t h e r e ' s a l s o s o m e a r t i n t h e n o r t h

We recently attended a couple of exhibitions in Leeds while we were visiting some friends. First was ‘Becoming Henry Moore’ at, yes you guessed it, The Henry Moore Institute. Once lauded as the greatest British artist of the 20th century, Moore has (in recent years) been usurped by the great sadomasochistic gambler, Francis Bacon; where, in the battle for the representation of the human form, Moore has become the muted child constantly out-screamed by his ‘pope-wielding’ disorderly sibling.

But where Moore regains that voice against Bacon however, is in his drawing (not least due to Bacon’s spurious claim that drawing was never part of his practice) in this exhibition, Moore’s early ideas are alive with a sense of movement and even urgency, that reflects at least an aspect of Bacon’s supine fragility of the flesh, which lies beneath this sculptor’s weighty forms – this is where Moore’s osseous matter melts away before your very eyes, and here instead, we see the skeleton of an idea. Moore’s beginnings lay bare.

The exhibition highlights the influence of early visual language – tribal art that would go on to influence Modern Art – language equally appropriated by Picasso, which would become a tertiary influence on Moore – along with sources from publications from the British museum – black and white shots of Aztec and Cycladic works studied enthusiastically for particular sculptural cues.

But the real source of Moore’s later sculptural weight is to be found through juxtapositions with works from Rodin and Michelangelo, a reflection of Moore’s sense of sculptural muscle – rather than any Baconian mortality – that of immutable stone; like bone to Bacon’s flesh.

Sometimes it’s difficult and frustrating to have to look for what one might find interesting in an exhibition but it can be rewarding. Initially this didn’t seem like something we would be particularly into but we were pleasantly surprised.

We then went to the Tetley which was showing an exhibition by Saelia Aparicio titled Your Consequences Have Actions. The main focus of which seemed to be something along the lines of, what is our relationship to the limitations of our bodies, minds and the urban spaces in which we live. A fairly thought provoking subject matter which never quite seemed to lead us down anywhere of interest. Inside the main space are a set of twelve hand painted wooden stools representing crouching women which viewers are invited to move around and sit on. Their varied natural shades represent various human skin tones. They could be read either as a comment on the covert systems of exploitation which prop up the so-called first world or, equally, an elaborate joke. It felt a bit obvious and not allowing the audience any autonomy to make up their own mind as to what might be going on. It felt more like a demonstration of Aparicio’s ability to realise drawings in sculpture, which is largely what the show consists of. 

Got some really great looking books for Christmas! 

The New Dictionary of Art by artist Robert Good, where you can take your pick from over 3,000 definitions compiled from the internet via chat-rooms and discussion forums as well as from the more established authorities, artists and institutions. Weird but powerfully provocative and a thoughtful idea. 

Death 24x a Second by Laura Mulvey was another one, which we’ve been meaning to get out of the library since a tutorial we had a few weeks back so now we have no excuse! How To Not Be A Boy by Robert Webb, another one we’ve been meaning to read after watching countless interviews with him explaining his motivations around writing it. It’s something that really (and this is such a frustrating phrase but for lack of a better one) ‘spoke to us’ with regards to the way in which a large portion of men, us included, repress all their emotions other than anger because that’s the only one their ‘allowed’ to express. Which leads to imposing their shit on everyone else because they don’t have the emotional skills to communicate sadness or anxiety or fear so they just get angry. And finally I Call Myself A Feminist which is a variety of view from 25 different women on all number of topics such as is the word feminist still to be shunned? Is feminism still thought of as anti-men rather than pro-human? Is this generation of feminists - outspoken, funny and focused - the best we've had for long while? Has the internet given them a voice and power previously unknown? Very excited to be more informed.

That’s all folks! Sid and Jim, signing out for 2017, see you on the other side.

S P O I L E R S - t r e a d c a r e f u l l y

PLEASE DON’T READ THIS UNLESS YOU’VE SEEN THE NEW STARWARS

We really wanted somewhere to discuss a couple of things about the Star Wars film and we’ve been looking into storytelling and how narratives are assembled so here goes…

‘The Last Jedi’ is the rare franchise movie that embraces its series’s tropes and subverts them at the same time. What stood out to us as the most dramatic subversion was that this was the first Star Wars film, arguably since the original ‘A New Hope’, that felt wholly informed by its director’s sensibilities. Sure, Irvin Kershner gave ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ a sense of seriousness that didn’t seem to interest George Lucas, and The Force Awakens was full of J.J. Abrams’ stylistic flair. But ‘The Last Jedi’ is definitively a Rian Johnson movie, perhaps even more than it is a Star Wars film. From the irreverent, slapstick humour and gorgeous, jaw-dropping visuals (Vice Admiral Holdo’s sacrifice, we’re looking at you) to the thoughtful rethink of the Jedi mythos Star Wars fans have taken for granted, ‘The Last Jedi’ steps away from the rest of the franchise. Rian Johnson has refined his unique style over the course of his career, but the fact that he was free to express it fully here is thrilling. Turning Star Wars into a property people will want to revisit year and after year is going to require diversity in perspective, tone, and approach. The Last Jedi appears to be proof that filmmakers will be given the freedom to reimagine Lucas’ world in ways he never would have thought of. That’s a direction we’re very much interested in.

Secondly, the new characters; Laura Dern as Vice Admiral Holdo was a highlight, especially as a foil to Poe. It was interesting to see how they had the same goal, but executed it completely differently. Conflict among the good guys in Star Wars is rare and exciting (especially when Poe declares mutiny to a shocked C-3PO), and it helped keep the drawn-out middle of the film moving. I was happy to see Kelly Marie Rose as Rose Tico. Having an Asian woman as part of the ensemble is a step toward better reflecting society, and she was great. I would have liked to have seen her develop more, but that’s hard, given the already long runtime of the film. I felt like her friendship with Finn was really worthwhile, though I question the romantic aspect. (Their kiss seemed unjustified, but she does think she’s dying.) Benicio Del Toro’s DJ is a terrific character, but he side tracks the main narrative. It’s nice to have a character with some shades of grey.

The moment where Leia shoots Poe may be our favourite thing in the film, both because she was overdue for some decisive physical action, and because it works so sharply against the hotshot-hero dynamic the Star Wars films love. The downside there is that his sulky little mutiny doesn’t just cost them some time and cost him some dignity. Sending Finn and Rose out on their mission directly leads to DJ giving up the Resistance to the First Order, which gets most of the Resistance killed. As much as we loved the movie subverting Poe, he ultimately faces no consequences for getting virtually all his allies killed.

Even though this was very clearly a film which had its own direction, it was great to see the comparative nods to previous Star Wars stories. This would be the betrayal by DJ feels like a pretty clear reference to Lando Calrissian in ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and also the training scenes with Luke and Rey were similar to Yoda and Luke from the same film.

f i l m s y o u m i g h t h a v e m i s s e d

Today we decided to take a look into our ‘films to watch’ list and go for something we’ve been avoiding for a while and we landed on ‘My Dinner with Andre’. It’s one of those films that everyone says you have to watch if you’re into films and before beginning it, all we knew was that it was a purely dialogue-based film – just a conversation in real time between two men. While watching, you’re completely entranced by the whole thing and now that we’re sat down trying to write about it, there doesn’t really feel as if there’s much to say other than that it's a simple, dialectic piece of film making that feels like a play. But anyway, it's a conversation between two interesting people who are educated, slightly enlightened, but forever questioning of the structure of the universe. It’s actually a film that was entirely devoid of clichés. This may be because of its unassuming concept, but also because there really is nothing like this film around. 

Some people find the conversation boring and the mood morose, others think the political and socio-economic values of the conversation are too opposed to their own ideals. To love this film, you must love dialogue, subtlety, and the sweet surrender of the theatre (which fortunately we do). Otherwise this film will bore you to tears. If you philosophise, wonder, or debate the many merits of the universe, this is a film that will speak to you on an atomic level. We found the two men interesting, but not fascinating, and that's a good distinction. You want to feel like you yourself could speak about travel, morality, and the sanctity of art, or else you're lost. We were very much taken along for the ride and feel better for it. 

This combined with our recent introduction to Kerry Tribe has influenced us to start thinking more seriously about writing the script for the audition tape film. It was an idea we had for quite some time but now we’ve done the appropriate amount of research to start properly thinking about what we want it to be. We’ve now gone back and watched some of our favourite dialogue-heavy films because our interest in the audition tape films is that there’s nothing to prop up the story, other than the acting; there’s no costume, no set, no props or music, nothing. Just an actor and their craft. 

These films which are revolve around the dialogue are as close to what we’re considering as one can get from these types of films. Feature films have something different to contend with when it comes to an audience; they need to satisfy them to make money. This is why we tend to focus on them more than the artist films which can sometimes feel more about portraying a feeling or a certain aesthetic. It’s the notion of how a conventional narrative can be told that we’re investigating. Sorry, we never mentioned the films we re-watched; Sex, Lies and Videotape, Tape, the whole before trilogy directed by Richard Linklater and Room in Rome.

w a l k i n g a r o u n d l o o k i n g a t a r t

Earlier this week we attended an exhibition at Marian Goodman by Hiroshi Sugimoto called ‘Snow White’. On show are a series of big black and white photos of abandoned cinemas, their screens captured with an ultra-long exposure, letting the light of a whole film pound through the lens. By the end, all that’s left is pure, brilliant, spectral white in the centre of each image. We found a couple of features quite thoughtful even though the work itself didn’t totally stay with us or blow us away. Something we’re always appreciative of is the subtle manipulation or alteration of the gallery space. Here, we see all the windows blacked out and the walls painted a slightly off shade of grey as opposed to the classic white cube (probably to give the white of the photographs more ‘pop’). It definitely created a highly depressing atmosphere; there’s a real sense of things being gone: life, memories, spaces, culture. It’s a morbid mausoleum to time’s passing, the ghostly images are photographic tombstones. 

We couldn’t help but picture Alfredo Jaar’s ‘Lament of the Images’, not only for the aesthetic appearance of a big white rectangle but also the lyricism of it (although Jaar is our favourite of these two). 

Kati Heck’s solo show at the Sadie Coles Kingly street gallery is called Heimlich Manoeuvre and you can really feel it whilst viewing. The initial film is nonsensical but in an amusing way (although a lack of seating did deter us from seeing the whole thing). The main space had been shrunk by building a room within the initial space of the gallery (something we enjoyed but didn’t really understand). Perhaps it was to do with the domestic interior; there was a carpet and paintings hung on the wall? The paintings were huge and unappealing. In this space, chocking and consequently receiving the Heimlich Manoeuvre is the least of your worries.

Next up was the Photographers Gallery. We’re uncertain if this has always been a feature of the gallery but the Media Wall seems to showing consistently entertaining moving image work. Another positive is that it’s in the café and therefore free *Smiling Face With Open Mouth and Cold Sweat emoji* It’s title is ‘Indeterminate Objects (Classrooms)’ and it’s a work by a photographer called Wendy McMurdo. The project is a continuation of her investigation into the relationship between children and computers, and is inspired by young people’s fascination with immersive digital environments such as Minecraft. 

On view, is a series of Victorian classroom interiors at a school where the traditional elements - desks, bookshelves, children’s drawings - are overlaid by a series of hypnotic geometric forms. As these 3D objects hover above the desks, they enter the space of the classroom, casting shadows on the floor which mingle with those of the room. There’s a clever hint towards the various spaces through which childhood is now experienced and visually it’s very exciting but there does seem to be a bit of disconnect between the fairly complicated theoretical side and then the final product.

m o v i n g f o r w a r d

Currently our research is loosely based around storytelling and the ways in which elements of cinema (such as dialogue and editing) influences how artists/filmmakers tell stories. This has involved us doing some experiments with pre-existing footage, similar to the film about props, where we have taken scenes from films such as “Batman” or “Wolf of Wall Street” and removed all the shots with dialogue to create this strange echo of what once a comprehensive scene. 

Another experiment was looking at the first and last scenes of a film and considering how the journey between the two has mutated the first into the last. One of our favourites being David Fincher’s film about the inception of Facebook called The Social Network (which, on a side note, has more shots with visual effects than the new Godzilla which just proves Fincher’s absolute attention to detail/desire for perfection). 

Aaron Sorkin, the screenwriter for Moneyball and creator of The West Wing, likes to begin his scripts on tilt, a staccato of dialogue, forcing the viewers to listen in order to catch up. His characters often speak past each other, responding with zags to zigs; ignoring one thread only to veer back to it a few seconds later. In The Social Network, he begins the story with nine pages of dialogue between the principal character, Mark Zuckerberg, and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, Erica. It is an unorthodox amount for an opening scene, but it establishes the themes of the movie as well as character of Zuckerberg. We’ve slightly degressed into a rant about how great the dialogue is in this film but the point was that in this beginning scene Erica’s final line is “You’re going to go through life thinking that girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. It’ll be because you’re an asshole.” Compare this to the final scene of the film where the lawyer Marylin Delpy says to him “You’re not an asshole, Mark. But you’re just trying so hard to be”. There’s a suggestion that there has been some sort of transformation here but one which is very subtle.

We had a personal tutorial which due to unforeseen circumstances wasn’t with our usual tutor but was nevertheless helpful and informative. Some great recommendations came through including artist/curator Gavin Wade who we were already aware of due to his text called ‘The 5 Acts of Art’ where he proposed that art is exhibition, that art is not exhibited but that art exhibits, that exhibition is a fundamental function of being human, and the fundamental process of art. He also discusses how the artist-curator position builds on this ‘truth’ to produce art that is necessary. The artist is a primary producer of art while the curator is a secondary producer (but a producer nonetheless). This is very much in line with our thinking when it comes to things we’ve curated in the past and how we’ve contributed to them in our own way, not necessarily bringing a big spotlight onto us as artists but more as facilitators/organisers. 

Another excellent artist we were recommended who we were unaware of before is Grace Schwindt, who’s 2014 film Only A Free Individual Can Create A Free Society sounds confusing and thought-provoking in the best way possible. The inception of it was an interview between the artist and a German cab driver about his involvement in the progressive West German political fringe from the mid-1960s. Over 70 minutes, their dialogue unfolds across a choreographed performance featuring 11 dancers. The stage is a three-walled, open-air set, reconfigured at intervals, which divides the film into movements. The set itself sits on a hillside overlooking London. Filmed at night, this mise en scène generates a peculiar magic: a kind of esoteric Restoration masque, re-enacted by the Bauhaus. We also watched a talk where she discusses her interest in language and the pre-existing story structures - her desire to breakdown and then rebuild these forms is very exciting and exactly what we’re thinking about.

To add to the previously unheard of is the play “Six Characters in Search of an Author” by Luigi Pirandello. The basic plot is that six characters interrupt the daytime rehearsal of Pirandello's play. Abandoned by their author, they seek a new one to put on their drama. They then convince the theater company's Manager and attempt to stage their unwritten play. We haven’t actually managed to see the play but have read it (even though we understand this isn’t nearly the same thing). There are some truly heavy lines in it which are very meta, a favourite being, “A character, sir, may always ask a man who he is. Because a character has really a life of his own, marked with his especial characteristics; for which reason he is always "somebody." But a man—I'm not speaking of you now—may very well be "nobody." The Father makes this playful comment to the Manager in Act II. Note the mellifluous courtesy of his speech: this rhetorical ploy is typical of the speech he addresses to the company or at his moments of relative reserve. Throughout the play, the Father insists on the reality of the Characters, a reality that, as the stage notes indicates, inheres in their forms and expressions. Here he bristles at the Actors' use of the word illusion as it relies on its vulgar opposition to reality. He approaches the Manager in a sort of face-off to challenge this opposition, one that underpins his identity. Convinced of his self-identity, the Manager readily responds that he is himself. The Father believes otherwise. While the Character's reality is real, the Actors' reality is not real. While the Character is somebody, man is nobody. Man is nobody because he is subject to time: his reality is fleeting and always ready to reveal itself as illusion, whereas the Character's reality remains fixed for eternity as art - what the Actors would call mere illusion. Put otherwise, time enables an opposition between reality and illusion for man. Over time, man comes to identify realities as illusion, whereas the Character exists in the timeless reality of art.