As the Tate Etc. article on Tino Seghal's Turbine Hall commission suggests, 'if you think of art as a painting on a wall, a sculpture on the floor, or even a video projected on a screen', Tino Seghal's These Associations will come as a bit of shock. It certainly was to me, in so many different ways, the most flagrant and immediate being to have a total stranger come up to me and proceed, with great fervency, to tell me a story - true or imagined, I will never know (a lingering thought!).
The shock was probably greater because I stumbled into this 'constructed situation' (as Seghal apparently calls these) unknowingly: I had gone to the Tate for a workshop## held in The Tanks and became intrigued by the group of people running around (seemingly) randomly in the hall. My first fascination was to try and figure out the rules by which they were 'playing'.
And, what was this??
The whole experience has impacted hugely on my consciousness, both as an individual and as an artist. The story I was told lingers eerily in my mind - and I suspect will continue to do so for some time - the encounter with my story-teller continues to fascinate me. As an artist I'm inspired by Seghal's opposition to 'manufacturing more objects on a planet that is already overflowing with detritus' and he has found a way of addressing big questions - about society, art, life - without 'making' a material object or transforming a material.
And to me this was not a 'performance': it works like an artwork in that 'it evokes the reaction - insight, delight, passion, confusion - that one hopes for in an encounter with a work of art.' It works like sculpture in that it has volume and scale.
'My big question, which I think is the question of my generation' says Seghal, 'is that the way we produce nowadays, the social form of economic organization, is not going to be able to persist, and we are going to be measrued against the question of how we are able to adjust to that.'
This has become a pressing issue for me as an artist over the years: so much 'art' is produced nowadays, but with what degree of consciousness? Mostly as a disposable commodity.
What I love about Seghal's Art is that it 'vanishes as soon as it is over, except for the impression that lingers like a footprint on your mind.' Which touches on another issue of concern for me as an artist: the art world's obsession with its need for preserving art, which detracts from and destroys the artist's original impulse. This obsession is led by commercial concerns of course - I wonder how much shorter the queues of paying visitors for the Vatican Museum would be without the Sistine Chapel ceiling frescoes; would the Vatican have gone to such lengths to 'restore' (I personally think of it as vandalization) artworks of lesser mass-appeal?
I strongly believe that the ageing process is an inherent part of the artistic creative process.
A second aspect of Seghal's approach that inspires me is that he considers loss of control over the creative process and the artwork as something psychologically necessary to him. 'If it was all coming from me, it wouldn't be satisfactory.' And he refuses to give written explanations of his work.
This brings us back to the Buddhist approach of the invisible artist. Something I feel increasingly drawn to.
A third aspect I will probably expand upon in a subsequent post is that he has found a way to stay true to his principles, working within his own parameters and yet exist financially in the art world. That's an Art in itself.
I came away from the Tate that day totally uplifted by the energy that pulsated between the people there, the joy of human interaction. As an artist mostly working in isolation, I find the materials Seghal uses, i.e. people and time, hugely appealing. What better materials to use? Universal; archetypal.
Having said that, in relation to my own work, I haven't come from a dance background - Seghal studied both Dance and Political Economy - so my form of expression is very much grounded in the 'making'. I enjoy the physical making process, the building, the shaping ... (and the writing about). I just need to find a way to reconcile this desire to make with this other yearning, not to add to all that 'stuff' that's being produced nowadays.
## Ei Arakawa's Joy of Life workshop about the Jikken Kobo and Gutai movements.
The Gutai movement - and the Mono Ha - has been a great source of inspiration to me since November last year, when I first read their manifesto. It was that encounter that brought about the sea-change in my work.
More on that later ...
