Looking Closer: "The Persistence of the Real"
"Residue" brings together works united by their skeptical and playful image-making
The following piece was published by Grolsch Film Works (no longer online) in 2015.
Questioning the reality of images and distinguishing between actuality and representation are not new ideas in art, and yet the relationship between the truth and fiction inherent in any and all art-creation remains one of the most prominent preoccupations of myriad forms of expression. The simple reason is that it’s complicated. Or, rather, that the lines between life and art are so fluid, so mysterious, that artists still need to plunge into the subject, attempting to articulate the nuanced ebb and flow of truth and lies—whether it’s through reflexive documentary filmmaking, a painting, or an installation.
“Residue: The Persistence of the Real” is an exhibition currently running at the Vancouver Art Gallery, curated by Grant Arnold, Audain Curator of British Columbia Art. This notable collection of pieces features the eclectic work of eight North American artists, including Vancouver locals Stan Douglas, Babak Golkar; fellow Canadians Geoffrey James, Robert Burley, Brian Jungen & Duane Linklater; as well as Americans Catherine Opie, and Amie Siegel. Gathering varying forms together, Arnold has assembled an assortment of pieces that may not appear so closely linked, but a close look reveals that they each are answers to a similar calling. In their own way, each work takes on the deceptive properties of image-making, challenging notions of representing truth, and inviting the spectator to do the same.
Amie Siegel’s remarkable film, Provenance (2013), is one of the most striking of these investigations. Tracking—in reverse—the life of pieces of furniture from Chandigarh, India, the film at first shows us various chairs, tables, and other units, placed in different living spaces. From this practical stage, we trace back to their sale at an auction, and from there to preview exhibitions and lastly to the seemingly desolate locale of their origin. Each stage of context imbues the objects with different meanings according how they are perceived, used, and exist, whether as functional items, works of art desired by collectors, or as material marked by their place. What is their true home? Are such designations flexible? Siegel cleverly points to the malleable definitions of our creations.
An obsession with the ontology of objects was not limited to Provenance, and can be detected amongst several of the artists on display. Babak Golkar’s ingenious Return Project looks at the fine line between art and product with a sense of humour and mischief. The premise is as follows: Golkar buys a common product from a store, alters it in some subtle way, and successfully returns it. Keeping something he removed from the product in question, Golkar divides the product from itself, returning an art object to retail outlet that will then sell it to an unsuspecting customer who may never perceive at as more than its initially intended form, when in fact they have in their possession a unique, one-of-a-kind item. For example, Golkar purchased a yoga mat, which he cut the word “R U N” into. He kept the letters (which are on display, though rearranged as “U R N”), photographed the product before and after the change, and brought it back.
Stan Douglas’s Luanda-Kinshasa (2013) is a hypnotic 6-hour loop, aesthetically modeled after Jean-Luc Godard’s Sympathy for the Devil (which filmed The Rolling Stones recording the famous song in abstract fashion). Seemingly an endless funk jam session set in a 70s Manhattan recording studio, the video is actually meticulously and seamlessly edited to appear as such when in fact it’s a patched-up montage filmed in chunks and dishonestly assembled. It takes some careful viewing to detect what the film is up to, but it effectively illustrates the way one cannot trust images. A frame is always leaving something out, a cut is always a lie, stitching together separate pieces, even when they fit together so perfectly. The truth of an image lies in its limitations, bound up in its lies.
Another commonality in Residue is the theme of presence as absence that can be found in the work of two photographers: Catherine Opie’s ongoing Elizabeth Taylor project, 700 Nimes Road (which will be collected in a book this Fall), and Geoffrey James’s Inside Kingston Penitentiary (2013). Opie’s brilliant series of photographs all come from the home of the late actress, and take as their subject the objects and souvenirs left behind by Taylor: her jewelry, her wardrobe, her own photos, and even her cat, Fang. Without showing us Taylor herself, Opie gives us a portrait of the woman, an autobiography written by her possessions that at once give us a sense of a life lived as well as an impression of the stamp left behind by a celebrity’s privileged lifestyle—or perhaps these images only represent the negative space that surround a figure, ghosts of memories. James’s photographs, on the other hand, are all taken within the confines of the infamous Kingston Penitentiary, Canada’s oldest prison. Home to countless criminals, and an alarming number of indigenous peoples, the notorious jail has an almost haunted quality that James brings out beautifully. But more importantly, the photos—which feature unoccupied jail cells filled with inmates’ artwork and possessions, as well as corridors and courtyards—display not just the human impressions made on this inhuman space, but also portray the society beyond its walls, to a country that has failed vulnerable citizens. Graffiti that reads “This is Indian Land,” and other messages left behind hint at an unstable inequality and societal tensions.
Meanwhile, Robert Burley’s photos lament the death of celluloid, documenting the closing down of Kodak factories the world over. While some of the images are banal and obvious, others are sure to tug on the heartstrings of film-lovers. The best piece in the bunch is a video loop of film factories imploding—but depicted in extremely pixilated digital images on a digital screen. This ironic juxtaposition at once eloquently pronounces the digital takeover of film, while also embracing the abstract beauty of digital noise—a small dose of hope amidst the elegy. Speaking of celluloid, the last piece in the collection is a gorgeously shot silent film on super 16mm by Brian Jungen and Duane Linklater entitled Modest Livelihood (2012). The filmmakers depict and take part in a moosehunt, in an effort to engage with their aboriginal heritage, the images giving us a privileged glimpse into their journey while the film’s silence protects the oral knowledge being passed on to them, a push and pull act that involves the spectator while still making a culturally activist gesture of pride, taking full advantage of the image’s limited confines. Grainy shots of the forest at night manifest in deep blacks and blues, creating the exhibition’s most obscure and yet most beautiful visions.
“Residue: The Persistence of the Real” ran from June 12th to September 27th, 2015 at the Vancouver Art Gallery. A book featuring the artworks can be found here.