Commentary_Manifesto Post.
I am absolutely
fascinated by the manifestos that emerged from this prompt. All the
pieces involved an inkling of the personal stakes which buffeted the
manifestos of Artaud and his counterparts.
Dharmik
kicks us off with Thomas Hoepker’s controversial image. The picture
depicts a group of people enjoying a sunny day, set against the backdrop
of thick smoke emanating from the twin towers.
Dharmik makes a case for reality and the necessity to embrace both
sides of it, even in terms of such a stark contrast. He goes on to share
a similar experience, during which he felt the same rage at a seemingly
tactless reaction to a somber event. Here, Dharmik
navigates the fine line that can be crossed when tragedy comes close to
home. It reminded me of Schechner’s exploration of the signs made after
the 9/11 bombings in remembrance of those who had perished. They
crossed the divide between massive catastrophe
and personal turmoil, reminding even those who bore no relation to the
deceased, that they (the deceased) too existed and mattered in the grand
scheme of things. There is an interesting relationship established
between the large and small-scale impact of tragedy;
the tactlessness of the response (or rather, the degree of
tactlessness) depends on which way the scale of a particular tragedy
tips.
In a similar vein, Mike
explores the necessity of documenting tragedy. Not the kind of
documentation that covers tragedy with the shroud of political
correctness, but rather the kind that shines
the light of brutal honesty. There is something to be said about the
need for provocativeness in art; especially the kind that propels its
viewer towards a deeper evaluation of what it means to be human.
The Falling Man and The Mercy Seat bring to the forefront
what may be considered the two highlights of the human experience; sex
and death. Mike explores the need to move away from the kind of art
which soothes the mind, to that which excites
the heart and soul. Specifically, with regards to tragedy, he points
out the connection between works of art such the aforementioned pieces
and the manifestos of avant-garde artists. The connection between the
visceral reaction demanded by these pieces, and
the humanity demanded of audiences by these artists, is too close to
escape observation. It should also be noted that this humanity emerges
from different avenues, ranging from discomfort, to disgust, to sorrow,
and even unabashed self-centeredness. Mike concludes
with Tragic Manifesto of The Real, demanding that we as artists
of the human experience should not shy away from the ugliness that makes
us human. He proposes the kind of art that holds up an unbiased mirror
to reality, allowing us to
see ourselves as we are and not as we would like to be.
Lisa pushes the relationship between art and life an extra inch further in her exploration of
A Tale of Two Hoodies. Michael
D’Antuono’s controversial portrait portrays a young black boy in a
white hoodie, offering a packet of sweeties to an armed policeman in a
klu klux klan hat. The policeman points
his gun at the head of the youngster, and his eyes are narrowed in
response to the boy’s wide-eyed-somewhat-puzzled-
Osi brings
us into a room of unsuspecting art lovers holding pieces of pie. They
are uncertain what they have come to see, they are silent in the
beginning, but by the end they are ready to
use their words to take a stand. It is Not about US is a piece
in response to Michael Brown’s shooting in Ferguson in 2014, and was
the brain child of a conversation at a dinner table. Very often in our
private transcripts we speak without thought
because we believe we are in a safe space. Our companions excuse what
would be derogatory or hateful speech because they welcome the honesty
of our innermost thoughts. By bringing the private transcript of a
dinner table conversation into a public space, the
words spoken become much more weighted and meaningful. The audience is
made to feel a sense of comfort (if not mild confusion) by the pie
handed out in the beginning. It soon becomes difficult to swallow in
lieu of the statements being made, and provokes a
thought process that causes them to cast the care and thoughtfulness of
their public transcripts inward. The audience becomes a participant in
the seemingly harmless words spoken in private, and it becomes apparent
that even the words we say in private have
the power to shape a community. This performance serves up the ugly
side of free speech, and forces the watchers to reckon with the
implications what they say. “They
will hear their own words. They will ingest
them. They will struggle with them. They will wrestle with them. They
will answer for them. They will not go unnoticed nor unanswered.
Magnified, words spoken to destroy will serve to correct.”
Andrea
takes this a step further, citing the power of words as actively
working to restore identity.
In the aftermath of the Sandy Hook Elementary School mass shooting,
Yolie Moreno and her daughter made the decision to take their town into
their hands. With all the negative stories being reported, Yolie
determined that she would take back her town and give
the visitors something to remember them by, other than the tragedy of
the shootings. She and her daughter sat by the I-84 holding signs that
spoke positivity over negativity, hope over despair and most
importantly, love over hate. Andrea speaks about the importance
of creating a safe space within which healing could occur under the
banner of mutual understanding and the desire for the redemption of
identity. The politics of representation are highlighted here, and
The Danger Of A Single Story comes to mind. (https://www.ted.com/talks/
In
a TeD Talk given by Nigerian writer Chimamanda Adichie, she explores
the danger of viewing a place or group of people through a single lens.
Although she is speaking
of her experience growing up as a black girl in a world of mostly white
images, her exploration of the way in which we become defined by
generalization and ignorance is poignant. Yolie’s actions work against
that generalization, reminding those who passed
through Newtown that there was more to its inhabitants than tragedy.
The manifesto stands up with the quiet unshakable strength of those who
know what it is to lose, and what it is to be lost. It is a reminder
that love is not a sudden, magnificent wave, but
a steady, pulsing current; working its way through the loss to make
light in the darkness.
Sarah Sudhoff’s
At The Hour of Our Death is another such act of love. Emily
writes about this artistic endeavor which features photographs of
various surfaces stained by someone’s passing. There is a moving video
in which Sudhoff explains the origins of
the seed of this project in the passing of her good friend. He was
cleared away as soon as possible and the space was restored to its
“original state”, leaving not even a trace that someone had passed. It
is the moment between life and death that Sudhoff is
interested in, and she believes that we should cherish that moment as
opposed to shrinking away from it. I must admit that when Emily first
told me about this project, I was immediately put off. It appeared like
an exercise in the macabre, someone taking
photographs of surfaces stained in body fluids seemed either insane or
slightly sadistic. When I viewed the images and watched the video
however, I was moved. Sudhoff portrays these images with grace, tact and
taste. Offering a piece as opposed to a whole,
Sudhoff directs our eyes to the detail of the moment frozen forever in
time, and reminds the viewer that there was someone, a human being,
here. Emily concludes with a rousing manifesto in which she compels us
to face our mortality without fear or favor. She
makes the distinction between artists who would employ the macabre for
their personal benefit versus those who would employ it for the purpose
of bringing their audiences face to face with their worst fears. Death
is a part of life, and Sudhoff reminds us
why we must hold hands with him and get better acquainted.
Erica
shares her role in assisting with this acquaintance, through an
experience from her high
school. She shares some staggering statistics which link prom night to
drinking related teen fatalities as a result of car accidents. Her high
school was dedicated to changing these statistics by making their
students aware of the dangers posed by drinking
and driving, through a campaign each year before the prom was held. In
this particular instance, her principle decided to up the stakes and
arrange a crash site outside the assembly, complete with bloodied bodies
and paramedics. Erica makes an interesting
point regarding the lack of anonymity and importance of recognition.
This exercised worked on one level to ensure that the viewers were able
to recognize the “victims” of this tragedy, and on another level to make
the viewers recognized themselves. Following
through from Mike’s post, Erica’s exercise holds up a mirror to its
audience and makes them recognize themselves in the art they are
viewing. This is why I think it was successful in “scaring the kids
straight”. By bringing them face to face with the proverbial
monster under the bed, this performance reminded the viewers that they
and the monster are one. Sometimes, art crosses a line or becomes “too
real” because it holds us accountable for what we have the potential to
become. Erica points out that if we come eye
to eye with the monster we gain power over it, both in the world within
and the world around us.
Mark
brings us home with
Bosnian Girl, a piece perhaps not in response but in stride with the
tragedy that birthed it. He makes a connection between art and the
memorial, drawing a line between present-continuous commentary and
distanced reflection. The piece is seemingly harmless
at first glance, featuring a black and white photograph of a woman,
with words written across her image in black ink. In today’s social and
technological scope, it resembles a meme more than anything else and
thus faces the danger of a quick look. As we discussed
in one of our classes, there is so much information available, and only
a certain amount attention possessed by the human mind. We find
ourselves sweeping over information with a distracted gaze and glossing
over any deeper meaning held therein. Granted, we
will never be able to read into every single image that we come across,
but Mark highlights the danger of resting in the comfort of our
distractedness. “Bosnian Girl explores the way our casual hypocrisy and
indifference can take us down the dehumanizing shit
chute to Hell on Earth. Memorial? That too: “lest we forget” that
this beast is nowhere near safely stowed in its bottle.” He rounds it
off with a manifesto that left me shaking in my old canvas shoes. It
speaks of the demise of the human race, the degeneration
that compels good men to engage in unspeakable acts under the guise of
fighting the “good fight”. This art work lines up nicely with all the
wars that are going on around us; it brings into sharp focus those who
are suffering at the hand of our humanitarian
efforts. It questions the “inherent goodness” of humanity, and the
possibility for redemption.
In
closing, I would like to thank you all for your posts in response to
this prompt. I will leave you with this excerpt from Mark’s manifesto;
“…can we tame the monster?
Can evolution fashion a butterfly from a dragon?
Could it be that we're not too late?
Guard these delicate hopes.
Walk forward.
Amen...
And let the hammer fall.”
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