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Ward
Shelley
Pierogi, New York USA
Art works that reference art history are in danger of ingesting themselves
from the arse outwards - it takes a lightness of touch to avoid the 'nod-nod,
wink-wink.' of knowingness. But self-referential, historiographical practice
is important in an era when the origin and provenance of ideas are as
mutable as their application; and works that are aware of their own status
as artefact adopt, by default, a critical position. Ward Shelley's graphic
wall charts of art history and biography, while perhaps not entirely self-
reflexive, do flag up some core concerns of historiography.
Historiography, the study of the writing of history, is a scrutiny not
of events but of the way in which events have been interpreted. It operates
at a meta-level of analysis - an understanding of understanding - yet
its very name contains an oxymoron. History and writing have, by their
nature, opposing properties of fluidity and fixity; it is consensus of
meaning that enables language to communicate, while
history is notoriously gaseous, beyond our grasp and even our eye. Shelley
notes this paradox in a disclaimer: "It is important to realize that
when you understand something, you have AN understanding of it. There
are others, and they are likely to function quite well too." Unlike
disclaimers in cinema that differentiate fact from fiction, Shelley's
emphasizes subjectivity over objectivity. Although on paper this may seem
the same, in practice it is quite another matter. Despite our understanding
of liberalism's need for subjectivity, or Post- structuralism's insistence
on it, we still often find it difficult to swallow a negation of objective
history. We cling to.the idea of the absolute truth of past events.
Shelley's pseudo, statistical representations of the influences on and
importance of artists such as Carolee Schneemann, Pat Oleszko and Chris
Burden rely predominantly on the causal model of art history, relating
a narrative that adheres to a linear chronology. A Cartesian understanding
of the universe is very much in evidence, only marginally breached by
consequent literary and scientific developments, such as the merging of
fact and fiction or the gravitational pull of the counter- intuitive.
Twentieth-century metafiction - wnting that is aware of its own status
as fiction - has long been exploring such matters as the unknowable inner
life of historical subjects, and Shelley, although committed to the exteriority
of his subjects, does allow vestiges of this to suffuse through the empiricaI
information.
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The
main thrust of a diagrammatic representation of musician/producer/songwriter
Arto Lindsay, for instance, is a yellow horizontal shaft that dilates and
contracts to reflect quantitative values, such as longevity and prominence,
of the bands he has been a member of. Concurrent with this are colour-coded
flow charts that swell to convey pools of activity, collaboration and relationships
with other performers, who may one day be at the centre of a wall chart
of their own. Running alongside, bubbles of psychological, social and cultural
causes are labeled, from 'New York pulls' to 'envy' to 'Neo-Geo'. There
is a sense, however, that such interior information is fairly cursory, neither
researched with the rigour of literary biography nor invented with the brio
of meta-fiction.
It is interesting that Shelley has concentrated mainly on artists involved
with performance, a form entirely bound up with the problematics of historiography,
favouring the subjectivity of the viewer to the point of the disappearance
of the art work. The pressures of art history have often overridden this,
objectifying performance as 'factual' accounts and photographs, and Shelley
too sticks to textbook accounts, even reproducing iconic photographs as
drawings: |
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Schneeman straddles
a portion of her own flow chart, reading from the infamous scroll that
issued from her vagina.
Theoretical misgivings aside, these drawings are feats of spatial organization
and the aestheticization of data. And the ludicrous attempt to represent
the chaos of 20th-century cultural production as statistics must appeal
to the perverse - nine out of ten people love statistics, after all.
Also, the work has political side-effects: the classification of the
unclassifiable critiques the hubris of rationalism, while the enumeration
of art-historical influences shrinks all practitioners down to size.
Bearing this in mind, and the statistical forms that Shelley cites as
influential - including a 19thcentury wall-chart of world history, quantitative
graphics and the flow chart on the cover of Alfred Barr's Cubism and
Abstract Art (1936), which Shelley has extrapolated to the sandbank
of Postmodernism - the unique art work seems incongruous. To suggest
that mass-produced forms such as posters or tea towels or duvet covers
might be preferable is not to denigrate the work but to acknowledge
its subversive potential.
Sally O'Reilly
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