist who never attends his own openings and doesn’t give interviews, lest allows portraits of himself being circulated, felt right in the midst of the scandals of state surveillance and the accelerated Social Media hysteria of creepy self-promotion and click-baiting – an arcane ascetic of data production and consumption. I’m admittedly not the dieting type though, and giving up the tools of circulation and going into reclusion is just not an option. As Pablo Larios observed, Network Fatigue is a condition on the rise, and it will have to be checked for sectarian leanings (only the initiate will have the privilege to know etc.). But at the other end of the spectrum is what Jon Ronson described vividly, and backed empirically, in a fascinating keynote at Frieze London Talks, offering a sneak preview of his forthcoming book So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed (coming out in March 2015): how Social Media are structurally favouring instant, rumour-fuelled public humiliation over the boring labour of nuanced, fact-based consideration. Which for me is an observation leading not to a call to abandon Social Media and the ‘sharing’ economy they entail but to engage with them towards ethical standards for both entrepreneurs and users alike (not to mention the State spoofs virtually behind their shoulders) – towards an online Magna Carta so to speak.

And why not start by erasing the Uber app from your phone? The art world with its taxi-heavy events around the globe is a good place as any to start behaving ethically – towards standards of fairness, and plain civility – given a company who has a record for bad business practices , from unfair fare cuts for its drivers, through a series of sexual assaults indicating the company lacked background checks on some of those drivers, to being ‘Platinum Sponsor’ of Oakland’s Urban Shield conference, an event heavily promoting the militarization of urban police forces (after Ferguson, the questionable character of that needs no further explanation), to dramatic surge pricing (charging four times as much as usual) during the recent Sydney hostage crisis. This all may sound like satirical exaggeration, as if coming straight from Neal Stephenson’s dystopian SF novel Snow Crash (1992) in which the Cosa Nostra runs a high-speed pizza delivery service (drivers who fail to deliver on the guaranteed time of maximum 21 minutes face the fate of all who fail the Mafia). But it’s happening all around us and we rub our eyes in disbelief as, for example, it has been revealed that British company Cable & Wireless, now owned by Vodafone, actively provided the British secret service GCHQ with access to its underwater cables, thus providing for 70% of the Internet data volume GCHQ spied on. Any Consequences? None, of course.

I think the time has really come for users/consumers to become more active in responding to these issues, from boycotting a company altogether to restraining ones use of their service in certain ways. Using Amazon amounts to accepting the calculated subversion of minimum wage legislation: workers in Germany for example have been on strike lately as they are paid according to the lower collective bargaining agreements of the logistics industry, even though Amazon is clearly in the mail-order and retail business, with its higher wages. And people working for Amazon’s ‘Mechanical Turk’ division often only earn about $2 or less per hour. Even if you can’t always resist buying that rare book through Amazon marketplace, it’s worth considering alternatives.

Or take Facebook: from 1 January 2015, Facebook has a change of terms that any professional artist or photographer should be worried about. It allows FB to sell, distribute or otherwise commercialize any imagery uploaded, with no compensation. The obvious solution is to either quit FB – tough if there is no other well-functioning social network of its kind – or to simply not upload any high-res photos anymore, and instead only upload watermarked and/or low-res images, or link to images uploaded onto other websites. For better or worse, we will all have to learn to not make it too easy for the over-eager data-devourers.

It’s just that I’m getting increasingly annoyed at the utter numbness many in the art-world seem to feel towards these issues. Taking for granted that we inevitably have to continue facebooking and phoning away like there’s no tomorrow, as if giving in to unrestrained data-mining or indirectly supporting exploitative wages was a mere occupational hazard of being in the art world. It reminds me of that boiling frog metaphor. Ok, enough for the rant.

Where in the arts do we see anything close to a serious engagement with these issues of digitization and its effect on culture and economy? The obvious agit-prop example would have been Dave Eggers’s novel The Circle, which I was impressed by in terms of its sketching of a Google-like company taking to the extreme what’s already (or soon) possible technically, in terms of radically expanding data-mining to a cultish ideology of total ‘transparency’. But the book also left me strangely cold in terms of its characters and their motivations – they seemed like pawns on Eggers’s chessboard, sheepishly following the logic of his plot rather than driving or at least twisting it; as if he were treating them like an algorithm of his novelistic purposes. It was sort of like The Internship in reverse: the Hollywood comedy, more than an Owen Wilson/ Vince Vaughn vehicle, was really a Google vehicle, and a creepy one at that; but Dave Egger’s The Circle just ends up being a vehicle of its own logic, leaving its protagonists, and its readers, with little left to do. Looking for another recent literary novel on the subject, I came across David Shafer’s Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, telling another story of data-mining totalitarians, and their dissident underground opponents; I’m only just half-way through reading the book but, compared to The Circle, the increased amount of playfulness and wacky humour already seems to save it from its own it’s-all-a-plot logic.

And in contemporary art? After an initial deferral, the discussion is becoming more present. Trevor Paglen skipped the deferral, since he has been on the subject for years. His lecture at the last Chaos Computer Club Congress in Hamburg at the end of December 2013 (online here) complemented perfectly with that of Net activist Jacob Appelbaum. While the latter revealed new information about the way the NSA manipulates and infiltrates Computer hardware on the domestic scale (from manipulated Ethernet plugs to hacked Wifi), Paglen presented astounding facts about the macro level of surveillance, namely the way underground sea cables and orbiting satellites are tapped. But apart from being very well informed, Paglen also makes lucid work that captures the ill spirit of our day. In October in New York I saw his installation Code Names of the Surveillance State, which does what it says – a multi-screen projection of seemingly endless credit roll columns listing more than 4000 surveillance programme code names used by the NSA and the GCHQ, say ‘…Red Baron / Red Bear / Red Belly / Red Bone / Red Bridge / Red Bull…’, and so on, turning the monstrosity of bloated surveillance organizations into concrete poetry.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Yuri Pattison, Outsourced Views, 2013–ongoing

‘Private Settings’, at Warsaw’s Museum of Modern Art, curated by Natalia Sielewicz, was one of the more inspiring group shows I saw this year, tackling the datasphere and its implications for art. The exhibition more or less bypassed the ‘3-D printer’ novelty character often associated with Post-Net work that has become a kind of stigma already in the ears of many these days, indicating Zeitgeist art eager to churn out sellable objects with shiny gadgety surfaces while promoting retrograde concepts of technological progressivism. Instead, involving a geographically wide range of artists from Saudi-Arabia (Sarah AbuAbdallah) to Thailand (Korakrit Arunonandchai), the emphasis was put on identity politics – on the way gender roles play out, or on the way online imagery co-structures our desires and fantasies, while keeping the underlying big data economies in mind. Irish artist Yuri Pattison asked Amazon Mechanical Turk workers to photograph/fillm the view from their window, turning the premise of cheap labour into an invitation to produce contemplative imagery of often drab environments; Canadian artist Jon Rafman’s little makeshift video display – a kind of small cockpit built into a drawer, allowing one viewer at a time – featured strangely fascinating footage of online fetish imagery, of people in furry costumes, or a bodybuilder crashing a watermelon with his hefty leg muscles. Another highlight were the collages of Montenegro-born Darja Bajagic, who tackles the stereotypically sexualized imagery of Eastern-European women found on the Web and elsewhere by combining them into deadpan minimalist collages involving wallpaper and simple paper cut-outs.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Darja Bajagic

Also in Warsaw, at Zacheta Gallery, I saw Gregor Schneider’s project relating to a house he bought in his Rhineland hometown of Rheydt. The house in question was identified a few years back as the birth-house of Joseph Goebbels. Schneider could have easily wallowed in the ‘controversial’ nature of such an acquisition. But everything he did with the actual structure was geared towards preventing it from becoming a fetish site for Neo-Nazis. Initially Schneider wanted to tear the house down, but then couldn’t because the next-door house would have been damaged. Instead, he gutted it down to its naked walls and wooden beams, transporting the rubble to Warsaw. Before he filmed the rooms, still decorated 70s style by the previous owners, in long static shots; as well as himself in short, eerie shots sleeping in the previous owners’s bed or eating a soup at the 1960s kitchen table.

As said, the light-hearted and silly, or the unashamedly idiosyncratic, or the formally experimental, are needed not less but more at times like these. In no particular order some highlights this year in these registers.

Aleksandra Domanović, and James Richards, at Hamburger Kunsthalle gave me snappy moments of joy: Domanović’s timeline of technological progress co-defined by feminist, post-Yugoslavian and dadaist denominators (1843, Ada Lovelace writes what is considered the first computer program; 1963, the invention of the Belgrade prosthetic hand, which features a primitive sense of touch; Zaha Hadid named Veuve Clicquot Business Woman of the Year 2013 etc.). Whereas Richards turned the medium of video/film into a kind dreamscape of the Internet age, in which x-rays morph into skin and wetness morphs into touching moments of youtube intimacy (a young guy on a winter night-time parking lot singing ‘I can’t live if living is without you’).

The Robert Gober retrospective at MOMA, when I saw it in October, initially left me relatively unmoved with what I perceived as continuously skilful but oddly textbook-psychoanalytical ‘queerings’ of Magrittian surrealism. But I also realized how the scenarios have staid with me; the sinks and the legs as much as that creepy room of continuously running water tabs.

Lothar Baumgarten’s piece Caiman Nariz Blanca (1978-2009)
(which I saw at Marta Herford, Germany, in the group show ‘Booster’ about sound) involves field recordings of the Yanomami tribe at the upper Orinoco in Brasil and Venezuela, their beautiful and endangered language played on the audio system of a Saab car previously used by the artist for twenty years. A personalized time capsule providing an intimidate space for listening as well as a marker of difference that emphasizes rather than glosses over the tension between observer and observed.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Christoph Girardet & Matthias Müller, Meteor, 2011 (Still)

Christophe Giradet & Matthias Müller’s survey exhibition at Kunstverein Hannover, was an echo chamber of found film footage restructured to allow new, transfixing, non-narrative experiences. Locomotive (2008) is a true master piece, culled from train scenes from multiple movies, shown alongside each other to expose the surprisingly stereotypical nature of the scenes, but not to expose them as cliché but to highlight their quasi-ritual function within the cinematic. Anyone who loved The Clock by Christian Marcley should have had a chance to see this show of works that preceded Marcley’s.

Apropos, as an aside, a small observation about cinema I had this year, which may be an old story for aficionados but somehow was fascinating for me. The old saying of script writers – ‘show me, don’t tell me’ – is a stab against patronising ways of storytelling that insult the intelligence and suffocate the affection of the viewer. But for me it became clear, by way of three recent film scenes, that there is also the ideal of ‘_don’t_ show me, and don’t tell me’: the first was from Yuval Adler’s Bethlehem (2013, came out on DVD this year), the controversial thriller about the Palestinian boy Sanfur who is recruited as an informant by an Israeli agent. Early on in the film Sanfur is about to prove his courage with other adolescents with being shot at wearing a bulletproof vest; the test of courage is interrupted and prevented. But later on, we see him trying to hide something under his jacket, which turns out to be a wound inflicted by a second attempt at that same test of courage, leading Sanfur further into his entanglement with the Israeli secret service as he will have to rely on their help to get medical treatment. As the shooting itself is not shown, the film thus reflects exactly its traumatic character. In Richard Linklater’s much-lauded Boyhood, a similar logic is played out in a very different context, that of relationships breaking up. While the film leads us through the growth from boy to man, at some point we learn, purely in passing and without it being explicitly mentioned, that his mother has separated from her latest partner. Again, the way it’s told emphasises the idea of moving on as an (inevitable?) act of repression, of not narrating the breaking up itself. Finally, in the Dardenne brothers’ Two Days, One Night the heroine is about to lose her factory job because her boss proposes to her colleagues that if they agree to make her redundant they would receive a 1000 € bonus. The film is all about her desperate attempt, over the course of a weekend, to convince each of them to revise their vote, and allow her to continue working. But the story is told without us ever seeing how that initial sneaky scheme comes about – again, the story unfolds around a central gap, something we’re not shown, and not told beyond the most basic facts.

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Ming Wong, BÜLENT WONGSOY: BIJIDIVA!, 2014

But back to contemporary art, where the technique of ellipsis is part and parcel of the legacy of abstraction and conceptualism. Judith Hopf: I just loved her Flock of Sheep at Praxes, Berlin, with the grumpy-looking sheep’s face sketched onto concrete boxes on iron stilts levelled by wooden wedges. Silent comedy. Ming Wong’s Bülent Wongsoy routine at Carlier Gebauer, Berlin, was a thrilling piece of karaoke pop history-telling, including meticulously re-imagined album covers, with Wong re-impersonating the Turkish singer Bülent Ersoy, who publically changed from man to woman in 1981, while keeping the male first name Bülent – and who had to go to exile in the wake of the military putsch in Turkey, before triumphantly returning in 1988. A genuine homage, at times of Gezi Park, to the political diva who can ‘turn teargas into hairspray’ (Ming Wong).

Highlights 2014 – Jörg Heiser

Visiting the studio of the late Italian conceptualist Vincenzo Agnetti in Milan was a rewarding experience; I had known his name but not much more, his work of the late 1960s, early 1970s had been hitherto unknown to me. Especially loved his piece Autotelefonata of 1973. I’ve been a fan for years of the work of both Bettina Allamoda and Manfred Pernice, and it was great to see the work of these Berlin sculptors together in a double solo at Kunstverein Potsdam.

The Berlin Biennale was all in all underwhelming, but I did enjoy Goshka Macuga’s contribution Preparatory Notes for a Chicago Comedy (2014), a lovingly silly piece of cut-out grotesque theatre (conceived together with Dieter Roelstrate), a kind of farce about the art world and its history based on Aby Warburg’s unpublished play Hamburg Conversations on Art: Hamburg Comedy of 1896, about the struggles between the avant-garde and the art traditionalists, culminating in an in-bed scene of Marina Abramović and Roman Abramovich. I seem to be a sucker for good corny jokes.

I’ve said what I love about Sharhyar Nashat’s work, whose Hustle in Hand was another highlight at the Berlin Biennale, but I should mention how much I also enjoyed the work of Adam Linder (who often collaborates with Nashat) this year, especially his Some Proximity (2014) at the Silberkuppe stand in Frieze London, involving him and congenial co-dancer Justin Kennedy responding in choreographed form to short snippets of writing by art critic Jonathan P. Watts. The piece breathed its own time and space. Silberkuppe’s show, in Berlin, of Margaret Harrison’s work alerted me to the British artist’s pioneering feminist pop work, opening up that gap between cheery imagery and the darkness of violence against women. Which reminds me that I learned a thing or two from Rebecca Solnit’s latest book Men explain things to me, which convincingly leads you from a hilariously annoying incident of a bully explaining things to the writer that she for the record knows as opposed to him, to the sickeningly pervasive rape culture around the globe. On that note, Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist is a great collection of impressively fearless, ruthless and crystal-clear writing about race/class/gender, on everything from Django Unchained to Fifty Shades of Grey. Even when I disagree I agree.

Ryan Trecartin’s tour de force show at Kunst-Werke this summer was a manically nauseating highlight even for Trecartin’s ambitiously nauseating standards (and I’m curious about his upcoming co-curating, with Lauren Cornell, of the New Museum Triennial, opening in February 2015).

I realize I’m running out of time and steam and you probably out of patience, so I’ll switch to listing art stuff I enjoyed this year: Olaf Brzeski’s metal sculptures at Raster from Warsaw; Harun Farocki’s Parallele I-IV (2012-2014), his piece based on video game footage which I saw in Unlimited in Basel, shortly before he died all to soon; Martin Kippenberger’s late paintings at Gisela Capitain in Berlin; Simon Denny at Buchholz in Berlin; Stefan Kern’s new wonderfully candy-trash body of suspended sculptures at Karin Guenther, Hamburg, and Luis Campana, Berlin; Austrian quirky conceptualist Heinrich Dunst at KOW Berlin; Antony McCall’s impressive survey at Amsterdam’s EYE museum, including his sound piece Traveling Wave (1972/2013), which is what it says though it isn’t, as the sound of the wave moving through the space like on a beach is actually produced purely with white noise. Talking about sound, Clemens von Wedemeyer’s show at Kunstverein Braunschweig explored the ambivalent legacy of the Nazi-time linguist Eberhard Zwirner, father of art dealer Rudolph Zwirner – a difficult but rewarding walk-through radio play.

Tamara Henderson, at Andrew Kreps and Rodeo – quirky and lovable. The positively SciFi, black and white Heinz Mack collages at Sperone Westwater in New York (but not so much Zero at the Guggenheim, a movement that as a whole I find strangely superfluous and over-estimated). Chris Ofili’s 1994 Shithead at the New Museum impressed me in terms of how it shocked me. Andra Ursuta’s hilariously nasty Floorlickers– life-like tongues on the ends of broom sticks – as shown, for example, in Maurizio Catellan’s Shit and Die exhibition in Milan. Seeing Andrea Fraser perform ‘Men on the Line: Men Committed to Feminism, KFPK 1972’ at Berlin’s Volksbühne (a piece originally commissioned by Emi Fontana in Los Angeles in 2012) provided me with another chance to witness Fraser’s great skill at finding the right material, and at its perfect impersonation, in this case the scenario of four early 1970s Californian male artists struggling to be feminists; again lessons to be learned about how things have changed – and how they haven’t.

My favourite art book this year is Andrea Büttner’s illustrated edition of Immanuel Kant’s Kritik der Urteilskraft (Critique of Judgment) issued by Museum Ludwig Cologne but published with Kant’s regular German publishing house Meiner.
The breadth of Malevich in Bonn; the films of Polke at Tate; the drawings of Kai Althoff at Michael Werner’s London Gallery; Reinhard Mucha’s Frankfurt Block at Sprüth Magers Berlin; Gianfranco Barucchello’s survey show at Sammlung Falckenberg in Hamburg; paintings from the estate of Norbert Schwontkowski at CFA Berlin; Renata Lucas’ record players seamlessly inserted into the basement marble floor of Secession in Vienna, to be spun by revolving doors, playing Bowie at yowling, alternating speeds; at the same time at the same space, the new video installation by artist group Chto Delat, entitled The Excluded. In a Moment of Danger, featuring students of the group’s newly established St Petersburg ‘School of Engaged Art’, left me impressed with the raw but eloquently choreographed admittance of confusion over Russia’s worrying political state and the (im-)possibility of making work in the face of it all.

Florine Stettheimer vs. Georg Baselitz in Munich: the work of the great New York painter at Lenbachhaus provided highs of 1910s bohemian rapture; whereas the German painter’s show at Haus der Kunst was a ridiculously overblown affair of gargantuan sculptures and canvases of recent years that reeked the desperation of a man who doesn’t seem sure of his status, put to shame by his sometimes brilliant (and smaller-scale) work of earlier decades, and by his preposterous statement from last year that women can’t paint. Quod erat non demonstrandum.

Phill Niblock, at 81, doesn’t seem desperately trying to prove something at all, being the forerunner of many a microtonal drone composers of following generations. I knew his stuff but had never seen him, as I did in Stuttgart, performing along to his beautiful, matter-of-factly films documenting rural workers in East Asia and South America, while he himself sits still behind a laptop playing music based on single notes played by life instruments but with the breathing as well as the attack and decay edited out. The tension between the footage showing traditional manual labour and the act of not acting from behind the laptop as the music unfolds was startling.

Sitting still while listening to dance music may sound like an odd concept, but Wolfgang Tillmans’ Between Bridges space in Berlin put it to great effect with the show ‘American Producers’ – the idea is to create a dedicated space for listening to recorded music on a great sound system. It worked. Kanye West’s ‘I Am A God’ never sounded better, as did Franc Ocean’s ‘Pyramids’, or Missy Elliott’s ‘Get Your Freak On.’

While we’re at it, here’s my Spotify list of favourite tracks this year:

Finally, art things I’m looking forward to:
The New Museum Triennial, John Latham at the Triennial building in Milan (already on), Okwui Enwezor’s Venice Biennale as well as Simon Denny’s New Zealand pavilion, Danh Vo’s Danish one, Hito Steyerl and Olaf Nicolai at the German Pavilion. Andreas Hofer’s new works at Hauser & Wirth in Zurich, Charline von Heyl early work in Spring in New York, and her most recent canvasses in late Summer in Berlin. Over and out.

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

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By Nick Aikens

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Adelita Husni-Bey, Postcards from the Desert Island, (2010–11), included in 'Really Useful Knowledge’, Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Madrid; courtesy: Kaddist Art Foundation Collection

My most memorable exhibitions of the year (in no particular order):

• ‘New Habits’, CASCO, Utrecht
• ‘A Special Arrow Was Shot in the Neck’, David Roberts Foundation, London, curated by Vivian Ziherl and Natasha Ginwala
• Harun Farocki, ‘Serious Games’, Hamburger Bahnhof, Berlin
• ‘Ways of Exhibiting: Lina Bo Bardi’s Exhibiting Architecture’, Museu da Casa Brasileira, São Paulo
• Raqs Media Collective, ‘A Sublime Economy of Means’, Tranzit, Prague
• ‘Really Useful Knowledge’, curated by What How and for Whom?, Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Madrid
• Philippe Parreno, ‘With a Rhythmic Extinction to be Able to Travel Beyond Existing Forces of Life’, Pilar Corrias Gallery, London
• ‘Allegory of the Cave Painting’, Extra City Kunsthal, Antwerp
• ‘Love Among the Artists’, Walden Affairs, The Hague (full disclosure: a show organized by my partner Laure Prouvost)
• Vlasta Delimar, ‘Mature Woman’, Museum of Contemporary Art Metelkova, Ljubljana

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Installation view of Rufino Tamayo Museum of Pre-Hispanic Art, Oaxaca

My favourite museum experience:
• Visiting the Rufino Tamayo Museum of Pre-Hispanic Art in Oaxaca

Two performances that have stayed with me:
• Hito Steyerl, ’35 Ways to Break Through a Wall’, Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven
• Jérôme Bel, ‘Disabled Theatre’, Frieze Projects, London

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Installation view of ‘How to (…) things that Don’t Exist’, 31st Bienal de São Paulo; © Leo Eloy / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo

Hands down the most memorable biennial I have seen in a long time (impartially perhaps as two colleagues co-curated it but, regardless, it was phenomenal):
• ‘How to (…) things that Don’t Exist’, 31st Bienal de São Paulo

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Sesc Pompeia, São Paulo (designed by Lina Bo Bardi and Marcelo Ferraz, 1977); © Pedro Kok

Buildings / places that blew my mind:
• Sesc Pompeia, São Paulo (designed by Lina Bo Bardi and Marcelo Ferraz, 1977)
• The campus of the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (National Autonomous University of Mexico), Mexico City
• Leon Trotsky’s House, Mexico City

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Pascal Gielen (ed.), Institutional Attitudes: Instituting Art in a Flat World (2013)

A strange collection of books I read this year that will stick with me:
• Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady (1881)
• Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own (1929)
• Gary Shteyngart, _Super Sad True Love Story _(2010)
• William Morris, News from Nowhere (1890)
• Giorgio Agamben, The Highest Poverty (2013)
• Pascal Gielen (ed.), Institutional Attitudes: Instituting Art in a Flat World (2013)

Highlights 2014 - Nick Aikens

Forensic Oceanography (Charles Heller, Lorenzo Pezzani, SITU Research), LEFT-TO-DIEBOAT, Synthetic aperture radar satellite imagery (A and B) showing the ‘left-to-die’ boats, included in ‘Forensis’, Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin

Three things I wish I’d seen:
• ‘Yvonne Rainer: Dance Works’ Raven Row, London
• ‘Performance Days’, organized by If I Can’t Dance I Don’t Want to be Part of Your Revolution, Amsterdam
• ‘Forensis’, curated by Anselm Franke and Eyal Weizman, Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin

Highlights 2014: Fatima Hellberg

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By Fatima Hellberg

Highlights 2014: Fatima Hellberg

Andrea Fraser, Men On the Line: Men Committed to Feminism, KPFK, 1972, 2012, documentation of a performance at Volksbühne, Berlin, 2014

Hurry.
Resemble your mother.
Dismantle appliances with vigor.
We will not detract anything from the achievement of the French.

Gregg Bordowitz, Taking Voice Lessons, 2014

Ah, Gregg Bordowitz. How many times have I returned to his beautiful yellow book, Taking Voice Lessons? I am finding it hard to write about this piece of writing, partly because it so delicately teeters on the edge of things: it’s dealing with care, but is equally about obligation, and about writing and thinking at a self-described ‘juncture.’ In the book, he cites The Fall’s ‘Totally Wired’ (1981)– ‘You don’t have to be weird to be wired’ – and like all other citations, and included texts, from the poetry of Essex Hemphill and the writing on ‘Container-Contained’ (1970) by psychoanalyst Wilfred Bion, I am left with this sense that the work reaches for so much, that it has a vast appetite. The book, designed by Will Holder and published as part of Bordowitz’ two-year residency at If I Can’t Dance, I Don’t Want To Be Part of Your Revolution, was also reflected on in a part-reading, part-performance in Amsterdam. During the evening Bordowitz’ spoke of his work as part of the AIDS activist groups ACT UP and DIVA, of his changing understanding of identity politics, but also of a restlessness, and an eloquently argued desire for the uncontainable.

Andrea Fraser also speaks of contingency in her own way, and of the emotional, but also intellectual value of being moved. I was both moved, and bemused by her Men On the Line: Men Committed to Feminism, KPFK, 1972 (2012-), a performance based on a live radio broadcast from 1972 in which four men discuss their relationship with feminism. To a full house at Berlin’s Volksbühne theatre in November, Fraser performed all four participants, re-enacting and delivering verbatim their reflections on separatism, essentialism and struggles for empathy. In the delivery, Fraser steps into and embodies these positions, and really, it was those subtle shifts in body language, posture and intensity as she moved from one character to the next that were so unbearably funny, and so very dark. The work deals, in complex ways, with self-determination and identification. I appreciated the immaculate presentation and confidence, but also the undeniable and unapologetic ambivalence of the work.

Highlights 2014: Fatima Hellberg

Trisha Donnelly, Untitled, 2014, video projection

I am less certain about what Trisha Donnelly’s exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery was doing, or exactly what it was setting out to do, but I really loved it. The thing that struck me about the show was how much it felt like it was about the decision, and the idea of an internal logic. There was a sense of things having to be ‘just so’, from a slightly melancholic soundtrack playing throughout the galleries, followed by interludes of silence, to the slight shifts and alterations taking place in the space across a number of video projectors and spatial interventions. There was something about these minimal shifts that felt very confident and resolved, also in the sense that there was an acute awareness of what had to remain unarticulated, and incomplete. I liked the stubbornness of the show, and how it insisted on a very precise and concentrated refusal to speak – ‘a golden ring of reluctance’, as J.H. Prynne would have it. Each time I went to the exhibition, there would always be some form of presence from the park, and one invigilator admitted to a ‘dog problem’ – dogs running into the opened up gallery space. Without reading too much into it, the dog problem felt significant somehow; the Donnelly show communicated in far-reaching, sweeping registers, leaving a lingering, and generous sense that there was more there to be perceived, and felt, around the edges.

Highlights 2014: Fatima Hellberg

Stuart Baker, Mercy Mercy Mercy, 1988, video still

Finally, a real revelation this year, and something that I also returned to, has been artist James Richards’ screening programme ‘Mercy Mercy Mercy’, with work by Stuart Baker, Julia Heyward, Stuart Marshall, Chris Saunders and others, shown at the DAAD Gallery in Berlin. Many of the short films use the direct address, and speak of sincerity and a sense of anticipation. Built up between the works and their combinations is a real concentration, yet one which is sort of off. It brings to mind the term ‘off-pointness’ that Richards’ sometimes uses to talk about his and other artists’ work. I like the idea of something being totally focused, precise and committed, yet in its own slightly derailed way. What I would love to see next year is more work that has the space to do that, and here I mean headspace, and the opportunity to be able to take one’s time, to return, and to afford to do things, that limp along in their own necessary way.

Highlights 2014 – Kirsty Bell

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By Kirsty Bell

Highlights 2014 – Kirsty Bell

Mark Leckey at WIELS, Brussels, installation shot.

A condensed list of highlights in the form of an old-fashioned top ten (almost).

~ Mark Leckey’s Lending Enchantment to Vulgar Materials at WIELS: a retrospective that felt like a wander through the artist’s mind, as if witnessing each thought as it takes shape in sound, film, or object form. Leckey gives us not only an infectious curiosity about how it is to be with things in the world, but also an astonishingly comprehensive cultural overview, poised in a highly activated present.

Highlights 2014 – Kirsty Bell

~ The persistent radicality of Sturtevant, whose Drawing Double Reversal at MMK in Frankfurt, showing five decades of graphic work, was raw evidence of the rigor and commitment of her critical overlay of conceptual art, pop and gender politics.

~ The persistent radicality of Dorothy Iannone, whose retrospective at the Berlinische Galerie, This Sweetness Outside of Time, showing five decades of drawing, painting, and video work, was graphic evidence of her rigorous commitment to the raw power of ecstatic love, despite censorship, ignorance and gender politics.

Highlights 2014 – Kirsty Bell

~ Two small studies hanging by the entrance door in the intimate show of Philip Guston’s late works at Auriel Scheibler in Berlin were such lessons in acute observation, visual economy and impact that nothing else was needed.

~ Trisha Donnelly at the Serpentine: mesmerizing and intangible, its fluid transmutations of sound to form, stone to shadow, light to vibration, rendered language utterly ineffectual, and photography equally so.

~ Parade the film by artist Shahryar Nashat, and Parade the dance by choreographer Adam Linder. Collaboration folds in on itself in Nashat’s film of Linder’s dance, for which Nashat himself designed the stage set. The signature of each is all over the work of the other but, remarkably enough, each version is an independent and powerful summation of the artist’s / choreographer’s work to date.

Parade _TRAILER from snarchive on Vimeo.

~ Praxes Center for Contemporary Art in Berlin: the shoe-string budget of this non-profit space is made up for by the consummate energy of its directors and carousel of associated editors, curators and collaborators. Their format of six-month long ‘cycles’, each featuring two artists who stage three consecutive exhibitions, shows a commitment to the messy range of an artist’s work, and to the exhibition as an exploratory and evolving format.

Highlights 2014 – Kirsty Bell

~ The welcome proliferation of artist books of all kinds, and particularly books of artists’ writings: a few recent favourites are Peter Wächtler’s Come On; Ed Atkins’ A Seer Reader; and Nora Schultz’s Portikus Printing Plant and Portikus Sounds– the last more exhibition catalogue than book of artists writings, but Schultz’s brief and perspicacious annotations of the installation images of her 2012 show at Portikus transform the book into a kind of storyboard, and deliver all the immediacy and contingency of the show’s original performances.

~ Finally, remembrance. Though the loss of artist, curator, writer and friend Ian White, who died last year, is still raw, I am constantly reminded of his integrity and influence, not only on a profoundly personal level, but also through the work of the many artists who worked closely with him in the LUX Associate Artists Programme he ran – James Richards, Laure Provost, Corin Sworn, Ed Atkins and Luke Fowler, to name just a handful. Ian’s collected writings, due to be published by LUX next year, is the book I am looking forward to most of all.


Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

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By Shanay Jhaveri

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Raghubir Singh, Grand Trunk Road, Durgapur, West Bengal, 1988, photographic print. © Succession Raghubir Singh

‘Last Night a line appeared,
Unbidden, unsigned:
It has eight memorable
Syllables. I’ll keep you,

I said, falling asleep.
It’s gone now,
And I write this to requite it,
And to mark its passage.’

Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

Just as I was embarking on the slightly onerous task of recounting my highlights of 2014, I came across the above poem, Inscription, which is included in Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s new book Collected Poems: 1969 – 2014 (Penguin Books, 2014). It leapt of the page, concisely articulating my feelings about the evanescence that inevitably follows an encounter – any kind of encounter – that leaves behind the simple acknowledgment of its happening. Each time that encounter is summoned, it will appear altered, and further changed as it recedes. So, with Mehrotra’s words as a guide, I offer up some recollections of 2014.

Bedsides’ Mehrotra’s poems, the new volume also gathers together his work as a translator. A true gift, his translations guide the reader through centuries of Indian poetry. I was particularly floored by his translation of The Absent Traveller: Prakrit Love Poetry from the Gathasaptasati of Satavahana Hala (originally published in 1991), perhaps the earliest anthology of secular Indian verse, dating back to the 1st and 2nd century CE. These poems – in which the speakers are mostly women – are about love, but they’re also about the act of love-making: what precedes it, what happens during it, and what is to be expected after it. Read today, amidst the moral policing and draconian measures of ‘modern’ India, one can’t help lament and not be disheartened. They are frank verses full of yearning, desire, longing, disappointment, frustration, fear, joy, sadness and humour – all emotions I experienced three times in 2014 at Howard Hodgkin’s exhibitions. The first was in Gagosian in Paris, of his most recent paintings – the artist’s first solo show in the city; the second, of his new prints at London’s Alan Cristea Gallery; and a final bijou presentation of gouaches on Khadhi paper at Gagosian’s Davies Street Gallery in London, titled ‘Indian Waves’, which Hodgkin made in 1990–91, and which were, until recently, believed to be lost.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Howard Hodgkin, Disturbed Night, 2013-14, oil on wood. Courtesy: the artist

Remarkable and inspiring, at 81, Hodgkin is turning out some of his best and freest creations. Working on different scales, his recent paintings were made over the last two years in England, France and India. A picture that has stayed with me is the intimately scaled Disturbed Night (2013–14), which is powerful and fragile in equal measure. Similarly stirring were two shows by Zarina, ‘Folding Houses’ at Gallery Espace, New Delhi, and ‘Descending Darkness’ at Luhring Augustine, New York. The piece de résistance of both shows was ‘Folding Houses’ (2013), a set of 50 collages each a reworking of the image of a single-story house made from leftover pieces from other projects. Drenched in emotion and memory, ‘Folding Houses’ is a chronicle of a life and, as Zarina poignantly elucidates: ‘Homes live in the imagination and dreams of people who leave the place they were born in. Our past never leaves us. We hide behind our memories – until we come to accept that the past is already gone.’ It’s such a privilege to witness such creative output in numerous instances in a single year of artists like Hodgkin and Zarina, who have not slowed down with age, but are full of vitality and energy.

Memories also stalk Sylvia Schedelbauer’s pulsating, exhausting, and triumphant new film Sea of Vapors (2014). Rarely has the use of flicker transcended its formal application to produce such intense emotion. 15 minutes long, Sea of Vapors is created from a mix of film shot by Schedelbauer and found footage. Labour intensive, and intricately assembled, images dissolve into one another, and in the plainest of acts, such as someone holding a bowl, Schedelbauer evokes the world’s phenomena. I was stunned and moved by this film. While Sea of Vapors unfurls at a rapid pace, Filipino filmmaker Lav Diaz’s formidable and haunting From What is Before (2014) draws itself out over a period of five-and-a-half hours. Not as long as some of Diaz’s other works, which clock in at eight and 11 hours, From What is Before is set in a rural part of the Philippines in 1972, focusing on a small community of villagers just as Ferdinand Marco’s dictatorship is to announce itself. Diaz spends the first hour or so establishing the rhymes and rituals of the tiny barrio where his characters live before things start to unravel and the military arrive. The camera rarely moves: there are exquisite shots of nature, waves crashing against rocks, the densest of forests and his protagonists firmly embedded within it. Amongst the most unforgettable sequences in the film is an extended scene in which an elderly woman performs a mourning song for her deceased child. Without being didactic, as the hours pass by, Diaz exposes how fear is used to control and condition people. Based on his personal memories, From What is Before returns us to a past, reclaiming a history of the Philippines, and in the process revealing the necessity and urgency of committing to such acts of historical reclamation.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Sylvia Schedelbauer, Sea of Vapors, 2014, HD video still. Courtesy: the artist

Another act of excavation that left a significant impression on me was the re-release of Fei-Mu’s exquisite 1948 family drama Spring in a Small Town. Its deep vulnerability reduced me to tears. Also, the unearthing of Nalini Malani’s cameraless photography and film installation Utopia (1969–76), at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Museum of Art, New Delhi, in the first part of her year-long retrospective, was a revelation, not only further fleshing out a history of Indian artists engagement with film, but also reiterating an assured and active female agency from the mid-20th century. I was also happy to have been made of aware of Hungarian-born American artist Sari Dienes, courtesy of her first-ever museum show at the Drawing Center, New York, curated by Alexis Lowry Murray and Delia Solomons. It focussed on the street rubbings Diene made in the 1950s in New York City, while another showing at Pavel Zoubok Gallery in New York covered other aspects of her practice. Dienes’s tactile paper works and experimental working methods had a tremendous impact on a younger generation of male artists, especially Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg. The central role she played within the art community of the time is testified by the visitor’s book to her studio, which includes signatories like John Cage and James Joyce. It’s completely shocking to me that an artist such as Dienes has been so entirely forgotten.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Sari Dienes, NYC. C, 1953-55, ink on werbil. © Sari Dienes; from the collection of Pamela Jarvis

Similarly, ‘From the Margins: Lee Krasner and Norman Lewis, 1945 – 1952’ at the Jewish Museum in New York highlighted the work of two artists who, by virtue of being a Jewish woman and an African-American man, remain less known than their white male counterparts. Both Krasner and Lewis reached their mature styles in the 1940 and ’50s, and curator Norman L. Kleeblatt did a notable and nuanced job in putting them in conversation with one another. Seeing Krasner’s glyph-inspired work next to Lewis’s jazz-like paintings was a complete joy, highlighting a wide range of subtle cultural referents. Surprising and stimulating, Dries Van Noten’s exhibition at the Musée Des Arts Decoratifs in Paris, ‘Inspirations’ operated in a similar manner. Not a conventional retrospective, through a series of elaborately staged set pieces, Van Noten presented not only his own garments, but those of other designers, as well as art works, photographs and film clips, emphasizing less the genius of a single designer, but the process of creation. The garments themselves became receptacles of all that surrounds them, full of intention and affect. An overwhelmingly generous exhibition (more than 400 pieces were on display), Van Noten revealed himself to be a great connoisseur: the range of his inspirations was exhilarating to behold. I was personally delighted to see an Yves Klein blue bust, placed next to a Christian Dior Bar jacket and skirt from the 1950s, and the famous Cecil Beaton Garden Party coat from 1937 next to documentary footage of one of Pina Bausch’s dances. Other remarkable pieces included Saree-inspired pieces by Balenciaga and Christian Dior, and a magnificent 16th century sculpture by Bronzino on loan for the first time from the Louvre. I left ‘Inspirations’ totally elated.

Another expanded fashion exhibition that impressed me was the small but gorgeous ‘Sahib, Bibi, Nawab: An Exhibition of Exquisite Baluhar Silks of Bengal 1750 to 1900’ from the TAPI collection at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (Prince of Wales Museum of Western India) in Mumbai. Baluchar sarees come from Bengal and are sensual, regal and intricate; for me, the highlights are those in which the weavers introduced Europeans figures and modern modes of transport such as the train, to echo their appearance amidst the landscape of colonial India. The show was accompanied by two other special exhibitions at the museum. ‘Alice: A Visionary Artist and Scholar Across Two Continents’ mapped out the Swiss painter, sculptor, art historian and Indologist, Alice Boners’s time in India in the 1930s, and her association with Uday Shankar and a young Ravi Shankar. ‘Kekoo, Kali and Jehangir: Framing a Collection’ at the Jehangir Nicholson Gallery celebrated the friendship between the two men, but also provided a vibrant account of how the Indian art world operated in the 1960s and ’70s. Together, this trio of shows focussed attention to the impressive efforts of Sabyasachi Mukherjee, the Museum’s director, to revitalize the institution. It is a particularly remarkable endeavour in India, where most government-funded public museums are barely functioning.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

‘Dries Van Noten: Inspiration’, exhibition view at Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris

Another exhibition that deserves mention is ‘V. S. Gaitonde: Painting as Process, Painting as Life’ at New York’s Guggenheim Museum. Curated by Sandhini Poddar, it not only introduced Gaitonde’s sublime non-objective paintings to an international audience, but highlighted important works hidden away in public collections. Having secured loans from major public collections in India, including the TIFR, for which special governmental clearance was required, Poddar revealed a wealth of material that is held by public institutions on the subcontinent, and the need for curators and art historians to wrangle with them and the attendant bureaucracy to ensure that they are properly documented and seen.

An album that I had on repeat in 2014 was Matthew Halsall & the Gondwana Orchestra’s When the World Was One (Gondwana Records, 2014). Halsall, a dedicated follower of the spiritual jazz of John and Alice Coltrane, deftly melds together a diverse group of influences, while maintaining their individual integrity. The impact of Japanese music on Halsall is profound, most noticeably with the inclusion of the koto and bansuri flute mixed with a harp, soprano sax and double bass. The rhythmic beauty of When the World Was One is only matched by Unseen Worlds release of Ethiopian classical pianist and composer Girma Yifrashewa’s Love and Peace (2014). At a first listen, it might seem that Yifrashewa is wholly indebted to a Western Romantic classical tradition, but gradually Ethiopian folk traditions are heard and felt. This original music is a reflection of how a distinctly personal sound can be evolved from a classical repertoire of expression.


Mamman Sani, ‘Ya Bismillah’, 1978, re-released 2014

In 2014 Hindustan Motors Ltd. announced that it was suspending production of the Ambassador which, in 1957, was the first car to be built in independent India and was modelled on the Britain’s Morris Oxford (I write about this in the January 2015 issue of frieze). The country’s protectionist economy in the 1960s and ’70s ensured the omnipresence of the car: civil servants, government officials and the affluent drove it. It was only in the mid 1980s when Maruti Suzuki Ltd. entered the Indian market with the cheaper Alto 800 that the Ambassador’s sales started to decline. On hearing of its demise, I returned to Raghubir Singh’s photo book A Way Into India (2002). A vital historical document, the earliest image in the book dates from 1978; what is remarkable to behold is how Singh’s images visualize the transformation of an entire nation seen and felt through, and with, this car. These photographs portray a life cycle of not only a car and an artist, but also of another India, its aspirations and dreams, now long gone.

And what now? Can we hope for a better future? A leap into the unknown? What will carry us forward? I remain unsure; my anxiety as I enter 2015 is tempered by the re-release of Nigerian composer and keyboardist Mamman Sani’s 1978 collection of previously unheard recordings Taaritt (Sahel Sounds, 2014). Composed on analogue synthesizers in French and Nigerian recording studios, these songs combine traditional Saharian folk ballads with 80s synth and are totally elevating. They quietly suggest that perhaps the future could be slightly more familiar and less foreboding. Hopefully, it just might be a little more than bearable.

Highlights 2014 – Erik Morse

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By Erik Morse

Highlights 2014 – Erik Morse

Exterior of the Hotel Carlton Palace, Paris, where Hans Ulrich Obrist staged his 1993 exhibition 'Hotel Carlton Palace, Chambre 763'

Art
Check-in time was set for 2014. Were I compelled to choose from the various interesting trends in arts criticism and curation this year, it was perhaps the use of the hotel as both subject and installation site that offered the most excitement.  It began with ‘Room Service: On The Hotel In The Arts and Artists in the Hotel’ at Staatliche Kunsthalle, Baden-Baden, which assembled an impressive survey of (mostly) 20th century art’s relationship to the hotel, as subject, artist’s workspace, site-specific installation and performance space.  Thankfully, the exhibition was not wholly indebted to the modern’s characterization of these interiors as Marc Augé’s non-places; rather, the inclusion of British landscapers such as J.M.W. Turner and John Constable and Berlin flaneur/caricaturist George Grosz married painterly figuration to the evocative, surveillance aesthetics of Sophie Calle, and the therapeutic performance art of Ann Liv Young.

As a generous gratuity to patrons, Staatliche invited Hans Ulrich Obrist to restage one of his earliest successes, ‘Hotel Carlton Palace: Chambre 763’ (1993) as part of the off-site exhibition. Much of Obrist’s literary mythology for Hotel Carlton resided in the pre-War, miniaturist’s aesthetic of hotel artist-dwellers; Robert Walser, Raymond Roussel, Alfred Jarry and Stefan Zweig, who inspired Wes Anderson’s idiosyncratic blockbuster this year, The Grand Budapest Hotel. Not to be outdone by its European counterpart, the Los Angeles-based Public Fiction transformed Allen Ruppersberg’s legendary installation piece, Al’s Grand Hotel (1971), from its unlikely Sunset Boulevard origins to a set piece on Roosevelt Island, New York for Frieze Projects.

As centerpieces for Stan Douglas at The Fruitmarket Gallery, Ediburgh, the artist’s The Second Hotel Vancouver (2014) and Hogan’s Alley, 1948 (2013) similarly use the image of the hotel and apartment block as set pieces for both kitchen-sink melodrama and what the OuLiPo referred to as l’infraordinaire. Douglas’ fusion of Hollywood noir and psychogeography in the massive, digital prints, originally used as a stage backdrop, hybridizes Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep (1939) and Georges Perec’s Le Vie: Mode d’emploi (Life: A User’s Manual, 1978).

Literature

With the translation of Globes, Spheres II: Macrospherology (Semiotext(e)), the second of a three-part installment of Peter Sloterdijk’s epic Sphären trilogy, English language readers have gained further proof of the German phenomenologist’s status as one of the most insightful theorists of the new millennium. Anticipating the miniaturist turn of the upcoming volume, Foams, which dedicates itself to the apartment dwelling of the modern era, Spheres II chronicles an epic, 2000-year history of globalism, beginning with the pre-Socratic paradigm of the orb and continuing to the trans-oceanic voyages of the colonial regimes. Verbose, rapturous and, at times, recondite beyond comprehension, Sloterdijk’s second volume continues his extraordinary, Heideggerian project into the architectonics of modern space.

Other exciting texts, both new and newly translated/repurposed include Henri Lefebvre’s ‘lost’ listology The Missing Pieces and Julio Cortazar’s Fantomas Versus the Multinational Vampires: An Attainable Utopia, both from Semiotext(e)’s Whitney Biennial collection; debut novelist Elizabeth Mikesch’s stories of girlhood and witchcraft, Niceties: Aural Ardor, Pardon Me (Calamari Press); Georges Perec’s forgotten first novel, Portrait of a Man (Maclehose Press); and Edouard Levé’s Works (Dalkey Archive).

Highlights 2014 – Erik Morse

Glass! Love!! Perpetual Motion!!! A Paul Scheerbart Reader, 2014

A predecessor of Sloterdijk’s design philosophy, Paul Scheerbart is enjoying a recent renaissance in the English language thanks to the dutiful efforts of publishers such as Wakefield Press and University of Chicago. The latter’s Glass! Love!! Perpetual Motion!!! A Paul Scheerbart Reader introduced belated translations of the author’s seminal Glass Architecture (1921) and a selection of some of his earliest, fantasy feuilletons. Also included in the collection are valuable essays by Glass Pavilion architect, Bruno Taut, playwright/novelist, Gary Indiana, and artist, Josiah McElheny, who is co-editor of the text. The translation of Hugo Ball’s Dadaist quasi-memoir, _Flametti, or The Dandyism of the Poor _(Wakefield Press), published in 1918 but written contemporaneously to his ‘Dada Manifesto’ and the founding of the Cabaret Voltaire, portrays the theatrical bohemianism of Zurich and underscores Ball’s importance as a creative voice behind the more persistent, historical personalities of Tristan Tzara and Richard Hülsenbeck.

A surprising bookend of sorts to these chronicles of the Wilhelmine era was the belated publication of Bernadette Corporation: 2000 Wasted Years (Artists Space), a monograph of the 2012 gallery retrospective and an historical artifact in its own right. The quintessential fin-de-siecle artist collective, Bernadette’s critical flirtations with fashion, video, installation and literature in on the verge of 9/11 New York betray an intriguing similarity with the Belle Epoque decadents at the precipice of world war – and the monograph is a gripping, historical text of the last breath of the old century.

Highlights 2014 – Erik Morse

Scott Walker and Sunn0))), 2014

Music

Among new musical offerings of the year, certain perennial mainstays released albums worthy of honorable mention. In anticipation of their first album in over 35 years in 2015, The Pop Group’s Cabinet of Curiosities (Freaks R Us) compilation reveals unreleased material from across the band’s brief, but fecund, post-punk career. Scott Walker joined with drone outfit Sunn O))) for Soused (4AD), his heavy metal sequel to the masterful Bish Bosch (2013). in which noisy arias about Marlon Brando hover next to Walker’s lachrymose meditations on sexual bondage and infanticide. Like Soused, Leonard Cohen’s Popular Problems (Columbia) had the slight feeling of footnote to the singer’s previous masterpiece, Old Ideas, but the octogenarian’s 13th album still exudes a poetic prowess and gallows wit denied to most at a quarter of his age. (‘I have to die a little/ Between each murderous thought/ And when I’m finished thinking/ I have to die a lot,’ he sings on the archetypal Cohen lament, ‘Almost Like the Blues.’) See Lana del Rey’s Ultraviolence (Polydor/Interscope) for a deliciously morbid exception to the rule. Finally, Christian Fennesz’s thematic return to his aquatic masterwork Endless Summer with Bécs (Editions Mego) proved how the multiplicity of an artist’s genius can turn on a singular theme with perpetually affecting results.

Highlights 2014 – Ela Bittencourt

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By Ela Bittencourt

Highlights 2014 – Ela Bittencourt

White Shadow (Noaz Deshe, 2013, 2014 release)

2014 was a great year for cinephiles. The one regret I have is not having seen Jean-Luc Godard’s Goodbye to Language (2014) in 3D, a film that is said to revolutionize cinema to the point where watching it in 2D, as I did, is pointless. Luckily, as far as 2D pleasures, there were plenty, starting with White Shadow (2013, 2014 release), a stunning debut by Noaz Deshe, so far scantily present on the festival circuit. Berlin and Los Angeles-based Deshe sets his film in Tanzania, inspired by real-life stories of Africa’s albinos, who are mercilessly hunted because their organs are believed to have healing powers. In the film, a young albino, Alias, escapes after his father’s ambush. Alias sells DVDs in a cutthroat city and finds companionship in a rural albino shelter, but is betrayed by his uncle. Deshe’s hallucinatory storytelling and edgy camerawork have a primal power, with a witchdoctor that channels Flannery O’Connor. Deshe stresses the sensory experience, and Alias’ plight is so agonizing, this is the one film whose vision and humanity continue to haunt me.

A number of masters made notable films last year, including Godard, but also Nuri Bilge Ceylan with the austerely sublime Winter Sleep (2014), Andrey Zvyagintsev with the flawed Leviathan (2014), and what was to be the final film from Alan Resnais (who died in March), with the mild but pleasurable Life of Riley (2014), to name a few. Yet some of the most imaginative features, I believe, have come from lesser-known directors. Among them, Ventos de Agosto (2014), by Brazil’s Gabriel Mascaro, displayed the similarly uncanny power as White Shadow, or as this year’s stunner, Horse Money (2014) from Portugal’s Pedro Costa. Both Costa and Mascaro explore lost, forgotten worlds: Costa in his dreamlike portrayal of Cape Verde immigrants, all being treated in a desolate hospital in the slums of Lisbon, where the dire present and the violent past overlap; Mascaro in his vivid portrayal of a Pernambucan coastal village, where the bones from a local cemetery wash up on the beach. Deshe, Costa and Mascaro employ nonactors, and their films evince wondrous energy at the fiction/nonfiction vertices.

Highlights 2014 – Ela Bittencourt

‘Horse Money’ (Pedro Costa, 2014)

Another example of such happy convergence is the steady ascendancy of the American indie filmmaker Nathan Silver. His latest film, Uncertain Terms (2014), features mostly professional actors, but its energies, beginning with the script that is based loosely on his mother’s experience as a teenage mom, Silver’s casting of her and of himself in the film (Nathan and Cindy Silver also acted together in Silver’s feature debut Exit Elena), to Silver’s insatiable interest in characters’ inner lives over plot, all contribute to the film’s complex communal experience. To the extent that Silver’s films feel like happenings – which in no way denigrates his fine eye or his ear for dialogue – I like to think of Uncertain Terms as kin to recent nonfiction films, such as Robert Greene’s Actress (2014), Roberto Minervini’s Stop the Pounding Heart (2013), Andrew Droz Palermo and Tracy Droz Tragos’s Rich Hill (2014), or Niels van Koevorden and Sabine Lubbe Bakker’s Ne Me Quitte Pas (2013), all powerfully affecting hybrids that collectively redefine the word ‘performance.’

Highlights 2014 – Ela Bittencourt

‘Uncertain Terms’ (Nathan Silver, 2014)

On the brilliant unclassifiable end, 2014 American audiences were finally introduced to the work of the British filmmaker, Joanna Hogg. Three of Hogg’s films, Undecided (2008), Archipelago (2010) and Exhibition (2013), all previously featured in The New York Film Festival, were given a theatrical run. Hogg also likes to work with nonactors, as she did casting a local cook and her own painting teacher in the masterful, minor-key family drama, Archipelago, in which fragile allegiances are built and raptured; or by casting singer Viv Albertine and artist Liam Gillick in Exhibition, about a childless middle-aged couple who must part with their beloved home/architectural wonder. Hogg’s visual precision is architectonic, for who can forget the eerie light that permeates the house in Archipelago, the island’s landscape amidst which the film is set, or the porous inner/outer quality of the brutalist modern house in Exhibition? Hogg grows more audacious with each film, and Exhibition plunges into subliminal realms, expanding the notion of realism.

2014 was also an important year for documentaries. Frederick Wiseman’s National Gallery is an opus on institutional bureaucracy, but, amidst the chatter – of curators, restorers, educators and administrators – somehow also proves that art is inexhaustible. In a climate of diverging opinions on the purpose of documentaries, from activism to the primacy of the image, Wiseman fits no trends. With Laura Poitras’s CITIZENFOUR (2014) sailing confidently through the award season, and a new Joshua Oppenheimer doc on the horizon, the next year should spark further debates. Meanwhile, documentaries such as Jeff Reichert and Farihah Zaman’s Remote Area Medical (2014), a devastating portrait of what decades of America’s haphazard healthcare policies and winner-take-all economy have wrought, keep prodding our collective conscience.

2014 Highlights – Nina Power

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By Nina Power

2014 Highlights – Nina Power

Marta Popivoda, Yugoslavia, How Ideology Moved Our Collective Body (Serbia / France / Germany 2013, 62 min)

2014 was a year of identifying and attempting to protect, politically and artistically, rapidly eroding ways of being in public. As the last remnants of the welfare state are gleefully dismantled by those whose only, yet seemingly infinite, source of pleasure appears to come from a grotesque combination of wanton cruelty and profit, I spent the year with a recurring phrase stuck in my head on a loop: ‘there is no more public space, only public order’.

Exhibitions, films and performances that dealt with the destruction of a certain image of the public took on a new urgency. To this end, Tate Modern’s May event Spatial Confessions (On the Question of Instituting the Public)* organised by Bojana Cvejić took on the task of identifying the historical and performative construction of the public through talks and performances that reflected on protest, the gallery as a ‘public’ (or often otherwise) space and gave particular weight (particularly in the screening of Marta Popivoda’s film Yugoslavia, How Ideology Moved our Collective Body) to Yugoslavia’s socialist imaginary of the collective subject, and the subsequent dismantling of this subject into a situation of post-communist ethno-nationalist and asset-stripped realities. At this event I spoke with Claire Bishop about the possibilities of the art gallery as a ‘public’ space and whether it would be possible or desirable to think of galleries such as the Tate Modern as sites capable of being occupied, or as sites of future uprisings.

2014 Highlights – Nina Power

This discussion for me found a curious and joyful echo in the protest held later in the year in solidarity with those angered by the death of Eric Garner and the lack of indictment for the officers who killed him – a familiar story everywhere. Unlike protests held at the usual sites of power – the heavily policed and guarded American Embassy, Trafalgar Square, Parliament Square, outside Downing Street – the organisers of the event, London Black Revolutionaries, chose to have a die-in inside Westfield shopping mall in West London: many of the US protests had taken place in similar venues. This proved an extremely successful and interesting strategy, drawing shoppers and shop workers into a protest that was already young and buoyant. Unlike J.G. Ballard’s vision in his final 2006 novel, Kingdom Come, of shopping malls like Bluewater and Westfield as sites of a potential EDL-esque, sports-based English fascism, this was the exact opposite: an anti-fascist, anti-police action mainly carried out by people of colour that disrupted the ‘normal’ running of things, that pointed out that the securitised, consumerist ‘reality’ was a fragile, if well-protected veneer, that could tremble and collapse at any moment. My favourite moment: in the middle of the march, a white couple sat at a café outlet eating salad, desperately trying to pretend that nothing was going on as chants of ‘black lives matter!’ and ‘no justice, no peace’ shattered to break theirs.

The Metamodernism event in Amsterdam’s Stedelijk in September was suitably eclectic, with Shia LaBeouf running a marathon outside as Francis Fukuyama gave the audience a potted neo-con history of the world. I spoke about the year 2008 with Cally Spooner and others, playing on the multiple meanings of ‘crash’ (financial, personal, material), though 2014 feels more like the wheels are coming off and that the real, final crash has not yet really happened.

2014 Highlights – Nina Power

Hito Steyerl, still from ‘Liquidity Inc.’ (2014). Courtesy the artist.

It was an honour to speak about similar themes with Hito Steyerl as part of her ICA show in March, and she remains for me one of the only artists able to get a handle on the myriad financial, ideological and material realities of contemporary existence.

Come Worry with Us! OFFICIALTRAILER from Catbird Productions on Vimeo.

Other things I enjoyed, in between everything else, Helene Klodawsky’s on the road film about Thee Silver Mt. Zion Come Worry With Us, writing by Hannah Black, Linda Stupart and Jesse Darling, arguing about anger and justice on Resonance FM with Jacqueline Rose, Lightbearing Forms: The Retrospective of Vojin Bakić at the Art Gallery of Bosnia and Herzegovina (and indeed, I enjoyed everything about Sarajevo), Laura Oldfield Ford’s Seroxat, Smirnoff, THC at the Stanley Picker Gallery, Brian Dillon’s Ruin Lust at Tate Britain. I listened a lot to Burial’s Rival Dealer e.p., Julia Holter, Marina Rosenfeld (and enjoyed her performance of ROYGBIV&B (Version for South London) at the South London Gallery in June), Laurel Halo, Fatima Al Qadiri, Swans and Berangere Maximin.

2014 Highlights – Nina Power

Beatriz Preciado

I read all the volumes of the Karl Ove Knausgård autobiography that’ve been translated so far, delighted by its compulsive banality (refuting André Breton), and I spent a long time thinking about Beatriz Preciado’s Testo Junkie and Pornotopia. I read David Cronenberg’s first novel, Consumed, which I found hilarious (‘so Marx. The guy who forced your French guy to murder and eat his wife’), and I thought way, way too much about revenge.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

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By Shanay Jhaveri

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Raghubir Singh, Grand Trunk Road, Durgapur, West Bengal, 1988, photographic print. © Succession Raghubir Singh

‘Last Night a line appeared,
Unbidden, unsigned:
It has eight memorable
Syllables. I’ll keep you,

I said, falling asleep.
It’s gone now,
And I write this to requite it,
And to mark its passage.’

Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

Just as I was embarking on the slightly onerous task of recounting my highlights of 2014, I came across the above poem, Inscription, which is included in Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s new book Collected Poems: 1969 – 2014 (Penguin Books, 2014). It leapt of the page, concisely articulating my feelings about the evanescence that inevitably follows an encounter – any kind of encounter – that leaves behind the simple acknowledgment of its happening. Each time that encounter is summoned, it will appear altered, and further changed as it recedes. So, with Mehrotra’s words as a guide, I offer up some recollections of 2014.

Bedsides’ Mehrotra’s poems, the new volume also gathers together his work as a translator. A true gift, his translations guide the reader through centuries of Indian poetry. I was particularly floored by his translation of The Absent Traveller: Prakrit Love Poetry from the Gathasaptasati of Satavahana Hala (originally published in 1991), perhaps the earliest anthology of secular Indian verse, dating back to the 1st and 2nd century CE. These poems – in which the speakers are mostly women – are about love, but they’re also about the act of love-making: what precedes it, what happens during it, and what is to be expected after it. Read today, amidst the moral policing and draconian measures of ‘modern’ India, one can’t help lament and not be disheartened. They are frank verses full of yearning, desire, longing, disappointment, frustration, fear, joy, sadness and humour – all emotions I experienced three times in 2014 at Howard Hodgkin’s exhibitions. The first was in Gagosian in Paris, of his most recent paintings – the artist’s first solo show in the city; the second, of his new prints at London’s Alan Cristea Gallery; and a final bijou presentation of gouaches on Khadhi paper at Gagosian’s Davies Street Gallery in London, titled ‘Indian Waves’, which Hodgkin made in 1990–91, and which were, until recently, believed to be lost.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Howard Hodgkin, Disturbed Night, 2013-14, oil on wood. Courtesy: the artist

Remarkable and inspiring, at 81, Hodgkin is turning out some of his best and freest creations. Working on different scales, his recent paintings were made over the last two years in England, France and India. A picture that has stayed with me is the intimately scaled Disturbed Night (2013–14), which is powerful and fragile in equal measure. Similarly stirring were two shows by Zarina, ‘Folding Houses’ at Gallery Espace, New Delhi, and ‘Descending Darkness’ at Luhring Augustine, New York. The piece de résistance of both shows was ‘Folding Houses’ (2013), a set of 50 collages each a reworking of the image of a single-story house made from leftover pieces from other projects. Drenched in emotion and memory, ‘Folding Houses’ is a chronicle of a life and, as Zarina poignantly elucidates: ‘Homes live in the imagination and dreams of people who leave the place they were born in. Our past never leaves us. We hide behind our memories – until we come to accept that the past is already gone.’ It’s such a privilege to witness such creative output in numerous instances in a single year of artists like Hodgkin and Zarina, who have not slowed down with age, but are full of vitality and energy.

Memories also stalk Sylvia Schedelbauer’s pulsating, exhausting, and triumphant new film Sea of Vapors (2014). Rarely has the use of flicker transcended its formal application to produce such intense emotion. 15 minutes long, Sea of Vapors is created from a mix of film shot by Schedelbauer and found footage. Labour intensive, and intricately assembled, images dissolve into one another, and in the plainest of acts, such as someone holding a bowl, Schedelbauer evokes the world’s phenomena. I was stunned and moved by this film. While Sea of Vapors unfurls at a rapid pace, Filipino filmmaker Lav Diaz’s formidable and haunting From What is Before (2014) draws itself out over a period of five-and-a-half hours. Not as long as some of Diaz’s other works, which clock in at eight and 11 hours, From What is Before is set in a rural part of the Philippines in 1972, focusing on a small community of villagers just as Ferdinand Marco’s dictatorship is to announce itself. Diaz spends the first hour or so establishing the rhymes and rituals of the tiny barrio where his characters live before things start to unravel and the military arrive. The camera rarely moves: there are exquisite shots of nature, waves crashing against rocks, the densest of forests and his protagonists firmly embedded within it. Amongst the most unforgettable sequences in the film is an extended scene in which an elderly woman performs a mourning song for her deceased child. Without being didactic, as the hours pass by, Diaz exposes how fear is used to control and condition people. Based on his personal memories, From What is Before returns us to a past, reclaiming a history of the Philippines, and in the process revealing the necessity and urgency of committing to such acts of historical reclamation.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Sylvia Schedelbauer, Sea of Vapors, 2014, HD video still. Courtesy: the artist

Another act of excavation that left a significant impression on me was the re-release of Fei-Mu’s exquisite 1948 family drama Spring in a Small Town. Its deep vulnerability reduced me to tears. Also, the unearthing of Nalini Malani’s cameraless photography and film installation Utopia (1969–76), at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Museum of Art, New Delhi, in the first part of her year-long retrospective, was a revelation, not only further fleshing out a history of Indian artists engagement with film, but also reiterating an assured and active female agency from the mid-20th century. I was also happy to have been made of aware of Hungarian-born American artist Sari Dienes, courtesy of her first-ever museum show at the Drawing Center, New York, curated by Alexis Lowry Murray and Delia Solomons. It focussed on the street rubbings Diene made in the 1950s in New York City, while another showing at Pavel Zoubok Gallery in New York covered other aspects of her practice. Dienes’s tactile paper works and experimental working methods had a tremendous impact on a younger generation of male artists, especially Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg. The central role she played within the art community of the time is testified by the visitor’s book to her studio, which includes signatories like John Cage and James Joyce. It’s completely shocking to me that an artist such as Dienes has been so entirely forgotten.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

Sari Dienes, NYC. C, 1953-55, ink on werbil. © Sari Dienes; from the collection of Pamela Jarvis

Similarly, ‘From the Margins: Lee Krasner and Norman Lewis, 1945 – 1952’ at the Jewish Museum in New York highlighted the work of two artists who, by virtue of being a Jewish woman and an African-American man, remain less known than their white male counterparts. Both Krasner and Lewis reached their mature styles in the 1940 and ’50s, and curator Norman L. Kleeblatt did a notable and nuanced job in putting them in conversation with one another. Seeing Krasner’s glyph-inspired work next to Lewis’s jazz-like paintings was a complete joy, highlighting a wide range of subtle cultural referents. Surprising and stimulating, Dries Van Noten’s exhibition at the Musée Des Arts Decoratifs in Paris, ‘Inspirations’ operated in a similar manner. Not a conventional retrospective, through a series of elaborately staged set pieces, Van Noten presented not only his own garments, but those of other designers, as well as art works, photographs and film clips, emphasizing less the genius of a single designer, but the process of creation. The garments themselves became receptacles of all that surrounds them, full of intention and affect. An overwhelmingly generous exhibition (more than 400 pieces were on display), Van Noten revealed himself to be a great connoisseur: the range of his inspirations was exhilarating to behold. I was personally delighted to see an Yves Klein blue bust, placed next to a Christian Dior Bar jacket and skirt from the 1950s, and the famous Cecil Beaton Garden Party coat from 1937 next to documentary footage of one of Pina Bausch’s dances. Other remarkable pieces included Saree-inspired pieces by Balenciaga and Christian Dior, and a magnificent 16th century sculpture by Bronzino on loan for the first time from the Louvre. I left ‘Inspirations’ totally elated.

Another expanded fashion exhibition that impressed me was the small but gorgeous ‘Sahib, Bibi, Nawab: Baluchar Silks of Bengal 1750 – 1900’ from the TAPI collection at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (Prince of Wales Museum of Western India) in Mumbai. Baluchar sarees come from Bengal and are sensual, regal and intricate; for me, the highlights are those in which the weavers introduced Europeans figures and modern modes of transport such as the train, to echo their appearance amidst the landscape of colonial India. The show was accompanied by two other special exhibitions at the museum. ‘Alice: A Visionary Artist and Scholar Across Two Continents’ mapped out the Swiss painter, sculptor, art historian and Indologist, Alice Boners’s time in India in the 1930s, and her association with Uday Shankar and a young Ravi Shankar. ‘Kekoo, Kali and Jehangir: Framing a Collection’ at the Jehangir Nicholson Gallery celebrated the friendship between the two men, but also provided a vibrant account of how the Indian art world operated in the 1960s and ’70s. Together, this trio of shows focussed attention to the impressive efforts of Sabyasachi Mukherjee, the Museum’s director, to revitalize the institution. It is a particularly remarkable endeavour in India, where most government-funded public museums are barely functioning.

Highlights 2014: Shanay Jhaveri

‘Dries Van Noten: Inspiration’, exhibition view at Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris

Another exhibition that deserves mention is ‘V. S. Gaitonde: Painting as Process, Painting as Life’ at New York’s Guggenheim Museum. Curated by Sandhini Poddar, it not only introduced Gaitonde’s sublime non-objective paintings to an international audience, but highlighted important works hidden away in public collections. Having secured loans from major public collections in India, including the TIFR, for which special governmental clearance was required, Poddar revealed a wealth of material that is held by public institutions on the subcontinent, and the need for curators and art historians to wrangle with them and the attendant bureaucracy to ensure that they are properly documented and seen.

An album that I had on repeat in 2014 was Matthew Halsall & the Gondwana Orchestra’s When the World Was One (Gondwana Records, 2014). Halsall, a dedicated follower of the spiritual jazz of John and Alice Coltrane, deftly melds together a diverse group of influences, while maintaining their individual integrity. The impact of Japanese music on Halsall is profound, most noticeably with the inclusion of the koto and bansuri flute mixed with a harp, soprano sax and double bass. The rhythmic beauty of When the World Was One is only matched by Unseen Worlds release of Ethiopian classical pianist and composer Girma Yifrashewa’s Love and Peace (2014). At a first listen, it might seem that Yifrashewa is wholly indebted to a Western Romantic classical tradition, but gradually Ethiopian folk traditions are heard and felt. This original music is a reflection of how a distinctly personal sound can be evolved from a classical repertoire of expression.


Mamman Sani, ‘Ya Bismillah’, 1978, re-released 2014

In 2014 Hindustan Motors Ltd. announced that it was suspending production of the Ambassador which, in 1957, was the first car to be built in independent India and was modelled on the Britain’s Morris Oxford (I write about this in the January 2015 issue of frieze). The country’s protectionist economy in the 1960s and ’70s ensured the omnipresence of the car: civil servants, government officials and the affluent drove it. It was only in the mid 1980s when Maruti Suzuki Ltd. entered the Indian market with the cheaper Alto 800 that the Ambassador’s sales started to decline. On hearing of its demise, I returned to Raghubir Singh’s photo book A Way Into India (2002). A vital historical document, the earliest image in the book dates from 1978; what is remarkable to behold is how Singh’s images visualize the transformation of an entire nation seen and felt through, and with, this car. These photographs portray a life cycle of not only a car and an artist, but also of another India, its aspirations and dreams, now long gone.

And what now? Can we hope for a better future? A leap into the unknown? What will carry us forward? I remain unsure; my anxiety as I enter 2015 is tempered by the re-release of Nigerian composer and keyboardist Mamman Sani’s 1978 collection of previously unheard recordings Taaritt (Sahel Sounds, 2014). Composed on analogue synthesizers in French and Nigerian recording studios, these songs combine traditional Saharian folk ballads with 80s synth and are totally elevating. They quietly suggest that perhaps the future could be slightly more familiar and less foreboding. Hopefully, it just might be a little more than bearable.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

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By Amy Sherlock

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Henri Matisse, 'The Parakeet and the Mermaid', 1952. © 2015 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

On the twelfth day of Christmas, a look back at some of the gifts that 2014 gave us:

A partridge in a pear tree
It’s not quite the same as a partridge, but how about a parakeet – accompanied by a mermaid – floating amongst the sinuous, coloured-paper fronds of what could be either tropical foliage or an octopus’s garden of kelp. Henri Matisse created his monumental wall piece The Parakeet and the Mermaid, which occupied one glorious room of ‘The Cut-Outs’ at Tate Modern, London (the MoMA iteration of the show runs until 10 Feb), in 1952, while convalescing after a major operation that kept him out of his studio. He spoke about the work as ‘a little garden all around me where I can walk’ – an apt description of the show itself which, in spite of hoardes of visitors, was an oasis of childlike wonder.

Two turtle doves
The pairs of trademark voluptuous ladies that filled the large canvases in ‘How to Work Together’, Ella Kruglyanskaya’s solo show at Studio Voltaire, London, in spring, were not so much cohabiting peacefully as eyeing each other up, like hawks. Supportive and antagonistic in equal measure, they might be saying something about the way that relationships between women are habitually caricatured, or the particular kind of competition that is bred by always being the object of the gaze, or the point at which watching a person should become watching out for them. They might equally be a straightforward celebration, or appreciation, of the female form – its curves, its contours and its claddings. Either way, Kruglyanskaya is a painter who knows birds.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ella Kruglyanskaya, Zip It, 2014, oil and oil stick on linen
214 × 167 cm. Courtesy: the artist, Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York, and Studio Voltaire, London

Three French hens
My 2014 started with a trip to Paris to catch the retrospectives of Pierre Huyghe at the Centre Pompidou and Philippe Parreno at the Palais de Tokyo in early January. Huyghe’s presentation was as dense and teeming with sounds and lifeforms (performers; fish tanks; Human the dog) as Parreno’s felt uninhabited, almost ghostly. Occupying the entirety of the vast Palais de Tokyo, the shows hidden doors, sudden bursts of Stravinsky’s ‘Petrushka’ (1947) and automata lent it something of the atmosphere of the Beast’s extravagantly lonely castle in Jean Cocteau’s ‘La Belle et la Bete’ (1946), with its corridors lined with animated candelabras. Both exhibitions were enchanting. A large-scale survey show of the work of Dominique Gonzales-Foerster, which will come to the Centre Pompidou in the autumn after opening at the Museum of Modern Art in Rio de Janeiro over the summer will complete a trio; I am looking forward to it greatly.

Four calling birds
Performed by a chorus of grey-clad women across all levels of Tate Britain’s beautiful new Caruso St John-designed rotunda, Cally Spooner’s a-cappella drama And You Were Wonderful, On Stage (2014) was a mediation on the ways in which the human voice, which we assume to be so natural, so true, can deceive, exaggerate or become robotically detached. Spooner’s smart, always inventive work is acutely attuned to the multiple and shifting structures of call and response in contemporary mediatized society.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

And You Were Wonderful, On Stage, 2014, performance at, Tate Britain, London. Courtesy: Tate, London; photograph: Oliver Cowling

Five Gold Rings
The press image for ‘Rembrandt: The Late Works’ (on show at the National Gallery, London, until 18 Jan) is a detail of the painting known as The Jewish Bride (c. 1665) in which a man in a billowing tunic leans across to touch the bosom of his wife, who lays her hand gently over his. The glowing light (the characters seem to give off a radiance of their own) catches the gold ring on the woman’s little finger, outlining the central pearl in a twinkle of white. I couldn’t get over the hands in these paintings. It might be because so many of Rembrandt’s subjects, like the artist himself at this stage, were advanced in years, and there is something about hands and their inability to conceal their age that flaunts Rembrandt’s magisterial honesty in dealing with physical decrepitude, including his own. There is no one better able to capture the particular translucency of old skin, its spent elasticity. Two portraits hanging side by side, of Jacob Trip and his wife Margaretha de Geer (c. 1661; both part of the National Gallery’s permanent collection) are stunningly direct portrayals of old age: beautiful but brutal, entirely without tragedy or false ennoblement – a lesson to all of us who are afraid of ageing, in a world as transfixed by youth as it ever was.


Rembrandt, Portrait of a Couple as Isaac and Rebecca, known as The Jewish Bride, c. 1665. © Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Six geese a-laying
A gaggle of geese waddles about the bottom right corner of Sigmar Polke’s Watchtower with Geese (1987–88) under a hulking lookout hut, the ominous presence of which is tempered only slightly by the bubblegum pink wash that colours it. The work is included in ‘Alibis’, Polke’s retrospective, which opened at MoMA, New York, where I saw it in May, and runs at Tate Modern, London, until 8 Feb. This was a show that made me feel dizzy, not just because of the chaotically compressed hang (which felt somehow appropriate) but because I find it hard to get my head around the breadth of thought and material, and the sometimes rampant contradictions – between tragedy and humour; sensitivity and glibness; spirituality and materialism; Pop; satire; romance; guilt; desire and disgust – contained within and elicited by this impossibly inventive artist.

Seven swans a-swimming
I read Ali Smith’s How To Be Both (2014) in two prose-drunk sessions over the Christmas holiday. The novel is in two parts: one set in present-day Cambridge, where a teenage girl struggles to get over the death of her mother; the other in early Renaissance Italy, which tells the story of a painter at the court of Ferrara. The two narratives are linked by the frescoed walls of the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara, painted in part by the artist-narrator and visited by the girl with her mother, who has become intrigued by an enigmatic, androgynous figure in one of the panels, in the year before her death. Divided into the twelve months of the year, the frescoes are part mythical-allegorical and part idealized depiction of life in the city under its magnanimous Duke, the works’ patron. Birds abound – one of the first details the girl notes is “a truly shocked duck with a hunter’s hand around its neck” – and a pair of white swans pull the chariot of Venus in the month of April. Smith’s tale has inspired me to make a pilgrimage to see the frescoes (which were also discussed by Jan Verwoert in a friezepicture piece in 2013) this spring. How To Be Both is a novel that is smart and deeply moving without seeming laboured; no sentence feels extraneous or overburdened. The revelation, when it comes, speaks eloquently of the gender inequalities that still plague the art world – as almost everything else – even in 2015.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Detail from Francesco del Cossa, Mese di Marzo (Month of March), Hall of the Months, Palazzo Schifanoia, Ferrara, c. 1469

Eight maids a-milking
A slightly tenuous link but bear with me: Phyllida Barlow’s inaugural show at Hauser & Wirth’s Somerset outpost, which overlapped with the artist’s pomp-puncturing explosion of an installation in Tate Britain’s grand Duveen Galleries, was the culmination of a crescendo that has been building since the long-time Slade professor retired from teaching to focus on her own work in 2009. Barlow’s responsiveness and dexterity in handling spaces is remarkable. In Somerset, her work managed to fully occupy the awkward concertina of converted farm buildings (including, you’ve got it, cow sheds) that constitutes the gallery space: pushing out against the walls or creating protected spaces within, mixing outside materials (timber; cement) with inside materials (fabric; ply) to bring some of the muddled-up chaos of the city to this rural idyll.

Nine ladies dancing
I loved Yvonne Rainer’s survey show at Raven Row, London, for the live performances, which reminded me that a dancer’s gesture, however much it feigns normality, is a fantastical, alien thing, and for the droll recorded lecture, Parts of the Body (from the late 1960s), which played on loop in a room upstairs, talking through the limbs’ almost limitless repertoire of movements and reminding me of what a wondrous thing a body – any body – really is.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Dancers performing Yvonne Rainer’s Diagonal (part of Terrain), 1963, at Raven Row, 2014. Courtesy: the artist and Raven Row; photograph: Eva Herzog

Ten lords a-leaping
It might be poor form to include something that I helped to organize, but ‘action-sculptor’ Bruce McLean’s performance, in which he interviewed himself, as part of Frieze London Talks in October, was one of the funniest things I saw all year. There was much theatrical leaping between seats and switching one pair of glasses for another but, behind the poking-fun-at-art-establishment-convention–with-a-very-straight face that has characterized McLean’s work since Nice Style, I think there may have been a gentle, and valid, warning here against the art world’s tendency to speak in a language that no-one but itself can understand. (For the regal bit: at the end of his performance, McLean exited the stage in front of a projected video of himself dancing underneath a crown.)
McLean’s survey show at firstsite, Colchester, curated by Michelle Cotton, and the accompanying catalogue were excellent documents of a witty, unique career.

Bruce McLean (Action Sculptor) Interviews Himself (Frieze London 2014)

Eleven pipers piping
London project space Piper Keys produces consistently intelligent, concise and exciting exhibitions in a live/work warehouse space on a shoestring budget. Their programme last year included solo exhibitions by Rachal Bradley, Chris Evans, Allison Katz and Lucy Stein, as well as a permanent installation in the form of a brick sculpture designed by Per Kirkeby. Roll on 2015!

In the capital, other notable mentions in this regard include: Rowing Projects, whose recent exhibition of Rachel Maclean’s filmic brand of hallucinatory political critique, ‘Please Sir’, will be reviewed in the March issue of frieze; French Riviera, particularly for their solo show of work by South African artist Lisa Brice, whose dreamy, gauzy paintings drew on the space’s former life as a poodle parlour; and SPACE, whose extraordinary show of ultra lo-fi early black and white video works by Paul McCarthy in January (curated by frieze contributor Paul Pieroni) was something to hold onto later in the year in the face of the tired, spurious grotesquesness of the artist’s autumn blow out at Hauser & Wirth in Mayfair.

Twelve drummers drumming
Glasgow International 2014 felt like something of a fanfare, rallying commercial galleries, artist-run and non-profit spaces, established institutions, and artists and critics alike in a way that felt quite unique for a bi-annual event on this scale. A drum kit was involved – in the form of a performance by the thrashingly noisy Solar Lice as part of Tobias Madison, Emanuel Rossetti and Stfan Tcherepnin’s exhibition ‘Life & The Invitation& Vapour in Debri&’ at The Modern Institute – but my personal highlight was an altogether quieter pair of shows. With spaces on different floors of the same rambling old hotel building in the city centre, Kendall Koppe and Mary Mary put on a pair of exhibitions – Mary Mary of the clunking, twisted ceramics forms of young, London-based artist Jesse Wine; Kendall Koppe of the precise, Modernist vessel forms of ceramicist Lucy Rie and the elegantly risque homoerotic portraits of photographer George Platt Lynes – which showed how little contemporary clay practices owe to British ceramic tradition whilst simultaneously highlighting a shared, instinctive, and perhaps even inescapable tendency to connect the clay body to the lived body and it’s frailties.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ceramics by Dame Lucy Rie. Courtesy: Kendall Koppe, Glasgow

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

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By Sam Thorne

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

Christina Ramberg Waiting Lady, 1972

Last spring I moved from London, where I’d been living for seven years, to St Ives. A mere 5½-hour train journey from the capital (or, if you’re intrepid, a night on the sleeper train), the small Cornish town is perched close to Britain’s southwestern tip. It’s been a home to artists and writers since at least the 1880s. As the artist Linder – the inaugural resident artist at Tate St Ives, where I work – pointed out to me soon after I arrived in March, it’s a place where the ghosts of modernism are everywhere palpable. It’s also a place where, thanks to the legacy of artist-potters Bernard Leach and Shoji Hamada, the veil between art and craft feels especially thin.

How all this inflected what seemed most important to me in 2014, I’m still not sure. On some level, though, this has been a year where I’ve had to give a lot of thought to the relationships and frictions between location and production, between the myths of modernism and who gets to tell them, about all those industries circling around what Lucy Lippard called the ‘lure of the local’. Certainly my new location, at a remove from a major city or airport, has meant I’ve travelled less regularly than before. While that didn’t result in anything close to the extra time to read or write I’d imagined, it did mean fewer distractions, the occasional possibility of pursuing half-formed ideas for longer than I was accustomed to. I’ve read less, but less frantically, and I’ve looked in the same way; both have often been sporadic, squeezed between the demands and confusions of any new position or place. So here are some of my highlights, in fragments.

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

‘Carl Andre: Sculpture as Place, 1958–2010’, installation view, Dia:Beacon, New York, 2014

Looking

What to say about ‘Carl Andre: Sculpture as Place, 1958–2010’ at Dia:Beacon? It’s unusual for an exhibition to completely overhaul your opinion of an artist; extremely rare for it to revise your thinking of a whole period – in this case the 1960s and ’70s, the claims and legacies of minimalism, as well as so much more. I spent a long afternoon there during a New York trip in June, though a few weeks too early to catch the Jeff Koons extravaganza, the Whitney’s Breuer building swansong. From afar, though, it was dispiriting to see how few substantive critical responses it generated. Whatever the publication or platform, most critics seemed happy to settle for with one of two responses: a sign-o’-the-times shrug, and ‘Is this guy for real?’ Maybe I’ll get a chance to see it at the Pompidou. I did see Koons elsewhere though: ‘Sculpture After Sculpture’ at the Moderna Museet in Stockholm put him alongside Charles Ray and Katharina Fritsch – all three were born within a few years of each other in the mid-’50s – in a forensically installed one-room inquisition into post-pop figuration. Chilling and exhilarating. Kudos to Jack Bankowsky for pulling it off, and to Daniel Birnbaum for overseeing a programme that in the last couple of years has accommodated both Hilma af Klint and the much-missed Sturtevant, who died in May.

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

Hannah Höch, Little Sun, 1969; courtesy: Landesbank Berlin AG

More often I found myself thinking more about the modest-scaled, private or homespun, whether that was Lucy Rie’s pots (winningly paired with photos by George Platt Lynes at Kendall Koppe in Glasgow), 40 years’ worth of never-before-shown works by Lukas Duwenhögger at Rodeo’s new London gallery, dozens of Lynda Benglis’s convulsive ceramics at Thomas Dane, or ‘Unwoven World’ at OCA in Oslo, tough and tender 1970s textile works by three Norwegian artists. Two shows I couldn’t stop thinking about both involved collage: Vincent Fecteau at Matthew Marks in New York and the Whitechapel’s revelatory Hannah Höch survey at the Whitechapel. Also, such a pleasure to see the work of the slightly forgotten Chicago Imagist Christina Ramberg on two occasions, first at Glasgow International in April then at the Liverpool Biennial in September. Speaking of GI, Sarah McCrory’s inaugural edition felt fresh: a minor coup with a wittily installed Jordan Wolfson retrospective of sorts, a funny-heartbreaking performance by Sue Tomkins, collages by the late – and, in the UK, little know – Brazilian artist Hudinilson Jr, cavorting SketchUp’d tableaux by the young New Yorker Avery Singer, and a lot more besides.

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

Lukas Duwenhögger, Love in Flight from the Digital World, 1979/2014; courtesy: Rodeo Gallery, London

What else sticks with me? It’s a jumble, but PS1’s bracing Maria Lassnig retrospective – which opened just a couple of months before the Austrian painter died aged 94 – won’t be easy to forget. (I wonder what she’d have thought of ‘The Forever Now’, which just opened at MoMA?) Back in London, the same goes – though in ways that couldn’t be more different – for Pierre Huyghe at Hauser & Wirth and Yvonne Rainer at Raven Row. In Barcelona, MACBA’s retrospective of Oskar Hansen had a lot to say about dreams and influence, including work by the visionary Polish architect’s students alongside his own ‘Open Forms’. In August I spent a sweltering couple of weeks travelling from Istanbul to Armenia via Georgia, where I saw for the first time the remarkable paintings of Niko Pirosmani, the early-20th-century self-taught sign painter. Though he died penniless, he had in the 1910s shown in Moscow alongside Kazimir Malevich, whose first-ever UK retrospective, at Tate Modern, was from start to finish unforgettable. And, before I forget, the Serpentine had a number of strong shows, from Martino Gamper’s collections of other peoples’ collections in the spring and Ed Atkins’s Purcell-singing avatar Dave in the summer, to Trisha Donnelly in the autumn – evasion and spareness, sure, but also beauty.

Highlights 2014 – Sam Thorne

Niko Pirosmani, Lion and the Sun, date unknown; courtesy: Art Museum of Georgia, Tbilisi

Listening

I found myself consuming more music than every before, and – oddly? I’m not sure – this was usually in the old-fashioned long-format kind of way: albums, mixes, stacks of reissues. In the latter camp, my go-to accompaniments to long train journeys were compilations of ambient and synth music. Half of Craig Leon’s Anthology of Interplanetary Folk Music Vol. 1 was put out by John Fahey in 1980, following the studio whiz’s pioneering work on a ridiculous number of debut LPs: Suicide, Blondie, the Ramones etc… The music collected here was inspired by and named for a 1973 exhibition, at the Brooklyn Museum, of sculptures by the Dogon, the Malian tribe whose beliefs are based on a visit by extraterrestrials named Nommos. It found a counterpart in the 30-year rerelease of Structures from Silence by Steve Roach, a classic of ambient music. Both albums sent me back to Brian Eno, of course, as well as the (Cornwall-born) Aphex Twin. In terms of mixes, I got lazy, relying on pretty much one source: FACT magazine. My favourites of their weekly installments came c/o Forest Swords, P. Morris, Murlo and Claude Speeed. Other things I returned to over and again came from Nguzunguzu, Soda Plains and Celestial Trax. With all of these, the lines between mixes ‘proper’ albums felt nebulous, but – for balance – some actual LPs I returned to: Dean Blunt, Popcaan and Tinashe, alongside older things by Alice Coltrane and Francis Bebey. Special mentions, too, for $3.33’s Steve Reich-channelling Draft and Mamman Sani’s Taaritt. Recorded in the late 1980s in Niger and Paris, the latter comprises future-facing synth re-imaginings of ancient Saharan ballads – like a forgotten soundtrack to David Lynch’s Dune.

And Looking Forward

What to look forward to? It’s already been well articulated by so many respondents to this survey, but 2014 will inevitably and rightly be remembered as a year of disappointment and catastrophe. This year – whether in search of solace, of ways out or forward – I plan to do a lot of reading. On my shelf are books old and new by Ben Lerner, Saskia Sassen, Mathias Enard, Ursula Le Guin, Naguib Mahfouz, Alexander Kluge, Achille Mbembe and Caroline Jones. Exhibitions? This week I’m catching the tail-end of Mark Leckey’s retrospective at Wiels in Brussels, a godfather of a kind to a number of the artists included in the 3rd New Museum Triennial, which opens next month. And then of course I’m more than intrigued by what Okwui Enwezor will do with Venice. The last large-scale exhibition of his I saw, the 2012 Paris Triennale, was concerned with the spectre of the colonial-era ethnographer. Grand, lofty, flawed – it also felt like unfinished business. In the autumn, Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev will ‘draft’ (rather than curate) the 14th Istanbul Biennial, with some intriguing allies: Pierre Huyghe, Griselda Pollock, Füsun Onur and Anna Boghiguian, among others. After the capitulations of the last edition, not to mention the myriad lessons of Documenta, I am excited to see what she can achieve.

Wherever you’re calling from, here’s to a happier 2015.


Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

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By Amy Sherlock

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Henri Matisse, 'The Parakeet and the Mermaid', 1952. © 2015 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

On the twelfth day of Christmas, a look back at some of the gifts that 2014 gave us:

A partridge in a pear tree
It’s not quite the same as a partridge, but how about a parakeet – accompanied by a mermaid – floating amongst the sinuous, coloured-paper fronds of what could be either tropical foliage or an octopus’s garden of kelp. Henri Matisse created his monumental wall piece The Parakeet and the Mermaid, which occupied one glorious room of ‘The Cut-Outs’ at Tate Modern, London (the MoMA iteration of the show runs until 10 Feb), in 1952, while convalescing after a major operation that kept him out of his studio. He spoke about the work as ‘a little garden all around me where I can walk’ – an apt description of the show itself which, in spite of hoardes of visitors, was an oasis of childlike wonder.

Two turtle doves
The pairs of trademark voluptuous ladies that filled the large canvases in ‘How to Work Together’, Ella Kruglyanskaya’s solo show at Studio Voltaire, London, in spring, were not so much cohabiting peacefully as eyeing each other up, like hawks. Supportive and antagonistic in equal measure, they might be saying something about the way that relationships between women are habitually caricatured, or the particular kind of competition that is bred by always being the object of the gaze, or the point at which watching a person should become watching out for them. They might equally be a straightforward celebration, or appreciation, of the female form – its curves, its contours and its claddings. Either way, Kruglyanskaya is a painter who knows birds.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ella Kruglyanskaya, Zip It, 2014, oil and oil stick on linen
214 × 167 cm. Courtesy: the artist, Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York, and Studio Voltaire, London

Three French hens
My 2014 started with a trip to Paris to catch the retrospectives of Pierre Huyghe at the Centre Pompidou and Philippe Parreno at the Palais de Tokyo in early January. Huyghe’s presentation was as dense and teeming with sounds and lifeforms (performers; fish tanks; Human the dog) as Parreno’s felt uninhabited, almost ghostly. Occupying the entirety of the vast Palais de Tokyo, the shows hidden doors, sudden bursts of Stravinsky’s ‘Petrushka’ (1947) and automata lent it something of the atmosphere of the Beast’s extravagantly lonely castle in Jean Cocteau’s ‘La Belle et la Bete’ (1946), with its corridors lined with animated candelabras. Both exhibitions were enchanting. A large-scale survey show of the work of Dominique Gonzales-Foerster, which will come to the Centre Pompidou in the autumn after opening at the Museum of Modern Art in Rio de Janeiro over the summer will complete a trio; I am looking forward to it greatly.

Four calling birds
Performed by a chorus of grey-clad women across all levels of Tate Britain’s beautiful new Caruso St John-designed rotunda, Cally Spooner’s a-cappella drama And You Were Wonderful, On Stage (2014) was a mediation on the ways in which the human voice, which we assume to be so natural, so true, can deceive, exaggerate or become robotically detached. Spooner’s smart, always inventive work is acutely attuned to the multiple and shifting structures of call and response in contemporary mediatized society.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

And You Were Wonderful, On Stage, 2014, performance at, Tate Britain, London. Courtesy: Tate, London; photograph: Oliver Cowling

Five Gold Rings
The press image for ‘Rembrandt: The Late Works’ (on show at the National Gallery, London, until 18 Jan) is a detail of the painting known as The Jewish Bride (c. 1665) in which a man in a billowing tunic leans across to touch the bosom of his wife, who lays her hand gently over his. The glowing light (the characters seem to give off a radiance of their own) catches the gold ring on the woman’s little finger, outlining the central pearl in a twinkle of white. I couldn’t get over the hands in these paintings. It might be because so many of Rembrandt’s subjects, like the artist himself at this stage, were advanced in years, and there is something about hands and their inability to conceal their age that flaunts Rembrandt’s magisterial honesty in dealing with physical decrepitude, including his own. There is no one better able to capture the particular translucency of old skin, its spent elasticity. Two portraits hanging side by side, of Jacob Trip and his wife Margaretha de Geer (c. 1661; both part of the National Gallery’s permanent collection) are stunningly direct portrayals of old age: beautiful but brutal, entirely without tragedy or false ennoblement – a lesson to all of us who are afraid of ageing, in a world as transfixed by youth as it ever was.


Rembrandt, Portrait of a Couple as Isaac and Rebecca, known as The Jewish Bride, c. 1665. © Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Six geese a-laying
A gaggle of geese waddles about the bottom right corner of Sigmar Polke’s Watchtower with Geese (1987–88) under a hulking lookout hut, the ominous presence of which is tempered only slightly by the bubblegum pink wash that colours it. The work is included in ‘Alibis’, Polke’s retrospective, which opened at MoMA, New York, where I saw it in May, and runs at Tate Modern, London, until 8 Feb. This was a show that made me feel dizzy, not just because of the chaotically compressed hang (which felt somehow appropriate) but because I find it hard to get my head around the breadth of thought and material, and the sometimes rampant contradictions – between tragedy and humour; sensitivity and glibness; spirituality and materialism; Pop; satire; romance; guilt; desire and disgust – contained within and elicited by this impossibly inventive artist.

Seven swans a-swimming
I read Ali Smith’s How To Be Both (2014) in two prose-drunk sessions over the Christmas holiday. The novel is in two parts: one set in present-day Cambridge, where a teenage girl struggles to get over the death of her mother; the other in early Renaissance Italy, which tells the story of a painter at the court of Ferrara. The two narratives are linked by the frescoed walls of the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara, painted in part by the artist-narrator and visited by the girl with her mother, who has become intrigued by an enigmatic, androgynous figure in one of the panels, in the year before her death. Divided into the twelve months of the year, the frescoes are part mythical-allegorical and part idealized depiction of life in the city under its magnanimous Duke, the works’ patron. Birds abound – one of the first details the girl notes is “a truly shocked duck with a hunter’s hand around its neck” – and a pair of white swans pull the chariot of Venus in the month of April. Smith’s tale has inspired me to make a pilgrimage to see the frescoes (which were also discussed by Jan Verwoert in a friezepicture piece in 2013) this spring. How To Be Both is a novel that is smart and deeply moving without seeming laboured; no sentence feels extraneous or overburdened. The revelation, when it comes, speaks eloquently of the gender inequalities that still plague the art world – as almost everything else – even in 2015.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Detail from Francesco del Cossa, Mese di Marzo (Month of March), Hall of the Months, Palazzo Schifanoia, Ferrara, c. 1469

Eight maids a-milking
A slightly tenuous link but bear with me: Phyllida Barlow’s inaugural show at Hauser & Wirth’s Somerset outpost, which overlapped with the artist’s pomp-puncturing explosion of an installation in Tate Britain’s grand Duveen Galleries, was the culmination of a crescendo that has been building since the long-time Slade professor retired from teaching to focus on her own work in 2009. Barlow’s responsiveness and dexterity in handling spaces is remarkable. In Somerset, her work managed to fully occupy the awkward concertina of converted farm buildings (including, you’ve got it, cow sheds) that constitutes the gallery space: pushing out against the walls or creating protected spaces within, mixing outside materials (timber; cement) with inside materials (fabric; ply) to bring some of the muddled-up chaos of the city to this rural idyll.

Nine ladies dancing
I loved Yvonne Rainer’s survey show at Raven Row, London, for the live performances, which reminded me that a dancer’s gesture, however much it feigns normality, is a fantastical, alien thing, and for the droll recorded lecture, Parts of the Body (from the late 1960s), which played on loop in a room upstairs, talking through the limbs’ almost limitless repertoire of movements and reminding me of what a wondrous thing a body – any body – really is.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Dancers performing Yvonne Rainer’s Diagonal (part of Terrain), 1963, at Raven Row, 2014. Courtesy: the artist and Raven Row; photograph: Eva Herzog

Ten lords a-leaping
It might be poor form to include something that I helped to organize, but ‘action-sculptor’ Bruce McLean’s performance, in which he interviewed himself, as part of Frieze London Talks in October, was one of the funniest things I saw all year. There was much theatrical leaping between seats and switching one pair of glasses for another but, behind the poking-fun-at-art-establishment-convention–with-a-very-straight face that has characterized McLean’s work since Nice Style, I think there may have been a gentle, and valid, warning here against the art world’s tendency to speak in a language that no-one but itself can understand. (For the regal bit: at the end of his performance, McLean exited the stage in front of a projected video of himself dancing underneath a crown.)
McLean’s survey show at firstsite, Colchester, curated by Michelle Cotton, and the accompanying catalogue were excellent documents of a witty, unique career.

Bruce McLean (Action Sculptor) Interviews Himself (Frieze London 2014)

Eleven pipers piping
London project space Piper Keys produces consistently intelligent, concise and exciting exhibitions in a live/work warehouse space on a shoestring budget. Their programme last year included solo exhibitions by Rachal Bradley, Chris Evans, Allison Katz and Lucy Stein, as well as a permanent installation in the form of a brick sculpture designed by Per Kirkeby. Roll on 2015!

In the capital, other notable mentions in this regard include: Rowing Projects, whose recent exhibition of Rachel Maclean’s filmic brand of hallucinatory political critique, ‘Please Sir’, will be reviewed in the March issue of frieze; French Riviera, particularly for their solo show of work by South African artist Lisa Brice, whose dreamy, gauzy paintings drew on the space’s former life as a poodle parlour; and SPACE, whose extraordinary show of ultra lo-fi early black and white video works by Paul McCarthy in January (curated by frieze contributor Paul Pieroni) was something to hold onto later in the year in the face of the tired, spurious grotesquesness of the artist’s autumn blow out at Hauser & Wirth in Mayfair.

Twelve drummers drumming
Glasgow International 2014 felt like something of a fanfare, rallying commercial galleries, artist-run and non-profit spaces, established institutions, and artists and critics alike in a way that felt quite unique for a bi-annual event on this scale. A drum kit was involved – in the form of a performance by the thrashingly noisy Solar Lice as part of Tobias Madison, Emanuel Rossetti and Stefan Tcherepnin’s exhibition ‘Life & The Invitation& Vapour in Debri&’ at The Modern Institute – but my personal highlight was an altogether quieter pair of shows. With spaces on different floors of the same rambling old hotel building in the city centre, Kendall Koppe and Mary Mary put on a pair of exhibitions – Mary Mary of the clunking, twisted ceramics forms of young, London-based artist Jesse Wine; Kendall Koppe of the precise, Modernist vessel forms of ceramicist Lucy Rie and the elegantly risque homoerotic portraits of photographer George Platt Lynes – which showed how little contemporary clay practices owe to British ceramic tradition whilst simultaneously highlighting a shared, instinctive, and perhaps even inescapable tendency to connect the clay body to the lived body and it’s frailties.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ceramics by Dame Lucy Rie. Courtesy: Kendall Koppe, Glasgow

Highlights 2014: Morgan Quaintance

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By Morgan Quaintance

Highlights 2014: Morgan Quaintance

Simeon Barclay, Untitled, 2014

No sooner had 2013 emptied our wallets and crept out the back door of time than 2014 burst through its front, iPhone in hand, posing for multiple selfies. Yes, 2k14 should be remembered as the year ‘internet culture’, that mish mash of all things surface, puerile, hysterically vacuous and ironic finally soaked through and soiled the beige trouser fabric of everyday life. Nothing actually happened unless it was named, had a hashtag in front of it and a crowd of ‘humbled’ selfie-taking celebrities to back it up.

But #2K14 wasn’t all bad. To prove it here’s my cultural highlights:

The Novels of Graham Greene

I know realism’s supposed to be dead but I’m still into it, and this year I discovered/devoured the novels of Graham Greene. His misanthropic, theologically troubled, anti heroes are rendered in prose that is frighteningly vivid and peerless in its depiction of the darker side of the human condition. Here’s Greene in The Quiet American (1955): ‘Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.’ Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Laurie Conrad Unsung Songs: Songs of the Earth (2014)

New York-based composer Laurie Conrad’s new album is a moving cycle of 15 pieces of austere, lyrical and at times disorienting music for an ensemble of piano, flute, cello, viola and violin. Inspired by William Hurley’s haiku poetry, the recording benefits from a rough in-the-recital-room ambience, a muscular antidote to all those twinkly, reverb soaked recordings of classical music that are the industry standard.

Highlights 2014: Morgan Quaintance

Airlift, ‘Public Practice: An Anti Violence Community Ceremony’, 2014

Artist Simeon Barclay

Recent Leeds based MA graduate Simeon Barclay is that rarest of entities in the contemporary art world, an artist who draws from a pool of decidedly working class references, from both black and white British communities. He fuses these references with the sparse elegance of Minimalist sculpture and Conceptual art. Particularly striking are a series of photographic works exploring the image of Isabella Rossellini, as representative of a threshold between prescribed social realisms (the imaginary that society lumps the working class artist with) and a rarified, aspirational world of beauty and refinement.

‘Public Practice: An Anti Violence Community Ceremony’, New Orleans, USA

Curated by Claire Tancons and Delany Martin for New Orleans-based arts initiative Airlift, ‘Public Practice’ was an afternoon of street performances featuring a menagerie of female motorcyclists, dancers, animal walkers, horse riders and Mardi-Gras Indians. Staged on Franklin Ave in the city’s 9th ward, ‘Public Practice’ was an incredible demonstration of what is possible when curatorial attention meets the vibrant street culture of New Orleans. Surely now Airlift are a shoo-in to curate at least part of the city’s Prospect.4 biennial in 2016.

Highlights 2014: Morgan Quaintance

Alice Khalilova, first age antropos, 2014

Artist Alice Khalilova

London-based Alice Khalilova is another recent graduate and rising star to watch. She’s interested in eastern philosophy, flatness and esoteric bodies of knowledge. Her multidisciplinary sculpture, video and photographic work, though engaged with interrogating and exploring many of the vicissitudes of the information age has none of the post-MFA detachment, corporate covetousness and privileged nihilism that a lot of her contemporaries are seduced by.

Daisy Chainsaw Eleventeen (1992)

Because I couldn’t move for trap influenced, mid-tempo blog RnB, with ethereal, digitally treated female vocals I dove into my record collection for something with real, raw power and rediscovered Daisy Chainsaw. Often dismissed as a group of affected British eccentrics, the now defunct punk-rock band achieved something remarkable with their debut album Eleventeen– also re-released in 2014 as a deluxe, double CD available from daisychainsaw.net. While the rest of the UK’s early ’90s alternative music scene wallowed in poor imitations of US Grunge, or foppish post-shoegaze indie, Daisy Chainsaw made a record that blended Surrealism and the disorienting world of mental illness in music that innovatively pushed the genre forward and still packed a real visceral punch. Singer Katie Jane Garside has an impressive vocal range, but it’s the playing of guitarist Crispin Gray that still blows me away. Nobody really talks about tone when it comes to guitarists anymore, but Gray manages to wrench some truly original warped tonalities out of his distorted setup. This track ‘Pink Flower’ demonstrates what they do best on Eleventeen: straight ahead punk-pop that collapses into a downtempo abstract world of delayed, knife-like slide guitars. Amazing.


Daisy Chainsaw, ‘Pink Flower’, 1992

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

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By Amy Sherlock

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Henri Matisse, 'The Parakeet and the Mermaid', 1952. © 2015 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

On the twelfth day of Christmas, a look back at some of the gifts that 2014 gave us:

A partridge in a pear tree
It’s not quite the same as a partridge, but how about a parakeet – accompanied by a mermaid – floating amongst the sinuous, coloured-paper fronds of what could be either tropical foliage or an octopus’s garden of kelp. Henri Matisse created his monumental wall piece The Parakeet and the Mermaid, which occupied one glorious room of ‘The Cut-Outs’ at Tate Modern, London (the MoMA iteration of the show runs until 10 Feb), in 1952, while convalescing after a major operation that kept him out of his studio. He spoke about the work as ‘a little garden all around me where I can walk’ – an apt description of the show itself which, in spite of hoardes of visitors, was an oasis of childlike wonder.

Two turtle doves
The pairs of trademark voluptuous ladies that filled the large canvases in ‘How to Work Together’, Ella Kruglyanskaya’s solo show at Studio Voltaire, London, in spring, were not so much cohabiting peacefully as eyeing each other up, like hawks. Supportive and antagonistic in equal measure, they might be saying something about the way that relationships between women are habitually caricatured, or the particular kind of competition that is bred by always being the object of the gaze, or the point at which watching a person should become watching out for them. They might equally be a straightforward celebration, or appreciation, of the female form – its curves, its contours and its claddings. Either way, Kruglyanskaya is a painter who knows birds.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ella Kruglyanskaya, Zip It, 2014, oil and oil stick on linen
214 × 167 cm. Courtesy: the artist, Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York, and Studio Voltaire, London

Three French hens
My 2014 started with a trip to Paris to catch the retrospectives of Pierre Huyghe at the Centre Pompidou and Philippe Parreno at the Palais de Tokyo in early January. Huyghe’s presentation was as dense and teeming with sounds and lifeforms (performers; fish tanks; Human the dog) as Parreno’s felt uninhabited, almost ghostly. Occupying the entirety of the vast Palais de Tokyo, the shows hidden doors, sudden bursts of Stravinsky’s ‘Petrushka’ (1947) and automata lent it something of the atmosphere of the Beast’s extravagantly lonely castle in Jean Cocteau’s ‘La Belle et la Bete’ (1946), with its corridors lined with animated candelabras. Both exhibitions were enchanting. A large-scale survey show of the work of Dominique Gonzales-Foerster, which will come to the Centre Pompidou in the autumn after opening at the Museum of Modern Art in Rio de Janeiro over the summer will complete a trio; I am looking forward to it greatly.

Four calling birds
Performed by a chorus of grey-clad women across all levels of Tate Britain’s beautiful new Caruso St John-designed rotunda, Cally Spooner’s a-cappella drama And You Were Wonderful, On Stage (2014) was a mediation on the ways in which the human voice, which we assume to be so natural, so true, can deceive, exaggerate or become robotically detached. Spooner’s smart, always inventive work is acutely attuned to the multiple and shifting structures of call and response in contemporary mediatized society.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

And You Were Wonderful, On Stage, 2014, performance at, Tate Britain, London. Courtesy: Tate, London; photograph: Oliver Cowling

Five Gold Rings
The press image for ‘Rembrandt: The Late Works’ (on show at the National Gallery, London, until 18 Jan) is a detail of the painting known as The Jewish Bride (c. 1665) in which a man in a billowing tunic leans across to touch the bosom of his wife, who lays her hand gently over his. The glowing light (the characters seem to give off a radiance of their own) catches the gold ring on the woman’s little finger, outlining the central pearl in a twinkle of white. I couldn’t get over the hands in these paintings. It might be because so many of Rembrandt’s subjects, like the artist himself at this stage, were advanced in years, and there is something about hands and their inability to conceal their age that flaunts Rembrandt’s magisterial honesty in dealing with physical decrepitude, including his own. There is no one better able to capture the particular translucency of old skin, its spent elasticity. Two portraits hanging side by side, of Jacob Trip and his wife Margaretha de Geer (c. 1661; both part of the National Gallery’s permanent collection) are stunningly direct portrayals of old age: beautiful but brutal, entirely without tragedy or false ennoblement – a lesson to all of us who are afraid of ageing, in a world as transfixed by youth as it ever was.


Rembrandt, Portrait of a Couple as Isaac and Rebecca, known as The Jewish Bride, c. 1665. © Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Six geese a-laying
A gaggle of geese waddles about the bottom right corner of Sigmar Polke’s Watchtower with Geese (1987–88) under a hulking lookout hut, the ominous presence of which is tempered only slightly by the bubblegum pink wash that colours it. The work is included in ‘Alibis’, Polke’s retrospective, which opened at MoMA, New York, where I saw it in May, and runs at Tate Modern, London, until 8 Feb. This was a show that made me feel dizzy, not just because of the chaotically compressed hang (which felt somehow appropriate) but because I find it hard to get my head around the breadth of thought and material, and the sometimes rampant contradictions – between tragedy and humour; sensitivity and glibness; spirituality and materialism; Pop; satire; romance; guilt; desire and disgust – contained within and elicited by this impossibly inventive artist.

Seven swans a-swimming
I read Ali Smith’s How To Be Both (2014) in two prose-drunk sessions over the Christmas holiday. The novel is in two parts: one set in present-day Cambridge, where a teenage girl struggles to get over the death of her mother; the other in early Renaissance Italy, which tells the story of a painter at the court of Ferrara. The two narratives are linked by the frescoed walls of the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara, painted in part by the artist-narrator and visited by the girl with her mother, who has become intrigued by an enigmatic, androgynous figure in one of the panels, in the year before her death. Divided into the twelve months of the year, the frescoes are part mythical-allegorical and part idealized depiction of life in the city under its magnanimous Duke, the works’ patron. Birds abound – one of the first details the girl notes is “a truly shocked duck with a hunter’s hand around its neck” – and a pair of white swans pull the chariot of Venus in the month of April. Smith’s tale has inspired me to make a pilgrimage to see the frescoes (which were also discussed by Jan Verwoert in a friezepicture piece in 2013) this spring. How To Be Both is a novel that is smart and deeply moving without seeming laboured; no sentence feels extraneous or overburdened. The revelation, when it comes, speaks eloquently of the gender inequalities that still plague the art world – as almost everything else – even in 2015.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Detail from Francesco del Cossa, Mese di Marzo (Month of March), Hall of the Months, Palazzo Schifanoia, Ferrara, c. 1469

Eight maids a-milking
A slightly tenuous link but bear with me: Phyllida Barlow’s inaugural show at Hauser & Wirth’s Somerset outpost, which overlapped with the artist’s pomp-puncturing explosion of an installation in Tate Britain’s grand Duveen Galleries, was the culmination of a crescendo that has been building since the long-time Slade professor retired from teaching to focus on her own work in 2009. Barlow’s responsiveness and dexterity in handling spaces is remarkable. In Somerset, her work managed to fully occupy the awkward concertina of converted farm buildings (including, you’ve got it, cow sheds) that constitutes the gallery space: pushing out against the walls or creating protected spaces within, mixing outside materials (timber; cement) with inside materials (fabric; ply) to bring some of the muddled-up chaos of the city to this rural idyll.

Nine ladies dancing
I loved Yvonne Rainer’s survey show at Raven Row, London, for the live performances, which reminded me that a dancer’s gesture, however much it feigns normality, is a fantastical, alien thing, and for the droll recorded lecture, Parts of the Body (from the late 1960s), which played on loop in a room upstairs, talking through the limbs’ almost limitless repertoire of movements and reminding me of what a wondrous thing a body – any body – really is.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Dancers performing Yvonne Rainer’s Diagonal (part of Terrain), 1963, at Raven Row, 2014. Courtesy: the artist and Raven Row; photograph: Eva Herzog

Ten lords a-leaping
It might be poor form to include something that I helped to organize, but ‘action-sculptor’ Bruce McLean’s performance, in which he interviewed himself, as part of Frieze London Talks in October, was one of the funniest things I saw all year. There was much theatrical leaping between seats and switching one pair of glasses for another but, behind the poking-fun-at-art-establishment-convention–with-a-very-straight face that has characterized McLean’s work since Nice Style, I think there may have been a gentle, and valid, warning here against the art world’s tendency to speak in a language that no-one but itself can understand. (For the regal bit: at the end of his performance, McLean exited the stage in front of a projected video of himself dancing underneath a crown.)
McLean’s survey show at firstsite, Colchester, curated by Michelle Cotton, and the accompanying catalogue were excellent documents of a witty, unique career.

Bruce McLean (Action Sculptor) Interviews Himself (Frieze London 2014)

Eleven pipers piping
London project space Piper Keys produces consistently intelligent, concise and exciting exhibitions in a live/work warehouse space on a shoestring budget. Their programme last year included solo exhibitions by Rachal Bradley, Chris Evans, Allison Katz and Lucy Stein, as well as a permanent installation in the form of a brick sculpture designed by Per Kirkeby. Roll on 2015!

In the capital, other notable mentions in this regard include: Rowing, whose recent exhibition of Rachel Maclean’s filmic brand of hallucinatory political critique, ‘Please Sir’, will be reviewed in the March issue of frieze; French Riviera, particularly for their solo show of work by South African artist Lisa Brice, whose dreamy, gauzy paintings drew on the space’s former life as a poodle parlour; and SPACE, whose extraordinary show of ultra lo-fi early black and white video works by Paul McCarthy in January (curated by frieze contributor Paul Pieroni) was something to hold onto later in the year in the face of the tired, spurious grotesquesness of the artist’s autumn blow out at Hauser & Wirth in Mayfair.

Twelve drummers drumming
Glasgow International 2014 felt like something of a fanfare, rallying commercial galleries, artist-run and non-profit spaces, established institutions, and artists and critics alike in a way that felt quite unique for a bi-annual event on this scale. A drum kit was involved – in the form of a performance by the thrashingly noisy Solar Lice as part of Tobias Madison, Emanuel Rossetti and Stefan Tcherepnin’s exhibition ‘Life & The Invitation& Vapour in Debri&’ at The Modern Institute – but my personal highlight was an altogether quieter pair of shows. With spaces on different floors of the same rambling old hotel building in the city centre, Kendall Koppe and Mary Mary put on a pair of exhibitions – Mary Mary of the clunking, twisted ceramics forms of young, London-based artist Jesse Wine; Kendall Koppe of the precise, Modernist vessel forms of ceramicist Lucy Rie and the elegantly risque homoerotic portraits of photographer George Platt Lynes – which showed how little contemporary clay practices owe to British ceramic tradition whilst simultaneously highlighting a shared, instinctive, and perhaps even inescapable tendency to connect the clay body to the lived body and it’s frailties.

Highlights 2014 – Amy Sherlock

Ceramics by Dame Lucy Rie. Courtesy: Kendall Koppe, Glasgow

‘fig-2’ launches at the ICA, London

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By Ellen Mara De Wachter

‘fig-2’ launches at the ICA, London

Opening of 'fig-2', ICA, London. All photographs: Sylvain Deleu

‘What’s your innermost desire? What would you like to do, but haven’t had the chance to, because of your current conditions?’ This is the question London-based Turkish curator Fatoş Üstek will be putting to the artists she invites to take up the 50 slots that make up ‘fig-2’. The yearlong series of shows launched last Monday at the ICA with 1/50, an exhibition by British artist Laura Eldret. The ICA was packed with Londoners emerging from the haze of festive excess. Sucking gin and tonics out of plastic bags in the style of Mexican ‘jugo’ helped thaw out the cold, as we squeezed into the ICA Theatre for a party and a performance by Anat Ben David. ‘fig-2’, as its name would suggest, is a follow-up to ‘fig-1’, a project by Mark Francis and Jay Jopling realised in 2000, which enjoys a quasi-mythical status. But one needn’t have experienced the original to grasp the potential held by its simple premise: Üstek first heard of it in June 2014, and by mid-October, she had been appointed as its curator. In keeping with the improvisatory nature of ‘fig-1’, she has about 20 artists in place and plans to program the rest as she goes along, although her list is confidential, with artists announced on the Wednesday preceding their show via an email newsletter.

January 2000 feels like a bygone era: London was pre-Tate Modern, pre-Frieze Art Fair, and popular perception of contemporary art was dominated by tabloid coverage of YBA antics. ‘fig-1’ took place at Fragile House in Soho, a building recently demolished to make way for Crossrail, the new train line currently boring through London’s underground. Its simple rules (an exhibition per week, with an opening reception every Monday night) liberated participants from institutional pressures and Francis’s curatorial light touch allowed artists at various stages in their careers to take risks with relatively low stakes. The relay race of exhibitions included shows by then established artists such as Richard Deacon and Gilbert & George, as well as younger artists who are now well known, including Jeremy Deller, Grayson Perry and Wolfgang Tillmans. The multi-disciplinary roster of exhibitors also included Will Self, Patti Smith and milliner Philip Treacy. ‘fig-1’ lore makes much of the neighbouring pub’s roaring Monday night trade, and alumni fondly describe the openings as fertile ground for later collaborations. It was a ‘fixed cultural meeting point that started the week’, according to Darren Almond (47/50).

‘fig-2’ launches at the ICA, London

The ‘fig-2’ team, from left to right: Irene Altaió, Ben Wadler, Fatoş Üstek, Jessica Temple

All this seems good enough reason for the current revival of the project, 15 years later, especially in a city whose changing demographic and art scene of which are bound to yield something quite different. An exhibition like ‘fig-2’ inevitably doubles as a survey of the status quo. In her curatorial statement, which has the affirmative flavour of a Deleuzian manifesto, Üstek likens ‘fig-2’ to a body produced by ‘knowledge accumulation’. Art is ‘an object of encounter, as opposed to an object of recognition’, and Üstek makes clear her intention for ‘fig-2’ to foster the production of new discourse and trans-disciplinarity. Üstek’s international outlook – she comes from Turkey, was an Associate Curator for the 10th Gwangju Biennale in South Korea last year and has worked in several European countries – reflects an increasingly diverse London. In the time since ‘fig-1’, the expansion of the European Union, which allows the free movement of persons between member states, in addition to immigration from further afield, with people seeking economic and social opportunities or fleeing global turmoil, have significantly affected the demographics of the city. The last census in 2011 showed that the White British population of London went down from 60% in 2001 to 45% in 2011 with White Other, Asian and Black populations making up the difference.

‘fig-2’ launches at the ICA, London

Anat Ben-David performance at ‘fig-2’ launch party, ICA, London

The landscape of the arts has also changed in that time, including the growth of private philanthropy, which has been the enabling force for ‘fig-2’. ‘fig-1’ was initiated by Francis and Jopling, and sponsored by Bloomberg, while ‘fig-2’ was initiated and sponsored by Outset Contemporary Art Fund, an independent philanthropic organisation funded by private and corporate supporters. Outset’s support means that Üstek won’t have to do any fundraising, an rare privilege at a time when it’s increasingly common for curators to be responsible for securing the funds that enable them to do their jobs. Overall, ‘fig-2’ is a canny collage of funding, with Phillips auction house providing financial support, private patrons paying for a day, week or month of programming, and the Art Fund subsidising Üstek’s post. In an eccentric example of corporate sponsorship, Bicester Village, a luxury brands outlet mall 65 miles out of London, has pledged the use of some of the Village’s quaint New England-style clapboard houses for offsite exhibitions by ‘fig-2’ artists. Outset has also come up with ‘fig-legacy’, a plan to donate works made during the year to public institutions across the UK.

‘fig-2’ will unfold in the ICA Studio, situated at the top of a graffitied concrete staircase off the building’s main entrance. The modest room will have to multitask as a public gallery, performance space and office for Üstek and her team. It will be reconfigured for each show with movable partitions made of basic metal shelving units clad in white board, devised by Universal Design Studio.

‘fig-2’ launches at the ICA, London

Laura Eldret, 3 | The Juicers (detail), 2015, mixed media, installation view as part of ‘fig-2’. Courtesy: the artist

In 2000, shows by the late Richard Hamilton bookended ‘fig-1’. His 1/50 consisted of an unfinished painting, which he had completed by the time 50/50 rolled around. Following this model, Eldret’s work in progress will return in December as finished piece. In that time, she plans to develop the work she started in Oaxaca State, Mexico last year. Eldret lived in the Zapotec village of Teotitlán del Valle, an indigenous community famous for its woven rugs and communitarian ethos, learning Spanish, drawing and convincing the weavers to abandon their traditional patterns and turn her drawings into rugs. The resulting works are ‘receipts of exchange’, embodying both sides’ engagement in the creative process. Eldret’s 1/50 show included a number of these rugs suspended throughout the room, featuring her imagery of local landscapes, building sites and games, as well as the recurring motif of the plastic bags of *jugo whose flavours were transmuted into dyes of various colours. An observational video played on a laptop showed locals weaving, going about their daily business and compulsory public service, and celebrating the Day of the Dead. Its ambient soundtrack filled the exhibition space, transporting visitors to this idyllic community nestled at the foot of the mountains, in which every house has an active loom. Teotitlán del Valle, whose artistic output is intimately connected to its economic and social practices, looked like a utopian territory, where life is predicated on creativity; a bit like the place one imagines ‘fig-2’ will grow into over the next 12 months.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

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By Jörg Heiser

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

Why we have to debunk, in the wake of the Paris attacks, the defensive reflexes, and the narcissist victim-blaming.

It was only just last Wednesday that, on the evening of the day of the horrific terrorist killings in Paris that people all across France, but also in other countries, in front of French embassies or in newspaper newsrooms, gathered silently in mourning, many of them holding up placards with the statement ‘je suis Charlie’.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

Yesterday, about 3.7 millions have gathered in the streets of Paris, Marseille and elsewhere in France to mourn the victims and demonstrate, and as so many showed up it seems they prevented, by sheer presence, what many had feared would happen, that reactionary politicians would hijack the event and dominate it, ready to instrumentalize the horrific event for their islamophobic, anti-immigration, or pro-surveillance causes; instead, yes, state representatives including those whose countries are ranked rather low on the Reporters Without Borders annual Press Freedom Index such as Russia or Turkey, who have a record for sending journalists to prison and silencing dissidents, marched at the front of the demonstrations, but were not able to take centre-stage – while being forced by the dynamics of the event to expose themselves to the obviousness of the hypocritical double standard of them marching here. And the Le Pen family and the Front Nationale couldn’t participate in Paris at all, unmistakenly told by all other parties and unions that the presence of the Far Right would be unwelcomed. And again, there were millions of people holding up pens, and signs reading ‘Je suis Charlie’ (a beautiful Le Monde portfolio of portraits here ).

If artists, writers and editors aren’t shaken to their bones by what happened last Wednesday to artists, writers and editors – disregardingly of whether they liked or despised, or even knew well their work – then I don’t know. There are continuously horrific atrocities around the world, and some have rightly pointed out that the mass killings of around 2000 people by Boko Haram in Nigeria last week went almost unnoticed given the predominant news coverage of Paris. And just to be clear, there would be no excuse to forget that in Paris apart from satirists being killed for being satirists, and policemen being killed for being policemen, Jews have been killed for being Jews; and that in the wake of the events there have been also numerous attempts around France at intimidating and harming, if not killing Muslims for being Muslims.

Nevertheless if I didn’t acknowledge a particular concern with the collective killing of these people with pens sitting around an editorial table I would suppress sensing a particular kind of concern, by way of my profession that I love. These events are symptom as well as trigger not only, like other attacks before, for the antagonization of civil society forced mainly by the deadly dance between reactionary-conservative and far-right war- and hatemongers on the one hand and jihadi quasi-fascist fundamentalists on the other (how antagonization is the typical aim of criminal sociopaths and totalitarians is precisely what Juan Cole pointed out in an important early reaction to the attacks). They are also having an even more searing relevance for the issue of freedom of expression, which some in the wake of these events have strangely called a ‘fetish’.

Freedom of expression is an ideal that not least the often hypocritical Western governments have failed dramatically with their greed for big data, pretending to be able to prevent events like Paris by way of drone-bombing and mass surveillance (which already didn’t work in Boston). It is an ideal that we ourselves fail every time we hesitate before saying something necessarily critical because it might even just, say, harm our career. It is an ideal that, surely, seems very hard to realize outside of small rich countries like Finland, Norway or the Netherlands (who lead the Reporters Without Borders Press Freedom Index ). And finally, yes, it is an ideal that is all too often hijacked by phonies and hypocrites. But, honestly, a ‘fetish’?! (I’ll return to that).

I’d like to try to get my head around some of the neuralgic points of the debate in the wake of the attacks. And I want to point to some aspects that I felt have not been acknowledged enough yet:

1) The future fear of artists, writers, cartoonists of speaking their mind with mockery, or even just mild ridicule, i.e. the precedent this collective killing of satirists and writers sets, an unprecedented escalation after the Fatwa against Salman Rushdie and the killing of Theo van Gogh, in countries and parts of the world where hitherto they had lived under the impression of being relatively safe.

2) Hence what’s at stake is not just the more factual side of freedom of speech and the press, but also the freedom of art, and laughter – related, but not the same.

3) The unresolved trauma of France’s colonialist legacy with Algeria, and what kind of background it forms to the current antagonisms.

4) The terrible failure of some major voices of literature and intellectual discourse to rise above smug self-serving arguments in the wake of these events; something that, again, reminds me starkly of the way some reacted back in 1988 when Ayatollah Khomeini unmistakably called for Rushdie to be murdered for having written a book, and many supposedly free minds found ways to blame the victim à la ‘he had it coming’.

Let me start with the last point. I was dumbfounded – or maybe I wasn’t so much, given that I have seen similar mechanisms unfold in previous crises – that after Wednesday’s horrific event it took less than 24 hours before Social Media as well as news and opinion outlets were abound with journalists, academics, activists, artists and bloggers eager to state: I am not Charlie.

Few doing so failed to acknowledge some sense of condolence for the dead editors and satirists, even if as lip service. But almost in the same breath, they said ‘but’, or at least ‘although’: that the Charlie Hebdo staff were, in fact, racist, sexist and islamophobic. The first, and arguably dumbest of those was a post on Jacobinmag.com, tellingly franchised from Lenin’s Tomb (though I doubt even Lenin would have been amused), which entertained the ‘thought’ that the most pressing question now, while the bodies were not cold yet, was to determine whether the terrorist attack was in fact really ‘terrorist’ (putting the word, in the wake of these events, in inverted commas is newspeak in its most debased, obscurant form), while not even bothering to produce any evidence that Charlie Hebdo was racist, just smugly referring readers who desired to know to first having an introductory course by reading Edward Said’s Orientalism.

In other cases, the evidence was quickly produced, with a number of cartoons taken out of context circulating and being reposted. Let me quote at length from an excellent blog post by journalist Olivier Tonneau at the French investigative news website mediapart:

‘It might be worth knowing that the main target of Charlie Hebdo was the Front National and the Le Pen family. Next came crooks of all sorts, including bosses and politicians (incidentally, one of the victims of the bombing was an economist who ran a weekly column on the disasters caused by austerity policies in Greece). Finally, Charlie Hebdo was an opponent of all forms of organized religions, in the old-school anarchist sense: Ni Dieu, ni maître! They ridiculed the pope, orthodox Jews and Muslims in equal measure and with the same biting tone. They took ferocious stances against the bombings of Gaza. Even if their sense of humour was apparently inacceptable to English minds, please take my word for it: it fell well within the French tradition of satire – and after all was only intended for a French audience. It is only by reading or seeing it out of context that some cartoons appear as racist or islamophobic. Charlie Hebdo also continuously denounced the pledge of minorities and campaigned relentlessly for all illegal immigrants to be given permanent right of stay.’

So how can it be that these editors actually campaigning for the sans papier would be so quickly identified as islamophobic racists? Some of the shocking imagery suggested such an allegation. Take one of the most outrageous examples.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

‘touchez pas nos allocs’ translates as ‘Don’t touch our welfare allocations!’. The case seems clear: an outrageously racist and sexist depiction of girls abducted by Boko Haram and made sex slaves presented, in racial stereotyping, as grotesquely screaming pregnant women of colour, with a future as ‘welfare queens’ in France. But then I did a few minutes of research and came across this online discussion .

What the contributing users – some French, some American – were saying can be roughly distilled into this: mixing two unrelated events that made the news in France last year – the Nigerian school girls kidnapped by Boko Haram; the French government announcing welfare benefit cuts – is a double snipe, in classic Hebdo style, at both Boko Haram and those who hold grotesque fantasies and stereotypes about ‘welfare queens’, i.e. the French Far Right and its followers. Many of the covers of the magazine work in this strategy of mimetic parody mixing two seemingly unrelated things to create crude absurdity in order to respond to the crude absurdity of the Le Pen followers (think of the Steve Colbert Report done by Southpark, but ten times amplified by France’s tradition of mean, challenging joking, made to grin and bear it, going back to the 17th century ).

This doesn’t take away from anyone feeling offended, or feeling that the critique is deranged or undermined by the way it’s put, and thus racist and sexist. Yet in any case a more nuanced understanding of the often purposefully un-nuanced and crude jokes Charlie Hebdo were making, often risking indeed to perpetuate what they seemingly intended to criticize – the outrageous racism of Marine Le Pen and her followers – is in evidence. And just to remind, her are some Le Pen covers:

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

It’s fair to enough to object to what can be considered racist and islamophobic content in Charlie Hebdo, as long as one acknowledges its anti-racist and anti-fascist content as well. But even if Glenn Greenwald– someone I admire for his tireless, even heroic investigative stance in regard to state surveillance and many other issues – and others issuing similar statements were indeed right with their assertion that Charlie Hebdo were, in total, just a bunch of smug racists, portraying them almost as the French equivalent of Der Stürmer, making them perpetrators not victims, I wonder why they took not nearly as much effort as these users in the above link to actually look into the details of that allegation. Moreover, I wonder why they managed so well to ignore all the many Charlie covers mocking French government politicians, catholic clerics, and, incessantly, the Le Pen far right, many of which appeared just around the time of the above cover.

Just to give three more prominent examples (incidentally all three by fairly successful book-publishing writers). Tariq Ali was quick to point to Charlie Hebdo’s alleged softness on Judaism: ‘It has occasionally attacked Catholicism, but it’s hardly ever taken on Judaism (though Israel’s numerous assaults on Palestinians have offered many opportunities)’ – ‘hardly ever’ is actually hardly true, with the magazine numerously having been accused of being anti-Semitic because of anti-clerical caricatures not only of Bishops and Imams but also orthodox Rabbis (it’s kind of a tragic irony when Art Spiegelman , of all people, has to insist on that point, in the spirit of free speech, in a video discussion with Tariq Ramadan who claims that Charlie Hebdo, for the sake of cashing in – saying that about a magazine which firmly refused to run advertising – were nothing but Islamophobic while Jew-friendly).

Tariq Ali, straight after condemning Michel Houellebecq’s new novel with its future scenario of a Muslim French president (obviously without having read it yet), also adds that ‘Charlie Hebdo, we should not forget, ran a cover lampooning Houellebecq on the day it was attacked.’ – which is kind of a breath-taking rhetorical manoeuvre either of making a positive point but totally without exploring its effect on the one-sided argument; or, even more absurdly, of victim-blaming by way of mere association, managing to hold even against them that they were mocking Houellebecq, not praising him.

Teju Cole’s line of argument is more persuasive, pointing to the many other misdeeds done in the world, including US drone strikes or killings in Mexico. This is a kind of obvious point he prepares though by portraying Charlie Hebdo as purely racist, tellingly, without bothering to even mention their record of being fiercely anti-Far Right (and yes, just to be clear, being anti-Far Right doesn’t automatically make one non-racist, but not mentioning the fact even if in passing while speaking to a general audience in the New Yorker is dubious).

And the famous quote ascribed to Voltaire, ‘I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.’, Teju Cole seems to think, can simply be taken down by pointing out that Voltaire was an anti-Semite (in all fairness, Cole doesn’t make explicit reference to the quote, but it’s clear he has it in mind given how it has made the rounds in recent days on twitter and elsewhere). Apart from the fact that with that reference, you can easily take down a whole bunch of writers otherwise well revered including everyone from Kant to Marx to Dickens, to name but a few (while it remains to be asked whether that discredits all the ideas they ever put forth), there is no point really in taking down Voltaire when the quote in question is falsely ascribed to him anyway (it stems from British writer Evelyn Beatrice Hall, who coined it in her Voltaire biography to characterize his attitude ).

Moreover, even if the quote stemmed from Voltaire himself, and even if his reputation was compromised by some of his writing, wouldn’t it precisely prove his point; that, as least as long as today’s scholars still seriously debate, as they do, whether the undeniably anti-Jewish passages in Voltaire’s writing, weighed against Jewish-friendly passages, make him unquotable, so to speak, or whether we should continue to make his work widely available and discuss its content despite of its flaws and ideological failures; that we should of course… well, defend its further availability ‘to the death’ normally would sound preposterously out of proportion. But thinking of Charlie Hebdo editor-in-chief Stéphane Charbonnier a.k.a. Charb, who had been living under constant death threats for years, at least since the firebombing of the Charlie Hebdo offices in 2011, and who knew he was on an ‘official’ Al Qaeda hit list since 2013 , the phrase does take on new, chilling meaning.

‘But the question needs to be asked,’ writes Will Self , and one can see him thoughtfully furrowing his brows, ‘were the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo really satirists, if by satire is meant the deployment of humour, ridicule, sarcasm and irony in order to achieve moral reform?’ This equation of satire with ‘moral reform’ Self has published on the website of the Official Jack-Ass War-Porn Hipster Institute for Moral Reform, better known as Vice magazine. But he doesn’t stop there. He manages – just as Tariq Ali manages to blame Charlie Hebdo for mocking an author he despises, i.e. Houellebecq – to blame Charlie Hebdo for the financial support the publication has received in the wake of almost its entire editorial being slaughtered: ‘The memorial issue of Charlie Hebdo will have a print run of 1,000,000 copies, financed by the French government; so, now the satirists have been co-opted by the state, precisely the institution you might’ve thought they should never cease from attacking.’ Oh you only ‘might’ve thought’, as they lay dead, that they didn’t manage to continue attacking the French government as they had done incessantly (which Self of course fails to mention) when they were still alive.

He goes on to argue that because in his last cartoon published, Charb portrayed a jihadist with a hat called pakol he supposedly ‘marked the fighter out as an Afghan, and therefore as unlikely to be involved in terrorist attacks in the West’, thus not getting ‘the basic facts about his targets [sic!] correct’. First of all the pakol is worn in Pakistan as well , plus the cartoon’s point, which – hauntingly from today’s point of view – joked about the threat of an attack in reference to belated New Years Greetings– ‘Still no attacks in France – wait! We have until the end of January to present our wishes.’ – wasn’t making a claim about potential French attackers but rather, precisely, about the men behind them, recruiting them, and helping them along from afar, portrayed here with the same dumb yellow face Charb reserved for pretty much all of his protagonists, whether pedophile priests or racist policemen (that he didn’t also foresee that it would be a Jemen rather than Pakistani unit of Al Qaeda allegedly involved would probably be the next thing Will Self would have held against Charb).

But Will Self is not finished yet with his dire diatribe: he manages, within one paragraph, to mention the ‘strangeness of a magazine editor who was prepared to die for his convictions’, AND to claim that his satire merely existed to comfort Charlie Hebdo’s readership. (This pattern of argument turned up in Social Media now and again: in the moment an editorial collective had been murdered some real smart alecs submitted that Charlie Hebdo, being the smug white racists they allegedly were, could have only been serving the privileged while sneering about the discriminated, thus not even deserving the label ‘satire’, as if it totally didn’t matter that they had a very real reason to feel threatened.)

‘Our society makes a fetish of “the right to free speech” without ever questioning what sort of responsibilities are implied by this right’, Will Self goes on, exercising precisely his ‘fetishized’ right to free speech, if a little irresponsibly. So be it, of course. Might I add, in the spirit of free speech: shame on Will Self for this piece of drivel – but I’d carry his pen from London to Paris if it was necessary for him to be able to continue driveling, without harm.

So why do these writers, at different levels of intellectual integrity and capacity, take these positions? I think there are three possible answers. The first one would be that the urge to react and make sense quickly inevitably produces inaccuracies, half-blinded guesses. The second answer would be that for the sake of creating more traction for the argument, simplifying its message is key, hence one leaves out anything that doesn’t fit one’s ideological search mask.

The third, and possibly more telling or interesting answer is that there is a more complex process of rationalization at play, to do with the dynamics of guilt, shame and blame. I’ll take an example of someone I truly respect and in case of whom I know the motivations have nothing to do with the cheap and twisted envy narcissistic, egotistic writers can sometimes harbor.

An American friend of Pakistani descent absolutely rightly pointed out to me, in an email exchange, that France doesn’t have an impeccable record for freedom of speech at all, i.e. double standards being in place. Her example was the banning of the hijab from public schools introduced in 2004. Now I can see people arguing that laïcité is demanding such a thing, and that kippahs and large crosses were also banned. I tend to think that the hijab ban, and in this I agree with my friend, was rather a defeat for free speech (arguably even a concession indeed to islamophobia), because the foundational idea for secularism is precisely not banning people from personally expressing whatever religious belief they hold or conform to in public places, whether in words or garment, but keeping religion from becoming state doctrine, becoming an active political power on an institutional level.

I don’t know what exactly Charlie Hebdo had to say about the matter back in 2004, but numerous cartoons I found clearly show their target not to be the Muslim community, but the hypocrites in power: for example a 2004 cover calls out Jacques Chirac (the then-president) for double standards on freedom of speech: being contra the hijab being allowed, but pro preventing a juridical investigation of the Alain Juppé affair (head of the UMP party Juppé, that same year, had been found guilty of abuse of public funding for the party).

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

in this one, Charb mocks the policeman eager to call in his colleagues because of a woman not willing to lift her veil, the suspect in fact being a parasol (some idiots in France had introduced a hijab ban on public beaches)

But either way, bringing up the hijab ban, or other arguable failures of the State of France to live up to its own ideals of liberté, fraternité, egalité, brought forth in order to argue against the collective killing of artists/writers/editors being a case of freedom of speech being under threat to me is self-defeating. Again, maybe unknowingly, the ones who in fact outspokenly criticized France for not living up to its ideals are blamed for that very fact. It’s a defensive mechanism, and I can understand it coming from people tired of being cornered as Muslims constantly held under the suspicion that they hold some kind of ‘clandestine glee’ (a term that, as ‘klammheimliche Freude’ was first used in Germany in the 1970s denoting actual leftist feeling precisely that kind of clandestine glee vis-à-vis the murders of the Red Army Faction) for the deeds of Islamofascist terrorists; or, even worse, that there is really no distinction between Muslims in general and the small Islamofascist minority that, from Nigeria to Syria to Paris, causes so much mayhem.

But I do have a hard time accepting the defensive patterns coming from self-important writers who just can’t bear that there are these victims of an obviously barbaric act who, as writers/artists as well as human beings, outshine them in their boldness.

The realm of art and satire has other rules than the one of news journalism. Whereas we can rightly demand journalism to stick to the facts and play by the rules of the most basic decency, in a civil society there must be a realm where ‘out of line’ behaviour and tourettish insult and grotesque can play themselves out without constant governance, not only out of sheer tolerance but also because it is in that realm of anarchic parody and thought that a civil society can question its explicit as well as unspoken rules. This is not always easy to bear, and insult can sometimes add to injury. But it doesn’t kill you, and therefore there is no excuse on earth for it killing them.

Maybe, against this background, it’s also an all the more tragic note that with Jean Cabut, a.k.a. Cabu, a conscripted veteran of the Franco-Algerian war, the experience of which had made him a strict anti-militarist, has been killed. For his killers were sons of Algerian immigrants, orphaned at a young age. The copy editor killed was Mustapha Ourrad , also orphaned at a young age. Ourad was born in Algeria, had lived as a homeless person for a while, was an autodidact intellectual who loved Nietzsche and Baudelaire , and had become the long-time copy-editor of Charlie Hebdo (I challenge any of the self-righteous mainstream media blamers of Charlie Hebdo as racist whether they would be prepared to hire someone applying with that kind of biography as their copy editor). The girlfriend of editor-in-chief Charb, Jeannette Bougrab, is a former junior minister for Youth and Community Life under Sarkozy – whom Charb incessantly attacked – and the daughter of a Harki fighter in Algeria supporting the French presence in the country. As Robert Fisk has pointed out, without in the least using that as an excuse for the attack, there is an underlying trauma that is specific to France and its Muslim community which is overwhelmingly of Algerian descent (5 out of 6,5 Million, Fisk says). The millions of Algerians and thousands of Frenchmen killed in the war 1954–62, as well as the as yet unresolved shame of the massacre of up to 200 Algerian demonstrators intentionally killed by the Parisian police in 1961, can of course and must not excuse anything that happened last week. But it may explain a traumatic kernel that, as long as it is not fully addressed, will get in the way of the country finding a way to overcome the antagonisms the sociopaths and totalitarians so gleefully thrive on.

Finally, I couldn’t think of a better response, to all the arguments putting the blame on Charlie Hebdo for having been ‘racist’ by way of blasphemy, than the one that science writer Kenan Malik issued on his website :

‘What is really racist is the idea that only nice white liberals want to challenge religion or demolish its pretensions or can handle satire and ridicule. Those who claim that it is ‘racist’ or ‘islamophobic’ to mock the Prophet Mohammad, appear to imagine, with the racists, that all Muslims are reactionaries. It is here that leftwing ‘anti-racism’ joins hands with rightwing anti-Muslim bigotry.’

The people who took to the streets in France yesterday seem to be smarter than this tired mechanism: many of them might not have been very fond of Charlie Hebdo, but that was, for them, not the point. The point was to defend the right to dissent, however outrageous that dissent may seem to appear. THIS is why most people in France and elsewhere use this slogan ‚Je Suis Charlie’, NOT because they want to express their total agreement with everything Charlie Hebdo said or did (arguably the term can be traced back to the ‘I am Salman Rushdie’ pins people wore in the wake of the 1988 Fatwa against the writer). And the fact that parts of the Far right, notably also the Pegida movement in Germany which until last Tuesday would have considered Charlie Hebdo part of what they call the ‘Lügenpresse’ (Media of Lies, a Goebbels term), perverted the slogan by adopting it (Jean-Marie Le Pen, too well aware of the leftist history of Charlie Hebdo, notably rejected it) should be held against those who commit that twisted-logic, sick perversion – and no-one else.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Charlie

Instead of self-important subtraction – I am not Charlie – the people demonstrating across France and elsewhere made serial additions in the spirit of rejecting those who thrive on sharpening the contradictions: I’m Jewish, I’m Muslim, I‘m Atheist, I’m French, I’m Charlie.

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