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06/01/2005: "A tragic comedy in three acts." by Jose Freitas Cruz
1 – MutinyOne week into our voyage together mutiny struck and the project ‘[x?] artists /one boat’ lost five of it’s vessels. The currents of discontent had been growing stronger, as you may have gathered from the blog before last, but the final straw was the unexpected rearrangement of the project’s lay-out and the inclusion and admission into the gallery of two pieces by someone afflicted with the dreaded ‘bored-house-wife* syndrome’ by the gallery director, herself afflicted with the even more worrisome ‘once-bored-house-wife-currently-with-a-mission disorder’. *[or should I best say house-keeper to be politically correct and encompass the male element?]
My mates, Glenn Cruz who represented the Philippines at the Kwangju Biennale and David Kelly from Australia were present with me when I returned for my shift at the gallery after the weekend and witnessed the ‘intrusion’. Together with Lena Bosch and Herwig Bayerl, professor at the Mozarteum Kunst Akademie in Salzburg [for whom I was responsible in their absence] we removed our boats and left five empty spaces in the gallery.
2 – The karaoke artist
Nowadays, it would seem, everyone is entitled to be heralded as an artist. Everyone is full of wondrous ideas. Art fills them with joy: they have found a way to exorcize trauma, inflate dreams and share the lot with the world, and this gives them such a tremendous sense of fulfillment. Imagine, if you can, all the bath-robe sopranos of this world stepping out of the tub and rushing to the opera-house to claim the audition and the job they believe is rightfully theirs. The comparison is not as farfetched as it appears.
The Japanese have developed an intriguing culture throughout the centuries. In one of their contributions to 20th century global culture, a group of people are known to gather in a bar after a stressful day’s work to exorcize the trauma and the strain by blaring [sometimes moaning, or simply, staring!] into a microphone while onlookers applaud – or not – and, having indulged in this activity for awhile, walk out and wander home feeling blissful and complete with a sense of fulfillment. What is truly amazing is that they don’t let this get to their heads; they don’t come out claiming to be pop-singers with a right to be heard on the air-waves. Surely this must be attributable to Zen.
3 – The obstinate amateur
All too often the amateur confuses the ideas and inspiration he is filled with and the actual work – the result he claims to have achieved and so dearly wishes to call Art. He calls on his familiarity with the ideas and his closeness with the experiences that inspired him as a justification for his exploit without understanding that they bear absolutely no weight on the quality of the work. It is not the idea that brings forth the work but the work that should reveal the new idea.
Art is not about carrying out a carefully laid-out plan in conformity with a set idea but about entering a new realm of openness in which old beliefs and desires are left in suspension until a new truth is exposed. If the artist does not master and apply the appropriate techniques and if he remains oblivious to his own position within the historical moment - ignorant of the developments in his particular field and insouciant of his possible contributions –, he will, forever, remain the amateur; he will never venture beyond the initial idea and inspiration that spurred him on, and allow himself to be carried by his work to those places it has never been. As much as he may toil there results no work of Art.
Somehow, it would seem to be unavoidable that the ‘bored-housewife syndrome’ hinders the afflicted artist form understanding the finer subtleties of the artistic process, only to be surpassed in its demoralizing effects by the aforementioned ‘once-bored-house-wife-currently-with-a-mission disorder’.
An epilogue – beyond the boat project
This is my last blog from the enclave. In a few months I’ll be back in my studio in the outskirts of Lisbon where a harsher and more competitive reality awaits me [the real world, to put it bluntly]. I’m still not sure whether the feeling I have is the one you get when walking out of a party just as the fun is about to begin or the one when you know it’s past it’s peak and you’re lucky to be heading home; though I have an inkling of a feeling that the latter may be closer to the truth. In any event it’s a strange feeling, because I had never expected to be able to return home so soon.
There is still much that could be done here. All cultural, religious and language barriers aside, I continue to believe there is still enough common ground for people of completely different backgrounds to explore and share within the narrow, incestuous, confines of the enclave. If in the process we step on each other’s feet, hurt susceptibilities and on occasion turn our backs on one another, it is nevertheless a positive learning experience and one worthwhile engaging in.
Art for me is not simply about the selfish pursuit of my craft and finding the inspiration and solutions for my work – it is certainly not about painting a ‘pretty picture’. It is in great measure about communication and connectedness and I think that this has been achieved in some way in the last two years. Some artists may have retreated back into their shells – back to the kampong mentality and the snug reassurance that the imams will not vow them to ostracism – others have clearly pledged their allegiance to the ‘obstinate amateur’ or fallen prey to ‘bored-house-wife syndrome’, and a few others were unyielding in staying on course even if this meant abandoning ship. Who is to judge who is right and who is wrong? Ultimately there is no right, no wrong, only lessons to be learnt if we are willing to take-on the challenges that come our way.
