Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
W I LL I AM KAI Z E N ,
V E R E D MAIMO N ,
S E TH MCCORMI CK,
editors
Communities of Sense
RETHINKING AESTHETICS AND POLITICS
Designed by C. H. Westmoreland
Acknowledgments vii
INTRO DUCTI O N 1
Bibliography 337
Contributors 355
Index 359
Acknowledgments
This volume has its origins in a conference of the same name presented at
Columbia University in April 2003. The editors would like to thank the
participants in this conference: Susan Buck-Morss, T. J. Demos, Tom
Gunning, Branden Joseph, Ewa Lajer-Burcharth, Pamela Lee, Reinhold
Martin, Stephen Melville, Molly Nesbit, Alexander Potts, Arvind Rajaga
pol, and keny ote
sors, John Rajchman, Rosalind Krauss, Benjamin Buchloh, and Jonathan
Crary. We would also like to thank Barry Bergdoll and Hillary Ballon and
the Department ofArt History and Archaeology, the Graduate School of
Arts and Sciences, and the Institute for Comparative Literature and
Society at Columbia University for supporting the conference. Thanks
go to Ken Wissoker and Mandy Earley at Duke University Press for their
editorial help. Finally, we would like to give a special thanks to John
Rajchman for bringing our editorial group together and for providing
crucial encouragement during the early stages of this project.
B E TH HI N DERLIT ER,
WILLIAM KAIZ E N ,
V ER ED MAIMO N ,
JAL EH MA N SOOR, A N D
S E TH MCCORMICK
Introduction
COMMU N ITI E S OF S E N S E
affect of images, but to this he adds a certain ethical tone, itself mobi
lized against right-wing moralizers. Discussing the work of Robert Map
plethorpe, he notes that it was so threatening to religious conservatives
and their ilk because it made gay subcultural practices appear beautiful,
by which he means that they somehow were "good" to behold because
they were aestheticized. While bracketing the programmatic or norma
tive implications of the term good, Hickey nevertheless suggests a uni
versally understood value linking the good to the beautiful, which is
inherent in the viewer's apprehension of the work.4 More recently,
Arthur Danto and Elaine Scarry have radicalized Hickey's argument by
absolutizing the connection between beauty and ethics. For Danto and
Scarry the case is clear-cut: that which is beautiful is that which is
morally good. Danto states that while beauty may not be part of art's
essence and accordingly does not have to belong to an object for it to be
considered art, those works that possess beauty generate a sense of well
being in the viewer, who automatically registers this beauty as morally
good. Danto argues that judgments of beauty are universal, in fact.
"There are;' he writes, "descriptions of states of affairs that would be
acceptable as beautiful and as ugly by pretty much anyone:'s Rather
than regarding them as separate but related spheres of influence, Scarry
goes even further than Danto by defining beauty as the condition of
possibility for ethics. For Scarry, the beautiful automatically produces a
feeling of "lateral regard" in which the beholder comes to care for non
beautiful things because they also care for those that are beautifuL The
unbeautiful is cared for only because of the proximate contagion of the
beautifuL6 Danto also famously argues that the "end of art" has arrived,
insofar as aesthetics itself has been made to accord completely with
everyday life. Nothing remains of art except the conceptual force of its
propositions, and therefore the modern aesthetic project is brought to
an end through its dissolution into philosophy.
Despite the seemingly wide divergence between the critical positions
represented by "the return to beauty;' on the one hand, and the "anti
aesthetic;' on the other, both perspectives share a reductive definition of
aesthetics as normative and apoliticaL Aesthetics is thus celebrated as
the basis for a new cosmopolitan universalism by the exponents of
I NTRO D UCTI O N 5
Communities of Sense
Overview of Contributors
Notes
1. Foster, Anti-Aesthetic.
2. Walter Benjamin's The Origin of German Tragic Drama, a materialist cri
tique of the Hegelian aesthetics of the symbol, was translated into English in
1978. This work exercised a decisive impact on the theorization of postmodern
ism by many scholars, including Craig Owens, Benj amin Buchloh, and Douglas
Crimp. See Owens, "The Allegorical Impulse;' and Buchloh, "Marcel Brood
thaers:' Douglas Crimp's definition of postmodernism in "On the Museum's
Ruins;' was framed in similar terms.
3. At the time, he suggested that beauty would be the most important issue of
the nineties. He went on to raise the topic ofbeauty repeatedly, throughout the
decade, at any given opportunity. Hickey, The Invisible Dragon, 11-12.
4. Ibid., 22-23·
S. Danto, The Abuse of Beauty, 29, 32.
6. Scarry, On Beauty and Being Just, 80- 81. What she really seems to describe
is love, not beauty.
7. Ranciere, The Politics ofAesthetics, 23.
8. See Ranciere's "The Sublime from Lyotard to Schiller:'
9. Ibid., 12-13·
10. This position came to define itself, in part, against the Platonizing con
ception of "the political" espoused by the Paris Centre de Recherches Phi
losophiques sur la Politique, opened by Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Jean
Luc Nancy in 1980. Their inaugural address spoke of a "re-treating" of the
political in terms of its essencej for them, the questioning of the essence of
politics also marked a "retreat" from the radical contingency of the formulation
"everything is political:' Lacoue-Labarthe and Nancy, "Opening Address to the
Center for Philosophical Research on the Political:' On the activities of the
center, see also Frazer, "The French Derrideans;' and Critchley, "Lacoue
Labarthe and Nancy:'
11. Ranciere, Dis-agreement, 29.
12. This is the subject of Ranciere's book The Nights of Labor.
13. Balibar, "What Is a Politics of the Rights of Man?" in Masses, Classes, Ideas.
14· Ranciere, Dis-agreement, 99.
15. Ibid., 85.
16. Ibid., 87, emphasis in original.
17. Ibid., 88.
18. Ibid., 103. As we argue in the next section, this understanding of "the
people" as a problem, rather than as the "always already there;' has important
implications for a reconsideration of the historical artistic practices of the
I N T RO D U C T I O N 27
avant-garde, which erred by identifying "the people" with the pregiven form of
"the collective:'
19. Ibid., 220.
20. Balibar, Politics and the Other Scene, xii-xiii.
21. Balibar, preface to Droit de cite, 4, translation by Kristin Ross.
22. Benjamin, "The Work ofArt in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction;' 211.
See also Benjamin Buchloh's essay "From Faktura to Factography:'
23. In this regard, the present analysis of rethinking community does not
support the thesis of Boris Groys, who claims, in The Total Art of Stalinism:
Avant-garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship and Beyond, that the avant-garde was com
plicit in the eventual totalitarian logic of Soviet Communism. Groys insists on a
will to totalitarian power on the part of the constructivists. The present text, by
contrast, does not intend to suggest a chain of causal inevitability between
avant-garde activity and totalitarian politics. Our claim is that the avant-garde
was characterized by the utopian desire for collectivity that is no longer tenable
and has given way to thinking about plurality and difference.
24. Anderson, Imagined Communities, xi.
25. Debord, Society of the Spectacle, 2.
26. Nancy, Inoperative Community, 4.
27. Ibid., 25.
28. Nancy, "Of Being-In-Common;' s.
29. Nancy, Inoperative Community, 36.
30. In this regard, Nancy differs significantly from Maurice Blanchot, who
responded to Nancy's text with Unavowable Community, in which he departs
from Nancy's inquiry into the organization of human sense. Instead, through a
defense of his friend Georges Bataille, whom he believes to be misunderstood
in Nancy's account, he focuses on the communities that emerge through liter
ary modes of production and reception of text, through writing and reading.
He uses this examination of the community of text to consider the ways in
which those communities confront and question, if not inscribe themselves
within and thereby redefine, the very possibility of community understood as a
social and political category.
31. Nancy, Inoperative Community, !.
32. Kester, Conversation Pieces, 150-51.
33. Arguing against a recent "ethical turn" in contemporary art criticism,
Claire Bishop demands the reimplementation of artistic standards and values
such that all collaborative practices are not leveled as equally important artistic
gestures of resistance. Thus, while she describes the mutual imbrication of
politics and aesthetics as an important aspect of some contemporary practices
("The best art will show the contradictory pull between autonomy and social
28 I N T RO D U C T I O N
intervention"), she nonetheless reverts to formalist traditions of value judg
ments, elevating the name of art to the modernist project of disinterested
autonomy. Some artists, she laments, wear the mantle of activism as if it were a
veritable hair shirt, flagellating themselves in a destructive tradition of Chris
tian self�effacement. If Bishop here seems to offer a Kleinian strategy of ego
strengthening as a cultural therapeutic, Kester responds to her criticism with
similar psychologization, attacking her version of negative critique as paranoia.
Bishop, "The Social Turn;' 178, and Kester, ''Another Turn."
34. In her essay ''Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics;' Bishop contrasts
artworks that she sees as affirmative and nonpolitical to the art of Thomas
Hirschhorn and Santiago Sierra, which she describes as productive of the kinds
of antagonistic conflict that Mouffe and Laclau have invoked as the motor of
radical democracy. Liam Gillick has opposed the ways in which the artists
included in Bourriaud's exhibitions have not been differentiated from Bour
riaud's own project, and has objected to what he sees as Bishop's facile imple
mentation of the concept of antagonism: "Just because Hirschhorn and Sierra
upset more people than Tiravanija and I do, doesn't mean that they are closer
to Mouffe's notion of antagonism:' Gillick, "Contingent Factors;' 102. In other
words, the question is whether antagonism alone is sufficient to create political
intervals of dissensus.
PA RT O N E Rethinking Aesthetics
J AC QU E S RA N C I E R E
Notes
Humor, then, was for Hegel the vehicle for a characteristically mod
ern, contingent engagement with the alien fabric of social existence as
this presented itself to a freely active subject. A kind of ironic humor is
widely seen as characterizing aspects of romantic literature. In romantic
painting, too, one can detect signs of an objective humor, of a distanced
but sustained engagement with the world in its negativity that needs to
be distinguished from conventional comedy, mostly strikingly perhaps
in the work of Turner. In 1841, the year after Napoleon's ashes were
brought back to Paris from the Isle of Saint Helena, where Napoleon
had been banished after his defeat at battle of Waterloo, Turner ex
hibited a painting at the Royal Academy that represented Napoleon in
exile, titled War: The Exile and the Rock Limpet ( fig. 1). In this, he both
dramatized and undercut the traditional romanticizing image of the
great general contemplating his isolation and the tragic reversals of his
destiny. The picture was able to evoke the complex realities of Napo
leon's situation in exile-both its larger seriousness and its prosaic indi
viduality-through juxtaposing an image suggestive of the bloody dev
astations of the Napoleonic wars with a seemingly ludicrous detail.
Napoleon looks out, guarded by an armed soldier standing bolt up ..,
right a little behind him, surrounded by the blood-red effects of a sunset
reflecting on the water. He is contemplating not the wide expanse of the
The Romantic Work of Art S9
1. J. M. W Turner, War: The Exile and the Rock Limpet, exhibited in 1842. Oil on
canvas, 79.4 X 79.4 cm. Tate Gallery, London. Photo © Tate, London 2008.
sea, nor the momentary intimations of the horrors of war created by the
blood-red sunset, but a tiny rock limpet just visible in the pool directly
in front of him. The catalogue carried a fragment of verse from Turner's
purported epic "Fallacies of Hope;' in which Napoleon gives voice to
the eccentric but totally absorbing association that had seized him:
Ah! Thy tent-formed shell is like
A soldier's mighty bivouac, alone
Amidst a sea of blood-
-but you can join your comradesP
The humor here has the effect of giving concrete resonance to the painting
and undercuts any overly self-absorbed tragic depth. In a similar way, in
60 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
Rain Steam and Speed (1844) Turner gave an almost comic everyday
particularity to his brilliantly atmospheric vision of a steam train, ema
nating fire and smoke, hurtling toward the viewer through a violent rain
storm. Here he included a diminutive hare running flat out in front of the
oncoming train. The painting becomes a compelling image of the hetero
geneous realities of its time by Simultaneously offering up an almost
sublime vision of modern technological and natural power and a comic
Aesopian tale of the race between the hare and the steam engine.18
According to Hegel, the subjective engagement with the material
world elicited by art is distinct from the sensuous desiring of particular
things, as well as from philosophical thought. In practice, however, and
above all in any consideration of modern art, the aesthetic for him
becomes enmeshed in both-a surrender to contingent particularity
and an abstract philosophical sense of distance. Indeed, for Hegel, in a
modern world where subjectivity sees itself as alienated from the exist
ing symbolic motifs that might lay claim to carrying a higher value and
meaning, a work of art can only gain a shared ethical significance by way
of abstract philosophical speculation. Inasmuch as the experience of art
is able to constitute a community of sense for Hegel, this is achieved by
way of an anti-aesthetic, conceptual consideration of the momentary,
aesthetically compelling engagements we might have with works of art.
This is clearly an overtly elitist take on the part played by the anti
aesthetic in any shared significance that might be attributed to the
artistic in the modern world. At the same time, Hegel's analYSis, and in
particular his point that art cannot, on its own, lay claim to a larger
significance, points to something that is central to the broader condition
of modern art. The aspiration, implicit in modern conceptions of art, to
an un-Hegelian, democratic, openly conceived immediacy can only be
substantiated by way of a conceptual, discursive supplement. The lat
ter's abstraction may be at odds with the vivid particularity of aesthetic
experience, but it is also the medium through which such experience is
recognized as having any universal value.
Hegel's idea of the insufficiency of the modern artwork, its curious anti
autonomous autonomy, has important implications for our understand-
The Romantic Work of Art 61
ing of the painting of the romantic period-particularly at the moment
in the early nineteenth century when a neoclassical, and at times revolu
tionary, aspiration to revive the integrated wholeness of classical art
work began to lose credibility as a working ideal. The texts that artists
such as Delacroix and Turner appended to their work may often have
been poetic rather than philosophical. However, they did introduce an
overtly discursive, conceptual dimension to a viewer's apprehension of
their work that is no less integral to the significance to which it laid
claim, and no less integral to the constitution of any full "aesthetic"
engagement with their art, than are the texts in more overtly conceptual
twentieth-century works. There is also, in their painting, an evident
fascination with seemingly incidental particularity. The apparent con
tingency of the motifs and situations frustrates any universal sense we
might attribute to their work. Their paintings' narratives, which often
seem awkward, also negate classical ideas of wholeness and, above all,
the integrative logic of the pregnant moment. The viewer's compulsion
to see something significant taking place in the painting that will yield a
larger social, political, or ethical truth is both blocked and provoked.
The traditional, classical understanding of an integrated pictorial nar
rative, as exemplified in the work of an artist such as Raphael, was one in
which a clearly emphasized central incident defined the core meaning of
the painted scenario. This would then be elaborated by responses to the
main event by figures deployed around it. The idea was given further
refinement in Lessing's theory of the pregnant moment, developed in a
discussion of how a nonnarrative form such as painting might render
narrative, contained in his influential treatise Loacoon: An Essay on
the Limits of Painting and Poetry (1766) . In Lessing's view, the painter
needed to choose a moment in which the action represented not only
enabled the viewer to see clearly what was happening at the time but
also to infer what took place immediately before and after. This preg
nant moment would be one prior to the climactic event of a narrative so
it could represent the unfolding of an event rather than its completion.
The ideal pictorial narrative was thus characterized by both spatial and
temporal unity: spatial in that all the figures directed themselves to, and
hence were integrated into, the central drama; and temp oral in that the
preceding and following moments of the drama were integrated into the
moment depicted.
A work such as Delacroix's Marino Faliero ( fig. 2 ) , an early painting of
62 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
relatively modest scale dating from 1825-26, very pointedly displaces
such integration. At the center of the painting is the blank of a white
marble staircase, not a dramatic incident, and around it are dispersed
figures or groups of figures who are each acting quite independently of
one another.19 The prone corpse of the beheaded doge lies at the bottom
of the staircase. To its left, the executioner, standing impassively without
his sword, projects a strikingly silhouetted profile that is mirrored by the
almost equally striking figure of an armed guard standing to the left of the
corpse, facing off the populace we can just see streaming up the stairs that
descend to the bottom right. On the upper level, shunted off to one side
and behind the balustrade on the top right, a member of the Council of
Ten gathered to oversee the execution holds up the sword with which the
doge had been beheaded. Mirroring this group of dignitaries is a more
SOcially variegated group on the other side of the blank staircase; two of
them display the doge's resplendent yellow robe, which had been re
moved prior to the execution. Sometimes wrongly titled The Execution of
Doge Marino Faliero, this painting pOintedly does not represent the
execution; indeed, the doge's body, his costume of state, the executioner,
and the sword with which the beheading was carried out, as well as the
various groups of people witnessing or taking an active part in the event,'
have become quite separated from one another. The painting looks a
little like a collage made up of several distinct, relatively flattened motifs.
These are not integrated pictorially, and the links we make between them
have to be constituted in our mind.
It would be nigh well impossible to decipher the meaning of this
pictorial scenario without the accompanying text printed in the cata
logue, and even with it, this takes a little time. It does not represent any
one moment in the story as told in Byron's drama, which Delacroix cites
in the catalogue, but a concatenation of disparate moments. Their tem
poral succession cannot be inferred from the pictorial linking of the
scenes represented in the painting. The drama seems in some way
absent, and certainly uncentered; there is a disparity between what the
picture foregrounds and one's sense of what the drama of a major public
execution might be. This enigmatic inadequacy of the immediately
visible pictorial drama to what it purportedly represents means that the
painting is not saturated by clearly specifiable meanings. This opens up
the possibility for it to evoke, albeit allusively, a number of contempo
rary political realities that viewers in Restoration France might have had
2. Eugene Delacroix} The Execution of the Doge Marino Faliero} 1825-26.
Oil on canvas} 145.6 X 113.8 em. By kind permission of the Trustees of
The Wallace Collection.
64 ALEXAN D E R P O T T S
on their minds-such as postrevolutionary anxiety about the possibility
of political betrayal and conspiracy against the state, perhaps intensified
by uncertainties over the stability of the Bourbon succession after Louis
XVIII's death the previous year; vague unease about the crude violence
of public executions carried out against those judged to be traitors to
the state; and partially suppressed fears about the possibility of an
uncontrollable upsurge of activity by the populace threatening the es
tablished order of things from below.
Delacroix's text amplifies the sense of events that have not so much
unfolded as have been simply concatenated. In its comparative dryness
it also makes clear that the meaning of the picture lies not just in what
one can see in it, but in a complex situation that is never made fully
present, either by the text or the painting-despite Delacroix's repeated
insistence, in his journal, that painting made things "instantaneously
accessible to its spectators" and that it was not subject to the disjunc
tions between successive parts to which one's attention was directed in
verbal narrative.20 The prosaic terseness of Delacroix's verbal summary
-which would be quite disembodied, and hence lacking in significance,
without the painting, just as the vivid and intriguingly undecipherable
visual spectacle of the painting would be relatively meaningless without
the textual accompaniment-echoes the negation of integrating narra
tive in the painting.
Marino Faliero. The Doge of Venice Marino Faliero, having at more than 80
years of age conspired against the republic, had been condemned to death by
the Senate. Conducted to the stone staircase where the doges took their oath
upon entering office, he was beheaded, after being stripped of his doge's
bonnet and ducal mantle. A member of the Council of Ten took the sword
that had served for the execution, and said, holding it on high: Justice had
punished the traitor. Immediately following the death of the doge, the doors
had opened, and the people had rushed in to contemplate the corpse of the
unfortunate Marino Faliero. ( see the tragedy by Byron. ) 21
3 . Eugene Delacroix, The Entty of the Crusaders into Constantinople, 1840. O il on canvas,
410 X 498 cm. Musee du Louvre, Paris. Photo credit: Reunion des Musees
Nationaux/ Art Resource, New York.
Turner's famous Snow Storm: Hannibal and His Army Crossing the Alps
(fig. 4), a relatively large-scale work exhibited at the Royal Academy in
1812, would seem by contrast to be a very direct dramatic rend:ring of a
significant historical moment-a turning point in ancient history when
Hannibal threatened the Roman Empire by unexpectedly leading his
army across the Alps into Italy. At first it seems that the larger symbolic
resonance of the event is directly amplified by Turner's vivid painterly
68 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
rendering o f a sublimely atmospheric landscape. But what precisely is
the event we see? Once we look at all closely, the situation depicted
becomes less immediately clear. It certainly is not just the struggles of an
army threatened by natural forces-savage mountain conditions exacer
bated by a dramatic snow storm, even if the latter, as Turner makes clear
in his title, is integral to the subject of the painting.24 The center of the
canvas is a gaping void; there is no Hannibal to be discerned-the one
figure in the army who stands out is the unmounted, slightly threaten
ing, anonymous standing figure seen from the back holding up a torch
on the bottom right. Indeed, Hannibal's army is only dimly present in
the lower reaches of the painting, one cluster on the bottom right, and
another again in the far distance, below the burst of sunlight. The most
visible figures are the local tribesmen on the rocky heights in the fore
ground, shown helping themselves to the spoils of the Carthaginian
soldiers they have slaughtered and trying to push boulders down onto
the army in the valley below.
That what is presented here is far from being a single integrated
pregnant moment, but is rather several quite distinct scenarios spread
out over a space and time, is made even more clearly evident in the text
Turner supplied in the catalogue. This is the first of his texts he identi
fied as being from his pseudo-epic, "Fallacies of Hope":
Craft, treachery, and fraud-Salassian force,
Hung on the fainting rear! Then Plunder seiz'd
The victor and the captive,-Saguntum's spoil,
Alike, became their preYi still the chief advanc'd,
Look'd on the sun with hopei-low, broad, and wani
While the fierce archer of the downward year
Stain Italy's blanch'd barrier with storms.
In vain each pass, ensanguin'd deep with dead,
Or rock fragments, wide destruction roll'd.
Still on Campania's fertile plans-he thought,
But the loud breeze sob'd, "Capua's joys beware:'2s
4. J. M. W Turner} Snow Storm: Hannibal and his Army Crossing the Alps}
exhibited in 1812. Oil on canvas} 146 X 237.5 cm. Tate Gallery} London.
Photo © Tate} London 2008.
Bernard Pass that Turner assumed Hannibal took crossing the Alps. The
reference to Capua} the city in Campania in southern Italy that Hanni
bal was to later make his base once he settled into his unsuccessful war
of attrition with Rome} points forward to a sunny but uncertain future.
Turner's text invites us to see the scene shown in the painting as both
looking back to the plundering of Saguntum and forward to the sunny
plains of Campania} where Hannibal slowly lost the advantage he gained
by his bold assault on the center of Roman power. Its cultural} poetical}
and political complexities are very much at odds with the simple sce
nario of man's struggle against the elements that the painting is often
assumed to represent. It can only be interpreted in this way by ignoring
not only the poetic fragment through which Turner invites one to
envision the larger significance of the scene but also the details within
the painting that disturb a purely aesthetic immersion in so �e single}
vague} all-encompassing drama. Even at the level of visual spectacle}
there is} once one looks closel)lJ a multiplicity of effects. There is both
storm and blazing sun} both hostile rocky landscape and spoils of plun-
70 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
der, both the massed phalanx o f a huge army and isolated scenes of
pillaging and massacre, and finally a multiplicity of different lights: the
white light reflected off the snow, the yellow burst of sunlight, and the
duskier orange glow of artificial light emanating from the army's torches.
In addition to these details, the painting presents us with a turbulent
void against which we can project our changing apprehension of the
human dramas and political scenarios being evoked.
The geographical particularities of place in which the scene is an
chored open it up to some very urgent, contemporary political realities.
St. Bernard Pass was where Napoleon had crossed into Italy at the
outset of his spectacularly successful European conquests, an event
commemorated in Jacques-Louis David's much more traditional image
of a general's heroic daring-inscribed with a reminder of Hannibal's
crossing-that Turner had seen when he visited Paris in 1802. Almost
certainly COincidentally, Turner's painting was exhibited at the Royal
Academy at a peculiarly opportune historical moment, the summer of
1812, when Napoleon's fatal attack on Russia led to the decimation of his
army during the winter of that year under conditions that were every bit
as dire as Turner's vision of a snowstorm and a hostile populace assailing
Hannibal's army.
In the light of Hegel's singling out the importance of the comic mode
in modern art, it is appropriate to end with a very different late work by
Turner, The Sun of Venice Going to Sea (fig. 5), which was exhibited at the
Royal Academy in 1843. It is a fairly small scale easel p.ainting, quite
divested of the pictOrial rhetoric conventionally associated with the
representation of a significant event or natural phenomenon. At first it
might seem to be a relatively straightforward, low-key seascape depict
ing a small sailing boat taking to sea in the morning light, with the
skyline of Venice hovering in the distance. It could perhaps be experi
enced in purely visual terms, whether as a vividly painterly rendering of
an illuminating moment of natural beauty or as a more postmodern
vision of a world dissolving in sensations oflight and color. However, to
do so one has to turn a blind eye to the punning details Turner point
edly introduced. At one level, the "sun of Venice" in the title is repre
sented in a relatively conventional aesthetic-pictorial way, as the sun
shining on the city, its light reflected back to the viewer from the
shimmering white buildings in the distance and from the yellow- and
orange-stained clouds in the sky above. However, it is also present in the
The Romantic Work of Art 71
s. J. M. W. Turneli The Sun of Venice Going to Sea, exhibited in 1843. Oil on canvas,
61.6 X 92.1 em. Tate Gallery, London. Photo © Tate, London 2008.
masque of death / O'er the waters of his path:' Shelley then returns to
the present with an image, very suggestive for the one envisioned in
Turner's painting, contrasting the distant spectacle presented by Ven
ice's towers "quivering through the Aeriel gold" and what, in the decline
and loss of the city's freedom, its buildings now hold within-"Sepul
chers, where human forms, / Like pollution-nourished worms, / to the
corpse of greatness cling, / Murdered, and now mouldering:'3o
Gage argues compellingly that Turner's painting and poetic fragment
have much more in common with the complexities of Shelley's romantic
political meditation on the state of Venice than with Gray's somewhat
banal metaphors about the morning and the dusk of life's voyage. Tur
ner's poetic fragment directs us to ponder the possible meaning of the
muted contrast in the painting between the brilliant, ethereal skyline
and shimmering water in the distance, and the green-tinged, oily, possi
bly polluted water in the foreground, where wavelets suggest the pres
ence of shallows on which the boat could run aground. The sky, too, has
a dual character, with the transparent blue and white light of its lower
reaches giving way to patches of red- and yellow-stained cloud above.
The boat is a curious combination of modest ordinariness and almost
gaudy richness, with its colored banners and painted sail, the effect of
which is amplified by the large, patterned sail of a second boat just
behind it. The glow on the more clearly visible woman and man seated
in the boat makes it doubtful whether they are just fishers (and why
would a woman be setting out with a fishing boat at dawn?) or people in
more fancy garb. They certainly possess more "splendor" than the faded
aristocrat looking at them from the boat on the far right. The painting
clearly invites the viewer to engage in a freewheeling pondering of the
meaning that might be attributed to the interplay between the rich and
iridescent splendor and calm of morning and the darker, more opaque
duskiness of the foreground.
At the same time, the absence of some Single allegory that would
make consistent sense of the scene depicted, the eccentric labeling of a
74 ALEXAN D E R P O T T S
fisherman's boat as the "Sun of Venice;' blocks the viewer from becom
ing too immersed in poetically resonant visions of the decline of Venice
or in conventional melancholy meditations on the fate of a once-glori
ous city and how this might prefigure a decline of Britain's maritime
power.31 There is also a certain detachment inherent in what is, after all,
a relatively calm sea scene. The result is a Hegelian splitting that is not
found in the poetry to which Turner's work alludes, operating between
the vivid particularities of the painting and the unstable array of ready
made allusions it can evoke for the viewer, which are as banal as they are
evocative-the morning and dusk of life, the threat of decline or even
destruction lurking behind the precarious splendor of the city and the
unreal calm of everyday life taking its ordinary course.
The "objective" humor and detachment, combined with a responsive
ness to the banal yet charged imagery floating around in the period's
poetic imaginary, and with a passionate commitment to his artistic
project, enabled Turner to give real meaning to the captivating but also
baffling and at times nonsensical worlds he conjured up in his painterly
poetic work. His eclectic engagement with disparate levels and fields of
meaning, all jostling with one another and often sowing confusion, was
possibly one way in which an art such as his could constitute a provi
sional community of sense amid the devalued symbols and cliched
aesthetic exp eriences current at the time. The latter formed the basic
materials of his art, as much as it did for any of his fellow artists and
writers. In a Britain where the spectacular but precarious proliferation
of wealth proceeded in an uneasy political calm shadowed by indetermi
nate threat, one appropriate response might well be Turner's incongru
ous vision of a maritime city where "fair shines the morn . . . in grim
repose" even as its "sun" is "going to sea:'32
Notes
1. Hegel's lectures were first published posthumously in IS35, the text based
on notes made by his students and surviving notes he prepared for his lectures.
While he had begun lecturing on aesthetics before he took up the chair of
philosophy in Berlin in ISIS, his ideas on the subject were most fully elaborated
in the lectures he gave there in the IS2os-see Hegel, Vorlesungen iiber die
Asthetik, 3:575. In the more philosophically based recent discussions of the
The Romantic Work of Art 7S
condition of contemporary art, present-day art is often envisaged as being
situated historically "after the end of art." This end is usually located some
where in the latter part of the previous century and associated with the radical
critique of the nature and status of the art object and with the breakup of
modernism and a modernist perspective on the history of art that got under
way in the 1960s. See, for example, Danto's After the End ofArt and Belting's Art
History after Modernism. The end of art became a central preoccupation with
the takeoff of postmodern theory in the early eighties, this being the moment
when Belting and Danto launched their ideas on the subject. Both D anto's and
Belting's discussions of the subject demonstrate how this end of art can as
easily be envisioned as a welcome entry into a world of postmodern pluralism
as it can as some kind of terminus to the serious pursuit of art.
2. Hegel, Asthetik, 3 :S73.
3. Adorno, Hegel, 4.
4. Jacques Ranciere's critique of postmodern meditations, whether on the
demise of art after modernism or on a new era of j oyful artistic license this
might allow (Le Partage du Sensible), suggestively indicates how the mindset
involved does not represent some major historical rupture but rather is bound
into contradictory pressures already operating within earlier thinking about
art. In particular, he argues that the postmodern sense of a structural break with
modernism, variously envisaged as "the crisis of art" or "the end of art;' repli
cates, in inverted form, certain ideas central to the modernism against which it
was reacting. Its disillusionment, he argues, was shaped by aporias that had
been internal to the condition of art for some time; far from marking a radical
new departure, postmodern art is best understood within the larger historical
context of the "aesthetic regime" of art that established itself in the late eigh
teenth and early nineteenth centuries. The essay has been translated as The
Politics of Aesthetics-see particularly the section '�tistic Regimes and the
Shortcomings of the Notion of Modernity;' 20-30.
S. See, for example, D amisch, La peinture en echarpe, llS- 19; and Jonathan
Crary, The Techniques of the Observer, 138 -- 43.
6. Hannoosh, Painting and the Journal of Eugene Delacraix, 3S- 4l.
7. D amisch, La peinture en &harpe, 46- 6l.
8. On the romantic understandings of the symbol, see Paul D e Man, "Inten
tional Structure of the Romantic Image" in The Rhetoric of Romanticism.
9. Discussion of German aesthetic theory in the late Enlightenment and the
romantic periods, in particular of how understandings of modern subjectivity
were played out in this early speculation about art and the aesthetic theofYj has
featured prominently in the marked revival of interest in the aesthetic in recent
years. See, for example, Eagleton, The Ideology of the Aesthetic; Bowie, Aesthetics
76 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
and SubjectivitYi and J. M. Bernstein, The Fate of Art. In line with the Anglo
American philosophical preoccupation with Kantian critique rather than
Hegel's dialectics, the latter two books assign a much more central role to Kant
than they do to Hegel. The anthology edited by Bernstein, Classical and Roman
tic German Aesthetics, in fact includes no representation at all ofHegel's writings
on the subject. Hegel features rather more prominently in Bowie's study. Bowie,
however, takes Hegel's verdict about philosophy superseding art rather at face
value and argues that Hegel, in contrast with his romantic contemporaries such
as Schelling and S chleiermacher, failed to recognize the significance of art as a
medium for attaining forms of critical self-awareness that were unavailable to
philosophical analysiS. His critique of Hegel for neglecting to recognize the full
significance of art and the aesthetic, however, does not engage Hegel's suggestive
analysis of the negativities inherent in the forms of art that perSisted in the
modern world, possibly because Bowie is unsympathetic to the powerful anti
aesthetic current that has sustained much of the radical discussion of art since
the romantic period. Ranciere's recent essay on the politics of aesthetics (see
note 4) identifies Schiller as the key figure in his very illuminating genealogy of
modern and postmodern conceptions of art and the aesthetic.
Most directly relevant to the present study's discussion of Hegel is Giorgio
Agamben's The Man without Content. In this important analysis of the split that
opened up in modern understandings of art between the practice of aesthetic
judgment and artistic praxis as the expression of the pure creative principle (35-
37) Hegel plays a crucial rule. Agamben sees Hegel's aesthetics as highlighting an
equivalent split faced by the modern artist between her or his artistic subjec
tivity and "free" inner creativity and the inert, resistant world of prosaic objec
tivity, of which an artwork becomes part once it is made into an object of
aesthetic judgment. For Agamben, the condition of modern art as envisaged in
Hegel's aesthetic theory is one in which pure creative formal principle annihi
lates and dissolves all content in the effort to transcend and actualize itsel£ with
art becoming a "self-annihilating nothing" and the artist the "man without
content" (54 ) . For him, the end of art as defined by Hegel is thus not to be
understood in the straightforward sense of an ending ( or even of a superseding),
but rather as an end, never actually reached, toward which the processes internal
to the constitution of art in the modern world are constantly directed. Invalu
able as a companion to reading Hegel is Adorno's Hegel. Adorno offers a
compelling characterization of the Hegelian absolute, the "end" of the Hegelian
system toward which all speculative thought strives and in which all nonidentity
would be overcome: "As if in a gigantic credit system, every individual piece is to
be indebted to the other-nonidentical-and yet the whole is to be free of debt,
identical" (147 ) .
The Romantic Work of Art 77
10. This discussion of symbolic embodiment in Hegel is indebted to Paul De
Man's "Sign and Symbol in Hegel's 'Aesthetics: "
11. Hegel} Asthetik} 2:234.
12. See particularly ibid.} 2:19S - 97} 220 - 42, 3 : 11- 16, 123 - 33, 569 - 74.
13. Ibid., 2:129.
14. Adorno, Hegel, 95.
15. Hegel, Asthetik, 3 : 573.
16. Ibid., 2:230-40.
17. Butlin and Joll, The Painting of]. M. W. Turner, 249.
18. See Gage, Rain Steam and Speed. Gage ( 19 ) quotes a comment by a
contemporary of Turner's indicating that the more perceptive critics of his
work were well aware of the artist's liking for humorous, seemingly trivial detail
and contingent association: "This hare} and not the train, I have no doubt he
intended to represent the 'Speed' of his titlej the word must have been in his
mind when he was painting the hare, for close to it, on the plain below the
viaduct, he introduced the figure of a man ploughing, 'Speed the plough' ( the
name of an old country dance ) probably passing through his brain:'
19. For a discussion of the way blanks of this kind were deployed in French
painting of the later nineteenth century} see Kemp, "Death at Work:'
20. Hanoosh, Delacroix, 22, 95.
21. Brooks, History, Painting and Narrative, 25. In his extremely suggestive
study, Brooks drew attention to the significance of the texts that Delacroix
provided to accompany his more ambitious narrative paintings and showed
how his paintings often brought together multiple moments from the stories on
which they were based. However, he ended up arguing that Delacroix somehow
fused these moments pictorially, striving to render "a privileged situation and
make of it a p erfect moment, defined as the moment which perfectly serves a
riarrative significance" ( 30 ) . While Delacroix's paintings-in presenting them
selves as} and adopting some of the pictorial rhetoric of, history paintings-do
raise viewer expectations that they will offer up a single} fully present, pregnant
moment, they then almost always disperse or negate this expectation. In so
dOing, they enable the drama represented to gain a wider, if necessarily provi
sional and contingent} array of meanings. For a very valuable analysis of how
Delacroix's more ambitious narrative paintings, in bringing together several
quite separate moments from a drama and often excluding any direct represen
tation of the key action that defines the situation depicted, radically break with
the integrative logic of the pregnant moment that dominated earlier neoclassi
cal painting, see Allard, Dante et Virgil aux Enfers d'Eugene Delacroix, 53, 61- 64.
The translations of the supplementary texts Delacroix prepared for the two
paintings discussed here are both taken from Brooks.
78 ALEXA N D E R P O T T S
22. Johnson, The Paintings of Eugene Delacroix, 3 :98.
23. Brooks, History, Painting and Narrative, 8. Brooks does comment on the
odd shift of tense in Delacroix's text but nevertheless sees the picture as fusing
in one integrated image the larger significance of the different events, past and
present, being narrated.
24. This was possibly even more the case with the original title of the
painting recorded in the Royal Academy catalogue, which read Snow Storm:
Hannibal and His Army, leaving out Crossing the Alps. The effect of this was to
downplay even further the sense of some Single defining narrative event and to
suspend the suggestions of narrative flow implicit in the longer title by which
the painter was later known.
25. Butlin and Joll, Turner, 89.
26. Here we are brought face to face with what John Gage, in J. M. W. Turner,
characterized as Turner's "approach, to introduce by means of verses more than
the image could reveal" ( 187 ) .
27. Butlin and Joll, Turner, 251.
28. Quoted from the online Thomas Gray archive, http: //www.thomasgray
.org, lines 71-76 .
2 9 . Gage, Colour in Turner, 146. The discussion of Turner developed here
owes a great deal to Gage's two groundbreaking studies.
30. Qyoted from http: //www.english.upenn.edu/ Project /knark/ Pshelley /
eugeanean.html, lines 135 - 49.
31. To be fair, Shelley does not rest with this meditative vision of Venice in
decay but-in line with his radical political convictions--speculates that Venice
might, if it were able to shake off its chains, yet again be able to "adorn this
sunny land" or could, if spared by nature from sinking into the sea, crumble
away to provide the ground from which new, truly free nations might spring.
This alternative vision has a nice Turnerian touch, with the sun of truth dissolv
ing the clouds emanating from the decaying city: "Clouds which stain truth's
rising day / By her sun consumed away" (lines 161-62 ) .
32. In Britain, the years leading up to 1843 when Turner's painting was
exhibited were marked by severe economic recession, first in 1837, and then
again in 1841 -42, the latter being one of the gloomiest years of the century for
the British economy. See Briggs, The Age of Improvement, 295.
TO N I ROSS
From Classical
to Postclassical Beauty
'
IN LOUIS E L AW L ER S PHOTO G RAPHY
In his survey of artistic trends of the eighties and nineties, Hal Foster
describes the art of Louise Lawler as questioning modernist "myths of
artistic autonomy and aesthetic disinterest:'l These terms, of course,
invoke Immanuel Kant's contribution to aesthetic philosophy, the in
ference being that Lawler's art negates the Kantian legacy, and with it
the central values of modernist aesthetics. Lawler's practice is usually
located within a counterlineage of artistic production that includes
the institutionally focused conceptual art of Hans Haacke and Marcel
Broodthaers, as well as postmodern anti-aesthetic tendencies of the
eighties. As examples of institutional critique, Lawler's photographic
"arrangements" document artworks in a variety of settings, including
private collector's homes, galleries, museums, corporations, and art
wo rld businesses. As many critics have affirmed, the pictures draw atten
tion to contextual and sociological factors that undermine the idea of
"disinterested" aesthetic reception that Kant proposed. Yet despite this
emphasis on art's institutional determination, a handful of critics have
noted that the photographs also exceed institutional analysis and anti
aesthetic polemic.
80 T O N I RO S S
This excess was registered by a number of contributors to the cata
logue for the first major retrospective of the artist's work organized by
the Kunstmuseum) Basle) in 2004. Each commentator gestures to ele
ments of "indeterminacy" registered within the institutional framing of
artworks made salient by Lawler's photographic documents. Birgit Pel
zer asserts) "Lawler's oeuvre) however) cannot be reduced to a mere
contextual act. There is more to her than just institutional critique. For a
touch of indeterminacy remains:'2 The critic George Baker and the
artist Andrea Fraser also contribute to the catalogue with a fascinating
conversation that ranges across Lawler's work of the last twenty or more
years. Their dialogue concludes with Fraser) a member of the latest
generation of institutional critics) responding to Lawler's photograph
"How Many Pictures" (1989) ( fig. 1 ) . This cibachrome image transforms
the graphic precision of a Frank Stella protractor painting into floating
colors and forms reflected on the highly polished floorboards of a mu
seum space. But what catches Fraser's eye is an electrical outlet sta
tioned at the base of the gallery wall. This prosaic museum fixture
obtrudes in an image dominated by the spectacular sweep of wood
patterned floor and evanescent late-modernist painting. Prompted by
Baker to give the electrical socket significance) Fraser replies) eM outlet?
An opening? Art? The Aesthetic?"3 As this reply suggests) the aesthetic
here) bizarrely signaled by a functional object) suspends the institutional
analysis that typically motivates Lawler's art. At once discovered and
magnified within art's museum habitat) the electrical outlet operates) to
use Baker's term) as a signifier of "redemption" out of step with art's full
surrender to institutional mediation.
In his recent book On the Psychotheology of Everyday Life) Eric L.
Santner describes institutions as "all sites that endow us with social
recognition and intelligibility, that produce and regulate symbolic iden
tities:'4 While Lawler's photographs impart a similar view of art's institu
tional regulation) they just as perSistently register an outlet) an opening,
in excess of institutional captivation. Tracing how this surfeit of institu
tional recognition emerges within the texture of the works bears directly
on their aesthetic salience. Therefore, despite the prominence of Law
lees practice within anti-aesthetic critical frameworks, I wish to ap
proach her photographs from the perspective of beauty. Taking this path
will effect another view of the artist's oeuvre, one that questions the
widely held assumption that the axiom of aesthetic autonomy has been
From Classical to Postclassical Beauty 81
1. Louise Lawler} "How Many Pictures;' 1989. Cibachrome (image)} 157.2 X 122.1 cm.
Courtesy of the artist and Metro Pictures.
Elaine Scarry's book On Beauty and Being Just seeks to advance beauty's
moral and political relevance for contemporary times. In his collection
of essays Relational Aesthetics, Nicolas Bourriaud presents another re
cent rapprochement with aesthetic theory. Coined by Bourriaud to
describe an emergent art trend of the nineties, the term relational aes
thetics has subsequently attained widespread currency in art-world con
texts. Although Bourriaud makes no explicit link between beauty and
relational aesthetics, I shall argue that the analogy he draws between
relational art and democratic social bonds echoes key suppositions of
Scarry's thesis.
On Beauty and Being Just draws an analogy between a classical formula
of beauty and a liberal image of democratic social arrangements.lO Here,
beauty, whether manifested by natural objects or those of human man
ufacture, deSignates an organic ensemble where different parts are recon
ciled within the whole. Invoking the composition of the perfect cube, the
four petals of the mother-of-pearl poppy, and the trireme ships of ancient
Greece, Scarry describes beauty as the malting visible of a symmetrical,
balanced, and harmonious whole, equal in all of its parts. I 1 Moreover,
because of their exemplification of figural symmetry, "beautiful things
give rise to the notion of distribution, to a lifesaving reciprocity, to
fairness not just in the sense ofloveliness of aspect but in the sense of the
'symmetry of everyone's relation to one another: "12 Scarry derives this
idea of intersubjective symmetry from political theorist John Rawls's
liberal conception of democracy, which interprets the democratic ideals
of equality and justice in terms of the "symmetry of everyone's relation to
each other:'13 Thus, according to Scarry, the figural equipoise of beautiful
things acts as a symbolic catalyst that compels us to strive toward the
creation of fair and just social arrangements.I4 Beauty here symbolizes a
moral ideal, where selfish interests are suspended in favor of a "lateral
regard" for others and a social demand for distributional equality among
people. Scarry suggests, however, that in a world full of inequities and
injustices, this quasi ideal may only be realized through the contingencies
of political action. As Joan Copjec has observed, for Scarry, beautiful
form does not simply function as a "passive analogy" for political fairness;
rather, it requires (political) acts to make good the alliance between
aesthetic beauty and moral justice. I S
84 T O N I RO S S
The fact that Scarry makes the visual manifestation of proportion and
balance the beautiful object's most significant and pleasing attributes
prompts Copjec to remark on her "disappointingly conservative notion
of the aesthetic object" j significantly few examples of modern art are ref
erenced in On Beauty and BeingJust. But Copjec also queries the thinking
of a just society proffered by liberal political theory) where balance and
symmetry reign supreme. The problem with such an image of democ
racy) reflects Copjec} is that it presupposes a utopian future where
political dissent is ultimately dissolved in a state of social equilibrium.I6
Copjec's doubts about the analogy between a beauty of proportional
balance and democratic formations might also be directed to Nicolas
Bourriaud's account of the relational aesthetic of contemporary art.
At first glance Bourriaud's assessment of recent trends in art appears
to have little to do with beauty. Indeed} he rejects as regressive Dave
Hickey's endorsement of visually seductive art as an antidote to overtly
political artistic programs. 17 Bourriaud} on the other hand} stakes a great
deal on the ethical and political consequences of the relational aesthetic
of contemporary art. His key proposition is that a number of artists who
gained notice in the nineties seek to produce alternative "models of
sociability" to those mandated by the monological directives and media
spectacle of global capitalism. IS For Bourriaud} artists such as Liam
Gillick} Felix Gonzalez-Torres} Rirkrit Tiravanija} Angela Bullock} and
Dominique Gonzalez� Foerster have no interest in creating refined ob
jects for individualized aesthetic contemplation. Rather} employing mix
tures of installation and performance} their art choreographs participa
tory situations and intersubjective encounters based on a democratic
model of reciprocal dialogue and exchange. An obvious question arising
from this claim concerns Bourriaud's conception of democratic social
relationships. His assessment of the works of now deceased} Cuban
born artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres provides an indication.
Bourriaud observes that despite the "tragic and militant content" of
Gonzalez-Torres's art} a content arising from the artist's personal preoc
cupation with AID S deaths and gay activism} its formal repertoire and
mode of audience address imparts an insistent "demand for harmony
and cohabitation:'19 This "life model" is allegOrized by the "immense
delicateness" and formal harmonies of works regularly composed of two
identical or "contrastless" figures. Bourriaud lists Gonzalez-Torres's
works made of "two clocks with their hands stopped at the same time
From Classical to Postdassical Beauty 8s
( Untitled [Perfect Lovers], 1991)j two pillows on a crumpled bed, still
bearing the signs of a body (24 Posters, 1991) j two bare lightbulbs fixed
to the wall with intertwined wires ( Untitled [March 5th] # 2, 1991) j two
mirrors set side by side ( Untitled [March 5th] # 1, 1991):'20 A structuring
logic of "harmonious parity" also applies, as Bourriaud suggests, to the
way art audiences are addressed by Gonzalez-Torres's paper-stack and
candy-pour installations. These works reach out generously to gallery
visitors, inviting them to take pieces of the work away, while being left
with the responsibility of deciding how much of this gift from the artist
to appropriate and how much to leave behind for others to enjoy. As
Bourriaud puts it, these works speak to "our sense of moderation and
the nature of our relationship to the work of art:'21 Accordingly,
the social relation enacted by Gonzalez-Torres's art endorses a "criterion
of co-existence" or a mutual complementarity between the artist, au
dience participants who help to "complete" the work, and the work of
art itself.22
A subsequent publication by Bourriaud summates the democratic
significance of the " criterion of co-existence" purveyed by relational art.
In the catalogue Contemporary Art: From Studio to Situation, he com
ments that two central assumptions inform relational aesthetics: first,
that "social reality is the production of negotiation" rather than disputa
tionj and second, that "democracy is a montage of forms:'23 Democracy
is thus conceived as a structure where disparate elements are stitched
together to form a larger whole, and where social exchanges are based
on the consensual negotiation of differences. For Bourriaud, this under
standing of democracy distinguishes the art he champions from earlier
avant-gardes, with their dissenting attitude toward the dominant cul
ture. He contends that while the "imaginary of modernism was based on
conflict, the imaginary of our day and age is concerned with negotia
tions, bonds and co-existences:'24 In a cogent critical response to this
claim, Claire Bishop has observed that relational aesthetics makes an
"empathetic connectivity" between people the foundation of demo
cratic community.25 I shall return to the alternative conception of de
mocracy that Bishop introduces, but not before addressing the aesthetic
plane of Bourriaud's argument.
Bourriaud forthrightly distinguishes relational aesthetics from classi
cal beauty, which he identifies with the coercive and inflexible social
relations of totalitarian states. "The forms produced by the art of total-
86 T O N I RO S S
itarian regimes are peremptory and closed in on themselves (particu
larly through their stress on symmetry) . Otherwise put, they do not give
the viewer a chance to complement them:'26 Yet despite this assertion,
Bourriaud's articulation of the democratic inclination of relational aes
thetics echoes aspects of Scarry's political interpretation of classical
beauty. Recall that for Scarry, the formal concord of beautiful objects
symbolizes a utopian faith in distributive justice and social equality,
understood as the "symmetry of everyone's relation to each other:' To
be sure, Bourriaud downplays the internal formal relationships of art
objects, accenting instead the social relations that artworks choreograph
with their audiences. These are described as "microtopias" where inter
subjective hierarchies are dissolved and equality between participants
may be momentarily realized. Yet, this shift of focus simply transposes
figural equipoise from the internal structure of the work of art to the
structure of external relationships that artworks cultivate with behold
ers. The rhetoric Bourriaud employs to define the quality of these
relationships-intersubjective co existences, cohabitation, and harmo
nious parity-recalls Scarry's account of beautiful form as a balanced
distribution of part to whole relationships. Importantly, however, for
Scarry, the fulfillment of beauty's purely formal promise of social equal
ity requires acts of political dissent to complete it. Bourriaud, on the
other hand, decants dissent from the adaptive and pragmatic sociability
of relational aesthetics. Consequently, rather than offering an especially
novel conception of democratic arrangements, relational aesthetics sim
ply mirrors the assumptions of liberal consensus politics. According to
the political theorist Jacques Ranciere, this philosophy has become the
dominant discourse on democracy in recent decades.27
Ranciere associates consensus with the democratic state's efforts to
minimize or proscribe political dissent. The promise and presupposi
tion of the consensual paradigm is that different parts of a population,
along with their divergent interests and desires can, through negotia
tion, be incorporated and adjusted to the preexisting political order.28 In
a number of publications, including Dis-agreement: Politics and Philoso
phy, Ranciere questions consensus politics from a neo-Marxist and psy
choanalytic perspective that differs substantially from the premises of
Bourriaud and Scarry.
Ranciere relates consensus politics to what he calls archip olitics, a
political philosophy traceable to Plato's account of the republic. Dis-
From Classical to Postclassical Beauty 87
agreement identifies a dual dimension to the Platonic articulation of
political community. On the one hand, it entails an arithmetical ac
counting of the capabilities, duties, and differing interests of each sector
of the community. On the other hand, it speaks of the submission of
these different parts of the social body to the common good. Ranciere
further observes that archipolitics represents the reign of the common
good over and above sectional interests in a highly determined way: ''As
the submission of arithmetical equality, which presides over commercial
exchanges and over juridical sentences, to that geometric equality re
sponsible for proportion, for common harmony, submission of the
shares of the common held by each party in the community to the share
that party brings to the common good:'29
Ranciere takes issue with this conception of politics on at least two
fronts. He questions the pretension expressed by liberal and consensual
political philosophies to make good a "full count;' or full inclusion of all
sectors within the social totality. But he also rejects the dream of a state
capable of ordering social subdivisions and frictions according to the
"beautiful harmony" of geometrical proportion.3D Despite a difference
of attitude toward the socially disruptive gestures of political dissent,
Bourriaud and Scarry simply take for granted the guiding principles of
archipolitics identified by Ranciere.
Unlike Bourriaud, Ranciere views dissent as a constitutive, rather than
dischargeable, condition of democratic politics. Attending to the mar
gins of the founding texts of classical Greek democracy, he focuses on
references to the poor and "the people;' those sectors of the Athenian
state who had no share in the wealth, power, or governance of that
society. Politics emerges, asserts Ranciere, when the people, as "the part
that has no part;' identifies itself with the egalitarian idea, but not the
fact, of the equality and liberty of all citizens. This means that politics
devolves from the ongoing possibility of previously excluded segments
of society demanding social recognition and thereby drawing attention
to a "miscount" of the parts taken to make up the community as it is
currently perceived. Thus, according to Ranciere, "politics exists wher
ever the count of parts and parties of society is disturbed by the inscrip
tion of a part of those who have no part. . . . Politics ceases wherever this
gap no longer has any place, wherever the whole of the community is
reduced to the sum of its parts with nothing left over:'31 Rather than
conceiving political community as a formation able to rationalize, incor-
88 T O N I RO S S
porate} and account for each o f its parts} Ranciere speaks of communal
identity as constituted by an ongoing potential for internal torsion} a
communal whole that never quite coincides with itself. This account of
political community as immanently divided} as subject to disruption by
societal parts repressed or excluded by prevailing communal arrange
ments} resonates with aspects of psychoanalytic theory. It recalls} for
example} the dynamic of the Freudian unconscious as a force of inter
ruption secreted within the normal operations of consciousness. More
specific ally} Ranciere's contention that "political intervals are created
by dividing a condition from itself" suggests an affinity with Jacques
Lacan's postulates regarding the subject of psychoanalysis. 32
Since I shall have cause to return to the split subject of psychoanalysis
when addressing postclassical beauty, it is worth briefly rehearsing
Lacan's formulations on this matter. Lacan describes the subj ect of the
unconscious as lacking in being} since it only attains a social identity by
way of induction into a pregiven field of language} inherited knowledge}
and social custom} a process that divides the subject from its innermost
self.33 In Ranciere's writings} this split subject coincides with those parts
of society that have no part} that have no symbolic recognition or status
until they demand or enact the acquisition of both as speaking beings.
But an important counterpart of Lacan's theory of subjectivization also
applies to Ranciere's refiguring of political community. For Lacan} the
desire of the subject of the unconscious is split between its representa
tion by identities supplied by the signifying order} and language's in
ability to articulate being directly or authentically. Conceived in struc
turalist terms as diacritical} reflexive} and nonreferential} the signifying
network is inherently inconsistent} unable to sustain or ground itself as a
complete order of truth. Additionally} the subject's induction into the
social (the field of castration) introduces a psychic memory of lack} a
fantasy of a piece of being (or) a piece of the Real) foreclosed with the
subject's entry into the symbolic universe. According to Lacan} the
subject's desire is} in turn} caused and haunted by this loss of some
portion of the "real" entailed by the symbolic construction of reality.34
Ranciere locates the socially fissuring affects of political dissent in the
tension between these two logics} whether located on the terrain of
subjectivity or community. He therefore articulates a double sense of
communal belonging: an acknowledgement of the subject's interpola
tion within the part-whole relations of given social properties and iden-
From Classical to Postclassical Beauty 89
tities} and a subjective (or communal) receptivity to those political
fractures that testify to the impossibility of communal (or subjective)
identity ultimately constituting itself as a stable and invariant whole.35
Such formulations diverge from Scarry's proposal that the sensory
manifestation of beautiful form prefigures the perfected democratic
state} where manifold parts of the social body are incorporated and
adjusted to an aesthetic design of harmonious coexistence. As Ranciere
infers} the realization of such a goal} which reduces the whole of the
community to the sum of its parts} would mark the end of the politics.
This is because the potential for societal change suffers diminution
rather than enhancement when political dissent is disavowed by a con
sensual ideology of "negotiations} bonds and co-existences;' to recall the
democratic values endorsed by Bourriaud. According to Ranciere's for
mulation} without the disruptive gestures of political dispute} engen
dered by the inevitable exclusions and inequities of any social order} the
prevailing consensus remains closed to contestation and reorganization.
In her essay ''Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics;' Claire Bishop
similarly counters the consensual ethos endorsed by Bourriaud with a
conception of democratic society as one where "relations of conflict are
sustained} not erased:'36 Bishop derives this argument from the writings
of Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe} who} like Ranciere} interweave
neo-Marxist political philosophy with psychoanalytic theory. Following
Laclau and Mouffe} Bishop concludes} "The relations set up by rela
tional aesthetics are not intrinsically democratic} as Bourriaud suggests}
since they rest too comfortably within an ideal of subjectivity as whole
and of community as immanent togetherness:'37 Seeking examples of
contemporary art that counteract this consensual ethos} Bishop turns to
the art of Santiago Sierra and Thomas Hirschhorn. She emphasizes that
both artists contrive relations with art audiences "marked by sensations
of unease and discomfort rather than belonging} because the work
acknowledges the impossibility of 'microtopias' and instead sustains
tensions} among viewers} participants} and context:'38
While a strong kinship exists between Bishop's exposition and my own
regarding the shortcomings of relational aesthetics as a political theory
of art} I want to expand on two areas} ethics and aesthetics} that her
essay broaches but does not elaborate. In her desire to dislodge the
consensual harmonics of Bourriaud's theory} Bishop ultimately pri:v
ileges the dislocations of social antagonism over subjective inscription
90 T O N I RO S S
within the sOcio-symbolic field. VVhile prioritizing what Mouffe and
Laclau deem "the constitutive character of social division and antago
nism" may be apposite to the political sphere, it doesn't translate too
well as a guide for ethical relations with others.39
On the matter of aesthetics, Bishop provides an acute insight into
Hirschhorn's art that has significance for my account to follow of a
postclassical modality of beauty. Bishop notes approvingly that against
the current of much contemporary art and criticism, Hirschhorn re
affirms the modernist value of aesthetic autonomy, insisting on a gap
between art and everyday life. Hirschhorn's attribution of a level of
independence to the aesthetic sphere also presupposes, according to
Bishop, a subject of "independent thought;' as "the essential prerequi
site for political action:'40 A subject endowed with a desire in excess of
prevailing systems of societal reproduction and cultural authority is
largely absent from the Platonic formula of beauty directly endorsed by
Scarry, and indirectly by Bourriaud. I now wish to turn to a postclassi
cal, psychoanalytic conception of beauty that addresses this absence.
Beauty as "Remnant"
2. Louise Lawler, "Once there was a little boy and everything turned out
Alright. The End;' 1985. B /w photo, transfer type on mat (image), 39.4 X 58.4 em.
Courtesy of the artist and Metro Pictures.
Notes
Technologies of Belonging
S E N S US C O M M U N I S , D I S I D E N T I F I CAT I O N
1 . Frontispiece
from "Sensus
Communis: An
59
Essay on the
Freedom of Wit
and Humour
in a Letter to
a Friend;' in
Shaftesbury)
Characteristicks)
sixth edition)
London) 1737- 38.
© British Library
A N Board. All Rights
Reserved
E S S A Y, &c.
P A R T I.
S E C T. r.
H A V E been confidering (my Friend !)
what your Fancy was, to cxprefs
fuch a ftuprize as you did the other
day, when I happen'd to fpeak to
you in commendation of Rai!te't�y. Was
it pomble you jhould fuppoie me fo grave
a Man, as to diflike ttll COllV�rfltion of
Yo!. I. [E] this
rooted in feeling, rather than feeling alone, that ultimately must work
toward willing the sensus communis into existence.
It is the case, undoubtedly, that Shaftesbury's sensus communis must
develop through conversation and exchange among those who under
stand the same language, as they draw in those who are not yet able to
adhere to the sensus communis. And yet there is an insistent visuality that
governs his writing on the topic, in which he situates the gentleman as
the artist or architect of harmonious design. And it is the gentleman,
too, who will be able to distinguish faces in a crowd, so the community
is not a monstrous multitude but rather a group of individuated figures
who are composed together through design.
The machinery of the world as community has, then, its basis in a
humanitas that must be educated into willing harmony, rather than
dwelling in the infectious, ghastly, terrible, and immane features of the
misguided multitude. Ultimately, the interest of everyone (all human
itas) is to limit self-interest in favor of the interests of the public weal;
this will oil the machinery of community spirit. The educated eye, when
observing such machiner)lj will see that it functions not only for self
interest but also for the common good. "Whoever looks narrowly into
the affairs of it, will find that passion, humor, caprice, zeal, faction, and a
thousand other springs which are counter to self-interest, have a consid
erable part in the movement of this machine. There are more wheels
and counterpoises in this engine than are easily imagined:'ll The careful
architectural and artistic design of the world as machine is the counter
weight to the uneducated, grotesque faces of the infectious multitude,
whose humor is melancholic. In addition, the foreigner who arrives
from afar-the African in Shaftesbury's imagination--who may arrive at
the Venice Carnival and, recognizing some primitive ritual, may find the
masks amusing. But also ultimately, he may push the jest too far when
everyday European appearance also seems amusing, at least until he is
educated into the fashion. He will face the possibility of mistaking what
is deemed "nature" for "art:' The frontispiece-which, like most of the
emblems, supplies an allegorical key for the essays-includes this "Ethi
opian" arriving.
Shaftesbury's humanism-which emerges here as prejudice even as it
affirms the commonality among humans-fails to recognize the amus
ing nature of fashion as modern ritual. Even as at times he acknowledges
the artifice of fashion, at others it would seem as ifhe thought there were
118 RANJANA KHANNA
no art involved in the creation of the European, either in terms of
fashion or in terms of education. His influence on Vico, and Kant's
departures from him, have been famously elaborated by Gadamer in
Truth and Method, especially with respect to the concept of a sensus
communis.12 The focus of Gadamer's claim is the way in which humanis
tic thought works with and against the fields of philosophy, science, and
aesthetics and how Kant was responsible for divorcing an understanding
of the aesthetic from the political and the moral. "The concept of sensus
communis;' Gadamer writes, "was taken over, but in being emptied of
all political content it lost its genuine critical significance:'13 It is cer
tainly the case that both Shaftesbury and Vico worked with a more
integrated relation between the aesthetic and the ethical, and yet Gada
mer's critique of Kant perhaps overstates the case, because the strong
investment in communicability makes the aesthetic experience, and
judgment of it, the site of some suspicion.
Conversation and moral community were indeed important to
Shaftesbury ( Gadamer stresses the importance of wit and humor as
something limited to "social intercourse among friends" in Shaftes
bury) . 14 The visual emphasis, and indeed the distrust of visual con
tagion, is striking, because it is suggestive of a lack of control when the
humors are melancholic, in spite of the doubts he casts over Hobbes's
version of the state of nature. Indeed, it seems to undermine the faith in
the idea of the sensus communis that Shaftesbury foregrounds and also
the idea of the human that he sets forth. It is unclear whether the
common weal can reach toward those who are ostensibly members of
the same species, grotesque and immane as they sometimes are, and
beyond life. Even if the humors can be changed through wit and raillery,
the complexity of human nature, as he understands it through the
humors, surely casts some doubt on the natural origin of harmonious
design, even if he believes that the human is well designed when the
humors are in balance.
Vico
John Schaeffer has shown, in his work Sensus Communis: Vico, Rhetoric,
and the Limits of Relativism, that Shaftesbury lived some time in Italy
and that he could well have met Vico, whose work seems to have been
Technologies of Belonging 119
influenced by him. What interests me is less the question of whether
they met, and more whether Vico's merging of the Greek and Roman
traditions of the sensus communis shares or departs from Shaftesbury's
version. Just as Shaftesbury thought that "melancholy panic" could be
rectified by the lifting of the humors through conversation rather than
visual exchange, Vico foregrounded the importance of the rhetorical
and also associated this with the grotesque. Attempting to find some
notion of common humanity, Vico located this in primitive forms of
culture. If he was interested in the manner in which rhetoric functioned
to sustain sensus communis in contemporary life, it was because of his
understanding of rhetoric's relation to the visual and the oral, and
ultimately to the arts. Attempting to understand the origin of sensus
communis, he looked at early forms of communication that expressed
"imaginative universals:' While these were ultimately to be sought in
language, Vico saw the origins of this in pictures. Once again, the
importance of the visual in the sensus communis had been foregrounded.
For Vico, visuality had the advantage oflarge ideas that were not depen
dent on an ability to abstract. Visual images would simply present
themselves and would sometimes combine unlikely objects, without
having to conceptualize complexity or synchronicity. He described
these objects from the imagination as "poetic monsters:' Eventually
these were lost to the alphabet and subsequently other forms of repre
sentation that were no longer directly, or bodily, present to themselves.
The remainders of these can be seen, as in Shaftesbury, in emblems. And
yet, there we see them lurking in the midst of other representational
fields, even though they are not out of synch with them. IS
Vico's stages of language share something with Shaftesbury's sketches
as seen in the incomplete and posthumously published "Plastics;' in
Second Characters, which Similarly plots a movement of language from
the pictorial, metaphor to metonymy and so on. And yet Vico is clearly
staging a notion of history that is not shaped by religious time, and in
that sense it is "secular" in the etymological sense ( "of the centuries or
generation" ) . It produces three major historical moments: the time of
the Gods, dominated by pictures and images; the time of heroes, when
gentiles became giants dominated by metaphorical language; and the
time of men, shaped by epistolary language, in which there is agreement
about the meanings of words. In turn, the first had a system of law
governed by mysticism, the second by heroic jurisprudence, and the
120 RANJANA KHANNA
third by a sense of equity. These historical cycles, or rico rs i, do not
interfere with each other. But when men become caught in "false elo
quence" and use it for the purposes of factionalism, strife, and civil war,
there is a recoil to earlier cycles, to primitive simplicity, and to the justice
of the Gods. So out of base despair is produced something large, and
perhaps immane, that leads to a different relation to justice through the
pictorial and the metaphorical.
If Shaftesbury balanced the relation between sense and idea in order
to maintain the teleology of mankind so the community could function
as if in consistent human spirit with the familial context, Vico returns us
to the pictorial and metaphorical "as if" of communication. It is, of
course, somewhat akin to the "as if" of Kant, which proposes the power
to judge also in aesthetic terms, in order to make the leap from personal
taste to universally valid judgment.
Kant
Mona Hatoum
Mona Hatoum's work raises fascinating questions today about the sen
sory, its relation to community, the world, and to the question of meta
phor and the "as if:' To place all these philosophical figures in their
historical contexts of the production of philosophy would raise questions
about their ideas of sovereignty, civil war, colonialism, and the interna
tional, all of which have implications for amity lines (friendly relations
across terrestrial or other borders) and the question of the human,
individually and collectively, in such species-oriented humanism.
In the moment in which Hatoum produces her work, notions of the
international, and the sensus communis understood through that frame
work, have shifted from the concept of exile that characterized literary
and artistic modernism to the concept of asylum. In that sense, ques
tions of hospitality and of the human are highlighted once again, just as
they were for Shaftesbury ( in his discussion and visualization of the
Ethiopian and in his critique of the political theory of Hobbes, which
develops out of the context of civil war), Vico (in his discussion and
visualization of the importance of the wretched and impious seeking
refuge in the lands of the prosperous, seen in both his frontispiece and in
the opening ofNew Science), and Kant (in his discussion of hospitality in
Perpetual Peace).
Today, once again, we cannot adequately think any notion of belong
ing or community without thinking through the concept of asylum or
refuge into the site of hospitality and potential hostility. Asylum be
comes the concept through which we can understand the emergence of
different notions of the sensory subject, of community, of the human,
and of the limit. Its walls and borders force an understanding not only of
what must be expunged but also of the difficult negotiations over what
might be drawn in for refuge, where refuge itself becomes a welcome
threat to both host and guest. Questions of identity and disidentifica
tion are brought to the fore, as are the limits of the human, the processes
of institutionalization, the manifestations of sovereignty, and the conse-
Technologies of Belonging 123
quences this may have for both a sense of community and a community
of the senses.
Her works emphaSize extraordinary fear of "domestic" space writ
large, which suggests a foreboding sense of institutional and state con
trol associated with objects. It also suggests relations associated with the
domestic, with home, with the very concepts of belonging and commu
nity, and as a result, the constitution of the human. The affective rela
tion to belonging at work demonstrates a profound distrust of any kind
of comfort with the concept of belonging, the spatial demarcations
frequently associated with it, and the workings of propriety that accom
pany it. It also questions the assumptions of reproducibility and legacy
and a misguided sense of familial or contractual security. Even though
Edward Said was attentive to the sense of threat embodied in Hatoum's
works, and particularly those that are domestic objects, he nonetheless
offers an analysis that always gestures toward the prior moment of loss
as the root of the doubtful comfort of the domestic setting, as if home
will always be a lasting memory once dispossession has occurred.21 But
the senses Hatoum works with do not seem to thematize possession and
dispossession in quite such a teleological manner, and they are as much
forward looking as they are backward. Her works consistently attract
and repulse simultaneously, and the spectator is both sensually drawn
into involvement and repulsed by it, in both senses of that word.
One of the ways in which Hatoum suggests these doubts about be
longing is through the foregrounding of technologyi almost as a way of
disabusing the spectator of the sensory immediacy of the visuaL An
other is through challenging the borders of homes, states, and bodies in
her work. Each of these demonstrates what I want to call a loss of
metaphor in the visual, because her works first build on metaphors. For
example, household objects are turned into instruments of harm by
making them immane, giant, and grotesque (fig. 2). The presence of the
stranger within borders is elaborated not by brealdng down the lost or
present other, and therefore the loss of self, but by introducing a camera
into the body's borders. Turning the metaphor inside out, Hatoum
works as if to show that the foreigner whose right to hospitality is
questioned can now tell us something about the humanist sense of
community that excludes or assumes to know a species. If Shaftesbury
insisted on writing his philosophy in the form of letters, insistently
124 RANJAN A KHANNA
2 . Mona
Hatoum,
Mouli-Juliel1l1e
X 21, 2000.
Steel. Courtesy
of the artist.
Notes
The " 1921 Dada Season" opened in April with a visit to the courtyard of
St.-Julien-Ie-Pauvre, the thirteenth-century church located directly
across the Seine from Notre Dame de Paris. The destination was perfect
for the Paris Dadaists, including Louis Aragon, Andre Breton, Paul
Eluard, Francis Picabia, Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes, and Tristan
Tzara, who wished "to set right the incompetence of suspicious guides"
and lead a series of "excursions and visits" to places that had "no reason
to exist;' as explained in the flyer and public invitation published in
several newspapers to announce the visit. "It's wrong to insist on the
picturesque (lycee Janson-de-Sailly), historical interest (Mont Blanc),
and sentimental value (the Morgue) :'l Only areas considered not pic
turesque, nonhistorical-or at least not conventionally historical-and
unsentimental would qualify for Dadaist tours, beginning with St.
Julien's abandoned courtyard, which-·although it was situated next to
the oldest standing church in Paris--existed in a state of disrepair and
was then mistreated as a garbage dump by residents of the fifth arron
dissement. Other than the series of provocative phrases that floated
around the announcement's surface in diagonal and upside-down posi
tions-such as "Wash your breasts like your gloves !" "One must cut
one's nose like one's hair!" "Property is the luxury of the poor--Be
Dirty!" -and a listing of proposed future visits (which would in fact
never be carried out), including Le Musee du Louvre, the park at Buttes
Chaumont, Gare Saint-Lazare, Mont du Petit Cadenas, and Canal de
L'Ourcq, there was no further information on what was planned.
136 T. J . D E M O S
It would b e easy to view the visit to St.-Julien-which did take place as
planned, for the most part-as a precursor to later and more familiar
artistic forays into public space, such as the surrealist excursions to flea
markets and covered arcades or the situationist derives. But such an
approach would be only partly justified; the visit to St.-Julien was merely
a tentative and somewhat inarticulate dry run to those later experiments
in collective walking, lacking the theories of psychoanalysis, cultural
geography, and urbanism that would come to frame them. Termed a
Dada "event" by Breton, the visit inaugurated a new form of practice in
1921, one that has received little attention to date, despite its rich legacy.
This low profile undoubtedly owes to the fact that the activity fell far
outside of recognizable artistic conventions at the time. Consequently, it
was largely ignored by its contemporaries and generated little discussion
in its immediate aftermath (other than the few bemused reports in local
newspapers well practiced in sensationalizing Dada's sucd�s de scan
dale). Owing to the fact that the visit left no significant artistic objects
that could feed the market or be analyzed by art historians ( except for the
flyer and the few banal photographs of the event), it was destined to
oblivion.
Were the visit to St.-Julien to occur today, it would do so within an art
world saturated with experimental practices venturing into public space.
Think of Andrea Fraser's experimental docent tours of museums, or
Christine Hill's alternative walks around New York City ( Tourguide?
1999), or Martha RosIer's guided visit to the Frieze Art Fair in 2005, which
figure as merely three examples among hundreds we could reference.2 By
mirroring everyday activities and institutions-from commercial busi
nesses to theatrical productions to governmental services-these prac
tices privilege the creation of social events over the production of art
objects for contemplation. They do so most commonly, asis well under
stood by now, to critique the false autonomy of art, which is shown to be
fully immersed within capitalist institutions, and to create spaces of
sociability different from those enmeshed within a reality perceived to be
dominated by commercial spectacle and its reified social relations. Such
socially engaged practice--the discourse around which has recently been
energized by the reception of French curator Nicholas Bourriaud's text
Relational Aesthetics-· has grown in prominence over the last fifteen years,
to the point where it can now rightly claim to be among the most
dominant forms of contemporary art. This, despite criticism that its
Dada's Event 137
proponents often overlook prior historical models, such as Fluxus and
conceptual art, that similarly dissolved the barriers between art and life to
critical eHect. The earliest examples of avant-garde practice that trans
gressed the domain of art and crossed over into social space, however,
occurred within Dada. Its event-based form consequently becomes
newly visible in relation to contemporary practices and their substantial
critical-theoretical reception. Not only have these developments made
the historical consideration of their antecedents increasingly significant
today; there also remain important lessons for contemporary art to be
discovered in Dada, particularly in terms of how it intertwined aesthetics
and politics.
The second major "event" of the 1921 Dada season was the public trial of
journalist and politician Maurice Barres. As Breton later explained, the
trial was motivated by the quest "to determine the extent to which a
142 T. J . D EM O S
man could b e held accountable if his will to power led him to champion
conformist values that diametrically opposed the ideas of his youth:' In
the case of Barres, "how did the author of Un homme libre become the
propagandist for the right-wing Echo de Paris? If there was a betrayal,
what were the stakes? And what recourse did one have against them?"21
In his earlier life, Barres represented the paragon of anarchist individual
ism, authoring the trilogy Le culte du moi (1880-91), as well as L'ennemi
des lois (1892), which celebrated personal liberty over moral conventions
(Breton, Eluard, and Soupault courted him as late as early 192122-and
indeed Barres performed quite well in a recent Litterature poll that rated
him favorably23) . But Barres later transformed into a reactionary conser
vative, joining the nationalist Cult of the Dead (who elevated warfare to
mythic status) and serving as president of the Ligue des patriotes. He
was understood to have contributed to the offensive culture of national
ism, xenophobia, and militarism during the Third Republic's period of
political backlash, which encompassed continued patriotic reprisals
against Germany, ongoing racist attacks on immigrants, and the anti
democratic machinations of Charles Maurras's L'action fran<;aise to re
store the hereditary French monarchy. The admirable status earned in
his early life made his subsequent political turnabout all the more con
demnable for the Dadaists. Barres was consequently charged by the
Dadaists with committing an attack on "the security of the mind:'
Advertised in advance in several newspapers, the trial took place in
the Salle des Societes savantes on May 13. Aragon and Soupault played
defense attorneys, Ribemont-Dessaignes acted as prosecution council,
and Breton presided as judge and president of the tribunal. The Dada
ists "subpoenaed" witnesses, and twelve members of the public, solic
ited in advance, would compose the jury. All servants of the court
dressed in the official ceremonial outfits of white blouses and berets,
which were the standard dress in the actual hearings at the Palais de
justice, which Breton had attended to study the procedural aspects of
litigation in advance of the mock trial. The defendant Barres was invited
but unable to attend, as he was already committed to a prior engage
ment in Aix-en-Provence, where he was to discuss "The French Soul
during the War:' In lieu of the man, a mannequin sat in his place,
displaying the author's signature moustache. For Breton, according to
his biographer, "this was no parody, but the real thing-or as close as his
lack of judicial authority would allow:'24
Dada's Event 143
On the heels of the visit to St.-Julien, the Barres trial advanced the
creative re-zoning of the spaces of art and life and, consequently, pushed
further the moral directions of the movement-although not owing to
the overt ethical content of its trial,25 The Barres event became political
inasmuch as it created an opening for disagreement and renegotiated
the institutions that organize social life. In other words, it was the formal
process by which the defendant was judged that constituted the trial's
political nature that matters here, not the judgment itself, more on
which below. .As with the St.-Julien visit, the Barres trial was neither a
parody nor a straightforward mimicry of its real-life model: instead, it
represented a further destabilization of the boundary between the sites
and institutional procedures of sOcio-legal discourse and artistic prac
tice. This erosion of categories between art and life represented the
extremely experimental aspect of the triaL On the one hand, its artistic
realization borrowed from the institutions of litigation in order to scruti
nize a writer's political vicissitudes, thereby joining aesthetic to ethical
judgment and reinforcing it with (pretend) legal authority.26 This pro
duced an early example-excessive and preposterous-of what would
later be termed the "aesthetics of administration" within the context of
conceptual art.27 The trial's unconventional mixture of categories and
conventions was such that it rejected the claim that artistic practice is
merely aesthetic, whether in terms of the autonomy of pure art (as in
abstraction) or that of an art of total nonsense (as in earlier Dada). On
the other hand, it transferred the forms of aesthetic creativity into legal
affairs, so that an intellectual's political developments and ensuing con
tradictions could be publicly debated and the offender held accountable
within an unconventional courtroom that was sui generis. This auton
omy of art's form oflife was precisely what the Dada event achieved, and
as such it represented both a critique of real social processes and an
attempt to suggest alternatives, even if these were whimsical and uncon
ventional,28
One should note that, according to Ranciere's argument, the aesthetic
regime introduces a continuity between art and politics, such that aes
thetics exceeds the realm of art by endowing the political world with
visible forms. Yet the aestheticization of politics is not by necessity a
recipe for totalitarianism, as Walter Benjamin would famously warn
later in the context of Nazi fascism. Rather, the aestheticization of
politics represents "the assertion of the aesthetic dimension as inherent
144 T. J . D EM O S
in any radical emancipatory politics;' as Slavoj Zizek glosses Ranciere.29
Embodying its own radical politics as a "heterogeneous sensible" zone
between art and life, the Barres trial interrupted the otherwise rational
administration and regimentation of social processes within public
space-what Ranciere terms the "police function;' according to which
every individual is clearly categorized and carefully distributed within
the social and political machinery in order to advance its uninterrupted
reproduction. Because the trial represented a staging of disagreement
a questioning, even, of its own function-it became, by extension, a trial
over whether the trial form was adequate to address Dadaist concerns.
The Barres trial was no premonition of the coming Stalinist show trials
of artists in the Soviet Union, which extended, rather than disrupted,
the police function, projecting it into the artistic arena with deathly
results. That the Dadaist event was a mock trial-in other words, that it
maintained its aesthetic distance from the real thing-kept the game
partly within an aesthetic register. While the jury pronounced Barres
guilty as charged and sentenced him to twenty years of hard labor
(short of the death penalty Breton desired), he would never serve a day.
Ranciere's inSights regarding the aesthetics of politics are also relevant
to the concerns of socially based contemporary art. In particular, they
substantiate Bourriaud's argument when, responding to critics who
point out the practical ineffectuality of his project, he suggests that what
is often overlooked in criticism of relational aesthetics is the fact "that
the content of these artistic proposals has to be judged in a formal way:
in relation to art history, and bearing in mind the political value of forms
(what I call the 'criterion of co-existence' . . . ) :'30 The "political value of
forms" parallels Ranciere's notion that art posits a form of life: that is,
the aesthetics of politics-:-which, in the case of Dada, would represent
both its "redistribution of the sensible" via the undoing of the division
between art and life and its modeling of an experimental form of social
relations based on the public expression of division and dissent -refuses
to resolve the antinomy between aesthetics and politics, instead keeping
both in play.
One offense that the Dada event could not be accused of committing is
the creation of spaces of "conviviality;' which points to one major differ
ence between Dada and certain modes of contemporary relational art
(though not other forms of socially engaged art that give expression to
dissent). Building such "microtopias of community;' recent relational
Dada's Event 145
aesthetics, according to Bourriaud, has yearned to enact a disalienating
rapprochement of self and other in order to escape the "general reifica
tion" that reflects the "final stage in the transformation to the 'Society of
the Spectacle: "31 He argues that the relational art he supports carves out
"social interstices" within the capitalist field: "It creates free areas, and
time spans whose rhythm contrasts with those structuring everyday life,
and it encourages an inter-human commerce that differs from the 'com
munication zones' that are imposed upon US:'32 While this goal seems
worthy for its attempt at building alternatives to a social reality molded
by advanced capitalism, it nevertheless carries its own risks, insofar as it
relies on a notion of community defined as social fusion, where convivial
agreement drives out the antagonism that is, for others, the very basis of
democratic process. 33 By eliminating the visibility of social exclusion and
the signs of political inequality and economic injustice, relational aes
thetics-at least as elaborated by Bourriaud34--proposes, at its worst, an
imaginary world of fantasy, where aestheticism tips into the unacceptable
escapism of "convivial" niceness.35 This one-sidedness has similarly be
come an emerging problem with activist-inspired practice that discounts
all aesthetic criteria, rejecting as irrelevant the consideration of how
visible forms might advance social and political objectivesj its ethical
commitments, according to Claire Bishop, paradoxically parallel a coun
terproductive retreat from the politicization that ensues from exploiting
the relation between art and life.36 Herein is the lesson of Dada's model
for contemporary art: the event's political force is generated by placing
aesthetics and politics in a productive tension, where neither term
eclipses the other one.
By placing aesthetics and politics in relation, Dada joined dissensus to
dissent and the redistribution of the sensible to the expression of social
and political antagonism. Dadaist dissent, of course, pursued goals con
verse to those of relational aesthetics, even while attacking many of the
same enemies in their earlier states of historical development, such as
commercial appearance, administered social relations, and manufac
tured consumption. In addition, the Dadaists directed their critical
assaults against the social conditions of national unity, responding di
rectly to the conservative retour a l'ordre following World War 1. Accord
ing to Breton, "We had gotten away from the war, that much was certain.
But what we couldn't get away from was the 'brain washing' that for four
years had been turning men-who asked only to live and (with rare
146 T. J . D EM O S
exceptions) get along with their neighbors-into frenzied and fanatical
creatures who not only did their masters' bidding, but could also be
ruthlessly decimated:'37 The combating of such social docility explains
the initial objectives of Paris Dada-to provoke the audience to the
point of rebellious transgression of social etiquette, to challenge the
conventional active performer-passive audience relationship, to contest
the instrumentalized language of politics and the marketplace, and to
assault the European Enlightenment logic that was perceived to have led
to the catastrophe of world war in the first place.
The Dada trial strove to counter precisely the social conditions that
were the cause and the consequence of Barres's social and political
conformity. It did so first by unleashing the expression of political
difference between Dada and its critics, inviting those detractors of
Dada to the trial proceedings (such as one Marguerite E. Valette, who,
writing under the pseudonym Mme. Rachilde, had published scathing,
nationalist-inspired critiques of the movement in the arts and culture
daily Comoedia38). Second, the trial's format provided a template by
which the disagreements between Dadaists could be systematically
voiced and publicly expressed-not so much to spectacularize them as
sensationalist entertainment (though this appeared to be the attraction
for Tzani) but rather, at least for Breton, to allow the voicing of political
and artistic differences to enter into the social domain and thereby
enact a viable alternative to conventional social relations constituted by
the repressive expulsion of difference.39
Clearly, the very idea of the postwar indictment of a heroic French
patriot would draw the expected reactionary response, and the most
extreme xenophobic forms of nationalist indignation were indeed aired
in the anti-Dada French press following the Barres tria1.40 The eruption
of political opposition to Dada also occurred at one dramatic moment
during the trial, when Benjamin Peret, dressed in a German uniform
and wearing a gas mask, appeared on stage to perform a parody of the
culturally sacrosanct "unknown soldier:' He yelled out some lines. in
German before goose-stepping out of the theater, barely avoiding the
charge of the shocked patriots in the crowd who replied by breaking into
song, opposing the Dadaist blasphemy with "La Marseillaise." Of greater
interest, however, is the less expected divisions expressed during and
within the trial between the organizers themselves, and particularly
during Tzara's testimony, when he was questioned by Breton.
Dada's Event 147
B RE TON: "What do you know of Maurice Barres?
TZARA : Nothing.
BRETON: You have nothing to testify?
TZARA : Yes, I do.
BRETON: "What?
TZARA : Maurice Barres is for me the most unlikable man that I've met in my
literary careerj the greatest rogue that I've met in my poetic careerj the
biggest swine I've met in my political careerj the greatest scoundrel which
Europe has produced since NapoleonY
1. The Lycee Janson-de-Sailly represented the high ground of the Parisian bour
geoisiej Mont Blanc is the tallest and most famous mountain in the French Alps.
2. See the lists in Bourriaud, Relational Aestheticsj Bishop, "The Social Turn"j
Sholette, "Dark Matter"j and the recent special issue of Third Text 18, no. 6
(2004), on art and collaboration.
3. Breton, ''Artificial Hells;' 137-38 (quote rearranged). On this text and Paris
Dada during the 1921 season, see Witkovsky, "Dada Breton:'
4· Breton, Conversations, 53.
5. As David Joselit describes them by way of suggesting the "diagram" -the
mechanomorphic figures produced in the work of Duchamp and Picabia dur
ing the teens-as a further addition. "Dada's Diagrams:'
6. For Breton, Dada's reception in Nouvelle Revue Fran�aise, and particularly
Jacques Riviere's "Reconnaissance a Dada" [Thanks Be to Dada], "struck Dada
a heavy blow by placing it on the verge ofliterary acceptance" (Breton, Conver
sations, 47 ) . Also see Francis Picabia's "Mr. Picabia Breaks with the Dadas":
"The Dada spirit only really existed from 1913 to 1918, an era during which it
never stopped evolving and transforming itself. After that time, it became as
uninteresting as the output of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts or the static elucubra
tions offered by the Nouvelle Revue Fran�aise and certain members of the
Institute" ( 145 ) . D ada, in other words, had become a victim of its own popular
acceptance, as if it turned into an accepted wing of the official art institutions of
France. Yet Picabia failed to appreciate that Dada, under Breton's direction, was
already in the course of developing its own new tactics.
7. Breton, Conversations, 50-51.
8. Breton, ''Artificial Hells;' 140.
9. Ibid. Breton explains further that this moral development had already
been initiated in the work of Baudelaire, Lautreamont, Rimbaud, and Jarry.
10. In fact, Picabia, subjected to an ongoing illness and unable to attend,
protested against such "morality" in advance: ''All that I hope is that [the visit
to St.-Julien] presents no political character-clerical or anti-clerical-because
I will absent myself always from participating in such manifestations consider
ing that dada, like an individual, has nothing to do with beliefs, whatever they
are:' In Hugnet, l'Aventure Dada, 98.
11. These declarations, according to Sanouillet, were improvised. There is no
script other than the "more or less faithful" transcriptions made by certain
journalists who witnessed the event. See Sanouillet, Dada a Paris, 257. Another
part of Breton's speech is recalled in his "Artificial Hells;' 140.
12. Breton, ''Artificial Hells;' 141.
150 T. J . D EM O S
13. Breton, Conversations, 52.
14. Breton, ''Artificial Hells/' 141.
15. Ranciere, The Politics of Aesthetics. The author differentiates the aesthetic
regime, which reputedly received its first articulation in Schiller's 1795 series of
letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man, £i'om the ethical and representative
regimes that preceded it, according to Ranciere's theoretical model.
16. See Ranciere, "The Aesthetic Revolution and Its Outcomes:'
17. On Dada's theatricalization, see Witkovsky, "Dada Breton"j on Dada's
entrance into life, see the classic account in Burger, Theory of the Avant-Garde.
My argument indicates a move from Burger's ultimately unsatisfactory account
of the avant-garde ( for its failed sublation of art and the praxis of life ) to
Ranciere's view of the sustained tension between aesthetics and politics that
constitutes modern art. Biirger appears to acknowledge the limitations of his
theory at one point, where he explains the ultimate cancellation of the category
of art if it were sublated in life: "When art and the praxis of life are one, when
the praxis is aesthetic and art is practical, art's purpose can no longer be
discovered, because the existence of two distinct spheres ( art and the praxis of
life ) that is constitutive of the concept of purpose or intended use has come to
an end" ( 51 ) . He concludes with a moment of speculation that prefigures the
theoretical development in Ranciere's aesthetics ( in which art is both autono
mous from politicS, and always already political insofar as it contains the
promise of a better world) : "Given the experience of the false sublation of
autonomy [ owing to the continuation of bourgeois society in which such a
sublation can not authentically occurJ , one will need to ask whether a sublation
of the autonomy status can be desirable at all, whether the distance between art
and the praxis of life is not a requisite for that free space within which alterna
tives to what exists become conceivable" ( 54 ) .
18. Ranciere, "The Aesthetic Revolution/' 137. I am suggesting a bridge be
tween what Breton termed "moral" and what Ranciere terms "political" and
thereby resisting the temptation to see the event in relation to Ranciere's
denigration of ethics as an organizational system-like political philosophy
that abolishes politics by transforming it into a clearly organized system that
divides people into conventionally defined and systematically maintained
groups, positions, and functions. The D ada event, as we shall see, achieved just
the opposite.
19. See also Ranciere, "The Aesthetic Revolution/' 136: "The 'autonomy of
art' and the 'promise of politics' are not counterposed. The autonomy is the
autonomy of experience, not of the work of art:'
20. Ranciere, The Politics ofAesthetics, 45.
2!. Breton, Conversations, 53.
Dada's Event lSI
22. In 1919, Breton had asked Barres to preface the volume Lettres de guerre by
Jacques Vachel and he sent Barres a complimentary copy of Champs magneti
ques in 1920. Soupault and Eluard shared this admiration, even as late as 1921.
See Bonnet, LAffaire Barres, 15.
23. See ibid., 14. Using a rating system from - 25 to +25, with 0 expressing
absolute indifference, the results for Barres's respectable average of 0.45 were:
Aragon 14, Breton 13, Drieu La Rochelle 16, Eluard - I, Fraenkel 9, Peret 4,
Ribemont-Dessaignes - 23, Soupault 12, and Tzara - 25.
24. Breton, Conversations, 156.
25. At this point, Ranciere's differentiation of politics from ethics enables my
argument.
26. Breton, Conversations, 53: "The issues raised-which were of an ethical
nature-might of course have interested several others among us, taken indi
viduallYi but Dada, with its aclmowledged bias toward indifference, had abso
lutely nothing to do with them:'
27. See Buchloh, "Conceptual Art 1962- 1969:'
28. As Ranciere says, in one possible scenario, art's "sensorium of autonomy"
might propose "the 'self-sufficiency' of a collective life that does not rend itself
into separate spheres of activities, of a community where art and life, art and
politics, life and politics are not severed one from another:' "The Aesthetic
Revolution;' 136.
29. Zizek, "The Lesson of Ranciere;' 76. As a historical example of political
aestheticization, Zizek recalls the staged performance that reenacted the storm
ing of the Winter Palace in Petrograd on the third anniversary of the October
Revolution, November 7, 1920, which was coordinated by army officers, avant
garde artists, musicians, and directors, from Malevich to Meyerhold, with
soldiers and sailors (some of whom had actually participated in the original
events) playing themselves. He repeats Russian formalist theoretician Viktor
Shklovski's assertion that "some kind of elemental process is taking place where
the living fabric of life is being transformed into the theatrical" (77 -78 ) . But it
is questionable whether this event was not also a show of collectivity that
eradicated social difference, replacing "emancipatory politics" with depoliti
cized spectacle.
30. Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, 82: "It would be absurd to judge the
social and political content of a relation 'work' by purely and simply shedding
its aesthetic value, which would be to the liking of those who see in a Tiravanija
or Carsten Holler show nothing more than a phonily utopian pantomime, as
was not so very long ago being advocated by the champions of a 'committed'
art, in other words, propagandist art:' In other words, aesthetics and politics
must be taken into account when considering such practices.
152 T. J . D EM O S
31. Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, 9- 16.
32. Ibid., 16.
33. See Deutsche, "Agoraphobia" in Evictio11Sj Mouffe, "For an Agonistic
Public Sphere" j and Bishop, ''Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics:'
34. The failure to distinguish between Bourriaud's theories and the artistic
practices he discusses maYi however, risk shortSighted dismissals of the work
grouped under the term "relational aesthetics:'
35. This is registered in the abundant criticism around relational aesthetics:
Beshty, "Neo-Avantgarde and Service Industry';j Bishop, ''Antagonism and Re
lational Aesthetics"j Foster, ''Arty Party"j Holmes, "Interaction in Contempo
rary Art" j Scanlan, "Traffic Control" j and Wright, "The Delicate Essence of
Collaboration:' B ourriaud, however, is not as one-sided as he is sometimes
made out to be. Referencing Guattari's Chaosmosis, Bourriaud proposes a
model of subjectivity, for instance, that is an outcome of "dis sensus, of gaps and
differences, of alienating operations, it cannot be separated from all the other
social relations" (92).
36. Bishop, "The Social Turn:'
37. Breton, Conversations, 37-38.
38. See Comoedia, April 16, 1920, lj and Janine Mileafand Matthew S. Witkov
sky's discussion of Paris Dada, "Paris;' 352. Breton invited an old communard
worker-poet, who was not able to attend. See Bonnet, r: affaire Barres, 10.
39. On Zurich Dada's related artistic protest, see my "Zurich Dada:'
40. Examples are quoted in Bonnet, L'affaire Barres, 91-94: "So much base
ness, villainy, and coarseness in the farce should naturally revolt all those who
possess a French soul" (La Presse, May 14, 1921)j "It is surely time that one
verifies the papers of these people . . . . As to the French Dadaists, if they really
do exist, one would do right with a little hydrotherapy" (La Justice, May 15,
1921)j "Dada exaggerates. Is the passport of this noisy stranger in order?" (Le
Matin, May 16, 1921).
41. Bonnet, L'affaire Barres, 38.
42. Breton, "For Dada," 56.
43. See Bonnet, r:affaire Barres, 38.
44. Breton, ''Artificial Hells;' 143.
45. From the ''Acte d' accusation;' quoted in Bonnet, r:affaire Barres, 33, and
published in Litterature 20 (August 1921).
46. Ranciere, "The Aesthetic Revolution and Its Outcomes;' 151.
DAVID J OS ELIT
Citizen Cursor
The conditions Dobriner describes have only been accentuated with the
migration of many corporate headquarters to edge city or exurban
locations, close to the residential communities preferred by their execu
tives. It is the kind of person who moves from one political indepen
dency to another, belonging to all without fully identifying with any,
that I wish to call Citizen Cursor.
Like its analogue on the computer screen, Citizen Cursor is character
ized by frictionless mobility, possessing the ability to go anywhere with a
weightlessness and ambidirectionality worthy of El Lissitzky's prouns.
But the proximate source and subject of this mobility-the human being
seated in front of an expensive home appliance-is characterized by
stasis.12 Citizen Cursor organizes its fantasy of global citizenship from
the safety of a privatized cocoon. She or he is a participant in what
Richard Sennett has recently called consuming politics, a term that plays
Citizen Cursor 157
on the multiple meanings of consuming, denoting both the purchase of
commodities and their disposability, their rapid consumption through
use. Sennett sketches a condition where the selling of politicians, like
the selling of inanimate products, is rooted in branding, on the one
hand, which stimulates the imagination with fantastic "product" asso
ciations, and promises of exorbitant potency, on the other, which offers
more power than one could ever use, as in his example of MP3 players
with a capacity to store and recall songs on a scale beyond human
imagination. As a result, political expectations are aroused that are both
impractically ambitious and rudderless: fantasies of perpetual change in
the absence of specific action. For me the most pertinent observation
Sennett makes regarding consuming politics (as well as the new corpo
rate bureaucracies to which it is linked) regards its divorce of power
from authority. In the realm of business, this division occurs by out
sourcing strategic planning to consulting firms who devise painful reor
ganization plans without retaining any responsibility-or authority-for
their eventual actualization. In the realm of government, such abdica
tion of authority underlies the policies of recent American and British
neoliberal regimes that have aggressively shrunk public services, espe
cially for the most vulnerable citizens, while massively centralizing
power ( and money) in the hands of the affluent.13 It is precisely such a
divorce of power from authority or responsibility that manifests itself
topographically in suburbia. The fantasmatic power of unlimited mobil
ity within the "vast tissue of interlaced journey-to-work patterns" in
American suburbia and exurbia establishes a late-capitalist mode of
potency that exists outside any coherent political culture. Instead of a
single jurisdiction or a regional authority whose purpose is to coordi
nate neighboring towns, the suburbs produce an incoherent array of
independencies with weak ties to most of their constituents.14 The
Citizen Cursor inhabits this landscape, embodying a thoroughly privat
ized mode of liberty. I S
But what does this liberty feel like ? This question, as Jacques Ranciere
teaches us, is far from irrelevant in understanding politics and commu
nity. For Ranciere, community arises through a particular distribution
of the sensible-regimes of visibility and invisibility that produce social
positions, or occupations, as the building blocks of shared worlds. Poli
tics itself, which is much rarer and more specific in Ranciere's concep
tion than it is in common usage, erupts out of challenges from outside
158 D AV I D J O S E L I T
these normative distributions, launched b y those who are (as o f yet)
unauthorized to speak, who have no standing or visibility.16 If there is a
politics appropriate to Citizen Cursor (or a politics for assailing Citizen
Cursor), it must take measure of the community of sense that renders
such a figure intelligible. To this purpose, I have argued that suburbia,
the native habitat of Citizen Cursor, is organized according to three
types of visibility : (1) being a picture for an other within the surveillance
culture of subdivisions; (2) occupying or identifying with a "type pic
ture" through the pressure to manifest an appropriate market-driven
lifestyle; and (3) inclusion as an element in the picture of a class through
the distribution of housing tracts. In each case, the relation between
persons and pictures is central to suburban sociality. But how is this
intimate relationship established? What is the nature of the encounter
between self and image that brings Citizen Cursor into being?
The fantasies of the rich are often useful diagnostic tools. It may be
argued that the palatial suburban house of Microsoft founder Bill Gates,
constructed on Lake Washington outside Seattle at the reported cost of
$30 million, was self-consciously developed as a spatial prototype of the
Internet. Though the building's interiors have not been published, Gates
describes them at length in hIs 1995 biography, The Road Ahead. Accord
ing to this account, occupants of the building were meant to function
literally as cursors:
The electronic pin you wear will tell the house who and where you are, and
the house will use this information to try to meet and even anticipate your
needs-all as unobtrusively as possible. Someday, instead of needing the pin,
it might be possible to have a camera system with Visual-recognition ca
pabilities, but that's beyond current technology. When it's dark outside, the
pin will cause a moving zone of light to accompany you through the house.
Unoccupied rooms will be unlit. As you walk down the hallway, you might
not notice the lights ahead of you gradually coming up to full brightness and
the lights behind you fading. Music will move with you, too. It will seem to
be everywhere, although in fact, other people in the house will be hearing
entirely different music or nothing at all. A movie or the news will be able to
follow you around the house, too. If you get a phone call, only the handset
nearest you will ring. 17
1 . Hariri & Hariri, The Digital House Project, 1998. Principal fas;ade,
computer-generated drawing. © Hariri & Hariri-Architecture.
addressing the same themes, "The Next House: House for the Next
Millenium" (1993), the Hariris are more explicit in their preference for
circulatory space over conventional rooms: "The mundane corridors of
contemporary construction will be transformed into a network of major
transient spaces. . . . They are spaces for contemplation, for physical
fitness and spiritual well-being:'29 The screen at the core of the Digital
House, thickened sufficiently to allow human mobility alongside the
play of pictures, is precisely such a "major transient space:'
The Digital House itself is not aggressively anti-communal, though its
three bedrooms are stacked vertically, each adjoining its own stud}'i
giving the impression of a hotel crossed with an office building. But the
Next House seems positively dismissive of collective life:
Our proposal is a decentralized residence. We think that the typical centering
of the home on the "family room" will become obsolete in the next millen-
Citizen Cursor 163
nium. Soon work, shopping, schooling, and entertainment will all take place
at home.
We sited the house near an expressway exit; its inhabitants were imagined
to be a family of four independent people free from preconceived notions of
gender roles and domination, and sexual preference.3o
In a 2004 intervtew, the French artist Pierre Huyghe declared, ''A film is
a public space, a common place. It is not a monument, but a space of
discussion and action. It's an ecology:'33 Huyghe's suggestion that pic
tures may become places, and that such places may serve as platforms
for collective action, seems a promising strategy for politicizing Citizen
Cursor. But how can a film become a space of discussion, let alone of
action? Huyghe's 2004 installation at the Dia Art Center in New York,
Streamside Day Follies, attempted such an act of media alchemy (fig.
2). 34 At the heart of this work was a single-channel video projection
centered on the opening festivities of a planned suburban neighborhood
in upstate New York. The videotape was screened within a pavilion
constituted from the walls of the gallery in which it was exhibited (or at
least, white planar segments which, in their "receded" state, rested close
against the gallery walls). These segments were fitted into curvilinear
ceiling tracks and, in a kind of architectural parade or procession, they
slowly convened from their resting places in three separate galleries to
create a five-sided enclosure in the largest space ofDia's fourth floor. All
but one of the corners of this irregular pentagonal space were impassa
ble, causing viewers either to congregate in advance within the precincts
of the ad hoc theater or to enter through a Single corner. As the wall
segments moved away from their resting places, they revealed an irides
cent verso (whose subtle glow was visible from the side in their original
positions). Where these segments had once rested, faint green line
drawings were revealed, like afterimages that had somehow been trans
ferred from the iridescent surfaces recently facing them. The video glow
of these greenish surfaces functioned as a metaphor for the projection
itself, suggesting an elision of architecture and media (rendered as the
two sides of a single plane). Under this interpretation, the pavilion,
Citizen Cursor 165
which housed the projection on the one hand, but whose outer walls
also signified the infinite play of electronic information, functioned as
both the container of moving images and as an edifice made from its
planar elements-a kind of spatialization of pictures analogous to
Gates's mansion or the Hariris' Digital House.
If the anti-democratic nature of Citizen Cursor derives in large part
from the ideological belief that one can possess images (including self
images) as private property, then an appropriate political riposte would
include inventing ways of sharing or extending the production and
reception of images among disparate groups. While the pavilion in
Streamside Day Follies, which resembled a tent or a house of cards, was
characterized by the destabilized mobility that Dobriner associated with
suburbia, its migrating walls behaved very differently from the "sub
altern" pictorial surfaces that Gates or the Hariris imagine. In those
digital houses, pictures attended people like good servants, whereas in
Streamside Day Follies the elements of a nomadic "theater" herded indi
viduals into an intimate enclosure where they had to stand or sit in close
proximity to watch a film. While it may not be possible to call this ad hoc
group a public, or even a community, Huyghe made anonymous specta
tors conscious of the possibility of group identification by sweeping
them out of their private reverie as museum-goers and into physical
relation with one another. Streamside Day Follies makes the constitution
of its audience into an event.
The video at the core of Huyghe's installation centered on a festival,
designed and initiated by the artist (but not closely scripted by him), to
commemorate the opening of an actual suburban community that, like
so many such places, is artificially sited on an area of land scraped out
from the surrounding forest. It would be easy for an artist (and perhaps
even easier for a foreign artist like Huyghe) to stage and film such an
event with great condescension. But while the tape has its satirical
moments, it also conveys a serious respect for the emotional current
that runs through it. The video is organized according to two overlap
ping rhetorical axes: first, a series of oppositions between "virgin" forest
and the housing development that supplants itj and second, the proces
sion of events staged as the celebration itself. Huyghe makes no effort to
veil his pseudo anthropological nature/ culture distinctions: the first sec
tion of the tape opens with idyllic shots oflandscape and forest animals
and ends by showing a deer wander into a house under construction like
2. Pierre Huyghe,
Streamside Day
Follies, 2003.
Installation, Dia:
Chelsea. 5 moving
wallsj digital video
projection from film
and video transfers,
26 minutes, color,
soundj five colored
pencil drawings.
Courtesy Marian
Goodman Gallery,
New York.
Photo credit:
Ken Tannenbaum.
Citizen Cursor 167
Bambi expelled from the Garden of Eden into suburban purgatory.
Later, in the festival, legions of children are dressed in costumes imper
sonating the animal "innocents" of the early scenes. These structural
oppositions revolve like a double helix around the axis of the celebratory
day itself, while the representation of the Follies just as straightfor
wardly embraces the cliches of suburban kitsch, ranging from simulated
pussy willow branches made with marshmallow "blossoms" to a guitar
ist /vocalist singing the Streamside theme song off-key on a makeshift
stage. In Huyghe's embrace of such blunt images, he paradoxically di
rects us to see through the hackneyed tropes of middle-class America
rather than to accept them at face value. What one glimpses through this
looking glass is the impulse to build civic institutions within the privat
ized space of a planned community.
For Huyghe, such rituals are a means of using commercial culture to
stage communal celebrations. As he stated in the 2004 interview:
A celebration is supposed to be something that we have in common, that we
share, and that we celebrate because of this common basis. It is like a
monument. But unlike a monument, an event can be renegotiated each time
it is repeated, although that is rarely the case . . . .
For Streamside Day I was searching for something that the community
shared-what was the minimum common denominator between all these
people? The answer I came to was that everyone came from a completely
different place, and so the idea of migration would have to be important. 35
Notes
I wish to thank my research assistant, Jay CurleYi for his customary skill and
good humor in helping me to find sources for this essay.
1. Dobriner, Class in Suburbia, 49.
2. This project was titled Alteration to a Suburban House.
3. Dobriner, Class in Suburbia, 9.
4. Ibid., 15·
5. The term "edge city" was invented and enumerated by Joel Garreau in
Edge City: Life on the New Frontier.
6. Kilborn, "The Five-Bedroom, Six-Figure Rootless Life:' William Leach ex
tends the Times's more anecdotal account in "The Landscape of the Temporary:'
7. Joel Kotkin makes this point in "Suburban Tide:' Kotkin argues that the
Democrats must consider carefully the suburban constituency if they are to
revive their party.
8. Kilborn, "The Five-Bedroom, Six-Figure Rootless Life:' Even D avid
Brooks, who often seems a kind of apologist for exurbia, makes it clear that
groups become more homogeneous there, even i£ taken as a whole, exurbia is
quite diverse. See Brooks, "Our Sprawling Supersize Utopia:'
9. Lyman, "Marthatown:'
10. Hayden, Building Suburbia, 167.
11. Dobriner, Class in Suburbia, 22.
12. I am well aware that public libraries make the Internet available to patrons
who cannot afford a computer, and yet the sense of command over cyberspace
among those with such limited access (not only in terms of location, but also
regarding time limitations or lack of privacy) cannot be imagined as the same
as those who have constant and easy access in their home. In any event, I am
using the "cursor" as a metaphor in this context for a particular kind of fan
tasmatic dominion.
13. See Sennett, The Culture of the New Capitalism, esp. chaps. 1 and 3.
14. One might convincingly argue that urban residents share the qualities of
Citizen Cursor. While I think this is very true, I would argue that, as Dobriner
170 D AV I D ] O S E L I T
contends with regard to class, the suburbs map, and indeed concentrate, the
qualities of disembocliment from community architecturally:, making them
more prominent and visible. The introduction of suburban modes of develop
ment such as big-box stores and national chains into the most urbanized areas
of the United States, such as Manhattan, may be proof that the landscape of
Citizen Cursor is everywhere.
15. A strong case is made for regional planning in Duany, Plater-Zyberk, and
Speck, Suburban Nation, chap. 8.
16. For the best introduction to Ranciere's concept of politics, see The Politics
ofAesthetics and Dis-agreement.
17. Gates, The Road Ahead, 330-31.
18. Lynn Spigel compares Gates's "smart house" with earlier paradigms of
postwar media domesticity and also discusses the Digital House by Hariri and
Hariri (which I discuss below) in her "Media Homes," esp. 398-407.
19. Gates, The Road Ahead, 310-11.
20. Uhlig, "75 m Pounds Microsoft Mansion Needs an Upgrade:'
21. http: //www.corbis.com/ corporate / overview / overview.asp, accessed No
vember 2006. The connection between Corbis and Gates's house is made in
McMillan, "Content is King at Corbis Corporation:'
22. See Failing, "Brave New World or Just More Profitable?" 117.
23. Gates, The Road Ahead, 338� 39.
24. Domestic technologies seem to be a consistent interest of Gates. Micro
soft has established the "Microsoft Home" on the company's Redmond Wash
ington campus as · a model for new household gadgets. See Barron, "Speak
Clearly and Carry a Manual:'
25. Gates, The Road Ahead, 330.
26. In his What Do Pictures Want? W. J. T. Mitchell suggests that one way of
gauging the desire of images is to "(1) assent to the constitutive fiction of
pictures as 'animated' beings, quasi-agents, mock persons; and (2) the con
strual of pictures not as sovereign subjects or disembodied spirits but as sub
alterns whose bodies are marked with the stigmata of difference, and who
function both as 'go-betweens' and scapegoats in the social field of human
visuality" (46).
27. For a n exhibition that addresses how these new modes of domesticity are
developed in recent architecture, see Riley, The Un-Private House.
28. Ibid., 56.
29. Frampton and Holl, "The Next House: House for the New Millenium
1993;' 70.
30. Ibid.
31. Zevon, "Pushing the Digital Envelope;' 68.
Citizen Cursor 171
32. "Par more than any other group of people anywhere} American business
men (and most have been men) have been inclined to create a landscape of
temporary housing because they themselves treat their own homes as tempo
rary dwellings ( despite their worship of home ownership) :' Leach} "Land
scape;' 77-78.
33. Baker} "An Interview with Pierre Huyghe;' 96.
34. The following discussion is based on my earlier account of Huyghe's
Streamside Day Follies} though it differs in significant ways. See "Inside the
Light Cube:'
35. Baker} 'M Interview with Pierre Huyghe;' 85.
36. Ranciere} Dis-agreement} 11.
37. ''Art anticipates work because it carries out its principles : the transforma
tion of sensible matter into the community's self presentation . . . . It is this
initial programme [ German idealism's aesthetics]} moreover} that laid the foun
dation for the thought and practice of the 'avant-gardes' in the 1920S: abolish
art as a separate activity} put it back to work} that is to say, give it back to life and
its activity of working out its own proper meaning:' In Ranciere} The Politics of
Aesthetics} 44-45.
38. Specifying the social form of television and video is the ambition of my
book Feedback.
39. Baker} 'M Interview with Pierre Huyghe;' 90.
40. See Appadurai} "Introduction:'
41. In many ways} twentieth-century art is a history of widening such "image
commons" from the ready-made through p op art} appropriation art} and iden
tity politicS} to mention only a few instances where the privatization of images
was powerfully challenged.
R E I N HOLD MART I N
Mass Customization
fi "
TH E E ND O F POL I T I CS
Much has been said in recent years about the role of computers in the
production of architectural objects, while relatively little has been said,
in architecture, about their role in the production of subjects. To ad
dress this omission, a repositioning of architecture within the broader
crosscurrents of contemporary culture and politics is in order. This
repositioning would shift the discussion around computers from one
centered on their capacity to redirect the discipline, to one centered on
the discipline's tendency to refract world-historical patterns, including
patterns of subject formation associated with new techno-economic
relations. This is not to reduce architecture to a symptomatic, surface
level expression of such patterns, but rather to understand its field of
production as a topologically complex, distorting mirror that faces both
inward and outward at once. In reproducing itself internally as an aes
thetic discipline, architecture reveals and engages entire worlds exter
nally. In that sense, its status as an aesthetic medium is tied (rather than
opposed) to its status as one among many mass media. So, rather than
stage a contest over the nature and scope of the aesthetic medium in an
effort to secure architecture's autonomy over and above mass-mediated
spectacle, we must learn to look into architecture's mirror and to take
Mass Customization 173
3. Preliminary layout.
s. Plan.
6. Axonometric.
Mass Customization 183
7. Kevin Roche
John Dinkeloo and
Associates, Union
Carbide headquarters,
Danbury, Connecticut,
1982. Office interior.
Courtesy of Kevin
Roche John Dinkeloo
and Associates.
But it is equally clear that Union Carbide did not regard all of its
constituents as "persons;' and perhaps not even as humans. On the night
of December 2, 1984, two years after Roche's building was completed,
forty-five tons of the lethal methyl isocynate (MIC ) gas leaked from
a poorly maintained storage tank at the Union Carbide battery and
pesticide manufacturing plant in Bhopal, India. The body count remains
indeterminate. Though the Indian authorities stopped counting at 1,754,
official government estimates put the immediate death toll at approx
imately 3,800 (roughly equivalent to the number of well-maintained
persons housed in Union Carbide's Danbury headquarters ).18 Unofficial
estimates of the death toll run to more than three times that many, and
the consensus among activists and survivors groups hovers between
7,000 and 10,000 in the immediate aftermath and 20,000 in the years that
followed.19 An estimated 500,000 people were injured, many severely and
permanently. Most of the victims, including an unknown number of
Union Carbide employees (so-called human resources), lived in the
shadow of the plant and were overcome by the gas as they slept. Many
were from the poorest classes of Indian society and lacked identification
documents such as citizenship papers, marriage certificates, or land
deeds and were often omitted from official census counts.20 Mass burials
and mass cremations left fewer bodies accessible to officials, which meant
that such records were often the only available evidence that an individ
ual had existed in the first place.
Union Carbide and its affiliates never stood trial in India. Anderson,
the CEO who had announced the company's new "emphasis on people;'
traveled to India and was arrested upon arrival, but he was released on
bail and allowed to leave the country. In 1986 he retired and has never
returned to face the criminal charges against him, despite a formal
extradition request from the Indian government in 2003. Ongoing
efforts in the United States (where punitive damages as well as compen
sation are permitted by the courts) to sue Union Carbide on behalf of
the victims for a sum of US$15 billion have been unsuccessful. With
respect to this initiative, one member of the company's legal team
reportedly asked, "How can one determine the damage inflicted on
people who live in shacks ?"21 In 1985, two analysts advocated in The Wall
Mass Customization 185
Street Journal that punitive damages be taken off the table, thus reducing
Union Carbide's exposure dramatically, as follows: ''A very rough cal
culation can be made of the probable compensatory (not punitive)
award. Based on a recent Rand Corp. study of wrongful-death awards in
Chicago, an American's life is worth about $500,000. But in settling
monetary value on the damage inflicted [in BhopaI], U.S. courts will
take into account the differences between U.S. and Indian costs and
standards of living. India per capita gross national product is only 1.7%
of the U.S. figure ($256 compared with $15,000). Thus a U.S. court
might award only $8,500 for an Indian's death:'22
In 1989, Union Carbide settled out of court with the Indian govern
ment for US$470 million. The first round of compensation occurred in
the early nineties, and by late 2004, on the twentieth anniversary of the
catastrophe, each affected family expected to receive between 100,000
and 200,000 rupees-between US$2,IS0 and US$S,300, or roughly 5
percent of the American "standard:'23 According to activists, compensa
tion has thus far been made for only about six hundred deaths, while
approximately five hundred thousand disability claims have been filed
with an average compensation of US$soo each.24 But beyond the
grossly diminished numerical value placed on the lives of the victims,
the larger point here has to do with the extraordinary fragility of this
elementary form of representation-counting-when confronted with
the task of representing a subject on the verge of inviSibility.
Evidence suggests that the "persons" in Danbury were aware in ad
vance of the risks to the rather more abstract corporate subjects in
Bhopal, where Union Carbide had minimized its own economic ex
posure through cost-cutting in the event the plant was nationalized
under Indian legislation.25 The global outrage, however, did not reach
the fever pitch that became familiar in the United States in the wake of
September 11, demanding instant, personalized commemoration of each
victim. The company erected no memorials, listed no names, published
no pictures. Instead, it circulated sabotage theories while divesting itself
of its assets to protect against litigation. Thus, in 1987 the company sold
its already invisible Danbury headquarters and adjacent development
rights to the Related Companies, a real estate group, becoming a lease
holding tenant in its own building.26 In 1999, Union Carbide itself
disappeared, though not because it was bankrupted by the relatively
scant settlement; rather, it too was assimilated through corporate mer-
186 REI N H O LD MART I N
ger into an even larger network operating in 168 countries and employ
ing forty-nine thousand people: Dow Chemical.
What, then, of architecture here? Back in Danbury circa 1990, a Union
Carbide executive noted that the company's response to what he called
the "shock" of Bhopal was to reemphasize its social responsibilities,
while also noting that the move to Danbury had itself succeeded in
converting Union Carbide managers from alienated commuters to ac
tive members of the local community, for whom "diversity is the new
name that's creeping into everybody's language."27 Roche had already
accommodated this diversified corporate community in, for example, a
cafeteria divided into six unique sections dedicated to six different
lifestyles, including a back room modeled on a men's club and a singles
bar. But, commenting on his firm's design practices, Roche uncannily
(and perhaps unconsciously) sees a ghost in the ubiquitous mirrored
surfaces adorning these pseudopublic interiors, or "living rooms" as he
called them (fig. 8). For Roche, these faceted and rounded mirrors were
"constantly alive;' as they reflected both the "sparkle" and "dark spots"
of the "real world:'28 Designed by an architect who, as an associate of
Eero Saarinen, had produced the first mirrored-glass curtain wall at Bell
Laboratories in Holmdel, New Jersey in 1962, the mirrors thereby distill
architecture's paradoxical, noncommunicative specificity as mass me
dium, as they move from exterior (at Bell Labs) to interior (at Union
Carbide) .
Initially, the mirrors may b e interpreted a s a response to Roche's
teacher Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, whose glass and steel Federal Cen
ter in Chicago had been described by Manfredo Tafuri and Francesco
Dal Co as "reflecting images of the urban chaos that surrounds the
timeless Miesian puritY:'29 In contrast to Mies, the mirrors at Union
Carbide promise·-again, in the manner of a politician-to make visible
(indeed to reflect) the new corporate subject, a person at home in the
seamless domestic interior of the office. Here is Roche: "We tried to
deinstitutionalize the building so that it seemed lively or more domestic,
in a character appropriate to a corporate family:'30 But as in the curtain
wall at Bell Laboratories, in these interiors there remains-rather liter
ally, as Roche implies-nothing in the mirror, only agitated blurs and
glancing highlights that refuse to coalesce. Thus, where Kracauer had
found in the unconscious "surface-level" expressions of the mass orna
ment what he took to be "unmediated access to the fundamental sub-
Mass Customization 187
8. Kevin Roche
John Dinkeloo and
Associates) Union
Carbide headquarters)
Danbury) Connecti
cut) 1982. Cafeteria.
Courtesy of Kevin
Roche John Dinkeloo
and Associates.
Notes
A N D R E I N ALDO LADDA G A
Experimental Communities
This process takes place against the background of that series of de
velopments and transformations that is usually called globalization, a
widely contested term that we understand as a large increase in com
munications and connections and a generalized destructuring of the
200 CARL O S BAS UALD O A N D REINAL D O LAD DAGA
institutions and ways of life that were developed in the context of the
Euro-Arnerican type of national-social states of the central decades of
the twentieth century. The tasks that these artists seem to have set for
themselves amount to the invention of new forms of being-in-common
and representing that commonalit)'J in circumstances in which the social
forms that emerged in the context of the social capitalism that pre
vailed in the second part of the twentieth century are progressively
dissolved.
In the world of globalization, the conception of art as a space in which
a fundamental truth about individuals or communities is manifested
through those objects or events usually called "art works" seems to be
losing its centrality. The range of indicators of this process go from the
passive acceptance, by some artists, of the role of producers of high
quality goods (as with the works of Takashi Murakami or Damian
Hirst) to an aggressive affirmation of subjectivity that is more like a
symptom of its own dissolution (as in the case of Matthew Barney or
Tracey Emin, among others) . That is to say, the art world cynically
affirms exchange value as universal equivalency and spectacularly dis
plays mythologies of a strictly personal nature. In this context, some
artists have generated strategies that react to this set of situations by tak
ing up certain moments from the avant-garde tradition that remained
insufficiently explored and developing them in original ways. Here, we
are referring mostly to the several historical attempts to imagine possi
ble connections between producers and receivers that would not be
mediated by the traditional form of the artwork.
Thomas Hirschhorn's installation at Documenta 11 in 2002 is an exam
ple of these strategies. The piece involved the construction of a series of
precarious buildings in the Friedrich Wohler-Complex, a public space in
the north of Kassel, inhabited mostly but not exclusively by immigrants
of Turkish descent. The set of buildings was called Bataille Monument.
The project consisted of a set of discrete elements and actions, includ
ing a sculpture of wood, cardboard, tape, and plastic (the "Sculpture,") j
a Georges Bataille "Library;' with books that refer to Bataille's oeuvre,
arranged according to categories of word, image, art, sports, and sex (a
collaboration with Uwe Fleckner) (fig. l)j a "Bataille Exhibition" with a
topography of his oeuvre, a map, and books on and by Georges Bataille
(a collaboration with Christophe Fiat); various workshops realized
through the duration of the exhibition (a collaboration with Manuel
Experimental Communities 201
Thomas Hirschhorn,
Bataille Monument,
2002. Documenta ll,
Kassel,2002. Photo by
Werner Maschmann,
courtesy of Gladstone
Gallery.
1. Library.
2. Bar.
Thomas Hirschhorn,
Bataille Monument,
2002. Documenta Il,
Kassel, 2002. Photo by
Werner Maschmann,
courtesy of Gladstone
Gallery.
3. Shuttle service.
4. TV studio.
Thomas Hirschhorn}
Bataille Monument}
2002. Documenta Il}
Kassel} 2002. Photo by
Werner Maschmann}
courtesy of Gladstone
Gallery.
s. Sculpture.
6. Georges Bataille
exhibition.
Notes
Everything came together with Park Fiction 4-one day desires will leave the house
and take to the streets, a series of talks and lectures, an exhibition of works by
neighbors and professional artists in all the shops surrounding the park, even in
private flats and the priest's house, all related to parks or gardens or other issues
connected with the parkj a model by 'kinderhaus am pinnasberg' -a place where
children who cannot live at home for various reasons, runaways and street kids from
the neighborhood live together. The children made a one week workshop, built a
complete model of the park in their spring holidays, did tours to parks in Hamburg,
read inspiring books, and build a great model-that was the most effective propaganda
item, when it was in all its beauty in a shop window, and made the thought of the park
as a real possibility much more actual than other artists' works that were conceived
specifically as propaganda. Some ideas from that model are still in the now existing
plan. It was shown alongside works by renowned artists like Dan Graham-who sent
4 photos of urban gardens in Hamburg-works by Annette Wehrmenn, Claudia
Pegel, Andreas Siekmann, Daniel Richter, Ingo Vetter and Annette Weisser. We pro�
duced the first brochure, developed by the group but especially by Katrin Bredemeier,
then the designer of the group. Hans Christian Dany and myself developed together a
glamorous construction sign for the park that survived till 1998. For the opening we
built a salad bar, shaped like an English garden. It was part of the Park Fiction-style to
always combine content and comfort, to create a lounge, welcoming atmosphere and
not just speak about utopia. Park Fiction 4 was so important, because it was the
moment when 'art & politics made each other more clever' as Margit Czenki put it.
Exiting the RER (Reseau Express Regional) rapid transit rail station
named for the silvery, hulking, almost always empty Stade de France,
one spied the first physical indicators of the Musee Precaire Albinet,
handmade signs cut out of cardboard and pinned to wire fences (fig. 1) .
If you weren't from the neighborhood, the meaning of the term Albinet
on these cardboard arrows might be lost on you. The Cite Albinet is a
building of subsidized apartments, or H.L.M.-habitation loyer modert�
......:... across the street from the abandoned lot where, in the summer of
2004, Thomas Hirschhorn chose to site his project. And though the
multiple meanings of the modifier precaire would probably not be lost
on anyone in the Paris banlieue in 2004, the manner in which it would
prepare you for Hirschhorn's work is ambiguous.
According to their dictionary definitions, precaire and precariU merely
describe a certain category of states of being: those that are exercised
only through a revocable authorization. But recently precariU has en
tered the political argot in France, invoking states of being that are
fragile and impermanent because this is cost effective to forms of cap
italism that dispense with human well-being as an imperative. An orga
nization that calls itself Reseau stop precarite, claiming to have been
born from the strikes at McDonald's and Pizza Hut that sprung up in
Paris in late 2000 and early 2001, declares that the term precariU was
.
once "reserved for homeless persons" but "now belongs also to the
world of work:'l The term is also used to refer to the "precariousness" of
dynamic markets or to the immigrant groups that almost universally
216 RAC HEL HAI D U
exploiting artj it is, as she puts it, "the absolute and irreducible condition
of [art's] existence;' and as such a mere set of signifiers for what art is.4
If the Musee and its exhibits testified to anything in particular, they
testified to the radical contingency-precarite, perhaps-of artistic uto
pias. But to insist on Hirschhorn's success in conveying the precarious
ness of the historical, canonical artistic utopias on display is already to
grant to the Musee success in the deployment of a certain kind of
institutional authenticity. I will make the argument that the Musee was
successful in this respect, as an institution: it was full of the kinds of
social joys we associate with thriving institutions. It taught people
thingsj it allowed them the pleasure of knowledge and a sense of the
world beyond itselfj it spawned jobs, internships, social interaction,
friendships, and basic forms of civic participation. But to grant the
Musee success as an institution-or even to judge it according to the
criteria of institutional success-is to occlude its status as an artwork
that imitated a museum for its own ends. In the finer details of that
imitation lie the clues as to whether such strategies might or might not
constitute a critical method, and whether Hirschhorn's Musee Precaire
Albinet points critique in a different direction altogether.s What might
Hirschhorn's laboratory-like experiment in running a pseudoinstitution
tell us about the contemporary state of art, such that institutions per se
are not a target but rather a set of operational structures and achieve
ments that are of interest in themselves? How might its modes of relat-
218 RAC HE L HAI D U
2. Thomas
Hirschhorn)
Musee Precaire
Albinet) Cite Albi
net) Aubervillliers)
2004. Courtesy
of the Artist and
Les Laboratoires
d'Aubervilliers)
Aubervilliers.
The Musee Frecaire Albinet ran for eight weeks in Aubervilliers, France,
in the summer of 2004. It consisted of two built rooms and a hallway:, a
prefab trailer of the kind that is usually found on a construction site, and
an open-air buvette (cafe), all set on an abandoned lot. It was also a
series of eight week-long exhibitions of original works of art borrowed
from the collections of the Musee d'art moderne de la Ville de Paris and
the Centre Georges Pompidou. And it was a series of weekly activities,
including children's workshops, writing workshops, art history lectures
about each artist on display, and public debates about unrelated matters
of general interest. The Musee's three components-physical plant, ex-
Precarite) Autorite) Autonomie 219
hibition schedule, and activities schedule-were complementary and
mutually contingent in many ways. The dynamism of the schedule
mimicked the logic of most institutions: it was rigorous, repetitive, and
driven by a number oflogistical and "institutional" considerations (how
to involve a variety of participants, according to their age, interest,
availability, and so onj how to use external agencies such as La part de
rart, a municipal organization that runs children's workshops on artj
how to broaden the institution's purview to address community inter
ests and needs, and so on) . In addition, this schedule was driven by
Hirschhorn's prescription that something happen every day, so that the
Musee would never be inert or inactive, a passive receptacle and pur
veyor of a cultural patrimony.6 The Musee's physical plant, continually
repainted, redecorated, and intentionally exposed to spontaneous alter
ations like graffiti and vandalism, was no more static than its weekly
schedule. (It should be noted that while the Musee did not experience
any vandalism of its structures, the occasional appearance of graffiti
targeting one of Hirschhorn's female interns hardly made it a stress-free
zone.) Thus, its dynamic schedule was not merely "institutional;' nor
did it merely set about producing a notion of ephemeral or transient
community: it was also legible as a sign for Hirschhorn's general artistic
attitude (for example, "Quali� No: Energy, Yes !"), as, of course, was its
physical plant, which exploited such signature Hirschhorn materials as
duct tape, Xeroxed reproductions, and graffiti. Just as the plant, exhibi
tion schedule, and activity schedule interlocked, the issues of material
precariousness, authorial identity, and the boundary of the artwork as
work-its "autonomy" -were in constant, reciprocal play. No discussion
of any particular aspect makes sense without allowing for its contin
gency and effect on other aspects.
Each week of the Musee's run, from April 19 through June 14, featured
work by one of the eight artists in Hirschhorn's lineup: Duchamp,
Malevich, Mondrian, Dali, Beuys, Le Corbusier, Warhol, and Leger.
Hirschhorn selected all exhibited works from the French public collec
tions, so that though the Musee sought a more complex relationship to its
own authority than that asserted by a state patrimony, it nonetheless
presented itself as a pseudomuseum that was both French and Hirsch
hornian in terms of how it defined its cultural treasures. Those cultural
treasures had more in common, however, than merely having been
produced by Hirschhorn's favorite artists (the sole justification offered
220 RAC HE L HA I D U
for their selection) . Their week-after-week sequence rotated apogees of
artistic utopianism with moments of severe ambiguity. Three of Male
vich's plaster Architektons ( 1923- 26), Le Corbusier's wood model for a
unite d'habitation in Tiergarten (1957-58), and Leger's Les disques dans la
ville (1920) made for an almost nostalgic celebration of earlier periods,
when dreams of industrial efficiency and beauty drove artistic experi
mentation. But such dreams were broken up by displays such as, for
example, Beuys's Das Schweigen, a multiple from 1973 that consisted of
the copper- and zinc·-coating of the five reels of Bergman's film The
Silence, left inside its canisters; the video recording of Beuys's 1974 per
formance I Like America and America Likes Me, in which he ( allegedly)
lived with a live coyote in a gallery; and Warhol's 1967 Electric Chair, a
silk-screen painting of the photographic trace of an instrument of (Amer
ican) state-mandated execution. The dystopic-canisters of a beautiful
film, rendered unseeable, and an electric chair presented as an icon
carved out a strange place in the midst of a lineup that was heavily slanted
toward the utopic, providing not so much an alternative voice as a
recurring note in the utopian scales with which the twentieth century
kept practicing.
The meditative, elegiac logi� of the exhibition schedule was set against
a repetitive and vigorous schedule of weekly activities. Monday, the
works from the previous weeks were removed and the interior of the
exhibition hall repainted a different color. Tuesday, new works were
picked up from their warehouses and installed in time for an opening,
with free food, drinks, and open-mic rap. Wednesdays, La part de l' art
produced workshops in which neighborhood children observed aspects
of an artist's work through related activities, such as making costumes
inspired by Fernand Leger's set and costume designs and showing them
off in a runway show (fig. 3). Thursday afternoons, invited authors such
as Catherine Henri or Oscarine Bosquet led writing studios for neighbor
hood adults. Friday evenings witnessed public debates-on the subject
of "Jews /Arabs;' "Europe /USA;' or "Literature /Drugs;' for example
which were led by invited speakers, such as LelIa Shahid, the French
representative of the Palestinian Authority. Saturdays, art historians lec
tured on that week's featured artist, and Sunday evenings a communal
meal, usually cooked by the women who also ran the buvette, was offered
to anyone around. There were also weeldy trips, often out of town,
related to the artist on display that week: for the Malevich week, a group
Precarite, Autorite, Autonomie 221
oflocal residents went on a field trip that included a visit to the headquar
ters of the French Communist Party, a visit to Chartres, and a lunch in the
countryside; for the Le Corbusier week, another group went to the
Maison Radieuse at Reze, had lunch, met with a committee of local
residents, and visited a working architect's office.
The Musee's physical structure changed from week to week. Some
changes correlated to the weather or activity schedule and reflected the
principles of modularity and flexibility emphasized in some of the ex
hibits. Black curtains were taped up to facilitate art historians' projec
tionsj the Plexiglas windows and tent top covering an outdoor eating
area were removed in good weather; an outside hallway served as a
speaker's (and rapper's) podium during weekly openings. All of these
reflected the kind of thinking prevalent in exhibits like those of Malevich
and Le Corbusier. Perhaps the most striking demonstration of Hirsch
horn's interest in design was the exhibition hall, whose walls were re
painted every week in strident, loud colors (green, red, ochre) to receive
the changing exhibits. This last element, a subtle remarking of the
222 RAC H E L HAID U
institutional frame, echoed precedents set by the exhibited avant-garde
artists who disturbed conventional uses of color to distinguish figure
and ground, object and surface. If the formal history of this question
became clear in exhibits of works by Mondrian and Leger, it was force
fully asserted as a didactic tool in the week that the Electric Chair was
exhibited. In that silk-screen painting, where mottled scarlet and blue
patterns further abstract a remote, iconic image of judicially sanctioned
death, any figure-ground distinction is almost entirely consumed by the
optical play of saturated colors.
This was a museum that would dramatize its framing devices-and its
own operation as a framing device-in as many ways as possible. Thus
did the line between his project and the exhibited avant-garde utopias
blur and then crystallize. So too did the line between Hirschhorn's visual
noise and the idea of a participating local community blur, and then
become extremely evident. Efficient, problem-solving solutions, used
again and again in the Musee's construction, created a sense of universal
ism opening up for art, architecture, and design that was echoed in the
works of art being exhibited. But in the place of legitimating links to
historical avant-garde practices were indicators for a kind of contempo
raneity that would differenti�te Hirschhorn's utopia in kind from that of
Malevich, Le Corbusier, or any of the other artists exhibited. A fake
museum in place of an institution that is also the place of a work of
contemporary art, the Musee asserted its proXy status by indicating the
nonsimultaneity or discontinuity between what was on display and
itsel£ just as it reinforced the disjunctions and discontinuities between
itself and the communities of its emplacement. It was as if Hirschhorn
were out not to dissolve the differences between the surrounding com
munity's identities and his work's autonomous authorityj but rather to
materially erect and reify all possible breaks and ruptures.
(fig. 4).7 The Musee could be entirely indoors on a given day, or spread
out over a dozen additional meters for a communal meal or an opening.
But it was its surfaces that provided the most mutable, contingent
element of the Musee's physical plant. Untreated plasterboard walls
served as a kind of perpetually changing two-dimensional surface, with
pinned-up graffiti, announcements, workshop output, and press clip
pings representing the most utopian, and perhaps naIve, slant on the
nature of precariti. For each exhibit, Hirschhorn would produce a series
of cutout images and text on the walls of the exhibition hall. Actual
catalogue pages, black-and-white and color Xeroxes, would then con
trast with the "auratic" original works of art. Press clippings attached to
both internal and external walls grew in number by the week, creating a
kind of media archive for local residents, who could regularly locate
their (and their friends' and kids') images in the press photos. Often the
output from the children's workshops-Xeroxes of cell phones, block
colored in the style of Warhol silk-screen paintings; graffitied, creatively
titled cut-out illustrations of masterpieces, a la L.H. O. O.Q 8-decorated
the various walls of the Musee, inside and outside. One resident put up
an illustrated history of the neighborhood made of cut-out Xeroxes of
224 RAC HE L HAI D U
image and text, which mimicked the collage aesthetic of the whole
structure. Indeed, there was little difference between what could be
pinned up or graHitied on an indoor wall as opposed to an outdoor wall
(aside from a few critical pieces of paper, like the work schedule).
Operational transparency and intelligibility seemed paramount, not
only in the very open architecture of the physical structure but also in
correlation to the activity schedule's emphasis on textual information,
education, and debate for all.
In the end, the structure's precariousness-its fluid adaptation to
need and circumstance-accommodated a premium on meaning, as if
Hirschhornian didacticism had a Darwinian gift for survival. Such an
emphatic dedication to text in all its forms, to open-ended debate, and
to pedagogy recalls many of Hirschhorn's gallery and museum installa
tions, in which cut-out texts or sometimes entire books can disperse
over many different surfaces and media. Sometimes books are chained
to another structure, as in Spinoza Monument (1999) or Jumbo Spoons
and Big Cake (2000); sometimes they are interspersed with graffiti or
cut-out images from pornography or other mass-media sources, as in
Chalet Lost History (2003), and sometimes they are complemented by
lectures or theatrical performances, as in Swiss Swiss Democracy (2004-
5), which featured daily lectures on philosophical themes by Marcus
Steinweg and a play performed nightly by Gwenael Morin's troupe. A
careful balance of visual clutter and structure results in a kind of over
flow and perforation of information from multiple voices and media,
forcing Hirschhorn's audiences to consider the degree to which they
have "understood" or even encountered the work. This requires a de
gree of self-confrontation that can be almost intolerable, as it was in
Superficial Engagement (2006), in which the geometric abstractions of
Emma KUnz were incongruously set against images of the Iraq war
taken off of the Internet. This is the "work" of Hirschhorn's work-an
often uncomfortable disorientation forced on the viewer that in turn
implicates that viewer in the quasi-anthropological logics on display,
able to figure out only some of what is being said, while being distracted
by continual jarring reminders of our fantasies about what we are look
ing at.9 Visitors to Cavemanman (2002) were supposed to be struck by
reminders of daily collective life: trash on the cavelike floor was clumped
around trash bins, signifying the ways in which people neatly cluster
their trash near filled-to-·overflowing trash bins on city street corners.
Precarite} Autorite} Autonomie 225
But the conceit of the piece-that it was the cave of a hermit trying to
make sense of our world-accentuated a feeling of touristic or eth
nographic voyeurism, an uncomfortable sense that we were not looking
at our life but at someone else's. The end result was a powerful percep
tual overlap between "our world" and that of society's rejects, homeless
and hermits alike.
Similar feelings were even sharper, and even more politically hard to
take, for visitors to the Musee Precaire Albinet and the Bataille Monument
at Documenta (2002). In both cases spectators from outside the neigh
borhood, de facto "art spectators;' came to see a work of Hirschhorn's
and found themselves looking "in on a community;' usually defined by a
racial or national majority (in Landy, the neighborhood where the
Musee was sited, Malian and North African immigrants are in the major
ityj in Kassel, Hirschhorn selected a housing project dominated by
Turkish immigrants as the locale for Bataille Monument). Despite an
unremitting emphasis on unrestricted information and learning-for-all,
universalism seemed trumped by the socioeconomic realities of race
relations, heightened exponentially by the confrontation between the
art world's internationalism and the effects of migrancy on urban geog
raphies. In Kassel, tables and tables of Bataille information, Bataille
videos, and a lending library of Bataille-related books made a kind of
potlatchlike extravaganza out of the concept of learning. What you
made of that combination of excess and didacticism, however, seemed
overdetermined by who you were, and that process of overdetermina
tion seemed almost certain to make everyone at least a little bit uncom
fortable.
Among the potential kinds of identity that can uncomfortably affect
one's perception of or participation in Hirschhorn's work is gender. The
Bataille Monument was marked, for some critics, by its emphaSiS on the
erotic (or pornographic) component in Bataille's thinking, which
played obtusely against some of the sexual mores of the largely Muslim
community of its emplacement. Hirschhorn took a different approach
to his "issues" with gender and local community in the Musee Precaire.
All of the artists whose work he selected for the exhibits are dead white
males, while almost all of the invited speakers at the weekly events were
women.10 A certain "lived;' experiential level of the Musee used gender
to contrast with the temporally frozen, physically contained master
works. Accentuating this difference was the buvette, run by eight local
226 RAC HE L HAI D U
(Mrican) female residents, the one part o f the Musee that was com
pletely independent of Hirschhorn's authority. Although he and his
workers built it, and Hirschhorn set it up (with a microwave and so on),
the women who sold food and drinks there each day made their own
profits and divided up the work on their own. Thus did the "lived"
component of the Musee seem to extend to its commercial venue, which
was similarly all-female. If ever there were a public art project that set
out to underscore the traditional gender hierarchies in the world of art,
the Musee Precaire would be it. Its operational structures-putting large
numbers of women into positions of commercial and discursive power
while reserving the maleness of the historical pool of authors-were
almost perfectly mimetic (which is not to say that it was critically so).
Its capacity for translating typical institutional logics as if they were
normal was entirely-as at the Bataille Monument-a function of
whether it was seen as an institution or as an artwork.
It should be noted, first, that the participating community was not
identical to the local community: only a small portion of Landy's resi
dents came to the Musee, although those who did came frequently, if not
every day, and the chief of the local Malian cQmmunity thanked Hirsch
horn with a musical procession and a speech at the communal meal on
the Musee's final Sunday. Thus, though there may be no way of describing
this community as having demographic parameters, a visual aesthetic, or
any other discrete identity other than its geographic location, certain
distinctions between communities, seemingly differentiated by what
Miwon Kwon calls "locational identity" went into play at the Musee.1 1
Visiting art spectators came to the site in order to see a work by Thomas
Hirschhorn, while local residents used the Musee as an ephemeral institu
tion. Though everyone participating in the Musee represented some form
of community to someone else, the different communities' relationships
to their institutionalization made for markedly different perceptions of
what was happening. The sense that the Musee was engendering ephem
eral communities was common among the participating residents that I
interviewed. Certainly this was a symmetrical operation, in that commu
nities of visitors existed in the collective perception of the residents, and
communities of residents in the collective perception of the visitors. But
my often-repeated question to participating residents about what they
thought of Hirschhorn's work-as opposed to the works of Duchamp,
Malevich, and so on-met with laughter and perplexity. In other words,
Precarite, Autorite, Autonomie 227
though they were conscious of Hirschhorn's identity as an artist and
various communities' roles as collaborators, the notion that the Musee
Precaire itself was an artwork was fugitive. Only some of those who
worked on the Musee considered themselves collaborators or partici
pants in an artwork: the collective and individual role of the Musee's
"local community members" was left largely to individuals to negotiate.
What am I doing here? what does this work mean about me? how does it
address me? -these were questions about which the Musee Precaire
seemed conspicuously circumspect. Why?
Here, I think, we find a path that is defined less by the ethics of
community formation than by the particular politics of institutionality
that allowed the Musee to form its "communities:' And, in keeping with
the relationships of interdependence that I signaled at the start of this
essa)1j such a politics of institutionality could only be performed through
the intersection of formal play, authorial identity, and the proposed
autonomy of art, which was both something on display and performed
throughout the Musee's operations. In this sense, the Musee can be seen
as a reorientation of the long-term and profound kinds of perception
that Kwon invokes in the final sentences of her seminal book on issues of
community involvement and site-specific public art:
Today's site-oriented practices inherit the task of demarcating the relational
specificity that can hold in dialectical tension the distant poles of spatial
experience . . . . This means addressing the uneven conditions of adjacencies
and distances between one thing, one person, one place, one thought, one
fragment, next to another, rather than invoking equivalences via one thing
after another. Only those cultural practices that have this relational sen
sibility can turn local encounters into long-term commitments and trans
form passing intimacies into indelible, unretractable social marks-so that
the sequence of sites that we inhabit in our life's traversal does not become
genericized into an undifferentiated serialization, one place after another. 12
The Musee seems keyed toward the heightening of "the uneven condi
tions of adjacencies and distances between one thing, one person . . .
next to another:' If this is the case-i£ that is, the Musee can be seen as
consistent with Hirschhorn's other works-then it is a project that
pushes the investigation ofprecarite beyond its defining opposition with
permanence. For while institutions (and especially museums) may be
eternally allied with the notion of permanence in their structures and
228 RAC H E L HAI D U
values (and the value o f permanence, in turn, will b e contaminated with
the hegemonic forms and means of power that institutions apply),
Hirschhorn's "precarious" museum pushes all of its participants toward
an investigation of what might or should remain from an experiment like
the Musee's. The appropriateness of permanence, or even "indelible,
unretractable social marks" (beyond their value to a critique of artists'
short-lived exploitations of sites, communities, and neighborhoods) fi
nally comes under investigation, while passing intimacies and even in
stitutions are also revalued. "Vhat would be the best "indelible" legacy of
such a work: A sense of the possibilities that can be opened up by
institutions-which would indeed be a useful lesson anywhere in West
ern Europe? A sense of the potential value of ephemeral or "precarious"
communities-a value that is, after all, strongly upheld in many middle
class traditions, such as summer camp, exchange programs, vacation
communities, and so on? A sense of the power of art in forming collec
tive and individual identities? Or a sense of art's reliance on certain
discursive and institutional performances-lectures and workshops, not
to mention community reception-to give it such power? In other
words, by resituating and renegotiating the components that create
public, site-specific art-institutionalization, the artistic author, the invi
tation to collaborate, and the visual appearances and operations of the
artwork-the Musee successfully undoes the gloss that much "relational
specificity" accomplishes: its subsumption of all those critical aspects of
any artwork and its reception into a seemingly immanent politicization
of art.
If the Musee imitated an institutional frame (or even some of the charac
teristics of the artistic utopias on display) by imitating pedagogical
earnestness and other systems of transparency, it remade that frame on
its own terms, most often by formally and complexly disrupting any
anticipated or projected sense of transparency or continuity between the
work and its community. A viewer's sense that the Musee was continuous
with or transparent to its surrounding community was invited in modes
as ambivalently deliberate as Cavemanman's piles of crushed soda cans.
For example, the duct tape that was wrapped around the two-by-fours
that held up the tarp roofs of the external hallway connecting the Musee's
three rooms also framed the paintings borrowed from France's national
collections, so that they were both "signed" by Hirschhorn but also
Precarite) Autorite) Autonomie 229
framed against the walL And the color-saturated graffiti that Hirschhorn
commissioned from local residents identifYing different rooms and up
coming events was jOined by uncommissioned graffiti, so that tags and
insults also crossed the threshold into a decorative medium. Not only did
graffiti seem pseudoinstitutionalized as a signifYing system (and not for
the first time) ; the Musee seemed to exploit a position in which its own
stylistic energy and authority could absorb even spontaneous and anony··
mous writings and sentiments-even reactions to the Musee (as every
inscription on its walls, on some level, was).
In this sense, the function of graffiti is unclear, as it appears to re-mark
the surfaces of the Musee as if it were collectively and not individually
authored, as if its physical plant were capable of absorbing critique, as if
there were no verbal or ideographic violence that could be done to the
Musee that was not, in fact, already a part of its structure. Thus, the
Musee could appear to have a dangerously organic relation to the com
munity of its emplacement. Such a reading would mean that instead of
performing mimicfYj the Musee was using the visual and operational
structures it borrowed from society at large as a kind of camouflage.13
This sense might be confirmed by Hirschhorn's frequent remarks that
his use of duct tape is merely the reuse of a common material in a world
of incessant circulation and migration. He would then be assimilating
his museum into a neighborhood defined by the effects and continuing
process of migration by metonymically indicating the process of migra
tion as an aspect of his visual design. But there is more to Hirschhorn's
uses of duct tape and graffiti, and even to the Musee's open, skeletal
construction that renders such a reading problematic. In the Musee, duct
tape also was inSistently a set of internal frames, re-marking the ruptures
and tears within the naturalistic, coherent ideological picture produced
by circulation in all its guises. If we consider an ability to circulate (as
interior-ready pedestal sculptures and market-ready easel paintings) to
be an aspect of art lent by modern institutions such as art markets and
museums, then the use of duct tape to frame the pictures, as well as the
Xeroxed reproductions placed around them, seem apt reminders of the
process of moving works of art from place to place-a process that the
entire Musee represented. Then, in place of camouflage, duct tape has
the effect of denaturalizing the public discourse on a "neighborhood in
transition" such as the area around the Stade de France. As a material it
gains the effect of inviting comparison between various discourses that
230 RAC HE L HAI D U
value circulation as a form of collateral development within modernity
(and permanence, irreplaceability, and authenticity as circulation's cor
ollary) : between the movable and reproducible nature of modern art
works and the appropriable and thus precarious nature of much urban
residence (regardless of how permanent it looks); between the irre
placeable and authenticating nature of artistic labor and the perpetually
replaceable nature of almost all other forms of modern labor; between
the aspired permanence of home and the impermanence of all other
forms of community.
On yet another level, the duct tape operates as a kind of faux faux
wood surface, brown like the brown of imitation wood surfaces, but
utterly unlike wood itself. In using such an effect, Hirschhorn echoes
precedents set in the field of collage, a constant reference in his aes
thetic. In Picasso's 1911-13 collages, new, mass-produced materials (wall
paper, tack paper) introduce the principle of imitation. But they are
distinctly parts of collages, parts of a surface that effectively supplants
imitation. Wallpaper becomes a signifier for representation even inside a
medium that holds out the mirage of a solution to representation, to the
ordinary figure-ground distinctions within which color conventionally
finds its place. For Rosalind KIauss, who first articulated this operation,
wallpaper, "color now bracketed as a sign;' also signifies the issue of
ornamentation, increasingly powerful as Picasso's identification with his
own semiotic discovery quickly overripens.14 Wallpaper becomes a sig
nifier for representation within a system that proposes . to sublate
assimilate, resolve, and thereby renounce--representation's paradoxical
reliance on absence; the totalizing possibilities in such a formal resolu
tion holds out the specter of subsuming the artist's identity in a single
gesture. Hirschhorn's Musee puts duct tape into the same kind of semi
otic position but displaces the allegory from a purely semiotic register to
a social one. If this museum could hold out the specter of any kind of
utopian solution, it is held together, architecturally and symbolically, by
a material that reminds us of the new meanings of homelessness and
migration to which any modernist idealization of circulation must re
spond.ls And Similarly, the frequency with which duct tape is used in his
work raises the question of how such a field of meanings can be differen
tiated from the artist's-Hirschhorn's-identity, or brand name.16
The Musee echoed other anti-naturalist traditions, and in every case we
can see their use as commentaries on the nature of authorial identity. For
Precarite, Autorite, Autonomie 231
example} in its rectilinear} open} skeletal framework} the Musee cited the
forms favored by Soviet constructivists. Unlike the constructivists} how
ever} whose use of such forms became meaningful only in their conjunc
tion with rationalized labor and mass production} Hirschhorn's open
frame Musee} like other projects he has done in public space} undermines
the ideals for which "rational" labor was once mobilized. He operates
such undermining pOintedly, as if to delineate a paradox. Paid labor}
incorporated into his artworks} helps articulate its corollary} the irra
tional value placed on artistic labor. But no accumulation of multiple
forms oflabor actually undoes the artistic author's mandate. Hirschhorn
remains the boss} and the one who will ultimately take credit for the
Musee as a "work:' Thus} even as he undermines the rationalization of
labor in his projects in public space (by training and hiring local resi
dents) for example} rather than using his own assistants)} he underscores
his own role as manager} if not owner} of the means of production (by
training and hiring local residents) controlling their wages} and so
forth) .17 Into his projected production costs he factors the probability
of vandalism from workers who would stand to gain from being rehired}
and he daily performs various repairs in a manner that underscores
artisanlike principles of reuse and refurbishment. These irrational labor
costs may re-mark the institution as one operating outside the norms of
contemporary capitalism} but they do little to actually resolve the para
dox of an artist whose brand name authorizes a pseudopublic institution
and whose idiosyncratic preferences determine its operations. If this is
the paradox facing many contemporary artists working in public spaces}
it is as defined in Hirschhorn's work by its art-history lineage} as well as by
its ethical or pseudo ethical ramifications.
Another way to put this is: Hirschhorn re-marks the work he puts on
display (his own) the Musee) and the historical art that he puts on
display (Duchamp) Malevich} and so on) as a way of describing his
position} unique in a history of art whose pretensions to social and
political problem solving have only grown in tandem with formal experi
mentation. Which is not to say that these pretensions are} in fact} consis
tent} or that they could ever be consistent with a transparent authorial
figure} one whose social intentions would be consistently ideal (demo
cratic) for example) or less than paradoxical. Thus} while I have been
detailing the Musee's visual} performative} operational description of
"Hirschhorn's" position} he provides a rather different means of access
232 RAC HE L HAI D U
to it. Over and over, the complex, genealogically rich nature of the
various "art into life" gestures that were on display-even the "art into
life" gesture that the Musee seemed itself to rather obviously play out
met with the earnest, commanding, discourse-paralyzing authority of
Hirschhorn's verbal discourse.
At the Musee, Hirschhorn's persona took the form of his own daily on
site presence at the work. He was the work's initiator, its organizer, its
leader, the primary negotiator on its behalf (with the press, the fire
department, the police, local community leaders, collaborating institu
tions, and so on), and a constant friendly presencej he was also its
author, its definer, its giver-of-meanings in the form of completely acces
sible interviews, speeches, and handouts. I S Thus the effect of his dis
course on the subject-the Musee itself-was as permeating as it was
paralyzing:
I believe, its a fact, that art can, art should, art wants to transform-let's not
be afraid to say it: to change life. If as an artist I want to make works in public
space I have to agree with public space . . . .
. . . To agree means to be in agreement with an impossible mission. I said
in proposing the project to the inhabitants of the cite Albinet and the Landy
neighborhood that the Musee Pn§caire Albinet is a mission. A 'mission
impossible' that is based in an agreement.19
Notes
Watj One Army, One Dress, hosted at the Institute of Contemporary Art in
Boston in November 2005-6, in which these were investigated as a fetishistic
play of the intersection of three fields: military operationsj artistic experimen
tationj and the perplexing oxymoron, fashion "choices:'
14. See Krauss, The Picasso Papers, 180, and her "In the Name of Picasso;' in
The Originality of the Avant-Garde.
15. On this conjunction, see the work of T. J. Demos, especially The Exiles of
Marcel Duchamp.
16. In this respect, Hirschhorn joins-and perhaps reinterprets-the plight of
many of the neo - avant-garde artists whose early careers lead them to a seem
ingly complete articulation of the problems they negotiate: Buren's stripes,
Warhol's silk-screen paintings, Lichtenstein's ben-day dot paintings, and Nau
man's live video installations are all examples of formal solutions so precise that
they threaten to "brand" an artist's identity.
17. The wages of all of the Musee's workers-along with the various produc
tion costs associated with building, maintaining, and running it-can be found
in the correspondence published in the above-cited publication, Musee Precaire
Albinet.
18. Hirschhorn had already made several public works-the Deleuze Monu
ment in Avignon and the Bataille Monument in Kassel-that suffered, according
to his own testimony, from his erratic schedule. He made a point of remaining
on-site for the entire duration of the Musee's eight-week tenure ( except for one
overnight) and even amplified this "on-site" form of authorship in his next
works in Paris, 24 heures Foucault, at the Palais de Tokyo, and Swiss Swiss
Democracy, at the Centre Culturel Suisse.
19. "Je crois, c'est un fait, que l'art peut, l'art doit, l'art veut transformer,
n'ayant pas peur de Ie dire: changer la vie . . . . Si en tant qu'artiste je veux faire un
travail dans l'espace public je dois etre d'accord avec l'espace public . . . . Etre
d' accord veut dire en accord avec la mission impossible. J' ai dit en proposant Ie
projet aux habitants de la cite Albinet et au quartier du Landy que Ie "Musee
Precaire Albinet" etait une mission. Une mission impossible qui est basee sur un
accord:' "Note of intention;' Thomas Hirschhorn, February 2003 (see Musee
Precarite; Autorite; Autonomie 237
Precaire Albinet) : A propos du 'Musee Precaire Albinet; a propos d'un travail
d' artiste dans l' espace public et a propos du role de l' artiste dans la vie publi
que, Xeroxed handout by Thomas Hirschhorn distributed at the Musee Precaire
Albinet, dated May IS, 2004.
20. See his "Four Statements, February 2000;' 2S2j and his notes for Skulptur:
Projekte in Munster 1997, 211-17, revised in Buchloh, Gingeras, and Basualdo,
Thomas Hirschhorn, 132.
21. Bishop, "The Social Turn;' 183.
SETH MC CORM I CK
A N D THE POL I T I C S OF I D E N TI TY
Ever since Moira Roth's essay "The Aesthetic of Indifference" was pub
lished in 1977, the work of Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg has
been criticized for conforming to the repressive conditions of political
censorship that dominated the context of their early work's production
and reception under McCarthyism. Roth's polemical intervention in the
formalist ethos of seventies art criticism represented the first attempt at
a sociopolitical critique of Johns's and Rauschenberg's art, and it has
served as a point of departure for more recent interpretations that focus
on issues of sexual identity, uncovering encoded signifiers of a nominally
censored or closeted homosexuality within these artists' works. 1
In more recent years, Roth has proceeded to enlarge and expand upon
her critique of the postwar avant-garde, motivated, in part, by her op
position to the canonization and contemporary influence of artists
whose work she regards as apolitical, from Marcel Duchamp and John
Cage to Rauschenberg and Johns. Against the coolly cerebral, detached,
and depersonalized "aesthetic of indifference" embraced by the fol
lowers of Cage and Duchamp, Roth champions examples of contempo
rary art that base themselves upon an identity politics of gender and
sexuality, including the work of performance artists Shigeko KUbota and
Rachel Rosenthal.
Neo-Dada 1951-54 239
Interestingly, although this connection is not emphasized by Roth, in
the early fifties Rosenthal herself had been a close friend and associate
of Johns and Rauschenberg. At the time, her artistic production was
largely divided between her involvement with the experimental theater
and dance of Erwin Piscator and Merce Cunningham, and her work in
sculpture, which she would later describe as heavily indebted to Rausch
enberg's work of this period.2
In 1954, moreover, Rosenthal commissioned a work from Johns, Star,
that marked a crucial transition in both artists' careers (fig. 1). Imme
diately after his execution of the commission, Johns destroyed all his
previous work that was still in his possession and initiated a mode of
painterly production, famously inaugurated in his work Flag (1954-55),
that clearly differentiated his work from Rauschenberg's and that subse
quently came to define his identity as an artist. By contrast, after 1954
Rosenthal's own interests shifted entirely away from studio art, toward
the improvisational mode of theater that would establish the basis of her
later work in performance.3
Star thus represents a peculiarly hybrid object, whose authorship
remains open to interpretation and debate. Conceived by Rosenthal as a
painting in the shape of a Jewish star, the work's construction was
executed by Jasper Johns.4 In this sense, it is the product of a collabora
tion between two artists. On the other hand, Star is also the product of a
commission, in which Rosenthal played the part of creative director and
patron while Johns assumed the role of the craftsman: in this respect it
was not so different from the department store window-display com
missions Johns and Rauschenberg received from Gene Moore in this
period, which remained their principal source of income between 1954
and 1958. 5 Finally, the work belongs to a phase ofJohns's and Rosenthal's
careers in which their work was dominated by Rauschenberg's influence,
even as they struggled to develop independent artistic identities of their
own. Viewed in these terms, Star is a product of contract, collaboration,
and polemics, a site of disputation between the artists most closely
involved in its making and the art historians who argue over their
respective legacies.
A close analysis of this work and the context of its production, there
fore, may serve to demonstrate the complexities in these artists' produc
tion at a moment when it was not yet possible to clearly differentiate
between the two artistic trajectories outlined by Roth. Indeed, in this
240 S E T H M C C O RM I C K
Roth goes on, however, to distinguish Johns's works, with their osten
sibly more specifically McCarthyist themes, from the White Paintings'
passive acceptance of conditions of political censorship: "What emerges
out of a collective examination of his work is a dense concentration of
metaphors dealing with spying, conspiracy, secrecy and concealment,
misleading information, coded"messages and clues:'12
In differentiating Johns's inauguration of this "second and more poi
gnant phase of the Aesthetic ofIndifference" from the earlier art of Cage
and Rauschenberg, Roth accords Johns's work a more particularized
treatment than many of the social art historians who studied this period
in subsequent decades, most of whom have focused on the sexual iden
tity politics of these artists' works. Both Kenneth Silver's 1993 "Modes of
Disclosure" and Jonathan D. Katz's more recent studies of the Cagean
milieu, for instance, locate the artist's work within the context of an
emergent postwar homosexual aesthetic. 13 Their interpretations inevita
bly accentuate the commonalities between Cage, Rauschenberg, and
Johns as representatives of an ostensibly closeted, pre-Stonewall homo
sexual subjectivity. Viewed through the lens of identity, the artists' works
are simultaneously linked and contrasted with later, more overt artistic
expressions of homosexuality, as in the case ofAndy Warhol's life and art.
These shifts in interpretation have obscured the distinction, which
Roth originally wanted to underscore, between the coolly impersonal
aesthetic of Johns and Rauschenberg and the sexual identity politics of
seventies art. By defining the former as a developmental stage of the
Neo-Dada 1951-54 245
latter, Silver and Katz implicitly conflate these two models of artistic
practice. Restoring attention to the points of divergence between
Rauschenberg's ostensible passivity and Rosenthal's interrogation of the
performativity of gender is not just a matter of salvaging the uniqueness
and originality of each artist: as Roth's argument dearly shows, it is a
question of the political differences that separate these two formations.
The importance of these differences would seem to be borne out by
an analysis of the traces of these artists' respective influences on the
production of Star. On Rosenthal's side, the commissioning of Star
could be read as a kind of performance of her self-identification as a Jew,
constituting the earliest example of the artist's subsequent lifelong en
gagement with the aesthetic expression of personal identity. At the same
time, it seems to announce a shift in Johns's artistic practice as well, in
the way that it anticipates certain key elements of what Roth identifies,
in Flag and later works, as a thematics of secrecy and concealment. On
the level of the work's physical structure, for instance, the two interlock
ing triangles of the Jewish star are transformed into the forms of a
shallow triangular box with a triangular lid that has been rotated 180
degrees, obscuring part of the box's interior and concealing its contents.
In the tension established between these elements, the work bears the
marks of a struggle between the representational and political content
of the Jewish star and the modernist formal strategies of monochrome
and collage, a struggle that could be understood in terms of the conflict
ing imperatives of Rosenthal's iconographic program and Johns's aes
thetic sensibility. Thus, the work seems to embody the simultaneous
emergence and divergence of two models of artistic production polem
ically contrasted by Roth: Johns's elaboration of a "metaphorics of
secrecy" against the historical backdrop of government persecution and
censorship of modern artists, Communists, and homosexuals, versus
Rosenthal's performative engagement with the politics of identity.
At the same time, by situating Johns's work within the broader context
of McCarthyism, Roth's analysis of its "metaphorics of secrecy" is more
open ended than the interpretations developed by Silver and Katz. In
Roth's 1977 essay, the metaphorical content ofJohns's work has a politi
cal valence that cannot be confined to homosexual closeting alone, but
has equal relevance to the situation of other individuals and groups in a
time of espionage trials and Communist purges. For Silver and Katz,
these metaphors refer to the ground of an essential authorial identity
246 S E T H M C C O RM I C K
provided by Johns's homosexuality.14 In this way, something of the
commonalities that unite Rosenthal and Johns at this particular mo
ment in time, and that allowed them to collaborate on Star, falls outside
discussion; so too does the possibility of connecting Star's borrowings
from the aesthetic strategies of Rauschenberg's White Paintings with the
politics of Rosenthal's self-identification as a Jew.
What is precisely so remarkable about this work, in fact, is the rela
tionship it establishes between the Jewish star, as an ambiguous emblem
ofJewish sovereignty and vicitimization, and the work's concretization
of a Johnsian metaphorics of secre(."y. The work is governed by an
absolute spatial and semantic proximity between the forms of specifi
callyJewish identification embodied in the work's physical structure and
the zone of this identity's submersion in, or indistinction from, a shared
and nonspecific thematic of secrecy, concealment, and silence. This is
perhaps most evident in the difficulty of distinguishing between the
work's putative metaphorics of the homosexual closet and its recourse to
a figural language ofJewish and homosexual persecution under Nazism
that was specific to the literature and journalism of this period, ranging
from the use of the Jewish star and pink triangle as identifying insignia
in Nazi concentration camps (described in Eugen Kogon's widely read
report on the camps, The Theory and Practice of Hell) to the "secret
annex" made famous by the 1952 English publication of The Diary of
Anne Frank. 15
This proximity between visual structures ofJewish identification and
political structures of homosexual persecution, moreover, is not unique
to this particular work. Rather, as I will attempt to show, it is rooted in
the conditions of contemporary social and political discourse and in the
aesthetics of so-called neo-Dada art of the early fifties. Such indistinc
tions were governed and granted consistency by formations of power
and knowledge that gave a very concrete form to the visibility of homo
sexuality in the United States of the fifties, a form that does not corre
spond to contemporary notions of the homosexual closet. Restrictions
upon homosexual action and speech were not, in fact, the principal
mode by which these conditions exercised their effects, as the hypoth
esis of censorship implies. Instead of limiting the field of what was
visible, sayable, and knowable about homosexuals, I argue, these forma
tions saturated knowledge, speech, and sight, making it impossible to
Neo-Dada 1951 -54 247
identify a domain of homosexual identity that was not overcoded by
other identifications: criminal, Communist, subversive, spy.
Attention to the historical factors that connected the emergence of
the homosexual rights movement to postwar constructions of Jewish
identity may clarify the relationship between the activities of Rauschen
berg, Johns, and Rosenthal in the broader political and historical con
text of McCarthyism. Where Roth ties her interpretation to political
events that are specific to the artists' chronological development but
arguably remote from their personal concerns, Silver and Katz associate
the works with social and psychological conditions of homosexual invis
ibility that are germane to the artist's biographies. This, however, de
historicizes their work by measuring it against post-Stonewall dis
courses and practices.
The task, therefore, is to connect these two perspectives in a way that
does not take the relationship between aesthetics and politics for
granted and that remains sensitive to the particular historical context
of these artists' production. By conflating legal and political develop
ments with ahistorical factors of social or psychological prejudice, so
ciological analyses of homophobia and closeting deflect attention from
the specificity of homosexual persecution in the United States of the
fifties. This persecution consisted not so much in the concealment or
censorship of homosexual identity as in its obsessive disquisition within
literary:, scientific, and political discourse and in the forcible identifica
tion and elimination of homosexuals from government and private em
ployment. To those homosexuals who first recognized the need to orga
nize politically in the early fifties, these bureaucratically administered
and highly visible mechanisms of identification appeared to have more
in common with the political persecution that had confronted Jews
under Nazism than with the haphazard forms of police harassment and
homophobic violence to which homosexuals had been routinely sub
jected in the past. The purges of homosexual "security risks" from public
and private employment did not merely represent a threat to free ex
pression and self-identification, as the diagnosis of censorship would
suggest: rather, they uncannily echoed the situation ofJews in France in
the years of the Dreyfus Affair, a situation whose essential continuity
with Nazi persecutions of both homosexuals and Jews was analyzed in
Hannah Arendt's contemporaneous The Origins of Totalitarianism.16
248 S E T H M C C O RM I C K
think I'm not worthy of sharing your chamber, your art chamber for strength
and folk, ha? I'm an idiot too, and 1 can prove if'
Moholy put his hand firmly on Schwitters's arm and for a few minutes he
was silent, drinking rapidly and searching the blank face of his neighbor with
wild blue eyes.
"You think I'm a Dadaist, don't you;' he suddenly started again. "That's
where you're wrong, brother. I'm MERZ:' He thumped his wrinkled dress
shirt near his heart. ''I'm Aryan-the great Aryan MERZ. I can think Aryan,
paint Aryan, spit Aryan:'
He held an unsteady fist before the man's nose. "With this Aryan fist I shall
destroy the mistakes of my youth" - "If you want me to;' he added in a
whisper after a long sipP
Notes
Post-Communist
Still
1 . Dziga
Vertov,
Man with
a Movie
Camera,
1929. Film
still.
Mirror of Production
.As suggested above, Vertov was, up to a point, familiar with the violence
of the still, emerging as it does out of more general violence at work in
cinematic meaning itself: "to edit; to wrest, through the camera, what
ever is most typical, most useful, from life; to organize the pieces wrested
from life into a meaningful rhythmic visual order:'7 Man with a Movie
Camera famously makes this process visible, especially in the scene at the
editing table that cuts between moving images and their constitutive
stills, exposing the undecidable play between human and technical ani
mation that underlies cinematic diegesis. The latter is shown to be an
effect of a dynamic act of production, illuminating the status of the film
qua signifying visual structure and industrial artifact. Throughout the
film, cinematic labor is foregrounded and analogized with the other labor
practices it depicts (and which it depicts itself depicting) . The scene at
the editing table makes this especially clear: the work of the editor is
likened to the work of textile production, as both involve the cutting and
sewing together of heterogeneous pieces into a continuous socio-mate
rial text. yet because of this very visibility, the seamlessness usually
achieved by the ideological mechanism of "suture" is here suspended,
making it available to consciousness .As Erik Barnouw puts it in a typical
.
Caesura
2. Dziga
Vertov,
Man with
a Movie
Camera,
1929. Film
still.
the film continues to produce a more general sense of linear and cyclical
self-propulsion, allegorizing class consciousness as the motor of history.
In both form and content, the film's kinesis is always oriented around
doing something and going somewh�re: each cog in the film's intricate
dialectical machinery makes its contribution to the synaesthetic realiza
tion of the "meaningful rhythmic visual order:'
Even before being fixed as a still, the caesura opens onto a region
uncannily suspended between motion and stasis, activity and passivity,
life and death. The irregular pulsations of the surface seem depleted of
teleological energy, functional purpose, or communicative significance;
they do not appear to be going anywhere, doing anything, or saying
anything. Nevertheless, something happens, or comes to pass; the force
of the happening seizes our attention, but with a strange indifference to
our presence. In the synaesthetic terms of the film, we might say that in
the caesura, we are exposed to a kind of senseless visual noise, a mur
muring that announces, but in which nothing is announced. This is not
the glOrious audiovisual cacophony of the city-as-symphony, the rhyth
mic humming and clanking and riveting of industrial modernity. Nor
does it provide a quiet, contemplative pause where we might take a
breath and gather ourselves between the disorienting assaults of mon
tage. This caesura is restive, rather than restful. Its cutting leaves what
Barthes would call a "gash razed in meaning" that cannot be easily
sutured, even by the most deliberate of dialectical surgeons.
It is the coming-to-pass of this murmuring wound that is put under
Post-Communist Notes on Some Vertov Stills 275
arrest in the still} reactivating the conscious and unconscious traces it
may have left within us} liberating it from the "operative time" of cin
ema. Yet even when the gears of the film are brought to a standstill}
enabling the singularity of this image to show up without the burden of
movement} it refuses to stay in place. Though it is seemingly present}
frozen in the here and now} we still manage to miss it} arriving at the
moment of its withdrawal. As Barthes says} the image "compels an
interrogative reading;' yet it does not unfold itself in response to our
questioning. Not because of its infinite} ineffable depth} but precisely
because it doesn't stand for anything} not even itself.
Testifying to the "difficulty in naming" he undergoes in the face of the
obtuse meaning} Barthes asks} "How do you describe something that
doesn't represent anything?" We can take this one step further and ask:
how does this arepresentational image affect us as readers} split as we
already are between immanent identification with the Communist au
dience pictured in the film and the position of irrecoverable geopolitical
and historical distance any contemporary audience must now occupy?
An Empty Place
Scotoma
Such a reading can proceed by reading the caesura that interrupts Man
with a Movie Camera alongside a remarkable flim still that is to be found
on page 137 of Kino-Eye: The Writings of Dziga Vertov. It shows a ghostly
figure ensconced in a cloak, who appears to face the camera. But where
we might expect to recognize this figure's face and meet its gaze, we
encounter instead an aperture that exposes us to a kind of flat, impene
trable darkness, almost as if the still-or is it our eye?-has had a hole
burnt into it by sunlight refracted through a m<tgnifying glass.
Frozen in the still, cut off from whatever cinematic movement it was
meant to assist, this blind spot, or scotoma, effects a kind uncanniness in
the viewer, piercing us with the sense of some forgotten, abysmal loss.
But when processed through Vertov's epistemological machine, we
grasp the dialectical function that this moment of obscurity plays in the
"communist decoding of the world:' Far from aCcidental, it provides
precisely the challenge set out for Kino-eye in 1924, "to show people
without masks, without makeup, to catch them through the eye of the
camera . . . to read their thoughts, laid bare by the camera. Kino-eye as
the possibility of making the invisible visible, the unclear clear, the
disguised overt, the acted non-acted; making falsehood truth:'21
"When the still is returned to its original context, we recognize the
power relations implied by Vertov's epistemological metaphors of en
lightenment, revelation, unmasking-and the broader project of social
construction they served to legitimize. In Three Songs of Lenin, we
witness the actualization of these optical metaphors through the bodies
of subjects marked pejoratively as other, those who haunt Vertov's proj
ect of building a "visual bond between the peoples of the U.S.S.R and
Post-Communist Notes on Some Vertov Stills 279
the world based on the platform of the communist decoding of what
actually exists:'22
Vertov made Three Songs of Lenin in 1934, five years after Man with a
Movie Camera and ten years after the death of Lenin. The film com
memorates the late leader's revolutionary accomplishments by record
ing songs of mourning among workers and peasants across the US S R.
Though subdued significantly, the film continues to deploy several of
the unorthodox cinematic strategies explored in Man with a Movie
Camera, reaffirming the analogy between the activation of spectatorial
awareness and the self-realization of the Communist subject. Yet rather
than the urban proletariat of Man with a Movie Camera, the emergent
Communist subjects featured in the later film are bearers of an unset
tling form of cultural difference: they are the Muslim peoples of Central
Asia, a region inherited by the Bolsheviks from the Tsarist Empire and
subsequently referred to as the Soviet East. I want to briefly consider the
first of these three songs and attempt to draw it into the constellation of
questions provoked by the enigma of the caesura that lies at the origin of
this essay.
The title page of the first song reads "My Face Was in a Dark Prison;'
establishing a first-person narrative of transition from the imprisonment
of the past to the emancipated space of the present, a space that enables
free speech and public self-disclosure. Following the title page, the film
opens with an exemplar of that past, obscure imprisonment: The camera
follows a woman covered from head to toe in a chador, her face concealed
by an additional black garment, metonymizing the "dark prison" (fig. 3).
As this figure passes in front of the camera, a soundtrack of Central Asian
folk music begins, guiding us for several minutes through the physically
and culturally decrepit landscape of an anonymous eastern town. Among
the ruined Islamic arches and narrow streets, turbaned men are shown
malingering listlessly, apparently lacking in productive capacity. A mos
que appears, but only through a delirious, unfocused shot that echoes the
simulation of "intoxicated" vision in the bar room scene of Man with A
Movie Camera, Signaling a temporary aberration in consciousness: reli
gion as the " opiate of the people;' as Marx might have put it. But from this
state of visual impairment, the film cuts to a stable, elevated vantage
point, enabling us to gaze down on worshippers kneeling in unison as the
muezzin calls prayer. This opening sequence, which features seven shots
280 YAT E S M C KEE
3 . Dziga
Verov,
Three Songs
oJLenin,
1934, Song
1: "My Face
Was in
a Dark
Prison:'
Film still.
Unveiling Unveiling
The Permanence of
the Theologico-Political
Conclusion
Notes
It is thus with some interest that we witness the usage of a crucial avant-garde film
such as Vertov's Man With a Movie Camera as the opening recent text in the "language
of new media" just at it once served as the signal image some years ago for the very
first issue of this journal. And it is also with some doubt that we listen to these same
theoreticians of the new digital media proclaim that cinema and photography-with
their indexical, archival properties-were merely preliminary steps on the path to
their merging with the computer in the uber-archive of the database. Much of what is
most important to cinema and photography is wiped away by such a teleology. And
much of what seems most critical in contemporary artistic practice reacts to just such
an erasure. ("Introduction;' 4)
After the present essay went to press, October published a special issue devoted
to new work on Vertov (Summer 2007). Malcolm Turvey frames the ambition of
the issue as a critical complication of a certain "familiarity effect" among histori
ans with respect to the status of Vertov's films as political-modernist classics
("Introduction") . While Turvey acknowledges that "none of this new work, so
far at least, has overturned the political-modernist view of Vertov" (4), the
scholarship collected in the issue is impressive in its close attention to archival
materials and hitherto unaddressed facets of the filmmaker's oeuvre. The most
significant of these revisionist essays in light ofmy own concern to defamiliarize
this view ofVertov is Oksana Sarkisova's, '�cross One Sixth of the World:'
3. "The Third Meaning;' 63.
4· Ibid., 57·
5. My sense of what it means to read historically derives from Eduardo
Cadava's discussion of Benjamin's notion of "dialectics at a standstill": "For
Benjamin, there can be no history without the capacity to arrest or immobilize
historical movement, to isolate the detail of an event from the continuum of
history. . . . It short circuits, and thereby suspends, the temporal continuity
between a past and present. This break from the present enables the rereading
and rewriting of history} the performance of another mode of historical under
standing, one that would be the suspension of both 'history' and 'understand
ing: " Words of Light, 59.
6. Derrida, Specters ofMarx, 16.
7. Cited in Michelson, "Introduction;' xxvi.
8. Barnouw, Documentary, 63.
9. Cited in Michelson, "Introduction;' liii.
10. Constance Penley discusses the centrality of Man with a Movie Camera
for sixties avante-gardists Peter Gidal and Malcolm Le Grice's attempt at realiz-
292 YAT E S M C KEE
ing " a filmic practice i n which one watches oneself watching . . . filmic reflexive
ness is the presentation of consciousness to itself' Penley points out that they
disregarded any notion of the unconscious, lack, or desire, resulting in a mas
culinist conception of the political as the self-conscious construction of history.
See "The Avant-Garde and Its Imaginary:'
11. Baudrillard, The Mirror of Production, 7.
12. Nancy, The Inoperative Community, 2.
13. Buchloh, "From Faktura to Factography;' 94.
14. Michelson, "Introduction;' xxxvii.
15. See Cadava's chapter "Caesura" in Words of Light, 59; and Andrzej War
minksi's discussion of the caesura in Holderlin: "Rather than allowing the
human subject to recognize himself in his own other, the caesura rips him out
of his own sphere oflife, out of the center of his own inner life, and carries him
off into another world and tears him into the eccentric world of the dead:'
Cited in Keenan, Fables of Responsibility, 238.
16. Lefort, Democracy and Political Theory, 19. Here it is important to ac
knowledge the work of Rosalyn Deutsche, who introduced Lefort into discus
sions of art and the public sphere in her Evictions.
17. Lefort, "The Image of the Body and Totalitarianism;' in The Political
Forms of Modern Society, 305.
18. See Groys, The Total Art of Stalin. For a substantial critique of Groys's
teleology that demonstrates the latter's affinity with Fukuyama's post- Cold
War "end of history" narrative, see Wood, "The Politics of the Avante-Garde";
ZiZek, 'lVterword: Lenin's Choice:'
19. Michelson et al., . October, iv. Incidentally, Zizek criticizes the journal in
the following way: "Let's talk as much as possible about the necessity of a
radical change, to make sure that nothing will really change! The journal
October is typical of this: when you ask one of the editors what the title refers
to, they half-confidentially indicate that it is, of course, that October [the
Eisenstein film] -in this way you can indulge in jargonistic analyses of modern
art, with the secret assurance that you are somehow retaining a link with the
radical revolutionary past" ('lVterword: Lenin's Choice;' 172).
20. Cadava, "Laps us Imaginus;' 36.
21. Vertov, "The Birth of Kino-Eye;' in Kino-Eye, 41.
22. Vertov, "My Latest Experiment;' in Kino-Eye, 137.
23. Rashid, Jihad.
24. Michelson, "Introduction;' and "The Kinetic Icon in the Work of
Mourning:'
25. Cited in Michelson, "The Kinetic Icon in the Work of Mourning;' 18.
26. Repeating almost word by word the injunction from "The Birth of Kino-
Post-Communist Notes on Some Vertov Stills 293
Eye;' this passage is from the 1934 journal entry "Kino-Pravda" in VertoVj Kino-
Eye} 132.
27. Morris} "Theses on the Question of War"j Vertov} "My Latest Experi
ment;' in Kino-Eye} 137.
28. Drawing upon and complicating Benjamin Buchloh's linear periodization
of constructivism in "From Faktura to Factography;' Mariano Prunes provides
a convincing account of such formal and ideological hybridity in "Dziga Ver
tov's Three Songs about Lenin:' Prunes explicitly aims to reintegrate the study of
Vertov's cinematic production with the factographic activities of his colleagues
such as Rodchenko} especially those related to the journal USSR in Construction}
conceived as an instrument of mass enlightenment during the first Five Year
Plan. While Prunes deserves credit for recovering the status of Vertov's film as
an artistic} rather than merely propagandistic} artifact} he foregoes even the
ambivalent crypto-political analysis given it by Michelson in her October arti
cle} celebrating it as an exemplary instantiation of avant-garde culture. Symp
tomatically} like Michelson} Prunes ignores the problems of gender and religion
that Vertov himself enthusiastically announced as key motivations in his pro
duction of the film in the first place.
29. For a multifaceted account of veiling practices and their perpetually
contested status} see the texts} images} artworks} and documents brought to
gether in Bailey and Tawadros} Veil.
30. Alloula} The Colonial Harem} 182.
31. Spivak} "Can the Subaltern Speak?" 235.
32. See Mouffe} "Religion} Liberal Democracy} and Citizenship:'
33. Marx} "Introduction to the Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right;' 244.
34. Lefort} "The Permanence of the Theologico-Political?" 187.
35. Ibid.} 157.
36. On the Andijan massacre and the international response} see Anora
Mahmudova} "Uzbekistan's Growing Police State"j (May 27) 2005 ) http://
www.alternet.org/ story / 22097/ and the special report by Human Rights
Thinking Red
Where the RAP took "thinking Red" to the arena of armed violence,
binding it to a code of honor that gave shape to the underground cell, its
counterparts in Britain and France tended to ground their revolutionary
praxis in a mixture of violent agitprop and nonlethal obstructionism.
The Women's Liberation Movement, especially in Britain, stopped short
of abridging militance and militarization, proposing a wedge between
them in its politic of the Small Group. Defined as "anything from six to
two dozen women;' according to Juliette Mitchell, the Small Group was
identified as the most effective unit of political organization, particularly
when it came to countermanding hierarchic social structure and the
domineering tendencies of male-dominated radical collectives: "Oppos
ing any form of domination in theory, and having suffered its effects in
previous radical groups, all Women's Liberation politics act on the basis
of developing collective work and preventing the rise of ego-tripping
leaders. Outsiders, trying to pin down the politics of a group, complain
of the lack of a centre. They are so used to 'spokesmen' that their
absence confuses:'31
Like Guattari, Mitchell insisted on the psychotherapeutic dimension
of group consciousness in advocating the political deployment of group
therapy to achieve the liberationist ends of woman's solidarity and
safety. If the Women's Liberation Movement subscribed to a militant
strain of anarchism-utopistically described by Mitchell as the pure
expression of liberation: "a release of all one's dammed-up psychic ener
gies" and a legitimation of random violence as the only viable antidote
to the chokehold of bourgeois opinion-it stepped back from endorsing
the "Spontaneist-terrorists" who, in today's parlance, might be charac
terized as weaponized Small Groups. Squadrons of women who "model
themselves as rocks to throw at the walls of bourgeois society;' these
militant feminists were dismissed by Mitchell and her cohort for an
excessive "offensiveness" read as overcompensation for middle-class self-·
308 E M I LY A P T E R
hatred.32 Violence as a form o f personal therapy was seen as a liability,
potentially obstructing the movement's broader aims.
In France, Red thinking was similarly channeled into nonviolent man
ifestations, as evidenced by Alain Badiou's depiction of himself in the
early seventies as an agent provocateur of the classroom whose target
was none other than Deleuze:
For the Maoist that I was, Deleuze, as the philosophical inspiration for what
we called the "anarcho-desirers," was an enemy all the more formidable for
being internal to the "movement" and for the fact that his course was one of
the focal points of the university. I have never tempered my polemics: con
sensus is not one of my strong points. I attacked him with the heavy verbal
It is surely no mere happenstance that the art and politics of the seven
ties have come back to haunt us in the wake of 9 / 11.42 E-activism was
particularly in evidence in mobilizing opposition to the Iraq war. Geert
Lovink's writings on Net culture offer a lucid account of how political
collectives have used the Net. Tom Keenan has written on new political
formations spawned by media culture. And in a very interesting article,
"Doing Their Own Thing, Making Art Together;' Holland Cotter sur
veys the resurgence of collaborative art collectives in the medium of
digital networks. Cotter recalls how groups from the sixties such as the
Artworkers Coalition and the Black Emergency Cultural Coalition
"made concerted attempts to pry open institutional doors and let in a
multicultural world;' while "non-militant movements like the Dada
inspired Fluxus produced an ephemeral, give-away, anyone-can-do-it art
that amounted to a kind of passive resistance to the market economy:'
The new virtual collectives, he points out, take full advantage of the
Internet as a fundamentally collective medium. Groups such as Royal
Art Lodge, Beige, Slanguage, Flux Factory, Dearraindrop, and Milhaus
are posed as the inheritors of The Hairy Who (of the sixties) and
Destroy All Money (of the seventies) in Cotter's scheme. The most
interesting thing about these new collectives, he points out, is that
members of the collective often do not know each other, creating a
model of anonymous community that complements the dematerialized
nature of their cyber-spatial site specificity. While evincing skepticism
about the depth of commitment to a political or utopian ideal of collec
tivism on the part of these Web-based groups (many of these sites evoke
a "slacker" sensibility), Cotter discerns genuine critical activism in
works sponsored by the Radical Software Group or new groups such as
RTMark, Critical Art Ensemble, Ultra-Red, and Electronic Civil Dis
obedience. With their international network of programmers and fluid
organization of participants, these groups belong to the burgeoning
counterculture of artists' collectives.
Thinking Red 313
Also in evidence in recent years, a rash of documentaries and art
projects has scoured the representational surface of the not-so-distant
radical past in an effort to retrofit the culture of group solidarity and the
weaponization of thought. German filmmaker Andreas Veiel's 2001 doc
umentary The Black Box revisits the question of why RAP members
Wolfgang Grams and Alfred Herrhausen armed themselves in the name
of moral vigilance and took on the "enemy" of the German Federal
Republic. The movie Human Weapon investigates the history of suicide
martyrdom for political causes, emphasizing how group subjectivity has
been key to the passage a l'acte. My Terrorist, an autobiographical docu
mentary, charts the effort of a former Israeli flight attendant, wounded
in a foiled 1972 hijacking attempt, to release her assailant from a British
prison in the name of an alternative to the Israel! Palestine stalemate.
The Weather Underground traces how the incredibly rapid succession of
American political atrocities from the late sixties into the seventies-the
My Lai massacre, the murders of Black Panther leaders Mark Clark and
Fred Hampton, the assassination of Salvador Allende, Kent State-led
inexorably to the group's conviction that violent acts of sabotage were
the only means possible in a war stacked in favor of the military-indus
trial complex. Moving from film to art installation, Mary Kelly's Circa
1968 (2004) is a projection of a famous photograph from May ' 68 of a
female demonstrator held aloft and brandishing a flag. Composed out of
compressed lint, the medium works to dematerialize the outlines of
faces and bodies, allowing then to flow seamlessly into now. For artist
Renee Green, the year 1970 provides the occasion, in a work titled
Partially Buried, to examine the legacy of the Adorno-Angela Davis
connection and the killings at Kent State (where Green's mother was a
student at the time) . And in the arena of performance, a 2002 video by
the artist Sharon Hayes-reenacting Patty Hearst's appeal for ransom
payment as she repeats and strays off message (itself dictated by the off
camera group voice of the Symbionese Liberation Army) -underscores
the strange speech rhythm that gets established between the serial in
structions of mind control and the mouthing of fractured voices speak
ing as one.43 Roland Barthes might have designated this rhythm "idior
rhythmie religieuse;' a term he applied, in his 1976 seminar on Mount
Athos, to ascetic, monastic federations regulated by the mystical beat of
prayer calibrated to the rhythm of heart and breath.44 These retrospec
tive exhumations of seventies radical movements, each of which sits in a
314 E M I LY A P T E R
much larger field o f examples, form a fascinating pendant to the repre
sentations of ethical militance that emerged in the period itself They
are compelling, perhaps, because they afford a glimpse of the last mo
ment before the last: that is to say, the fleeting specter of a revolution
that was never allowed to happen or think its way into political time.
Drawing on Sylvain Lazarus's The Anthropology of the Name, Badiou
asks, "Can politics be thought as thought?"45 I would say in response to
this key question that the politics of group subjectivity, articulated in
1968 but foreclosed by the narrative of revolutionary failure, has ye� to
be "thought as thought;' its episteme entered into political time.
Notes
1. For the best summary of Badiou's early political trajectory (as well as his
broader philosophical engagement), see Hallward, Badiou, 30. For the best
discussion of Badiou's theories of militance, see Laclau, 'M Ethics of Militant
Engagemene' See too, Hallward's introduction to a special issue of Angelaki,
"The One or the Other: French Philosophy Today;' and the special issue of
Polygraph on Badiou (no. 17, 2005) edited by Matthew WIlkens.
2. Badiou begins Le siixle with an astonishing replay of Genet's preface to his
play Les negres: "One evening an actor asked me to write a play for an all-black
cast. But what exactly is a black? First of all, what's his color?" Badiou appropri
ates this strategy to re-time the political: "A century, how many years is that? A
hundred years? This time it is Bossuet's question that imposes itself: 'What is a
hundred years, what is a thousand years, if a single instant can efface them?'
Shall we ask then what is the exceptional moment that will efface the twentieth
century? The fall of the Berlin wall? The sequencing of the genome? The
launching of the Euro?" Le siecle, 9 - 10.
3. Dimbledy, The Palestinians, 132.
4. Genet, "Quatre heures a Chatila;' 244, my translation.
5. Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness, 12.
6. Ibid., 11.
7. Bataille, "The Structure and Function of the Army:'
8. Khanna, "The Experience of Evidence;' 110.
9. Derrida, Politics of Friendship, 147. Further references to this work will
appear in the text abbreviated PE In this section Derrida is drawing on Carl
Schmitt's Theorie des Partisanen, ZWischenbemerkung zum Begriff des Politischen
(1963) [Theory of the Partisan and The Concept of the Political] and Carl von
Clausewitz's 1832 treatise Vom I<.riege [On War] .
Thinking Red 315
10. Debord, Considerations on the Assassination of Girard Lebovici, 75- 76.
11. Badiou, Saint Paul, 97. See Catherine Clement's review ofJacques Lacan's
Television, psychanalyse, in "Une Le<;on," 101.
12. Badiou, "Politics as Truth Procedure;' in Metapolitics, 150.
13. The slogan "keep going" is enunciated in Badiou's Ethics, 79. In a talk
titled "The D esire For Philosophy and the Contemporary World;' Badiou
affirmed: "The world is saying to philosophy 'Get up and Walk!' "
14. Zizek, The Ticklish Subject, 153.
15. Dor, Introduction to the Reading of Lacan, xxiii.
16. Badiou writes, "The subject of a revolutionary politics is not the individ
ual militant-any more, by the way, than it is the chimera of a class-subject. It is
a singular production, which has taken different names (sometimes 'Party;
sometimes not) . To be sure, the militant enters into the composition of the
subject, but once again exceeds him (it is precisely this excess that makes it
come to pass as immortal)" Ethics, 43.
17. Hardt and Negri, Empire, 60.
18. Guevara, Guerilla Warfare, 17.
19. Rowbotham, Promise of a Dream, 196.
20. Kristeva, Revolt, She Said, 35. Further references to this work will appear
in the text abbreviated RSS.
21. Freud, Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego (1921), 77. Further
references to this work will appear in the text abbreviated G P .
22. Deleuze, Spinoza, 122 and 126, respectively.
23. Deleuze, Bergsonism, 117.
24. Deleuze, "Gilbert Simondon, L'individu et sa genese psycho-biologique;'
in L'fle diserte et autres textes, 124.
25. Massumi, "Deleuze and Guattari's Theories of the Group Subject through
a Reading of Corneille's Le Cid;' 814.
26. Deleuze, "Trois problemes de groupe;' in r.:lle deserte et autres textes, 270.
The following interview was conducted over the course of several meetings,
both in person and through e-mail, between November 13, 2005, and Septem
ber I, 2006. The questions were composed by the editors.
ANSWER I think that the best way to answer your question is to insist on
the equivocity of the category of art in our modern languages. It encom
passes the two meanings of tekhne and poiesis, "technique" and "cre-
318 ETIENNE BALIBAR
ation;' and therefore draws our attention t o the fact that, despite strong
tensions, they can never be completely separated. To see politics as an
art means, on the one hand, that it is neither an ethical disCipline,
governed by the categorical imperative of moral or religious values
(which is not to say that values and ethical choices are not involved in
the goals and means of political action), nor a mere application of
scientific knowledge, as the positivist tradition has repeatedly main
tained (which is not to say that knowledge of facts and structures is
irrelevant to politics) . Rather, it is a discipline of action, combining
forces and changing their relationship within aleatory environments in a
manner that remains always contingent. This was basically Machiavelli's
conception, into which I am trying to insert a renewed vision of the
critical dimensions of modernity.
On the other hand, to see politics as an art means that an aesthetic
dimension is intrinsic in it. (This idea was not alien to Machiavelli, a
"republican" thinker who in this respect stands at the opposite pole from
the fascist and state-socialist strategies of aestheticized mass politics to
which you allude, but whose thought can also be opposed to liberal
forms of political "marketing:') This aesthetic dimension refers both to
the production of political agency within a variety offictions (narratives,
representations, performances), and to a conception of the ideological
element of politics in terms of the elaboration of a common or shared
sensorium, to borrow Jacques Ranciere's idea. I shall return to these two
aspects, taking advantage of your next questions. Let me finish with this
preliminary point by clarifying that a politics of civility is specifically
aimed at counteracting the tendency toward extreme violence which
makes the "art" of politics impossible. In this sense, civility is not a
particular form of politicS, but rather a necessary dimension of politics
as such. Although it is not to be confused with nonviolence, it should be
identified with every form of collective agency that interrupts the cycle
of violence and counterviolence and prevents violence from being car
ried to extremes. To combine this aim with other critical dimensions of
political practice (politics as emancipation, as conquest of equaliberty,
and as transformation of social structures and power relations), is also
clearly an art, in both of the senses mentioned above. It requires skill
and judgment to develop narratives and representations which counter
act the inner tendency of modern (and postmodern) mass politics to
Interview 319
produce consensus and exclusion by transforming social and ideological
conflict into an absolute "friend vs. enemy" relation, where the "us" is
perceived as a unity or identity vitally threatened by the existence of the
other. It also involves risk. A politics of civility therefore aims at chang
ing the social conditions of perception, which are not only cultural, but
also institutional. Such change is possible provided we do not adopt a
narrow, purely legal and administrative view of institutions, but see
them as a dialectical interplay of traditions and critiques, collective and
individual inventions, where the exception and the provocation shape
new normativities. Which is typically what writers, artists, and experi
mental thinkers aim to do.
which you map along a shared axis in the lecture "Europe as Border
land;' you discuss the possibility that European states may delegate the
324 ETIENNE BALIBAR
tasks o f border control and the limitation o f immigrant refugees to
neighboring states such as Turkey, Morocco, and Libya, which would act
as auxiliary immigration officers. You point out that this act of project
ing power outside the state dialectically illustrates the incapacity of the
superstate to regulate difference within its own limits. You refer to this
as the transportation of actual borders beyond the borderline. Then, in
a striking analogy, you say that this phenomenon "seems to be the
meaning of the project of externalizing the camps:'6 What do you mean
by this reference to the camps? Are you referring to a historical camp or
those of the present?
For example, how does territorial consolidation through the paradoxi
cal enactment of deterritorialization, extending the boundaries of a
nation-state, operate in the case of Guantanamo Bay? How does Guan
tanamo Bay act as a compensatory measure for the failure to regulate
the entwined problems of identity and security?
In connection with this question of the camps, what do you think of
the way in which the concentration camp is invoked in Giorgio Agam
ben's Homo Sacer as the "hidden matrix and nomos of the political space
in which we are still living?"7 Does this relate to your suggestion that the
current crisis in drawing national borders, bound up in problems of
visibility and representation, is also a matter of the externalization of the
camp? For you, is the camp a transhistorical structure that determines
the present and the production of sense, or has the very sense of the
camp been transformed in the present? It seems to us that you have
formulated a notion of the camp that is more historically differentiated
than Agamben's. In what ways could we see Abu Ghraib and the media
representations of Abu Ghraib as symptomatic of a historical transfor
mation in the function of the camp?
2005 on the topic of "strategies of civility;' you suggest that any analysis
of extreme violence must take into account how it is inextricably linked
to aesthetic and ethical concerns. You stated that what is needed is a
"representation of the unbearable" to function as a threshold that ex
presses the "limits of the inhuman:' How is the representation of the
unbearable linked in your thought to a politics of civility? Can you point
to any recent instances of an adequate representation of the unbearable
nature of extreme violence?
QU E S T I O N Quite some time ago you asked the question "Whither Marx
ism?" suggesting that the old antagonisms between classes had long
since ceased to be the primary arbiter of social struggle. You have more
recently proposed identity as a locus of struggle against the state. Rather
than uphold a fixed notion of identity, you suggest that identity is as
much a function of disidentification as identification, but one that is
constantly being put in place by state nationalism and racism. Neverthe
less you seem to uphold a notion of the nation as the necessary precon
dition of citizenship and so as a place that can also arbitrate a space for
equaliberty. How do you reconcile this tension between ambiguous
identities and national borders? Aren't transnational identities ( from
global corporations to fundamentalisms to blog culture ) as important
today as those fixed by the state? Is the state the only possible place for
the management of equaliberty? If identities can only give access to
micropolitics ( to the coil of the snake, rather than the burrow of the
mole, as Hardt and Negri put it ) , are there systems of identification
today which offer larger possibilities for "the art of politics;' as you call
it, just as class once did? Can art itself still function as a semiautono
mous site for the political critique of given identities, institutional or
otherwise?
328 ETIENNE BALIBAR
ANSWER I believe that the formulation o f the question rests on a misun
derstanding of what I have been trying to elaborate and explain, since
my contributions to Race} Nation} Class at least.9 But certainly the re
sponsibility lies with me: it means I have been obscure, or incomplete,
or contradictory. Perhaps the only way to clarify some of the difficulties
would be to attempt a new exposition of fundamental concepts, except
that the method I would suggest for that today would be less deductive
and more descriptive (comparative and typological) than my contribu
tion to Reading Capital forty years ago. It would be more in the spirit of
Max Weber's attempt in the first section of his unfinished work known
as Economy and Society, but this unfinished attempt shows that there is a
difficulty here also: when you try and elaborate typologies, you discover
that what is most important is that which is on the edge, the processes
that escape the typology.
To begin with the negative, in a sharp manner: I did not suppress
classes and class struggles in order to replace them with "identity" or
with conflicts among and within identities; and I did not designate the
(nation) state as "the only possible place for the management of equa
liberty": perhaps just the opposite, although this depends on what you
mean by "management:' I believe that class determinations and class
struggles are today more important than ever, both inside states or
national constituencies and at the global level, which becomes more and
more the relevant framework. On this I completely agree with Waller
stein and other theoreticians of the world system. I even believe that we
find ourselves in a historical phase where some classical deSCriptions of
class formation (concerning polarization, proletarianization as uproot
ing of individuals, the emergence of a transnational bourgeoisie, etc. )
become again almost palpable-which is not to say that they will pro
duce the consequences predicted by Marx, any more than they did the
first time. And I believe that equaliberty, which I defined as the absolute
reciprocity or mutual implication of equality and liberty, is a principle
and a force that is insurrectional rather than constitutional. Therefore,
while equaliberty forms the driving force behind the emergence of
democratic institutions (or more democratic institutions, what Claude
Lefort called "the invention of democracy"), it must remain at odds
with every institution, threatening it or challenging it as much as it
legitimizes it. The (nation) state is or can be one of them, but there is no
reason to believe that it is such by nature, forever, and that this dialectic
Interview 329
does not have other historical sites. On the contrary, I agree that in the
current transition period there is an urgent need to locate transnational
institutions which can form new possible sites for this dialectic, together
with corresponding "translations" of the discourses of equaliberty. And
this displacement is cnlCial to understand what the art of politics in
cludes today.
So, why are there still difficulties ? Let me look at the double side of
the question again. The difficulty with the class vs. identity issue comes
from the fact that in the orthodox Marxist view, the formation of collec
tive identities-which is always an ideological process involving the
construction of an imaginary scene and the invention of narratives
allowing for individual subjects to think of themselves as members of a
collective-has been described as an automatic consequence of class
conditions (unless false consciousness distorts it) . The class conflict has
been seen as the only decisive antagonism in history. As a consequence,
whenever other identities (gender identities, national identities, re
ligious identities, etc.) prevail, they are perceived as a reversal of the
materialist conception of history and a revenge of the ideologies upon
class and socioeconomic factors. But in fact, class identities are subject
to the processes of disidentification and identification that you mention,
just like any other form of identity, and these are more or less powerful
according to the circumstances: this is already a political phenomenon.
And other identities, however symbolic they seem to be, also have roots
and conditions in basic antagonisms, power relations, and material
structures (such as language and sexuality) . Overdetermination and
ambiguity are the rule. The art of politics will not cease to take into
account class issues (in the current conjuncture, I am tempted to say
that there is too much blindness in this respect rather than the op-'
posite), but it will never return to a pure apocalyptic class scenario.
The difficulty with equaliberty and the state, which I take to be
equivalent with the nation-state in your formulation, is basically a diffi-,
culty with the concept of citizenship. For some political philosophers,
particularly Arendt, I think that the category of the citizen is necessary
to democratic politics (a principle to which Ranciere is very much
opposed) . The sense of this necessity may give some of my texts a
"republican" flavor, even when they deal with civil disobedience as a
necessary aspect of droit de cite. Together with citizenship goes an
institutional dimension, an ambivalent call for law, sovereignty, status,
330 E T I E N NE BALI B A R
and resistance to domination and power. For a long period now the
state has monopolized the institutional dimension of politics in the
national cadre and around it, therefore appearing at the same time as an
instrument of emancipation (when pushed to democratize itself or to
guarantee fundamental rights) and as the most powerful alienating
structure. This gives a certain credence to the anarchist thesis, according
to which "to raise demands toward the state is already a way to acknowl
edge its domination:' Art itself, in the modern age, with its educational
and its subversive functions, was taken in by this ambivalence, as you
rightly suggest. But the history of the citizen as institutional and politi
cal figure cannot become imprisoned in this single determination.
Clearly, other institutional levels of politics and democracy need to be
identified.
This is the meaning of current debates on cosmopolitics and transna
tional citizenship, which seem to resume Arendt's problem where she
had left it: namely, the aporia of the construction of rights beyond the
crisis of the nation-state. The global sphere of communications is clearly
a major site of struggle and tension here, where aesthetic inventions
combine and compete with the market. It is a question of determining
the language in which the masses become included or excluded, reduced
to hegemonic identities or capable of expressing their differences and
raising their autonomous claims. But I would also insist on the impor
tance of a critical work within the concepts of law and norms beyond
the national cadre, which is why I find Negri and Hardt's notion of the
multitude here much too abstract. On the contrary, I find very impor
tant what Agamben discusses in Homo Sacer when he dissociates au
thority from sovereignty. Perhaps we could say that this is the core of the
art of politics, inasmuch as it is centered on the democratic invention of
forms and practices of citizenship to come: combining a recognition of
the multiplicity of collective identities, and of the plasticity of mass
formations, with an awareness of the unfinished process of the institu
tion of rights.
could and has been understood, in a strictly political and secular sense,
as the practice of a certain politics of viSibility. Appearing veiled in
school involves the making visible of religious associationj it also in
volves the making invisible of ethnic and physical features whose pre
sentation serves the purposes of administrative identification. What
seems to be at stake in such conflicts is a crisis in the forms of visibility
of the citizen, as both a public and a private individual. Can the concept
of the citizen accommodate the sort of challenge to its principle pre
sented by the legislation of visibility? How does one legislate commu-
Interview 333
nity without reverting to the theological and absolutist problematic of
the pre citizen subject?
cratie, you write that our problem now is "how to take a vacation from
utopia, while at the same time freeing the powers of the imagination:'14
You argue that within globalization the very foundations of classical
utopia have been radically destroyed. We have gone beyond the condi
tion of its realization, since "it appears that the unity, at long last real
ized, of the human species in a single world, governed by the same
economic regulations, confronting the same environmental problems,
situated under the gaze of the same surveillance satellites, looks much
more like the 'war of each against the other' described by Hobbes as a
state of nature, than like a civic or a civil place:' Yet, while you criticize
the term utopia, you emphaSize the role of the imagination in politics,
particularly in the field of institutional creation and what you call "fic
tion": "the production of the real on the basis of experience itself,
knowledge and action inextricably mixed, insurrection opening into
constitution:' You also point out in the preface to Politics and the Other
Scene "that 'material' processes are themselves ( over- and under- ) deter
mined by the processes of the imaginary, which have their own very
effective materiality and need to be unveiled:'l s What kind of materiality
is involved in the process of the imaginary? Are you suggesting that the
function of the imaginary within contemporary politics has shifted and
therefore cannot be sufficiently accounted for within the theoretical
framework of ideology critique? How does the role you assign to the
imagination in the present differ from the role it played in the past in the
creation of utopian visions of the future? Can you elaborate on the use
value of fiction in the production of political and civil possibilities?
Notes
1. Balibar, "Three Concepts of Politics;' in Politics and the Other Scene, 35.
2. Balibar, "Europe as Borderland:'
3. Ibid., 20, emphasis in original.
4. Ibid., 21, emphasis in original.
5. Balibar, "Sub specie universitatis:'
6. Balibar, "Europe as Borderland;' 16.
7. Agamben, Homo Sacer, 166.
8. Bojadzijev and Saint-Saens, "Borders, Citizenship, War, Class:'
9. Balibar and Wallerstein, Race, Nation, Class.
10. Balibar, "Citizen Subject;' 48, emphasis in original.
11. Article 141-5-1 of Law No. 2004-228 in the Code d'E ducation.
12. Balibar, "Dissonances within Lai"c iU:'
13. See the recently published inquiry by the Pew International Center on
comparative situations in various European countries: "The French-Muslim
Connection:'
14. Balibar, Droit de cite, translation by Kristin Ross.
15. Balibar, Politics and the Other Scene, xiii.
Bibliography
She is the author of Feminizing the Fetish: Psychoanalysis and Narrative Obses
sion in Turn-of the-Century France (1991) and Continental Drift: From National
Characters to Virtual Subjects (1999).
seum of Art and an adjunct professor at the University Iuav of Venice, in Italy.
teaches in the department of art and art history and the Gradu
R AC H E L H A I D U
ate Program in Visual and Cultural Studies at the University of Rochester. Her
essays on Thomas Hirschhorn, Daniel Buren, Marcel Broodthaers, and Piero
356 C O N T RI B U T O RS
Manzoni have appeared in Documents, Texte zur Kunst, and Obieg and in the
books Part Object, Part Sculpture and Musee precaire Albinet. She is completing
the book Marcel Broodthaers 1964 -1976, Olj The Absence of Work.
and writes frequently on contemporary art and culture. He is most recently the
author of American Art since 1945 (2003) and Feedback: Television Against De
mocracy (2007).
sity. Her work has appeared in Artforum, Texte Zur Kunst, and Octo be" as well as
exhibition catalogues. She works on mid-century European abstraction.
C O N T RI B U T O RS 357
is an associate professor at the Graduate School of Architec
R E I N H O L D M A RT I N
tion and the Art of Painting;' at Columbia University in the spring of 2007. His
essay " 'In Memory of My Feelings': Jasper Johns, Psychoanalysis, and the
Expressive Gesture" is scheduled to be published in a forthcoming issue of
Source: Notes on the History ofArt.
at the University of Michigan. He is the author of Flesh and the Ideal: Winckel
mann and the Origins of Art History ( 1994 ) and The Sculptural Imagination:
Figurative, Modernist, Minimalist (2000) .
recent books include The Politics of Aesthetics (2006), Film Fables (2006), and
The Future of Images (2007) .
teaches contemporary art at Cooper Union and the University of Ohio. His
work has appeared in venues such as October, Grey Room, Art Journal, and
Parkett. He is associate editor of Nongovernmental Politics (2007) and coeditor
of The Visual Cultures of Nongovernmental Politics ( forthcoming ) .
Index
Abraham, Nicolas, 124 Alienation, 14, 39, 53, 55-56, 67, 163
Absence, 8, 31-32 "Alligator" (Lawler), 97
Absoluteness, 14 Alterity, 82
Address and community, 11- 12 Althusser, Louis, 322
Adorno, Theodor, 6, 17, 39, 40, 174 Anderson, Benedict, 13
Aesthetics: of administration, 143; Anderson, Warren M., 183
aesthetic regime, 5-7, 32, 36-37, Andijan Massacre, 290
140, 143; autonomy of, 6, 20-21, 33, Anonymity, 45
36, 41, 60, 90-92, 96, 99, lOS, 210; Anthropology of the Name, The
beauty and, 4, 81- 82, 100; blurring (Lazarus), 314
and, 35; defined, 1; dismissal of the Anti-aesthetic, 3-5, 54, 56-78; beauty
ory, 3; as elitist term, 3; end of art and, 21, 81; communities of sense
and, 4, 20d3, 51, 52, 55, 76 n. 9; and, 60; conceptual art and, 101;
equality and, 36-38; ethics and, 82; end of art and, 20, 52; modern art
historicism of, 6 -'7; homogeneity as, 51-53; modernity and, 51, 55;
and, 34; of indifference, 238; judg postmodernity and, 51, 79, 95, 105
ment, 112; origins of, 36; politics Anti-Aesthetic, The (Foster), 3, 33
and, 2, 6, 8, 19, 22, 31-50, 82, 143- Apollinaire, Guillaume, 137
44, 318; post-Kantian, 3; relational, Appadurai, Arjun, 168, 211-12
20, 22, 83-86, 89, 99, lOS, 144--45, Appearance, 7-11
218; social roles and community in, Aragon, Louis, 135, 137
1-2, 5; state, 37; terminology, 3 - 4. Archipolitics, 86-87
See also Anti-aesthetic Architecture: corporate, 22, 175, 177-
Agamben, Giorgio, 20, 22, 24, 76 n. 9, 85, 188-90; computers and, 172-
187, 256-57 74; mirrors in, 172-73, 176, 186-
Ala Plastica, 208- 9 87, 191
Alberro, Alexander, 81 Arendt, Hannah, 247, 325, 330
Alessi, Lynn, 174 - 75 Aristotle, 114
360 I N D EX
Art as a Social System (Luhmann), 203 Barres, Maurice, 21, 141-44, 146-48
Art criticism: Marxist, 17; popular, 3- Barthes, Roland, 35, 40, 269, 275, 313
4; postmodernist, 3 Bataille, Georges, IS, 200, 297
"Artificial Hells" (Breton), 137 "Bataille Monument" (Hirschhorn),
Artistic production, 2, 9, 33, 79, 81, 200- 6
204, 245, 250 Baudrillard, Jean, 10, 272
Art projects, 16-19, 23, 211 Baumann, Zygmunt, 319, 320
Arturo Ui (Brecht), 42 Beauty: aesthetics of; 4, 81- 82; classi
Asher, Michael, 10, 98 cal, 20, 83-90, 91, 94; ethics and, 4,
Asylum, 21, 122, 124 82, 83; good and, 4j judgments of,
Atomism, IS, 16 104; perspective in photography,
Audience address, 95, 102-5 80-82; politics and, 21, 82, 83-84,
Autonomy, aesthetic, 6, 20-21, 33, 36, 86; postclassical, 90, 93, 94-95, 100,
41, 60, 90-92, 96, 99, lOS, 212 104-5; pure, 33; as remnant, 90-
Avant-garde art: anti-art strategies, 3; 95; standards of, 3; truth and, 53
collectivisim and, 1-2, 11-12j com Beecroft, Vanessa, 45
munity and, 1-2, 11; critique of, Being-in-common, IS, 17, 19, 200
238; dissent and, 85; globalization Benjamin, Walter, 3, 32, 143, 268
and, 2; integration into life, 6; rev Bergson, Henri, 303
olutionary transformation by, 211; Bernstein, Jay, 91
sense and, 21 Bhopal, India, Union Carbide plant,
184 - 87
Baader, Andreas, 307 Biopolitics, 183, 189- 90, 241, 257-58,
Baader-Meinhof group, 306-7, 288, 325
310, 311 Biopower, 256
Backwardness, 281 Bishop, Claire, 18-19, 85, 89-90, 95,
Badiou, Alain, 294-95, 299-300, 308, 145, 209, 233
311-12, 314 Black Box) The (documentary), 313
Baker, George, 80, 105 Black September, 297
Balibar, Etienne, 7-8, 10, 11, 13, 25; cit Blanqui, Auguste, 242- 43
izenship, 330, 331; class and identity, Bloch, Ernst, 335
327-29; concentration camps, 324- "Blue Nail" (Lawler), 97
25; interview, 317-36; politics ofci Bolshevism, 276
vility, 317-19; politics of visibility, Boltanski, Christian, 44-45
333-34j sovereignty concept, 332j Border-crossings, 43, 49, 324
on translation and language, 320- Boundaries: art and life, 137, 138, 143,
22; unbearable as subjective, 326; 148; blurred, 35; globalization and,
utopia and globalization, 334-36 39; high vs. low art, 40, 43; organi
Ballanche, Pierre-Simon, 260 - 61 zation, 199j suppressed, 37-38
Ball, Hugo, 137 Bourriaud, Nicolas, 17- 18, 47, 82, 83-
Balzac, Honore de, 35 90, 99, 136, 144-45, 204
Bare life concept, 22, 24, 187, 256- Brecht, Bertolt, 42
57, 259 Breton, Andre, 135, 136, 137, 138 -40,
Barnouw, Erik, 270 141, 142, 145-48
I N D EX 361
Broodthaers, Marcel, 79 Communities: aesthetics and politics
Brooks, Peter, 77 n. 21, 78 n. 23 o£ 1-2; anonymous, 312; collec
Buchloh, Benjamin, 12, 272 tivity vs., lSi defined, 14 -lSi dis
Buck-Morss, Susan, 267 placement and, 21, 125i experimen
Bunshaft, Gordon, 176, 178 tal, 23, 199- 212i identity and, 13,
Burden, Chris, 45 88- 89, 94i of meaning, 319i modes
Bureau of Surrealist Research, 148 of address, 11; negotiation and, 23i
Buren, Daniel, 10, 98 operative, 272i people vs., 2i politi
Butler, Judith, 290 cal, 87- 88i spectacle and, 13; sub
jectivity and, 21, 89
Cadava, Eduardo, 278 Communities of sense, 11- 16; anti
Cage, John, 245-46 aesthetic and, 20, 60; art and poli
Camera Lucida (Barthes), 35 tics as, 32, 38i Citizen Cursor and,
Capitalism: art projects and, 16; 158i defined, 31; disagreement and,
modernist formalism and, 3 19i fiction and, 49i use of term, 2.
Caracas Urban Think Tank See also Sensus communis
( C C STT ) , 197 Community-based art, 16-19, 23, 209
Cendrars, Blaise, 137 Computers and architecture, 172-74.
Censorship, 244, 246, 252, 257 See also Mass customization
Chakrabarty, Dipesh, 321 Concentration camps, 324-25
Cicero, 115 Conceptual art, 20, 79, 101-2, 105, 109
Cid) Le (Corneille), 304 n. 59, 137, 143
Circa (Kelly), 313 Conflicts, 25
Citizen Cursor, 157, 159 - 69; defined, Congres de Paris, 148
156; visibility and, 158 Consensus: artists and, 17, 18; en-
Citizenship, 25, 320, 330, 331 forced, 16i social divisions and, 9
Civility, 25, 317-19, 326 Consuming politicS, 156 -57, 168
Clausewitz, Carl von, 298 Contemporary art, 51-53
Collaborative production, 204-10, 227 Cooper, Anthony Ashley (Lord
Collection in art, 20, 46 Shaftesbury), 21, Ill, 112, 113 -18
Collectivism: avant-garde art and, 1- Copjec, Joan, 83-84
2; cyberspace and, 312; identity Corbis (firm), 160
and, 228 "Cordonnees, Les" (Lawler), 105 - 6
Collectivity: artists and, 17; commu Corneille, Pierre, 304
nity vs., 15; militancy and, 300- Cotter, Holland, 312
301; modes of address and, 11; peo Crewdson, Gregory, 45
ple vs., 2; politics o£ 2; relationality Crimp, Douglas, 32, 101
and, 14; socialism and, 13 Critique ofJudgment (Kant), 21, 90-
Commodity culture, 33, 39, 43, 97 91, 112, 120
Common sense, 3, 7, 12, 21, Ill, Crowd psychology, 302
120, 336 Culte du moil Le (Barres), 142
Communism: fall of� 2, 18; global, 25; Cult of death, 311
post-ethical, 295; use of term, 15. Cunningham, Merce, 239
See also Red thinking Cybermohalla, 207- 8
362 INDEX
Cyberspace: collectivism and, 312; Dobriner, William, 153, 156
command over, 169 n. 12j popular Documenta 11, 200, 201, 208
art criticism and, 3 Dorleac, Laurence Bertrand, 213 -14
Czensky, Margit, 208 n. lO
Dow Chemical, 186, 190
Dada movement: avant-garde art Du, Wang, 44, 46
and, 137; dissensus and dissent in, Duchamp, Marcel, 197
145i event concept, 136, 138i life Duct tape, 228 -30
span, 149 n. 6. See also Paris Dada Dymaxion House, 174
Danto, ArthUli 4
Darwish, Mahmoud, 296 E-activism, 312
David, Jacques-Louis, 70 Eden, Eden, Eden (Guyotat), 25,
Death Instinct, The (Mesrine), 299 309, 310
Debord, Guy, 13, 298-99 Eisenman, Peter, 175
de Chirico, Giorgio, 45 Bluard, Paul, 135
Deconstruction, 3, 262 Embryologic Houses, 174
Degeneracy, 24, 241 -42, 250-55, 258 Emergency Detention Act, 249
Delacroix, Eugene, 20, 52-54, 60-67 End of art, 4, 20, 33, 51, 52, 55, 76 n. 9
Deleuze, Gilles, 188, 301-5, 308, 309 Engelen, Maaike, 206
Demetaphorization, 21, 111, 112, 124, Enlightenment: aesthetics since, 19,
129 -30 55i art and sense in, 5, 54-55i
Democracy: community and, 2; as revolution and, 298, 311i world war
empty place, 275i as montage of and, 146
forms, 85i political theory and, I, Ennemi des lOis, L' (Barres), 142
86, 107 Ensslin, Gudrun, 310
Dent, Tory, 102 Entry of the Crusaders in Constantino
Derrida, Jacques, 270, 298 ple, The (Delacroix), 65-67
Desire: aesthetics free from, 37i Equality: aesthetics and, 36--38i ap
ethics and, 300i hidden, 41i uncon pearance and, 9i beauty and, 86i
scious and, 88, 93-95, 292 n. 10 Jacobin vision of, 297i politics and,
Diaries, 207 - 8 7, 10, 38-39i presence vs. absence
Diaspora, 21, 125-26, 128 of, 8
Digital House, 161-63 Eros, 15
Dijkstra, Rineke, 45 Esakov:, Liyat, 108
Dimbleby, Jonathan, 296 Ethical regime, 5
Dinkeloo, John, 179, 181 - 83 Ethics: beauty and, 4, 82, 83i desire
Disagreement (Ranciere), 8 and, 300i politics and, 40, 49
Disidentification, 8, 11, 21, 23, 123, 130, Eugenics, 256
327, 329 Exchange value, 200, 210
Dissensus, 141, 145 Execution of the Doge Marino Faliero,
Dissent: avant-garde art and, 85i The (Delacroix), 61-65
Dadaist, 145i political, 21, 86-89i Exile and the Rock Limpet, The
social equilibrium and, 84, 86 (Turner), 58-60
Dividuation, 188
Face Your World (Heeswijk), 206 Green, Renee, 313
Falseness, 8 Greis, Gunther, 208
Fanaticism, 113 Grosz, George, 253
Feldman, Hans-Peter, 46 Ground Zero global village, 174-75
Feminism: militant, 307; radical, 262 Group love, 301, 302-3
n· 9 Group Psychology and the Analysis of
Film stills, 24 the Ego (Freud), 302
Flatness paradigm, 36 Group subjectivity, 300-305, 308-12,
Flexibility, 178 313, 314
FluKUs, 137, 312 Guattari, Felix, 301-5, 309
Foster, Hal, 3, 33, 79 Guerilla warfare, 301
Foucault, Michel, 256, 325, 335 Guevara, Che, 301
Fraser, Andrea, 80, 98, 100, 105, 109 n. Guns, 296, 297
66, 217, 233 Guyotat, Pierre, 25, 309, 310
French Communist Party, 308
French Revolution, 36 -37 Haacke, Hans, 10, 79
Freud, Sigmund, 302, 322 "Hand on Her Back" (Lawler), 102, 103
Fukuyama, Francis, 175 Hannibal, 67-80
Fuller, Buckminster, 174 Hardt, Michael, 301
Fundamentalism, 16 Hariri & Hariri (architecture firm),
161- 63
Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 118 Harmony: aesthetics and, 6, 21, 82,
Gage, John, 72-73 89, 92, 253; beauty and, 83, 91-92,
Galiev, Mir Said Sultan, 282 100, 106- 7; community and, 87,
Gates, Bill, 22, 158 - 61 94, 116- 17
Gender, 225-26, 238 Hatoum, Mona, 111-12, 122-30
Gigantism, 112, 128, 130 Haussmann, Raoul, 253
G I M P (software), 207 Hayden, Delores, 155
Globalization: art as space and, 198; Hayes, Sharon, 313
avant-garde art and, 2, 22-23; Hay, Harry, 248, 255, 260
boundaries and, 39; politics and, Hearing, 126
25; social formations and, 16; uto Hearst, Patty, 313
pia and, 334 Heartfield, John, 42
God, death of, 93 Heeswijk, Jeanne van, 206, 209
Godard, Jean-Luc, 25, 34, 42, 47, Hegel, G. w. E, 34, 51-53, 55-60, 67,
295 76 n. 9
Good and beauty, 4 Heidegger, Martin, 126, 128
Gorin, Jean-Pierre, 25, 295 Herrhausen, Alfred, 313
Graffiti, 229 Heterogeneity, 22, 34, 35, 39, 41, 43,
Graham, Dan, 153 46-47, 140
Gramsci, Antonio, 301 Hickey, Dave, 4, 84
Grams, Wolfgang, 313 Hirschhorn, Thomas, 23, 89-90, 95,
Gray, Thomas, 72-73 200-6, 209, 215, 232. See also Musee
Greek art, 20, 55-56 Precaire Albinet
Histoires du cinema (Godard), 47 Info-walls, 160
Historical cycles, 119 -20 Inoperative Community, The (Nancy), 14
History of the Concept of Time (Hei- Institutions: of art, 233i critique of,
degger), 126 20 - 21, 23, 80- 81, 96- 98, 101, 105j
Hobbes, Thomas, 114, 118, 334 defined, 80i reality o£ l07i space
Homogeneity, 34, 154 outside of� 209
Homosexuality: aesthetic o£ 244i Intelligibility, 21, 31- 32, 36, 41, 80, 94,
civil rights and, 248, 262 n. 9i gov 224, 319
ernment purges of, 248-49i iden Interactor (software), 206
tity, 24, 243, 247, 250, 256, 257; Internet: collectivism and, 312j com
persecution and, 241, 247, 257i sig mand over, 169 n. 12j popular art
nifiers, 238; visibility o£ 24, criticism and, 3
240, 246 Invisibility, 11
Horace, 114 Invitation in art, 20, 47
Horkheimer, Max, 39 Irony in art, 53
Housing subdivisions, 156 Islam, 24, 281- 82, 285- 86, 288- 89
"How Many Pictures" (Lawler), 80, Iversen, Margaret, 109 n. 59
81, 106
Huelsenbeck, Richard, 253 Jacobs, Mary Jane, 204
Hugnet, George, 253 Jacoby, Roberto, 210
Hugo, Victor, 297 Jadidism, 281
Humanitas, 115, 116, 117, 130 Janis, Sidne)TJ 251
Human nature, 114-15 Japaridze, Tamar, 121
Human Weapon (film), 313 Jewish identity, 245, 246, 259-60
Humor in art, 20, 46, 53, 57"- 60, 74 Johns, Jasper, 96, 238 -40, 243 - 44,
Huyghe, Pierre, 22, 164-69 246, 251, 258, .261
Johnson, David K., 248
lei et ailleurs (film), 25, 295- 97 Jokes in art, 20, 46, 53, 57-60, 74
Identification of art, 5-7, 12, 23, 32, Just society, 297
36-37. See also Disidentification
Identity: citizenship and, 25; class, Kafka, Franz, 128-29
153-55, 327-29j collective vs. indi Kant, Immanuel, 21, 79, 90, 100, 104,
vidual, 228j community and, 13, 111, 112, 120 -22
88- 89, 94j formations, 204j in Karimov, Islam, 288- 89
stitutional, 95- 107; locational, 156, Katz, Jonathan D., 244- 45
226i politics, 2, 15- 16, 238, 242, Kaufman, Robert, 92
244, 259j as relational surrender, Keenan, Tom, 312
93j security and, 323 -24i subjec Kelly, Mary, 313
tivity and, 17j transnational, 327 Kent State killings, 313
Ideology: critique o£ 13i use of Kester, Grant, 16-17
term, 8 Kevin Roche, John Dinkeloo and As
Illusion, 8-9 sociates, 179, 181 - 83
Image archives, 160 Kino-eye, 271, 278, 287
Imagined Communities (Anderson), 13 Kino-Eye (Vertov), 278
I N D EX 365
Klotz, Nicolas, 327 Made in USA (film), 42
Kracauer, Siegfried, 173, 175, 178, Mallarme, Stephane, 36
188- 89 Malraux, Andre, 32-34
Kramer, Hilton, 258 Mannheim, Karl, 335
Krauss, Rosalind, 230 Man with a Movie Camera (Vertov),
Kristeva, Julia, 301 24, 268 -70, 274, 277, 278 -80, 284
Kubota, Shigeko, 238 Man without Content, The
Kwon, Miwon, 16, 18, 226, 227 (Agamben), 76 n. 9
Mapplethorpe, Robert, 4
Lacan, Jacques, 88, 93, 299, 300, 309 Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso, 252-53,
Laclau, Ernesto, 89 254-55
Laing, R. D., 301 Marxism: collectivity and, 13; neo
Language: Dada critique of, 137, 138; Marxist political philosophy, 89;
as technology, 126-27, 128; transla political turn in, 25; utopianism
tion and, 320 -21; universal, 320 of� 299
Lawler, Louise, 83-94; audience ad Mass customization, 22, 174-91
dress, 95, 102-5; beauty perspec Mass ornament, 173, 175, 178, 186-90
tive, 80 -82, 104-5; contextual art, Massumi, Brian, 303-4
101-2; institutional critique, 21, Mathemes, 300, 311
80-81, 96-98, 101, 105; institu Mattachine Foundation, 248
tional identity in photographs, 95- Matta-Clark, Gordon, 209
107; placement in aesthetics, 79 Maurras, Charles, 142
Lazarus, Sylvain, 314 McCarran Act, 249
Le Bon, Gustave, 302 McCarran rider, 248
Lefort, Claude, 267, 275-76, 284, McCarthyism, 24, 238, 241-42, 245,
286-87, 328 248, 250, 256
Lehmann-Haupt, Hellmut, 258 McKenzie, Evan, 156
Lenin/ Christ incarnation, 283, Measures ofDistance (Hatoum), 124,
284, 287 12S, 127
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 61 Meinhof, Ulrike, 307
Lessons on Aesthetics (Hegel), 34 Melancholy panic, 113, 116, 119, 121
Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Merz collages (Schwitters), 251 -
Man (Schiller), 6, 37, 38, 150 n. 15 55, 258
LeWitt, Sol, 101 Mesrine, Jacques, 299
Lieshout, Joep van, 206 Metaphors: communication and, 120;
Link, Jim, 155 fraternity of� 47; identification and,
Linniers, Antoine, 308 1, 120; loss theory and, 121- 22; op
Lissitzky, EI, 12 tical, 278; productive, 112; secrecy
Laocoon (Lessing), 61 and, 245-46; of visuality, 116. See
Loss theory, 121-22 also Demetaphorization
Lovink, Geert, 312 Metapolitics, 8, 295
Luhmann, Nildas, 205 Michelson, Annette, 272, 277, 282,
Lynn, Greg, 174 284, 289
Lyotard, Jean-Franc;:ois, 6, 40, 320 Microtopias, 86, 89, 144
366 I N D EX
Migration, 23, 167, 230, 320 Mystery in art, 20, 47-48
Militance, ethical: discourse of terror My Terrorist (documentary), 313
and, 25, 294, 297- 98i group form
and, 306-7, 308, 311-12, 314i mili Nancy, Jean-Luc, 2, 12, 14-16, 130,
tant theorum, 299j militarization 272, 327
vs., 25, 295j paramilitary terror and, Napoleon Bonaparte, 59
297i political collectivity and, Nationalism, 13
300-301 Nazism, 241 -42, 247, 248-50, 252,
Mills, C. Wright, 176, 178 255-57, 259
Minimalist art, lOS, 109 n. 59 Negation. See Anti-aesthetic
Mirrors in architecture, 172-73, 176, Negativity in art, 57
186-87, 191 Negri, Antonio, 301, 305, 309, 311
Mitchell, Juliette, 307 Neo-Dada, 24, 238 -61j aesthetics,
Mitchell, W. J. T., 160- 61 246i stereotypes and, 258
Mobility, 156-57, 163 Nihilism, 138, 139, 148
Modern art, 51- 53 Northrop, Douglas, 288
Modernity: anti-aesthetic in, 51, 55i
atomism of, 15j imaginary and, 85j Obj ectivity: humor and, 58j subjec-
modernist formalism, 3, 6i shift to tivity vs., 57
postmodernity, 20, 40, 44 Oedipalization, 303, 305
Moholy"Nagy, Laszlo, 252 Oiticica, Helio, 209
Moholy-Nagy, Sibyl, 252, 254 On Beauty and Being Just (Scarry),
Moore, Gene, 239 82, 83-87
More, Thomas, 335 "Once there was a little boy and ev
Morris, Rosalind, 283 erything turned out Alright. The
Motherwell, Robert, 252, 253 End" (Lawler), 98, 99
Mouffe, Chantal, 89 On the Psychotheology of Everyday Life
Mouli-Julienne X (Hatoum), 124, (Santner), 80, 82
129 Origins of Totalitarianism, The
Moving Pictures (exhibition), 45 (Arendt), 247
Multiculturalism, 319, 323
Musee Precaire Albinet, 215-16, 227, Palestinian Revolution, 295-97
229- 34i artists in, 219 -20, 224; art Paradigm of flatness, 36
spectators and, 225i description, Paris Dada, 22, 134-36, 139-40, 145,
218 -19, 222- 23i field trips, 220-21; 149j art/life boundary in, 138, 148;
gender and, 225- 26; institutional Barres trial, 22, 141-44, 146-48;
authenticity and, 23, 217j neighbor critique oflanguage event, 137, 138;
hood of, 235 n. 7, 236 n. 13i objectives of, 146; St.-Julien visit,
speakers in, 220i text in, 224i trans 136-41
parency and, 217, 224, 228 Partially Buried (Green), 313
Museums: critique and, 10i frame of, Paternalism, 306
23; homogeneity vs. heterogeneity Pelzer, Birgit, 80
and, 36j without walls, 33-34 People: appearance and, 9; collec
Muslim Communist Party, 280 -81 tivity and community vs., 2, 11-12;
I N D EX 367
depsychologizing, 309j divided, 8 - Privatopia (McKenzie), 156
9 , lOj presence vs. absence of: 9j Proll, Astrid, 306
utopianism and, 12 Promise of a Dream (Rowbowtham), 301
Peret, Benjamin, 146 Proyecto Venus, 210 -11
Photography: double use of; 33- 34j Psychologie des Joules (Le Bon), 302
heterogeneity and, 34, 3Sj re
producibility of: 36j uniqueness of, Racism, 16, 333-34
36, 40 RA F (Red Army Faction), 305-7,
Weapons: radical groups and, 297; Ziiek, Slavoj, 92, 277, 300
virile, 296 Zola, Emile, 42
Weather Underground, The (film), 313
L I B R A R Y O F C O N G R E S S C ATA L O G I N G - I N - P U B L I C AT I O N D ATA