This is not a review of an exhibition, but rather an essay on, well, the title should explain that:
A brief review of art history will demonstrate that when patrons have commissioned works of art, the artist has —for the most part— provided what is asked of them. Until the 17th \ century, the patron, such as a religious group or a wealthy noble, had a large role in commissioning works of art. A service contract would be devised with the patron’s wishes in mind, and the artist would have been expected to strictly adhere to this approved agreement. The art was a product of the contract (Kleiner & Mamiya, 2006). A traditional example of this process would be a church’s hire of an artist to paint a biblical narrative scene, or to cast a bronze statue of a royal figure during the Middle Ages or the Renaissance. A more modern example of this concept would be a museum’s invitation of an abstract-expressionist painter for an exhibition. The artist would have been expected to create a collection of paintings, and they would be hung on the wall in a logical manner, orchestrated by a curator or the gallery administration. Today, an institution hiring an artist for an exhibition can be a game of Russian roulette – they can’t be completely sure what they’re going to get and will often be forced to concede to the artist’s creative or social expression.
It is a postmodern trend for artists to radically intervene with, or manipulate, the gallery space . In taking control of the regular functions, operations, attributes, and/or physical appearance of the gallery, the artist is taking a role of superiority above the gallery/museum’s management. In exercising their authority—or rather, artistic freedom— the artist becomes more prominent than the patron, or the institution. This intervention is an example of a modernist shift in patronage towards the artist’s influence. The patron no longer has as large of a role in the decision-making process or development the ideas for a feature exhibition. This transition began at the end of the 19th century when groups of artists like the Impressionists resisted salon-style exhibitions that had been controlled by state-run Academies. Artists began to reject the stringent nature of juried salon shows, and began to show their work in alternative platforms. They rejected the Academy and the rules. They wrote manifestos, explored new ideas, and even rejected the notion that art had to be made by the artist, had to be on a canvas, or had to be representative of something tangible. Later in the 20th century, museums and galleries on the large scale caught up again with the artists and began to accommodate and support their formerly alternative artistic endeavors.
As Andy Warhol once remarked, art is anything the artist can get away with, and in the past few decades, artists seem to be getting away with a lot in contemporary galleries and museums. Recent examples of artists’ interventions within these spaces include physical alterations of the site, mediation of the institution’s mechanical and administrative operations, and dramatic distortion of the viewer’s perception. We will first look at instances in which the artist substantially alters the physical space of the gallery, including works by Michael Asher, Doris Salcedo, and Olafur Eliasson. Secondly, we will look at works by artists who manipulate the administration responsible for an exhibition or the curator, such as Cai Guo-Qiang, Michael Asher, and Tino Sehgal. Lastly, we will examine instances in which the artist physically changes no part of the gallery, but distorts the viewer’s perception, which will include works by Tino Sehgal and Chris Burden. Throughout the examination of these works, it is important to keep in mind questions pertaining to the exhibition space, to the role of the artist within that space, and the major shifts between pre and post-1960s artistic and institutional practices within the exhibition space. Although many of the following artists’ works deal with institutional critique, I would like to focus on the actual change that takes place within the social, cultural, and educational space of an arts institution. I do not want to focus on the fact that some of theses artists take control over the normal the behaviors of the viewer, administration or building, but rather the fact that these subjects allow these artistic actions to take place, modifying the institution, physical space, or visual/mental perception in some form.
Conceptual artist Michael Asher’s work is exemplary of an artist’s intervention within the gallery space. For the past four decades he has been modifying the gallery by either adding or eliminating architectural elements, changing the way a viewer perceives the gallery itself, and even changing the way the administration sees their own workspace. In 1973, Asher sandblasted the walls and ceiling of Galleria Toselli in Milan until every trace of white paint had been washed off the pristine, white-cube gallery walls, leaving nothing but a brown plaster surface (Asher & Buchloh, 1983). By doing this, Asher was able to change the way Galleria Toselli normally exhibits artwork. By making the removal of paint the exhibition itself, Asher limits the gallery’s ability to display and/or sell any pieces. In this exhibition, Asher questions the role that white walls play within a gallery, and investigates how they affect or influence the perception of the artwork placed on them. By subtracting the white surface of the walls, Asher was able to heighten one’s awareness of the surface’s usual pristine quality and its integral part in the gallery. On the other hand, he was also able to highlight the awareness of the walls themselves: making the conduit of display, the actual structural support, into the artwork itself.
It must be noted that by working entirely with architectural and conceptual elements, Asher’s work cannot be bought and sold – it is separate from the art market. Any time that an artist makes their work inaccessible to market, they are inherently making a statement against it, criticizing its very foundation. In one monumental instance, Doris Salcedo went as far as to fracture the physical foundation of the museum, at the Tate Modern in London. Shibboleth, sponsored by the groundbreaking (literally) Unilever series in 2007, is an enormous crack stretching across the floor of the museum’s Turbine Hall. Some consider this work to be about racism or colonialism, but Shibboleth could act as a commentary on the shaky foundations of modern art museums, a rift between the public and private sectors of arts commission, or the uncertain distinction between modernist and post-modernist practices. Shibboleth also acts to heighten the viewer’s awareness of the space within a museum, proving that one cannot always rely on a pristine, solid, white cube. The installation gained infamous attention as viewers continued to fall into the crack throughout the exhibition (“More visitors hurt,” 2007). The Tate Modern risked their reputation in accepting this project by Salcedo (they were criticized for their feeble safety measures), but ultimately gained a lot of attention and press for it (and all press is good press). Salcedo’s installation is a perfect example of a modern museum’s assistance in the realization an artist’s idea. The Tate invested their money, time, personnel, and reputation to help fulfill Salcedo’s vision. Like most exhibitions, it was on display for an established amount of time, and then the crack was filled up again. However, the concrete floor of Turbine hall still bears a mark, a scar, of where the deep fissure used to be. Although other artists continue to exhibit their projects for the Unilever series, Salcedo made a lasting mark on the museum, which will not be soon forgotten.
The Tate is certainly accommodating to its chosen artists, as is demonstrated in Olafur Eliasson’s The Weather Project, another work from the Unilever series. Four years earlier than the monumental crevice in the floor, Turbine hall was transformed into a tropic environment with a gigantic simulated sun at one end of the hall (May, 2003). This was no ordinary gallery experience; instead it was practically like a day at the beach. Hundreds of lamps were installed to create the sun, while a humid mist permeated throughout the entire space, creating cloudlike formations and obstructing the view of the hall’s ceiling. Eliasson took care to use mono-frequency lights, making yellow and black the only colors visible within the space, further disorienting the visitor (May, 2003). This installation was a true spectacle, as the artist changed the museum’s main hall into an overwhelming experience that transports the visitor into a different environment.
One can’t help but wonder how the museum decided to realize the works of Salcedo and Eliasson. Did the curators and director really believe in the artists’ philosophy about Shibboleth and The Weather Project, or did they choose it because they knew their audience would enjoy it and that it would gain them a lot of media attention? Was their goal to induce social dialogue (which were the artists’ goals), or to act as entertainer? That same question can be asked of any exhibition. Is the role of the museum to provide educational and social opportunities, or to simply act as a place of entertainment and leisure? Should they support the ideas of their artists or the needs of their audience? In these particular cases, both goals were probably satisfied.
Outside of the typical exhibition space, an artist can also take advantage of how a museum spends its money. With a quick look at Cai Guo-Qiang’s body of work, a curator can assume that the exhibition might involve an explosion at some time or another, but they probably wouldn’t expect him to blow up the project fund. This is exactly what Cai did in 2003 to prepare for the inauguration of the Stedelijk Museum voor Actuele Kunst in Ghent, Belgium (Kwon, 2008). This act was a kind of “spit in your face” gesture reflecting Cai’s attitude towards museums at the beginning of the new millennium. He organized a huge fireworks display because he feels that we (by we, I can only assume society) spend too much money on museums and other arts institutions. He even went as far as to create a portrait of the exhibition’s curator, Jan Hoet, out of gunpowder, just to blow it up (www.caiguoqiang.com, 2008). This act for the Stedelijk Museum voor Actuele Kunst was the ultimate exploitation of a museum. This work is about institutional critique, but moreover, it is about the fact that an exhibition can be so temporary that it doesn’t even last more than one evening. Yet somehow, Cai’s work is more than just an event. The curator made the decision to commission a work by Cai, and in turn, as a symbolic gesture the artist literally burned the money. So much for the idea that conceptual art is cheap! So what makes Cai’s fireworks displays different than any other celebratory display? The museum could have easily set up the same spectacle to mark the inauguration of the space, however, it was Cai who took the museum’s money and created an unorthodox firework display. The money that could have gone to an extended exhibition was instead used by Cai to demonstrate the liberties available to artists, and to draw attention to contemporary arts institutions’ liberal financial practices. Conceptual works were once looked at as an “aesthetic bargain” (Stimson, 1999), but Cai, in satire of these economic practices, proves that an artist’s concept might be more expensive than originally expected.
In some instances, very slight changes are made in order to change the gallery’s significance or to disrupt curatorial influence. Demonstrating so much authority over the administrative practices of a museum so much as to take over the role of the curator can be seen in Michael Asher’s work at the Arts Institute of Chicago. Usually, the gallery space can use their curatorial authority over an artist’s desires when putting together an exhibition, often to the artist’s dislike or disagreement. Asher however, managed to switch the roles of curator and artist by choreographing the presentation and organization of the Institute’s collection.
In 1979, for the 73rd American Exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago, Michael Asher took a bronze copy of a marble sculpture by Jean-Antoine Houdon, George Washington, from its usual position on the front steps of the museum and placed it inside. The original marble statue was made in 1785-1791, while the bronze copy was cast in 1917 (Moeller & Rorimer, 2006). Asher decided to place the sculpture inside of Gallery 219, which held European painting and sculpture from the 18th century, the same time period from which the original marble sculpture was created. In short, the Institute paid Asher to take an artwork that they already owned from the exterior and relocate it to the interior. Asher did not think that the statue belonged outside on the steps, and he was able to move it to a gallery where it contrasted with its surroundings. By regrouping the statue with other works of Houdon’s contemporaries, Asher was “placing it within the framework of a contemporary exhibition”(Haydon, 1979). He did this in order to highlight the fact that the museum had not yet found an appropriate position for this sculpture within their collection.
26 years later, Asher repeated this gesture for a Focus showcase at the Arts Institute of Chicago in 2005, although he did not entirely reenact the same exhibition. Instead of moving the statue from the exterior steps of the museum, this time he moved it from the lobby of the Mayor’s Office, where it had been on loan since 1984, into Gallery 220 (Moeller & Rorimer, 2006). By moving the bronze statue, Asher elicits a different viewer response depending on its surroundings. As its surroundings change, people’s reactions towards it are altered. When outside it is public and accessible to everyone. When placed in Gallery 220, it turns private, exclusive only to those who have paid admission. Within the museum space, viewers are always indirectly told how to look at a work of art. By the way collections are displayed, the spectator is forced to view it in a certain context, whether a collection of work is grouped by theme, chronology, medium, technique, or shared history.
When the bronze copy of George Washington was outside on the steps, it was available for all to see. When placed inside of the Institute, a paid-admission museum, only few can appreciate it. In a way, Asher is mocking the fact that the Art Institute, along with the city of Chicago, cannot find a suitable place for the statue to remain. However, he caused it to stand out by relocating an American-made 20th century sculpture of an American icon in a room occupied by 18th century European paintings. Placing it in the center of the gallery heightened the viewer’s perception. They could reflect upon it more, perhaps trying to derive the meaning behind it, whether it is random or deliberate. One could walk up to the roughly seven-foot statue that was placed directly on the floor of the gallery instead of atop a pedestal, producing a more personal relationship. In contrast, each painting was held in decorative frames, a French vase protected in a glass case, and an antique English table positioned on a pedestal. Every other piece appeared unattainable and in pristine condition, while the weathered bronze seemed approachable.
In conceptual art, the subject is superior to the object. It is not important whether Asher constructed this statue or not, but what he chose to do with it. In 1979 and in 2005, following in the footsteps of Sol LeWitt and other conceptual artists, “all of the planning and decisions were made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair” (Cotter, 2008). Asher sought not only to find how people would perceive this statue in different environments and how their response would change, but also to challenge the curatorial and administrative practices of the Institute.
Deconstructing the exhibition space or transforming it into an entirely different environment garners immediate attention from the viewer and encourages them to think about the institution in a different way. The contemporary artist relies on the institution’s financial, administrative, and mechanical resources to realize these incredible constructions and installations. Nonetheless, some modifications do not have to be physical in order to interrupt normal functions. In 2003 at the Tate Modern, Tino Sehgal was able to control even the gallery attendants at the museum. In This Is New, Sehgal instructed the attendants to stand up and recite headlines from the daily newspaper (Herbet, 2008). Many visitors were shocked by this unexpected behavior from a gallery attendant, someone who normally stands in their corner and minimally interacts, even avoids interaction, with the museum visitors. This sudden announcement of the daily news shocks one’s normal perception of how one should behave in a gallery. In this work, if a visitor responded to the gallery attendant, they were then instructed to declare out loud, “This Is New, Tino Sehgal, 2003.” Within this piece, Sehgal is able to have the museum staff directly participate, even activate, his work. Without the gallery space, and especially the public operations staff, his work would not exist.
This brings us to the last artistic practice involving intervention within the gallery space: the artist’s manipulation of the viewer. This concept is not novel; in fact, the artist’s attempt to deceive the viewer can be seen in centuries’ worth of trompe l’oeil paintings. The deception is purely visual as the artist attempts to trick the viewer’s eye into thinking they are looking at something tangible or three-dimensional, rather than a flat surface. Recently, artists have been investigating ways to dupe or trick the viewer by stimulating other senses or emotions, involving the viewer in a specific work of art when they might not even realize it. Slovakian artist Roman Ondak’s work often intervenes with how visitors interact with and within the gallery space (and by intervene, I mean deceive). In Good Feelings in Good Times, Ondak hires actors to form a queue on the outside of a museum or exhibition entrance (www.gbagency.fr, 2008). Museum and/or gallery patrons often do not know how to react to this piece, most likely because they are not aware that it is a work of art. However, it certainly causes the visitors to act in a different manner; they will join the queue because they think it is the line to enter the museum or exhibition. If not, they will wonder what the line is for /should they join it /how long will it take? I would not be surprised if a patron were to feel angered after learning that the line they just stood in for the past twenty minutes was actually staged. They would feel duped, deceived, betrayed by the artist. Is it possible that some viewers could walk away disliking an artist’s work just because they didn’t know it was part of an exhibition? This is a potential problem when the museum is looked at as an educational institution, or a place of preservation that houses tangible artifacts. For those who might view the museum as a venue of entertainment, this work is whimsical and clever. It’s all about finding those who can laugh at themselves, even when the artist is making fun of them. In a contemporary sense, Good Feelings in Good Times is a genuine example of art; as Walter Benjamin asserts, “once an object is looked at by us as a work of art, it absolutely ceases its objective function”(Krauss, 1999). When visiting an art museum or gallery, the viewer expects to engage with works of art. However, in Ondak’s queues, the audience engages in a purely objective form of art (that is, before they realize it is the actual exhibition).
Ondak’s subjects often have no idea that they are participants in his artwork. What would happen if a knowing participant was improperly persuaded—rather than deceived— to participate in a work of art that they might not have necessarily agreed to if they had been fully informed? When Chris Burden shot himself in 1971 at F Space in Santa Ana, California, his audience did not know what to expect (Ward, 2001). Imagine the trauma of seeing your friend about to be shot with a rifle, and not being able to do anything about it. At that moment and time, this performance could not have elicited creative or social enlightenment for the viewer, but rather stress, confusion, and consequently, panic.
The medium used by Ondak and Burden in these pieces is not material. Rather, their medium is the encounter that involves the spectator; it is the proposal of new questions about the way the art is produced, presented, and received by the viewer. These two works encourage the viewer to think about where art is viewed, and to consider the alternative perceptions that one may experience when art is presented in an unexpected manner. When a museum or gallery allows an artist the freedom to do what they want with the space, or with the viewer, it is the artist who ultimately gains control of the entire situation.
However, we must look at this concept from another point of view. Perhaps this trend is not about the artist’s intervention, but the institution’s willingness to accommodate the artist’s wants and needs. This brings into question a fundamental uncertainty of the modern exhibition space: is its true function to show objects of art that already exist, or to introduce new, innovative projects by up-and-coming artists? Are patron’s required to compromise for an artist whom they have chosen to commission work by? Can they deny an artist’s proposal simply because of financial or maintenance concerns? A museum’s goal is to sell admission, while a commercial gallery’s goal is to sell artwork. Therefore, it makes more sense when a museum allows this intervention to take place. It has become clear that the contemporary art museum is no longer a place of conservation, rather an entertainment venue. A place of cultural activity and stimulation rather than cultural preservation or presentation. No longer is a museum’s prosperity found in the quality or quantity of their permanent collection, but in their willingness to program challenging temporary exhibitions by innovative and unique artists. This curatorial practice has become so widespread that it is no longer shocking to the viewer. In fact, one can expect a perception-distorting, opinion-changing, large-scale, physically all-encompassing installation at a museum, and are often disappointed if there is no such spectacle.
The gallery on the other hand has a lot more to lose. They do not sell a spectacle, but rather the art itself. So what advantage does a gallery gain when they allow an artist to say, remove the gallery walls, as did Michael Asher in 1974 at the Claire Copley Gallery in Los Angeles (Asher & Buchloh, 1983)? The gallery is not a space of private art collection, and more recently, it acts as another storefront with luxury goods. It is almost as if the contemporary gallery acts as entertainer as well, luring collectors in with appealing shows by daring artists. Curators are organizing exhibitions that intrigue, amuse, and fool the audience. More people attend museums and browse through galleries today than ever before, and the quantity of these exhibition spaces is rising so rapidly that one may wonder if there is an audience — or even a body of quality work— large enough to fit the bill! There is a high demand for exhibitions, and gallery spaces are attempting to have their shows stand out from the rest of the competition. Museums and galleries are equally organizing exhibitions that will glean press, income, and status. In the end, even when the exhibition space is left with a giant scar, must seek repair for damaged walls, or left with a tired or displeased staff, it is ultimately to the their benefit to commission the artwork. Contemporary institutions are commissioning temporary exhibitions for the same reason that wealthy patrons of the Middle Ages and Renaissance did: for philanthropic or commemorative purposes (Kleiner & Mamiya, 2006).
As I said earlier, I did not want to focus solely on the institutional criticism that inevitably arises through this discussion. I do believe that artists should have the liberty to critique the institution, but in agreement with Andreas Huyssen, this act should be site-specific rather than global (1995). The artist who critiques the institution ironically needs the institution to form this argument in the first place. Secondly, they need the institution to exhibit their works, just as the institution needs the artist in order to fulfill its essential function. A global criticism would eventually halt all artistic functions.
Although several of the mentioned artists focus on this issue, I am more interested in discussing the temporary aspect of all of their works, and how none of them are permanent fixtures within the exhibition space. The conception and realization of each of these works undoubtedly cost the institution a great deal of time and money (some more than others). In today’s global art market, how do these works fit in —or stand out— when everything else placed in a gallery is a commodity? Art has always been bought and sold, but today more than ever, people are investing in it. In works like Cai Guo-Qiang’s explosions, nothing can be sold in the aftermath of the explosion because of, well, obvious reasons! The same principle goes for Asher, Salcedo, Eliasson, Sehgal, and Ondak’s works; the only record that these works existed is in their documentation, rather than in the bill of sale or contract of acquisition. The current rate of growth of the global art industry as well as the escalation in the construction of museums is at its highest, so why are artists making transient works they cannot sell? They are instead pushing the capability and resources of institutions to achieve their artistic goals. This evokes a romantic notion of the artist, as someone who needs to make it to say it, rather than someone who needs to make it to sell it. The institution on the other hand does spend money to produce these incredible temporary exhibitions, and it can be assumed that most of the money goes to the artist. So much for romance!
