An Appalling Fuckup
Saturday, December 15, 2007
They were all there, having begged, bruised and cajoled to get tickets to the most anticipated local event in recent times relating to Contemporary South African art: the Spier Contemporary 2007. With much valued tickets clutched in their sweaty palms they crossed the bridge to the initial holding pen, bedecked in their finest finery in eager expectation of the glories of the very best of current production as promised by the newest and most endowed art award on the regional scene. They were the art elite and they were about to be spectacularly disappointed.
The first sign of what was to come was that by about 6.45 (the event invitation stated the opening was 6.30 for 7pm) the white wine had run out and by 7 there were no glasses left. Under normal circumstances this would be bad enough but for an event hosted by a wine farm and with a fixed guest list it indicated a profound lack of foresight and logistical planning that would only be fully understood as the evening progressed. If the lack of wine and glasses were not disturbing enough the irritable peace of the holding pen would soon be shattered irreparably by the sight of Peter van Heerden dressed (apparently) as a baby sullying the pond beneath the bridge of groans. Performance art is usually bad and pretentious and this was no exception. Alas, those of us who thought that when he ran off into the bushes as we turned and averted our gaze (in the manner one does when an intellectually challenged member of the family proceeds to masturbate at a family gathering) thinking we had seen the last of this dreck, we had a disturbing confrontation when we finally driven by the closure of the non-wine table to the sight of stacks of Safmarine-sponsored containers that had been converted into the exhibition space further up the path. There we saw not just the full glories of Van Heerden's by now stock self-indulgent 'I am a white heterosexual Afrikaner' conceits but for some inexplicable reason also the performance of Kai Losgott and Anthea Moys spitting at each other (presumably pre-empting the audience's natural response) and the performance presented by Mwenya Kabwe, Chuma Sopotela and Kemang Wa Lehulere. The last mentioned looked very interesting but it was difficult to fully assess given that the curatorial team had taken the unforgivable liberty of having all the performances take place at the same time and in direct response to each other. This created a strange situation that went far beyond the travesties of curation that would eventually (reluctantly?) be exposed inside the containers. Disgracefully the organisers were reauthoring their selected work by creating new 'art' out of others' and in so doing making what they no doubt thought were such witty juxtapositions as that of one white performer waving a Vierkleur while a black performer from another collective was bound up.
Then followed a stream of presumably bad speeches by officious bureaucrats and politicians which were inaudible to this and most other members of the crowd due to the fact that the organisers had not bothered to check how the PA system would carry down the main and rather narrow gathering space. The same organisers had also not given much thought to lighting, creating a situation which meant that after dark one was either unable to see anything or was blinded by a spotlight shining directly into one's eyes. If this was not bad enough these displays of incompetence were compounded by the fact that the whole set-up was located in a sandy dustbowl in the otherwise verdant pastures of Spier Estate. The snacks were minimal to the point that a well known artist and another equally well known curator were forced to go behind the containers in search of the catering area. Both were apparently told to 'just back off' when they enquired if they may please have a snacklet.
Eventually the crowd was allowed into the spaces only to be confronted by what must be one of the worst displays of curation ever seen outside blank project space. To be fair even some of the worst excesses recently seen at blank were masterful in comparison. A few examples included Gavin Younge's integral projection onto a carefully constructed vellum-covered sofa being at a fraction of its intended size, destroying the artist's intention; and both Sue Williamson and Charles Maggs' videos having their sound played at a level that leached these significant works of their meaning. In addition the limited space offered by the 'solution' of using containers meant that works were crammed together in a thoroughly unsatisfying manner. In all the amateurish installation and execrable curation along with little (and at times no) regard for artists' wishes demonstrated what we had always suspected: certain high profile and self aggrandising 'professional' curators are actually utterly devoid of the skills that they purport to possess.
When the winners were announced it became clear that being familiar with being on one's knees often was an advantage given the disproportionate number of such people in the litany of lesbian, gay or born-again Christian winners among the number. There certainly were deserving winners and finalists on the show but also a large number of arbitrary, monotonous or derivative works also featured. It is also a trifle disturbing that the organisers blatantly disregarded their own rules in allowing works that had already been shown to be included on the show and even, rumour has it, including work that had been previously submitted to the last, cancelled, Kebble awards.
On that note a great highlight of the opening evening was Bruce Gordon disguised as Brett Kebble, complete with perm, prosthetics and a suit provided by Kebble's own tailor. Never before has bad taste been so delicious and Gordon's 'tribute' reminded us that Spier has a long way to go if it wishes to overshadow those now defunct awards. Badly curated, badly organised and badly planned, one insightful wit's quip on the night summed it up perfectly: 'it is the most appalling fuckup'.
posted by sannie prinkle at 6:06 PM
24 Comments:
Sannie you are the arsehole. What made you think it could be anything but what you describe?
Dear Sannie Prinkle,
Our dear Sister Bench achieved her first orgasm last night. Father Gerinimo wept. Sister Goniwe imagined what the world would be like without curators. She prayed. While praying she fingered her copy of the Brett Kebble Art Awards press release of 2004. Father Bent tinkled the ivories in the background. His inspiration besides God is Liberachi. It soothed Sister’s pain while she contemplated her piece of precious paper kept for all these years concealed in her habit.
She thought Clive of Karoo, a.k.a Clive of Kebble, now Clive of Spier deranged if not stupid. She was reminded of what artist Mladen Stilinovic said: An artist who does not speak English is no artist”. She wondered if this applied to Clive of Spier or all curators. Clive of Spier talks funny English. He said in 2004 of the Brett Kebble Art Awards, and God is my witness:
"The Brett Kebble Art Awards facilitates, encourages and creates a platform for new grammars of speech, new sentences, new thought, new celebrations and probably new anxieties, that are being felt by the post apartheid generation of artists".
That: This Award is a platform for us to see what this new generation of artist does and what kind of speech they choose to make.”
He concludes: “It is very significant to be able to curate an exhibition which provides a platform for new models of speech without technical restrictions”.
Sister Goniwe is beseeching all of you to help her understand Clive of Spier. And if anyone knows what “new grammars of speech” or “new sentences, new thought” or what a “kind of speech” is, or “new models of speech” are please tell her for she is close to despair in thinking Clive of Spier’s curatorial platz is again guided, given Ms Prinkle’s review of Spier Contemporary 2007, by such comical discourse.
Yours forever-in Jesus,
Sister Bench.
Of course you know exactly what he was trying to say, tossface.
Dear tossface, ahh... What?
The latest news is that they apparently had toi close the exhibition temporarily because water was streaming into the containers from the recent rains. The fuck-up continues...
who won?
beste sannie,
dit klink net of jy afgepis is omdat jy nie 'n prys gewen het nie. sies. waar is jou sportsmanskap. o, ek vergeet, dis die kunswereld en jy is 'n kunstenaartjie. nou verstaan ek hoekom jy 'n doos is.
but annie never entered anything (in this competition, that is)
God, its way to easy to be bitter and cynical... sure there were errors.. i still found the whole thing quite exciting and interesting..
Dear artheat,
I am surprised that a reviewer on a wannabe anarchic site such as this would want to see art in more controlled conditions - why is it that when new platforms are provided for contemporary art there is such nostalgia for the white cube? And since when do we judge shows by the wine?
I suggest you do not allow middle aged has-beens to contribute to your site.
and i take offense at the homophobia spewed by the reviewer. shame on you.
anonymous 1:15 & 1:24 PM,
Who are these middle-aged persons?
ed young & cristian nerf
or a combination of them both... a knee spring kill
dude, the photo heading the article is fucking awesome! thought it was about some contemporary photog or something before I looked at any of the text!
i also think homophobic slurs aint cool, and (although it wont make a difference) flagged the site.
Matt Hindley is a high roller.
the homophobic slur was a red herring... the author is trying to throw us off the trail of his true identity.
if you look closely at the 2nd picture, the one of bruce and gavin, you can see the author's reflection in bruce's eyes.
I chatted to Clive about Bruce's Gordon appearance as Brett Kebble. Clive had invited Kebble's widow to the show, and although she didn't attend, the potentially awful situation that could have resulted disturbed him. I wonder if Gordon thought for a moment about hte intensely personal rammifications of his juvenile doppelganger joke...
if brett kebble was only someone's daddy, i would understand your sentiment, however, given mr. kebble's penchant for playing the media, politicians, thiefs, murderers, artists, drug dealers, curators, the mafia, and death like a masetro on speed, i think bruce's 'intervention' was witty, appropriate and an interesting comment on the genealogy of Spier Contemporary.
and i meant 'maestro'
I guess you have a point, I just wonder that the whole things not a bit cynical.
I do think that there has been insufficient critical engagement with the fallout in the art industry that BK was responsible for. There as a fairly gay show at JHB's The Premises, which was wholly inadequate for dealing with it. It seems that whenever art and business go on a date, art ends up on the kneeling end of a blowjob.
Nonetheless, I can't get the image of Mrs K (the real one) potentially being confronted with a man made up to look like her dead husband. No 'incisive' art world in-joke is worth that.
Dear MS,
Would that scenario not simply be collateral damage? Its the question that Jacob Zuma raised last night in a live broadcast (admittedly in relation to the media, but perhaps appropriate here) - when is something in the public interest (or of public interest) and when is it simply personal and private (and he mentioned how family might feel when they read about a subject)?
Just a question - how does Mrs. K (the 'real' one) feel when she opens the Mail & Guardian and lays eyes on a Zapiro cartoon lampooning her dead husband? Does her feelings matter then?
This argument however, might lend credence to an aging drunk's antics, which was perhaps not nearly as considered as I might want to argue here.
Mrs Kebble is much likelier to have thought "Why is that thin man as weirdly dressed as an undertaker?"
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