Nothing to see here; protest under the guise of art

Nothing to See Here; Protest under the Guise of Art
A paper delivered at the Reconfiguring the Aesthetic Conference, Engaging the Contemporary 2018, Department of Philosophy, University of Malta.
1 - 2 November 2018

“It is not the office of art to spotlight alternatives, but to resist by its form alone the course of the world, which permanently puts a pistol to men’s heads.” (Adorno, 2003)

So, in this paper, I’d like to discuss what this form is, that tries to resist the course of the world. It’s quite a fatalistic statement - the course of the world - it implies that this is the way things are, and there’s nothing that can be done to stop them.
Anyway, the form. The form that resists. It’s quite easy, when there’s so much happening, and with ubiquitous social media, to somehow take the most notice of the most obvious form. That can be, quite often, in an urban environment, graffiti. And of course, it’s eye-catching, it gets its message across, but quite often, it stops there. And even when the graffiti or street-art is more sophisticated, it provides some symbolism, but maybe nothing more taxing than that.
And in the ‘agreed’ understanding of ‘what is art’, the more aesthetically sophisticated the work, the more it is allowed to cross over from a perceived act of vandalism to being officially a work of art.

This is a work I created - maybe not an artistic work per se - but on a visceral level - something I felt had to be said. This year is the European Year of Cultural Heritage. Ironic no? So, this was a personal act of subversion. No-one really knows about it. But it was a personal act of subversion not only against the local construction industry, but also against the European Commission that somehow things that creating this branding campaign will somehow conserve our cultural heritage.
My practice has come to fall somewhere between conflict-tourism and a visual search for stability in an increasingly unstable environment. My work attempts to exist outside the conventional structure and aesthetic of the exhibition space; its seeks to interact and gain meaning through other modes of existence. Over the summer, I worked with Parking Space Events to create Il-Kamra ta’ Barra. The kamra ta' barra holds an important place in the traditional Maltese household. It plays the role of the salott, or 'parlour', and allow the household to show its best side to the outside world. In 'Ambivalent Europeans', anthropologist Jon Mitchell refers to the threshold of the household as "the boundary between the opposed categories of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’, ġewwa and barra". The old neighbourhood of Sliema which houses many of these parlours is under attack from rapid over-development, with little regard for quality of life or neighbourhood aesthetics. Bare concrete walls have replaced elegant facades, while behind them, kmamar ta' barra are obliterated to make way for car-parks.
Here, I think the form of the work, was less direct than maybe holding a banner up. But it still created a space that was used in some other way, (positively, I might add), and maybe allowed some visitors to think about that space in another way.
By nature, I am attracted to art works that are direct and dramatic in their protest, and in their statement, for example Katharina Cibulka’s work. Katharina Cibulka is a performance and visual artist who, in a site-intervention, embroidered the scaffolding on the front of the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna. She uses embroidery - there is the direct reference to a female endeavour, but in the context of a building site, and on a much larger scale.
Or Pussy Riot storming the pitch at the World Cup final this summer. As you know, Pussy Riot became famous in 2012 for a protest at Moscow's Christ the Saviour cathedral. They are  recognisable now through their colourful balaclavas, wearing mini-skirts and tights, and their message is largely one of criticism of Russia's authoritarianism - they demand for judicial, educational and cultural reform. Their most famous performance took place at Christ the Saviour on 21 February 2012, when 5 members broke into the cathedral, performing a "punk prayer" from the altar. This song, titled Holy Shit, was a condemnation of the Russian Orthodox church's close ties to Putin. "Holy Mother, Blessed Virgin," they sang, "chase Putin out!"
Even though these don’t fall under the Rancièrian definition of political art as an aesthetic experience that does not produce “rhetoric persuasion about what has to be done” (Rancière, 2008).
And I admit, sometimes I get impatient with artists that don’t rage or don’t wave their politics at us like flags. I get frustrated that they’re being too gentle, too diplomatic.
So recently, I began looking at other artists in Malta than engage in some sort of protest against construction, or over-building.
In Between Obliterations by Maxine Attard, at the Gabriel Caruana Foundation in January of this year, was a beautiful collection of works, made with soil and debris gathered from building sites in Gozo, and in ‘response to the ongoing demolition of houses which are replaced by new construction’. This is 5-20 Triq G.Vella, Nadur, made of debris collected from the site. The title lays Maxine’s message bare - it’s clear that to her, these demolitions are, quite literally, obliterating the buildings they are building over, and in the process, obliterating the history and memories contained within them. The grid-like format of her work mirrors a map, or even a building site-plan, while the straight lines contrast with the rough texture of the debris, which contains stones, soil, pieces of plastic and wood, and even hair.
Isaac Azzopardi’s Ħaġraisland, at the Malta Society of Arts, this March, claimed to be ‘collection of reflections about the changing aesthetics of Malta’. There’s not much anger here, more a gentle meditation on changing iconographies and their contexts. Even the aesthetics of the work itself is quite gentle; the tones are subdued, and contrasts are muted. The only bold piece is the large gold breeze-block in the centre of the exhibition, which, along with a gold piece of rock, references Austin Camilleri’s 1999 work Stones.
Interestingly, in recent interviews, (with Eve Cocks & Teo Reljic respectively), neither Attard, nor Azzopardi represent themselves as particularly angry about this over-construction. While Azzopardi speaks about a certain amount of frustration, it’s not quite the raw anger one might expect from a young artist concerned about the aesthetics of his homeland. Attard, too, is almost accepting of the demolition she is representing; ‘that’s the pace of life’ she says and seems unsure as to whether she is criticising it or not.
Also hosted by the Gabriel Caruana Foundation, is Fluid Space, a collaboration between artists Duška Malešević, Raffaella Zammit, Aidan Celeste, and curator Nikki Petroni. Indeed, Zammit, one of the founding members of the Foundation, has become preoccupied with these sudden changes in Malta’s urban landscape and the destruction of local heritage. The project is ‘an exploratory journey of Malta’s urban fabric; its forms and the way in which we construct and shape our environments’. But it’s also described as ‘an introspective venture’, so, while the resultant photographs and videos are no doubt be beautiful, they are not provocative or challenging to the status quo; nor, I think, do the artists themselves want them to be.
So, is it then, the duty of our artists to protest on our behalf, and to rage against the machine on our behalf? Or is it enough for art to document, process and create for us an aesthetic experience from what it sees around it?
Recent work that I find quite refreshing, is that curated by FRAGMENTA Malta. This is an image from Subversive Semiotics with photographer David Pisani. David’s work consisted of a large image of the back of the billboard, on a billboard. Ridiculous, you might think. But actually, wow! What a great subversion of images, of the laws of the billboard, of consumerism, of the road network, of the artworld even! The event that took place was a combination of black-tie art event, complete with blondes accompanying the artist, and an outdoor picnic on the side of the road. Was the message clear? Absolutely not! Was is confusing? Completely! But it said something, even if we don’t know what that something was!
A Fragmenta event that took place just last weekend was Kemmuna Nation with Mario Asef. Several buildings were appropriated to present the design of “Kemmuna Nation”, with a  inaugural speech, a presentation of Kemmuna Coin cryptocurrency, and a short tour on Comino’s ecosystem. No, nobody says this is going to suddenly bring down the hegemony and ingrained systems of the anthropocene age. But that’s obviously not the point.
Kemmuna Nation speculates with the idea of a global nation constituted by non-humans entities, which organize themselves creating their own economical and political system based on the structures of specific pre-existing interconnections between species.
Jelinek: Most contemporary art that claims a politics or ethics is so riddled with artistic and political cliche that it fails both as (interesting, innovative, important, ambitious) art and as effective activism, so that neoliberalism remains unchallenged as a form of totalising discourse. (Jelinek)
So, what should we do? Just give up? Accept that we are brain-washed by the status quo of neoliberalism and not even try to resist?
Maybe

I am planning, this coming Sunday, to walk, with a bandalora, in front of a cement truck along Sliema Seafront. And in the preparation of this work, I had to get a letter of no-objection from the local police station. The Superintendent was very helpful, but at one stage, he did ask me “Why are you calling this an artistic event? This is a protest.” And I found it very difficult to explain to him why this isn’t a protest, but, let’s say, a work of art.
“It is not the office of art to spotlight alternatives, but to resist by its form alone the course of the world, which permanently puts a pistol to men’s heads.” (Adorno, 2003)

And when I was thinking about why I want to do this work, that’s what I can refer to. I’m not spotlighting alternatives, or even spotlighting what’s wrong. I’m performing something that is similar to other things, but different. There’s an element of the ridiculous, and element of farce, of pathos maybe. And we’ll be handing out these cement breads. Maybe the reference there is obvious – we’re eating cement, ok. Which, I believe is a horrific dereliction of duty by our governments. (and I specifically say governments in the plural).
The work is also a reference to recent protests – there have been regular gatherings in the past 12 to 14 months, not least in then wake the murder of Daphne Caruana Galizia, but also in reaction to the felling of an excessive number of trees – then there are political rallies also. I wanted to refer to these. To question their efficacy. Their aesthetic (if that’s the right word) – their form. Is the simple act of standing with a banner, enough? Was it ever? Or is it a question of critical mass?
It’s also a comment on festas – the reference is obvious right? A comment on how these various and different acts of walking, of claiming public space (taking over roads through building / protesting / celebrating a feast) are perceived. And I guess that’s what a lot of my time is spent thinking about. What’s the difference between a work of art and an act of protest.
So if art should “resist by its form alone” (Adorno, 2003) the current Maltese hegemony which provides a narrative of economic and cultural success of the nation, I would like my work to do this. It’s the form of the work, in a way, rather than the content (if there is a difference between the two) that resists. It’s not symbolic; it doesn’t say ‘this represents that’ and ‘this stands for that’. Instead it sort of takes one step to the side, to be something else, something like what you know, but not quite.
If I have time, I’d like to look at a few works that came about through the ECoC programme, and the work of some of the artists that came to work in Malta during this time. There are a lot, and there were many, many different programmes and projects, so it’s impossible to generalise or make one statement about them. I’d like to pick just a few of the more politically engaged projects. First off, Susan Phillipsz’ Who By Fire. The work was installed in the cistern in front of the Law Courts on Republic St. It was a combination of several recordings of Susan singing Leonard Cohen’s Who by Fire, (which contains lyrics from the Book of Atonement, when sinner’s fate is sealed at Yom Kippur), along with recordings of an old bell that had been damaged during World War II. This work is maybe not overtly political, but its opening and installation coincided with a press event commemorating Daphne Caruana Galizia. Susan was photographed lighting a candle a few metres from the entrance to her work.
So if, as Jelinek says, “Many artworks shown in museums and at biennial exhibitions explore anti-capitalist themes, denouncing its various exploitations; yes many of these same artists also maintain aspects of neoliberal ideology as if it is natural common sense and non-ideological” (Jelineck pg 21), it’s maybe over-simplistic to prescribe this characteristic to all artists across the board.
And the, to examine how politically and socially engaged art manoeuvres in this contemporary Maltese context, and how, if at all, it manages to challenge this narrative. Let’s look at Manaf Halbouni’s Uprooted consisted of four cars, amended to be liveable, and you could actually book them to sleep in them. There were two in Valletta, one in Gozo and one in Birzebbuga. The work confronts displacement - displacement for different reasons; migration, gentrification, urbanisation. It offers a future alternative, and provides an uncomfortable truth. There’s a paradox of something quite novel and fun (camping under the stars), with the reality that without any choice, sleeping in a car is not a good situation to be in.
What’s ironic about this work is that, while it speaks about gentrification and a community losing its home, it is itself, commissioned by a project that is part of the cause of this gentrification. So it is, in effect, being paid for by the narrative that it’s trying to challenge.
Likewise, Sejjaħ lil-Malta by Tania el Khoury, and Transparadiso’s Times of Dilemma; both of which addressed difficult topics, but at the same time, wittingly formed part of a larger project, with a less sensitive agenda.
Oh, and then we come back to mean old Jelenek!. She says “There are cliches of resistance, like collaborative practice, or working with ephemera, or street art, or involving illegality, such as squatting or trespassing or fly-posting or grafitti. While it is true that these types of practice have been fruitful in producing interesting art, they have also been sites of tired cliche and sites where repressive or exclusive norms have been replicated.” I don’t know if these works are cliches, or if they’re reproducing repressive or exclusive norms.