|
|
| What I Bought in Basel This Year Alise Tīfentāle A marvellously hot summer's day in the very heart of Europe. The residents of Basel calmly take off their trousers at the streetside for a dip in the Rhine, which appears as clean and clear as it's described in the adverts, and even the Rheingold glimmers in the deep. But I venture selflessly in the opposite direction, where chauffeur-driven Rolls Royces and Bentleys stand on the hot tarmac, waiting impatiently, in company with the latest-model BMWs. They stand outside former factories and warehouses filled to overflowing with sweaty art-lovers: here, in the course of a single week (14 to 18 June), one small European city plays host to three international 20th and 21st century art fairs: Art Basel, the Liste new galleries fair and the Volta Show alternative art fair, as well as the Bâlelatina Latin American contemporary art market, the presentation of the Swiss Art Awards, the most important Swiss awards for young artists, which is accompanied by an exhibition, along with countless parallel art projects that make every effort to attract the attention of potential buyers, gallerists and art critics. It should be added that most of the serious buyers of contemporary art have arrived in Basel in their private jets: these people, numbering at least a hundred, include New York collector and trader Tim Nye, who's come straight from Disneyland. Apparently, Tim had been spending some time there with his five-year-old daughter, and, while at the pleasure ground, managed to sell over the phone a 1966 sculpture by Robert Irwin for the sum of 440 000 dollars. There are also many buyers and gallerists from other cities in Switzerland. The Swiss themselves have a hard time of it: thus, every man up to the age of 30 can be called up to the army for a week or so at any time, whatever his occupation or position... they have to go to work at seven in the morning... for a minor highway speeding offence, they invariably get fined an enormous sum... Small wonder, then, that they seek something beautiful! And so, once a year, they can visit Art Basel and purchase something absolutely beyond comprehension, but outwardly very much resembling art (such as photos by the fashion artist and artist of life Karl Lagerfeld, portraiting Zhang Ziyi, the leading actress in the film "Memoirs of a Geisha", for no more than 25 000 euros apiece). | |
| |
|
A festival of material culture Just as at the prestigious auctions, where somebody's willing to buy one of Marilyn Monroe's dresses, an "Oscar" statue or an Olympic medal for an enormous sum, so too at Art Basel, financial value is attached to a great variety of items that the proud owners can boast of. At first sight, the enormous quantity (three halls and around 300 galleries) and the senselessness of it all is enough to stun the potential buyer on his or her first visit, exhausted by the heat: is it really possible to produce so many similar, averagely expressive and averagely ridiculous paintings, and seemingly ingenious objects? Gradually, everything falls into place: Art Basel (and likewise the Liste new galleries fair and the alternative Volta Show) are traditionally arranged like shopping centres with separate stalls, where the shop assistant kindly helps you to choose what's most appropriate. In the noise and bustle, every work of art seeks to address the customers, to attract attention and justify its existence by means of some witty title and/or the name of a famous artist on the wall. What Māra Traumane wrote about Art Basel in 2003 still applies: " (..) in the contemporary information-oriented world, Art Basel is essentially a very archaic form of exhibition, where descriptions, data, reproductions and criteria have not succeeded in replacing the "thing" itself, and the activities of the fair take place in a physical space, among original works." (Traumane, M. Augstas kvalitātes māksla par pieticīgām cenām. Studija No. 31, 2003, p. 35.) Daiga Rudzāte has made a similar comment: "This is a place where art, liberated from the concepts of others, finds itself alone, and at this moment its true value is revealed." (Rudzāte, D. Meka un Olimps vienlaikus. Studija No. 37, 2004, p. 26.) It's clear, however, that the value of the work itself is a very dubious issue: in the halls of Art Basel, value is attached primarily to the artist's name as a brand, and this is what people are willing to pay for in six-figure sums at least. Just as it is with dress, jewellery, furniture, bed-linen, cars and food, so too in art, the wealthy seek quality, something that is guaranteed only by a famous brand, since, how otherwise can one know what is high quality, and what isn't? And the artist's name is converted into a brand by applying those same marketing mechanisms that guarantee the status of luxury items for designer shoes and five-star hotels. The collection of "quality" art has been integrated seamlessly into the concept of the good life, satisfying both the private collector's egoistic need to assertion themselves and augment their sense of power, and their need to fulfil some socially responsible and altogether laudable duty, since, after all, purchasing and supporting art is regarded in capitalist society as an admirable, humane and cultural activity. However, the stylistic boundaries of the works put up for sale are quite restricted and predictable. If you don't want to buy any Abstract Impressionism this time round, or works painted after photographs, classics of Pop Art, or Picasso, which is the absolute fashion hit of this year's Art Basel (described in the art press along with Chanel perfumes quite simply as a "luxury brand"), if you don't want to purchase anything made from neon, if you don't crave to become the owner of any legendary early 20th century photograph, if you're not in search of installations made from domestic rubbish or plastic household articles, if you don't want to look at John Bock and the others like him, and you're really not after a painting by Freid or Bacon, then what are you left with? It's quite evident that nobody comes to this kind of art event to seek out something novel, surprising and avant-garde. The rules here are different: here you can find that which is successful, which has already stood the test of time and, yes, I suppose nowadays we're permitted once again to say that it "meets the demands of bourgeois tastes". Nevertheless, it was possible to find outstanding examples: those that represent the pure essence of all that's currently in demand and in fashion, as well as a variety of mistakes and bizarre items: such as kitsch going beyond all the bounds of taste and reason, fantasies deriving from the subconscious, and fierce irony in mild packaging. Inflation in art and the Devil's feast At this point, one might recall the Latvian fairytale about the lad in the forest who enters some cave or hole in the ground and finds himself in a wonderful, brightlylit palace, where fine gentlemen invite him to join a splendid banquet, to dine and drink from golden vessels, and so forth. The lad, wishing to have something to boast of, and also to justify his absence, stuffs some of the goodies into his pockets, but in the morning, when the cock crows, they all turn into dung... This year's art fair at Basel reminds me of just such a Devil's feast: merry, colourful, diverse, global and carefree, with no thought for what the morning will bring when (and if) it comes. Emerging from the halls of Art Basel, only one word comes to mind: overproduction. Evidently, demand currently remains even higher than supply, since the prices are high. Fashion is perhaps a similar business: every season you have to buy what's new, since last season's hit is only going to appear laughable this year. However, it seems that art collecting is not so simple: art is, after all, purchased with the idea of sensible investment, rather than throwing out last year's crop to make way for new works. So, why is Picasso being purchased as a luxury item? According to www.artprice.com, every 100 euros invested in a work by Picasso in 1997 had turned, by April 2006, into 165 euros. Multiplying this by the average price of a Picasso, we obtain an altogether very handsome profit. Certain anxious voices point to the crazy spiralling of art prices: thus, at a Sotheby's auction in May, Picasso's "Dora Maar au Chat" was obtained by a Russian newcomer among the collectors for 52 million pounds, while at Sotheby's on 19 June, a Modigliani was sold for 16.3 million pounds, and at Christie's on 20 June, a Schiele fetched 11.8 million. That same week, the all-time most expensive painting was sold: Klimt's "Adele Bloch-Bauer I", for 73 million pounds. Nobody's yet talking about inflation in art, but, theoretically this process might follow a similar course to what we see in the financial world: when too much of one kind of product comes on the market, it's value falls. Accordingly, the supply of diamonds, for example, is strictly controlled in order to maintain a stable high price. In contemporary art, the hunger for works catering for all tastes and in all media is currently being satisfied, but it can't go on forever. Only something available in limited amounts, such as works by deceased artists, can fetch a high price. This is a subject worthy of serious analysis, and certainly conceals various aspects: just as our Latvian press alleges that the country's economy is overheating, even though it's hard to make a mental connection between the general poverty, low wages and mass exodus to Ireland, on one hand, and the spiralling of the real estate and credit market, on the other. One need only stop to think how valuable the works purchased this year will be in ten or fifty years time: will the deftly crafted words of the expository sentences still apply, those words that largely shape the appreciation of the work of art? Every work must have a comment by the artist himself (or a gallerist or curator), and it's clear that this well-written little text is generally the reason for purchase of the work: the work on its own is not of any value, unless it's verbally framed, using the meter and rhymes of current fashion phrases and prevailing trends. What remained after counting the drowned In order to structure the range of material culture, celebrity articles and natural objects on offer, I started counting how many works of art there are depicting Paris Hilton, how many animal sculptures and stuffed animals, and how many works made of cars, car components or car models, but I quickly lost count. One thing is clear, though, taxidermy is in, and necrophiliacs and natural history museums are triumphant. On one floor of the hall, you could purchase for your collection a stuffed mongrel by Austrian Artist Erwin Wurm, a work from the "Misfits" series by German artist Thomas Grünfeld - a stuffed black lamb with a kangaroo's head mounted on it - and not far away Wim Delvoye's famous tattooed pig, not to mention quite naturalistic animal sculptures. Only Zaļkalns' pig sculpture was missing here. This is all quite understandable: a pig will still be a pig in a hundred year's time. But what will Paris Hilton be in the minds of people of that time? Car art introduces a slightly humorous touch: these works play in various ways on the theme of the car as a technological achievement, a fetish object or a machine of death. Once again, Wurm puts to use in his art not only dead animals, but also cars that are no longer useful for anything else. Simon Starling, winner of the 2005 Turner Prize, is this time showing us not a shed made from ecological materials, but a 1986 Fiat Panda, with a copy of an enormous radiator mounted on the hood. The radiator was apparently used in 1955 on a Bisiluro in the 24-hour race at Le Mans. This strangely decorated Fiat was apparently driven for 24 hours on the Tangenziale highway in Turin, and thus the car has become a work of art. On view nearby is "The Nest", an installation by Patricia Piccinini: a streamlined motorcycle bent into a gracious curve, like a mother protecting its child - a little motorcycle. And so on. The young American painter Kehinde Wiley (born in 1977) combines sickly sweet hyperrealism with the 18th century portrait tradition, portraying young, stylish Afroamericans, figures from hiphop culture, against colourful, decorative backgrounds, even showing them on horseback if necessary. He paints only men and is apparently very fashionable in America. The critics write that he places the hiphop faces where we are accustomed to see European aristocrats or saints. In some ways, it's all somewhat reminiscent of the "new Russian" style, the Neoacademic school of St Petersburg, which, however, seems to include a larger dose of irony. The closest comparison might be with Yinka Shonibare, nominated for the Turner Prize in 2004, who presents similar paradoxes in the form of objects: what if Oscar Wilde were black, and so on. There's something poignant about Wiley's paintings: perhaps it's the wish of people tired of all that's contemporary to seek refuge in the museum, in an opulent, magnificent past that has never existed, dreaming of centuries when everything must have been different - better and more beautiful - as we may conclude from Hollywood costume dramas. The list of buyers of Wiley's works includes Denzel Washington and other successful figures from show business and the entertainment industry, and the lifestyle magazines are starting to call him a genius. And it may well be true: in the walls of Art Basel, it seems there's no boundary between an MTV video and a feature film, between culture and pop culture, between fact and fantasy, between Zorro and Solomon. And perhaps no such boundary should be sought, since, after all, democracy rules everywhere, as shown most vividly by the intrusion of sport, that most common form of mass entertainment, into the realm of refined arts. The Art Basel week coincided with the world football championship. As if it were not enough to have, in the course of the fair, the premiere of the documentary "Zidane: a 21st Century Portrait", by artists Douglas Gordon and Philippe Parreno, about footballer Zinedine Zidane, there were TV screens everywhere, so that you could follow the events in football ("At the request of countless participants and customers", says a press release). The art press has announced that Indian contemporary art has come into fashion, since some of the major collectors have begun purchasing large amounts of it. On show at Art Basel were several works by Indian artist Subodh Gupta. For example, one could purchase a pile of metal buckets or a superb installation: a small, but authentic and functioning silver-painted airport luggage carousel, circling forlornly, with items of luggage arranged on it, apparently cast in bronze, and next to it a goldencoloured luggage trolley ("Across Seven Seas", 800 000 euros). However, I suspect that those arriving in Basel in their personal jets to purchase art have never in their lives actually waited for their luggage at the airport. Differing from the other, very predictable objects, is the installation "This Evening at the Theatre", by French artist Pierre Ardouvin: the artist has created a miniature auditorium as in a real theatre, with soft red velvet chairs to seat an audience of about 20, a curtain, carpets and all the rest of it. In place of the stage is the passageway along which the exhibition-goers walk. It costs 60 000 euros. "It's the background that becomes the true work of art. Whether you come in and sit down or stay outside and simply walk past, you're taking part. In any event, you're either a member of the audience or a participant in the show. Giving rise to expectations and then disappointment, this installation has no element of surprise, all its elements being connected," says the artist himself. A close encounter with three aliens Every day at Art Basel commenced with a professional panel discussion in the Bvlgari pavilion. Here, I'd like to take a look at one of these, connected very directly with study of the art market. Participating in a discussion under the title of "Art collections: philanthropy in contemporary Europe" was Marino Golinelli (born 1920) from Bologna, a geneticist, founder and president of a pharmaceutical concern, art collector and patron, along with Arend Oetker (born 1939) from Berlin, businessman, collector and patron of the arts, and Robert Weil from Stockholm, businessman and patron of the theatre and visual arts. The moderator in this discussion was art critic and lecturer Richard Flood, curator of the New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York. All three guests are respectable men with an enormous influence in world business (having in their pockets companies, conglomerates and possibly also whole cities and even countries, if we are to believe those thrillers based around conspiracy theories) and hence in politics, too, no doubt. This time they've come to Basel to sit at the table in an air-conditioned room designed by Bvlgari, setting out their views on patronage of the arts. These people have set up countless foundations and organisations that support the arts, they've founded and built Kunsthalle's, theatres, institutes of culture and education, non-commercial galleries, etc., etc. Thanks to the generous financial support and personal interest of these people and others like them, cultural life in Europe is nowadays flourishing in such a great variety of directions that it takes your breath away. Golinelli is a member of the organising committee of the Venice Biennale, supports modern art galleries in Italy and is an advisor to the Venice collection of Peggy Guggenheim. Weil is the founder and director of the Magasin 3 contemporary art museum in Stockholm, the founder and director of the experimental Jewish Theatre in Stockholm, a supporter of the Batsheva dance company in Tel Aviv, and the head of the international Jewish Cultural Heritage Foundation. It's abundantly clear that these influential gentlemen have a perspective on art that differs radically from that held, for example, by artists themselves or by art researchers, but all the patrons have set out their own definite aims, established quality criteria and set up schemes for assessing what and why should be supported. "The public good" is one of the main aims they want to attain through their patronage of the arts. Also heard very frequently is that absurdly vacuous, but beautiful, phrase "The task of art is to make the world a better, more friendly, smaller place". So be it. Forgetting for a moment that it's all in earnest, you might imagine from hearing part of the discussion that it's some kind of "Monty Python" dialogue, were it not for a member of the audience from a third world country (such as myself) stuffing their face at that same moment with a free croissant, having entirely lost all sense of humour. The absurdity of it is laughable: in my view, the creators of art and the patrons of art are as far apart in terms of interests, ideas and thinking as one can possibly imagine, but in spite of it all, these people from different planets somehow manage to reach an understanding, and in the end both sides - the patrons and those artists who've succeeded in presenting their works in a favourable light to the people with money - are satisfied. And under these conditions, involvement in art and in the professions relating to it, is altogether very respectable and well-paid. Arend Oetker, resembling a weary, sated Führer, tells about himself: "I'm a businessman - the fourth-generation owner of a food manufacturing concern. My interest in visuality began with brands and labels. This is the link between business and visual art. Art must exist: just as a person has two eyes, science (logic, rationality) and art (feelings, emotions) stand side by side. I purchase art that tells me something I wasn't expecting." Oetker also talks about the possible role of art as a messenger of peace, a peace movement throughout the world: the governments of all countries must be convinced of the need to defend culture and art. Marino Golinelli asserts that creativity is the only way to look into the future. He talks of a synthesis of art and science, he's founded a lifetime education centre at the University of Bologna, as well as a foundation having the aim of spreading the achievements of science with the aid of art. He mainly collects works of art that have a visual link with science. Thus, he takes pride in having a painting from 1969 by Renato Olivieri that depicts energy flows in the universe, and other works that in his view represent the progress of science and technology, discoveries in the field of chemistry and physics, etc. Robert Weil had problems in his time with the Swedish government: he recalls how 25 years ago it was impossible for private funding to enter the cultural sphere, since all costs were covered by the state and nobody needed private sponsors. Why is he interested in art at all? It is research that lies at the root of both science and art. It's only that in art, the most important thing is observation of the process, while in science the main emphasis is on the result, while the process should preferably not be seen. What conclusions are drawn at the close of this somewhat surreal discussion? In the first place, it's not a bad thing to be rich, it's just that then you have the problem of what to do with your riches. (Oetker asserted that his aim is not to increase wealth, but to increase value, whatever that means.) Secondly, it should be remembered that collectors and patrons of the arts come from a different planet. I would venture to say that the artist has to be aware of who he or she is working for, what the target audience wishes to see in art, and how to develop him or herself, their name and their works into an integrated, unique symbol, since otherwise it's impossible to sell the work. Or, in the best case, the artist is permitted not to know anything about it, to live in a country cottage without electricity or internet, and simply create, while the gallerist takes on the task of branding, develops a saleable, quality brand and from time to time pays out to the artist his or her share of the income. The artist also has to be a truly social animal and cultivate relationships with the right gallerists and the right curators, who will be the main figures determining what ends up in respectable collections, since, when investing their funds, all entrepreneurs are careful and will only choose works of whose quality they have been convinced by professionals. Thirdly, from a rational point of view, here in Latvia we only require those twenty or two hundred court artists whose works are purchased by the collectors of our level, and the rest are evidently superfluous in the local context. If anyone can prove the opposite, I'd most willingly listen to their arguments! A flea market? No, an art market. The Liste fair for new galleries Coinciding with Art Basel was the Liste fair for new galleries and young artists (i.e., up to the age of 40). The aim is very clear: to bring new names to the attention of the buyers, curators and museum representatives coming to Art Basel and to pave the way for the gallery to enter this art market in the future. The art gossip pages write that "This "alternative" fair now seems out of touch with the expectations of new collectors who associate contemporary art with high-end design, fashion, and the international jet set, prompting most visitors to comment on how very "underground" the event was. "Frankly, I wouldn't know what to choose. At least at Art Basel everything is up on white walls," an art collector who wished to remain anonymous confessed to our reporter (www.artforum.com). At the young artists fair, there's a great deal of art from cardboard, used household articles, packaging and other worthless materials, and together it all adds up to quite a youthful and unofficial atmosphere. Setting the style, is, for example, the work by young British artist James Hopkins. His "Wasted Youth" was sold for a trifling 20 000 euros even before the official opening of the exhibition. The work consists of several shelves with various objects arranged on them, as if taken directly from the bedroom of some music-crazed teenager: a synthesiser, a broken guitar, a kitchen clock, a globe, a disco globe, empty beer bottles, etc. The viewer gets satisfaction when they step back far enough, so that all these objects, apparently placed chaotically, come to form a stylised image of a skull, with the globe and disco globe for the eyes and two empty champagne bottles where the nostrils should be. Cute, isn't it? It just has to be bought! I was surprised to learn that the Polish gallery Raster Art had apparently succeeded in selling, for a handsome price, a series of self-portraits by Zbigniew Rogalski, based on a story about the author, who worked as an artist in an advertising agency, laying out adverts for all kinds of products in magazines, and succeeded in concealing a microscopic self-portrait in each of his layouts. Now, I suppose, he no longer works there and can afford to sell thee layouts to art lovers, together with enlarged fragments showing his self-portrait. A witty insider joke, perhaps even a little antisocial and critical, and it's paradoxical that now those holders of capital and power, who commission the adverts for the products made by their concerns from people such as Rogalski, are willing to buy such examples of harmless sabotage at an art fair. The galleries represented at Liste were also showing work by several artists along the lines of Raimonds Līcītis, each inhabiting their own fantasy world, but using a similar form of expression: countless small paintings on one theme, which cover a whole wall. One of them, the American artist Max Schumann, makes use of disaster and advertising themes seen in the press, while another, the Finnish artist Petri Ala-Maunus, had sunsets painted according to Romantic canons. There must be something about this kind of work... Also available were some stuffed animals and birds, and some paintings in cupboards. Widely represented was art in the form of posters, slogans and signs, the most enjoyable being the little posters by Dutch artist Jeroen Jongeleen. More impressive was a whole room full of horrors, created by a group of three young Swiss artists known as Mickry 3: Nina von Meiss (born 1978), Christina Pfander (born 1980) and Dominique Vigne (born 1981). The paintings, or rather cardboard objects painted in relief, are hidden in semi-darkness. In bright colours and exaggerated Baroque forms, and partially three-dimensional, they retell mythological and biblical stories from paintings by the old masters - like a kind of nightmarish comic, an inept attempt at parody or unimaginably kitchy theatre sets. But something so convincing can raise no objections - they just have to be purchased! The only work that could not be bought in any way, in the traditional sense, was also among the most original and critical of all the works offered at the Liste: the "TelcomGallery" project by Swiss artist Jan Torpus, presented by the non-commercial media art centre [plug.in] from Basel, in the role of a special guest. The activities of the media art centre are described on their website (www.iplugin.org). The project by Jan Torpus is an answer to the question of how to best sell video and interactive media works. A very ordinary video monitor, showing a static image - apparently a reproduction of a work by an old master. However, on looking more closely, you notice that it's not in fact a reproduction: somebody's been messing around with backgrounds, drapery and actors and has created the subject of the painting from scratch. Just like Bill Viola. In order to view the video (or "painting"), the viewer has to call up a certain payphone number from his or her mobile phone and the video becomes interactive - you hear music and a soundtrack over the phone, and an operator's voice instructs you which buttons to press in order to see the next picture, change the characters or influence in other ways what appears on the screen. In this way, the maker of the video can obtain payment for his work - payment, moreover, that is directly proportional to the number of people watching the video and the time they take to watch it. Moreover, the work does not end up in a closed private collection accessible to only one owner, and, apart from this, Torpus is quite aware that such payphone lines are generally associated with services of quite a different kind. All put together, it's sufficiently polysemous for the viewer to take the trouble of dialling up. (During the time of the Liste, calls were free - which is ironic, since where else, if not here, are you going to find people with money to pay for such work?) Classes and differences: Volta Show and the proletariat For the second year running, the Volta Show alternative art fair has been held simultaneously with Art Basel and Liste, with the claim by the organisers that they're adopting a different policy, by inviting experienced galleries to represent young, promising artists, and indeed there are a large number of them: there'd be enough for another couple of alternative fairs at Basel on the same grand level. This alternativism was expressed in the much-reduced scale, more appropriate to human perception, the lightness and superficial courtesy, but, in spite of it all, even here, something indefinable in the atmosphere leads one back to consider what might be described as the perverted tastes of the bourgeoisie. The Volta Show takes place in a warehouse shed located within a railway depot, and particularly cinematographic scenes could be observed at the exhibition café, placed outside next to the warehouse. The limits of the café are marked by a temporary fence, and immediately beyond it, real life beings: freight trains and noisy locomotives are shunted around, men in overalls controlling, repairing and checking all this rolling stock, while, just a centimetre away, behind a symbolic barrier, a society of well-dressed art collectors and journalists drink chilled white wine and converse in all the languages of the world about the things they've seen in this city or that. I wonder how all the designer dresses, expensive sunglasses and small talk appeared from the railwaymen's side? "Give me a break! I think I need a rest!" - an entirely logical wish after the pressure of the prevailing modernism and kitsch of Art Basel and the Volta Show put together. One is surprised, perhaps, only by the fact that these phrases are uttered in a low voice by a vibrating cucumber in a shopping bag, seemingly dropped accidentally in a corner. However, there's nothing accidental about it: this is the work "I'm sick of it all", by the young and now well-known Czech artist Kristof Kintera (born 1973). Also his is a little boy standing by a wall and every once in a while loudly and rhythmically banging his head against it ("Revolution"). For several years now, his works have been seen in various international exhibitions, and he took part in the important contemporary art biennial Manifesta 2 in 1998, so he must have found the right approach. Also eye-catching is Hotel "Vue des Alpes", a long-term project by two Swiss artists - Monika Studer and Christoph Van den Berg. This is an artificial 3D setting: a non-existent hotel in the Alps with nine rooms, offering excellent leisure opportunities and an amazing view of the mountains from the window. In order to get inside and see it all, you have to book a room for five days, free of charge, but all the rooms up to March 2008 are already booked, so you'll have to wait some time. So how do you sell this internet art? Quite simple: the artists offer large format, high quality printouts with breathtaking views of their imitation Alps. The mountains seem real, truly grand and truly breathtaking, but in the end it's all just human imagination and pixels. Just another beautiful deception, an illusion, a material representation of longing for the unattainable. If you want something very beautiful, you're welcome to book a virtual hotel room for your dream holiday at www.vuedesalpes.com. Even if there's absolutely no sense in it, at least it'll be beautiful! Although the creators of commercial computer games are far ahead of them in terms of creating a virtual setting, as far as can be gauged from the printouts and website: the 3D graphics of the Alpine hotel are not superior to those of the computer game "Return to Castle Wolfenstein", for example, and the imaginary hotel doesn't offer the possibilities of a tense and merciless battle, which is sometimes a much better way of reducing stress than slothful inactivity. Neither was it possible to pass by the works of American artist Terry Rodgers: enormous hyperrealist paintings full of glistening, semi-naked supermodel bodies. Men and women seemingly taken from a comic book, or from some dreamt-up jovial, colourful ball with champagne, undressing and Paris Hilton among the invited guests. But there's absolutely nothing improper or illicit, perhaps only a hint of soft erotica: even an upright family man, father and husband might bring home something of this kind, since, after all, it's officially recognised art, and moreover it's expensive. Depending on the viewer's state of mind, these paintings may appear reminiscent of the fashion photographs in a glamour magazine during the bikini season, the photographs of David LaChapelle, the packaging of a porno-film or even the legendary painted advertisements outside the "Riga" Cinema. "Humanism is the essence of his work," write American art critics, who've dubbed Rodgers' paintings pearls in the genre of social reportage. Well, evidently they should be bought, then! Art that must be destroyed in a week's time: "Showroom 1" Also, I'd like to take a look at one truly alternative art event taking place in Basel in parallel with Art Basel: the "Showroom 1" initiative, by Latvian art historian Egija Inzule, studying at Leipzig, and Swiss artist Tobias Kaspar-Sessler, studying in Hamburg, who offer, for the attention of curators and art critics, installations by young artists from Germany and Switzerland, displayed in the urban setting. The project was supported by three different cultural foundations (Christoph Merian Stiftung, Fondation Nestle pour l'Art and Gesellschaft für Gutes und Gemein-nütziges Basel), it was organised with the help of the K26 exhibition room of Leipzig and the art salon Amberg & Marti of Zürich, as well as the independent art space Marks Blond Project of Bern and Planet22 of Geneva. All the installations were created specially for this exhibition in the courtyard of a complex of artists' workshops, and afterwards almost all the works are to be destroyed or taken apart. Accordingly, they are made of readily accessible materials, with low production costs. The artists' studio building is located in an area purchased by the Novartis pharmaceutical company: they envisage demolishing all the existing houses and extending their production and administrative premises. In answer to this expansion, one of the installations has rearranged the letters of the comapny's name: a message in lights on a house slated for demolition announces Art is nov (by Nino Baumgartner and Annina Matter). Two of the participants in the Planet22 independent art initiative, Peter Stoffel and Solvej D. Andersen, have created the message "is is and not not" in plastic cups on a metal fence. The work itself and its verbal message is subject to the wiles of fate, to the inescapable formula of entropy, which strives to bring absolutely everything that IS to the state of IS NOT. Simplest in terms of the way it' s realised but at the same time the most poetic, is the work "Industrial Snow" (Christian Müller): sheets of snow-white A4 office paper have been laid out on the tarmac, inescapably to be "melted" by the weather, pedestrians, cars and bicyles. At the center of the yard is the work "GDR Musical" , by German artists Alexander Hempel and Hans-Christian Lotz. Created on the tarmac is a kind of dream (or nightmare) garden plot, with earth deposited in an irregular form, together with shiny glass balls, garden elements and the materials for a potentially possible greenhouse or half-demolished shed - the artists make use of all the illicit techniques developed by artistically oriented owners of garden plots. Even if it appears at first sight that we're seeing only something ravaged and destroyed, nothing here is accidental: water in a bucket is intended to show reflection of another work; the glass ball reflects the sky, and so forth. "The work is like painting in space and using objects," explains Egija Inzule, the author of the idea behing "Showroom 1". The other works, too, are just as frugal in terms of materials, just as bare in visual terms, and reveal their true nature only on closer acquaintance. How successful was "Showroom1"? Its creators reported that several of the right people had come to see it. Next year, perhaps, some customers might come as well! | |
| go back | |
