Dealing with the Fragment: Caves, Diasporas and the Ana-Archive by Andrianna Campbell
(French version in the previous post)
When the French-born artist Yann Gertsberger moved to Mexico City two years ago, he did so for a short-term project, which turned into a long-term one. As had epitomized his practice, he planned to collect objects off the city streets and incorporate them into his work. Similar accretive methods had provided fruitful material for Gertsberger’s projects in Morocco and Marseilles.
Basing his studio in the shopping district north of the Zócalo, he thought that the proximity of shops specializing in enormous, vividly colored stuffed animals, sheer leopard-print gloves and other mesmerizing objects promised an array of unexpected detritus.[2] Over the next few months, he found little garbage. City dwellers were also creative scavengers. This is best seen in Abraham Cruzvillages’ autoconstrucción series that shows some of the “self-building” or informal architecture taking place in Mexico City from 2003-2013.[3]
Although the term “self-building” could be used pejoratively to imply a lack of direction or forethought, instead, I prefer its use as a means to investigate the anarchive – a minimally regulated accumulation of human creative production that lacks centralized, authorial, and/or patriarchal control.[4] The anarchive refers both to the physical and the virtual—the garbage that makes up a geographic layer of the Anthropocene age and the vast mega-archive online—and the propensity of both to upend the traditional archive, which for Jacques Derrida occupies a dual position as the initiator and belated recorder of historical progression.[5]
Alejandro Campins, Nacido el 1ro de enero, 2013. Courtesy the artist.
A decade ago, Hal Foster proposed the tendency of the “archival impulse” for artists as less “concerned [with] absolute origins than with obscure traces.”[6] For Foster, the archival turn in contemporary art addressed issues of public and private, fragmentary and whole, fictive and real.[7] While Foster mentions the term anarchival, his primary concern was the archival, which he saw as more “institutive” than “destructive” and more “legislative” than “transgressive.”[8] Adopting Foster’s concept, I will consider three case studies that suggest the paradoxical centrality of the anarchive for artists who work within and without traditional art centers – specifically, between the United States, Puerto Rico and Cuba – during the period I call the “Apernet” age[9]”: Josh Kline’s untitled sculptures in Mike Egan’s Abscess Rectum Septum Cave, 2014; Alejandro Campins’ Alphabetizar series; and Felipe Dulzaides and Hans Winkler’s ongoing Lost Interventions of Carlos Rodriguez and Jose Valdes in Havana 2014-2015. Issues of race, labor, and the acquisition of formal knowledge when faced with simulacra will receive due attention as well.[10]
Two recent exhibitions of Kline’s work in New York and Philadelphia combine his interests in advancing formal experimentation that is both site-specific and technologically up-to-date, but equally committed to the sciences of anthropology and archaeology. At the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) in Philadelphia, he exhibited 3D printed limbs of Latin American workers in FedEx uniforms, holding package scanners.[11] These portraits highlight the liminal state of race and labor in the contemporary art world.[12] His project on the Highline in New York features a vending machine that sells appealing health drinks made up of contemporary detritus. Both bodies of work share a conceptual and visual affinity with Kline's sculptures made during a trip to Puerto Rico to participate in Mike Egan’s Abscess Rectum Septum Cave.
Josh Kline, Untitled, 2014. Courtesy the artist and Ramiken Crucible.
Egan had sponsored two previous installations in the Archillas cave in Sales, Puerto Rico. He chose a cave that once served as a hideout for Puerto Rican nationalists in the ‘60s and ‘70s, but had since been ruined by garbage left behind from raves.[13] The setting also offered artists a refuge from the exigencies of art fairs and markets – indeed, a return to the prehistoric mise-en-scène of “Art.” Inspired by David Lewis-Williams, The Mind in the Cave, Egan accepts Lewis-Williams’ theory that caves served as social discriminators in the prehistoric world.[14] The setting does not so much figure a happy renaissance as asserts the deep and almost timeless role of art in the demarcation of boundaries and exacerbation of social tensions. Nevertheless, this very attitude toward the past itself also suggests the destructive potential of a multiple present. Between each cave project, partying Puerto Rican youths destroyed the art objects and replaced them with remains of their own.
Gelitin, Installation from Abscess, Rectum, Septum, Cave, 2014. Courtesy Ramiken Crucible.
For Abscess Rectum Septum Cave, Kline landed in Puerto Rico with 17 other artists.[15] He visited the Archillas cave several times and slowly began to collect objects from local sources. Looking at the work, we automatically recognize Kline’s clean contemporary aesthetic. Plastic packaging glows from within, illuminated by cool LED lights. A viscous substance, which Kline described as ten cast gelatinous brains, contains scraps of contemporary culture— condoms, pepperoni, mozzarella intermixed with seashells and other tokens of tropicalia.[16] Sidestepping clichés of site-specific Caribbean work, the piece strives for a broader view.[17] Perhaps inverting the perspective of the cave artists who lit their drawings by torchlight, Klein illuminates his work from within, blinding us from its core.
Egan described the cave as an aggressive environment. The cave was not an “institutive” or “legislative” archive of multiple interactions, but rather a “trangressive” and “destructive” space, an anarchive of creativity. Kline installed his brightly-lit LED sculptures among the broken or buried objects of previous installations. Their glow in the cave cast light and shadows on the other objects in the cave, calling to mind a deep-seeded cultural understanding of the relation between form and knowledge. Here it is impossible not to think of the analogy of Plato’s cave. There, bound prisoners watched the shadows of objects passing by on a wall. Content to name the objects, they remained oblivious to the illusory foundation of their entire society until after their liberation.
On this register, the cave can serve as a metonym for primary knowledge. For Egan, no one besides the artists was allowed to visit the cave. In August 2014, he recreated the cave in New York at Ramiken Crucible Gallery and hosted private meetings with the artists. Only the documentation of the cave installations is now publically available online.[18] A tension thus exists here between the archive and the anarchive; but in the end, Egan spares us the fragment, the destruction and the entropic,[19] representing and thereby extinguishing them in the form of a panoptic online narrative.
Lost monuments also present themselves as anarchival spaces. Inspired by a residency in Egypt, the Cuban artist Alejandro Campins began his Alphabetizar series. Alphabetizar was a verb coined by the Fidel Castro administration in the post-revolutionary period to designate the re-education of teachers in Cuba. Schools were constructed all over the country. Campins’ paintings explore these now empty monuments of revolutionary excess.
Nacido el 1ro de Enero is based on such a gateway in Minas de Frío. Campins’ paintings are sourced from his own expeditions to these re-education schools and also from images found on the Internet. They offer no data about what these sites contained, only their singular, transgressive aim.[20] Campins is neither against the revolution nor wholly supportive of it. Rather, his paintings exhibit the amassment of these monuments, which stand as anarchives to the fervor following the Cuban revolution.
An unfinished anarchival project that will be presented at the Havana Biennial next year by Felipe Dulzaides and Hans Winkler’s Lost Interventions of Carlos Rodriguez and Jose Valdes in Havana 2014-2015 addresses a fictive tendency within the broader anarchival impulse.[21] A collaboration between the Cuban Dulzaides and the German Winkler shows both artists documenting street interventions in Havana. Dulzaides and Winkler compiled photographs of converted signs made by anonymous Cubans on the streets of Havana.
The project is self-built and has no overarching narrative, nor an identifiable author. Under the pseudonym of Carlos Rodriguez and Jose Valdes, Dulzaides and Winkler’s work will be presented at the biennial and also in a DIY online presentation. Cubans have limited access to the Internet and loading images can sometimes take hours. Dulzaides and Winkler’s creation is aesthetically akin to early Internet projects and its purpose is to highlight the mendacity of the archive as it is wielded by any restrictive government or ruling body.[22] There is a fluctuation between anarchistic and aporetic motivations in Dulzaides and Winkler’s anarchival work, a move to document the broken signs as symptoms of bureaucratic dysfunction and a skepticism about the ultimate meaning of documentation.
Felipe Dulzaides and Hans Winkler, Lost Interventions of Carlos Rodriguez and Jose Valdes in Havana, 2014-2015. Courtesy the artists.
All of these projects share an interest in decentering the importance of art practice in traditional art centers.[23] They foreground a willingness to be seen by a limited audience, who is told that they are not receiving access to the whole “truth” or even a regulated version of an authorial interpretation. With the mega-archive of the Internet perhaps the purpose of the archive has become inverted; numerous narratives multiply because accreted fragments are omnipresent.
The fragment, whether as part of a larger object or a record of production, serves the archaeologist and the art historian as a means to understand the past. Some fragments are relegated to a special place while others are dumped in storage as inferior “documents” of past epochs. Most recently, the desire to collect these fragments has become a part of the greater cultural tradition and the public now has access to entirety of the archives. It seems that our tolerance for the decontextualized fragment has truly diminished. The material and visual histories of our culture have finally gained a popular voice. Yet, for artists, the appeal of the inverse - the decontextualized and the fragmented, is tantamount.
Gertsberger’s work is part of La Start-Up (The Start-Up), an online and offline exhibition curated by Dorothée Dupuis for the 25-year old residency program of Les Ateliers des Arques, a tiny village in the southwestern region of France. Dupuis envisioned La Start-Up as an ephemeral online project in which artists such as Gertsberger turn into entrepreneurs in this new age of decentralized business. If Richard Hamilton’s recourse to Pop – in his definition: the popular, transient, expendable, low cost…and most importantly Big Business – entertained the possibility of its relation to art, Dupuis toys with the prospect for an artist to simply start a Big Business herself or himself, from the ground up.[24] But given that we have moved beyond the corporate culture of the ‘50s, how might the start-up model help us understand the status of artistic labor in the contemporary world?
The start-up is tailor-made for an age of uncertainties—optimistic, nimble, risky, and volatile. It might be based in several cities, some of which are non-traditional centers of commerce. More than anything else it is tapped into a small loyal audience, who drive popular culture rather than emulate the popular en masse. We might be in the zenith of the start-up moment, because it has “never been easier to build a product or start a company,”[25] but failure and its consequences tend to be simply ignored amidst all the optimistic rhetoric. For contemporary artists working outside of traditional art centers, however, the real possibility of failure is precisely what makes the start-up model so emblematic of the digital age.
Modernist scholars like Robert Goldwater defined their movement as stemming both from a longing for the future and a look to the past and the exotic or primitive. A tension between centripetal and centrifugal forces was always present, as centers such as Paris and New York drew the cultural products of the communities of the world inward, or concurrently pushed Western artists out unto foreign landscapes in order to collect and replenish the cultural vacuums produced by the alienating influence of the modern. Goldwater has been duly criticized by postmodern historians for reducing modernist interest in non-Western art to a mere fascination for formal simplicity. But how can contemporary artists base their practice in places that remain beyond the confines of Goldwater’s Modernity, but simultaneously overcome the reticence of postmodernist irony? Whatever its faults, the combination of the Internet and the anarchive, holds some promise.
In recent years, the spread of international centers of art practice and exhibition spaces in Mexico City and Istanbul has only managed to further reinforce the Modernist model, glossing over the histories of these particular cities as dominant art centers in their own right. The digital age, with its multi-nodal interchanges between artists in cities thousands of miles apart promises a future that finally fulfills the democratizing promises of conceptual art, where the development of genuinely new art centers can congregate through Internet exchange, independent of the inevitable economic interests of a “host country.” The digital divide exists, but artists have begun to use it as a subject. Even as they move physically from center to periphery, they thematize the Internet’s contradiction of that movement through para-fictive projects.[26] Maybe in the end they’ll succeed in eroding the physical centers, but will this only succeed in reinforcing the dominance of whatever virtual one usurps it?
Finally, an anarchival project is like a stutter. To the ear, an anarchive sounds like an an archive. It represents this age so well, a nimble response to authority, a failure of the packaged slickness of corporate culture, and all too familiarly, the eerie technological stutter that recalls Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey, Julie from Amtrak or Siri on an iPhone. The anarchival resembles the archive, but instead of separating the singular fragment from the garbage, or elevating deskilled production and anti-masterpieces, it incorporates both. Anarchival projects deal with the fragment collectively, digitally, and in more decentralized art world.
Andrianna T. Campbell is a doctoral candidate in Art History at the CUNY Graduate Center.
She is the recipient of the Andrew W. Mellon Fellowship at the Dia Art Foundation in 2014-2015, the American Philosophical Society Library Fellowship in 2015, a Society for the Preservation of American Modernist Publication Grant in 2014, the Dean K. Harrison Fellowship in 2008-2013 and the prestigious Graduate Teaching Fellowship from 2010-2013.
In 2013, she co-curated Decenter: An Exhibition on the Centenary of the 1913 Armory Show, an online and offline show, which celebrated that hundredth anniversary by looking at the resurgence of abstraction in contemporary artwork and its intersection with digital mediation.
She specializes in American art and art of the Americas in the modern and contemporary period. Currently Andrianna is the co-editor of Shift: A Graduate Journal of Visual and Material Culture and she is contributor to Artforum.com.
[1] Archive derives from the Greek arkheion, a shelter where archival documents were held and regulated by a male magisterial body. The Greek suffix “ana-” means “up,” “against,” and “back.” It can connote repetition, reversal and intensity. Here I use it to define an anarchive that is vast, shares the tropes of a traditional archive, but also in constitutive nature is the opposite of an archive. I wrote this prior to reading Akira Mizuta Lippit, Atomic Light (Shadow Optics), (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2005), 11-12. Lippit’s book is anarchival as a shadow archive in X-rays and cinema, although the digital is not addressed.
[2] Yann Gertsberger, interview by author, Mexico City, Mexico, July 26, 2013.
[3] Arden Decker-Parks, “Abraham Cruzvillages,” Museo Magazine, (accessed August 17, 2014).
[4] The definition of an archive is such a geographically or institutionally centralized collection, which is regulated by some kind of patriarchal body. The anarchive is an anti-archive and also implies an intensity of collecting. See Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” trans. Eric Prenowitz Diacritics (Summer 1995): 9-10.
[6] Hal Foster, “An Archival Impulse,” October, (Autumn 2004): 5.
[8] Ibid. Even more suggestive for this article was Foster’s, “The Archive without Museums,” October (Summer 1996): 109, 114. From Foster’s discussion of the anthropological interest in “alterity” to the “digital logic” of our new age, all were prescient of the state of contemporary art today; however, I bring these two lines of discussion together to identify a shift away from centralizing identity that Foster saw in artworks of the late 1990s.
[9] “Aper” in Latin means “open.” [Think of aperture.] Apernet, theApernet or the “open net age” is a term I coined. to designate the period we are in before the proposed changes approved by the Federal Communications Commission, which would destroy net neutrality. It is also a bit of optimism on my part that the Internet could continue to exist as a more open forum of communication in countries where a geographically fixed location for information and/or protest could be easily destroyed. The open-ness of the net is part of its influence and importance. Art writer Droitcour has pointed out, the term post-internet, a term which is used to designate this era of integration of the Internet into the lives of general populace is not only inaccurate, but a closed term. Given that the Internet age is not over or complete, , neither do we know if it is at its apogee. The new-networked aesthetics promoted by artists under the umbrella of post-internet art is also limiting. See Brian Droitcour, “Why I Hate Post-Internet Art,” http://culturetwo.wordpress.com/2014/03/31/why-i-hate-post-internet-art/, ( accessed March 31, 2014). As a former classicist, I disagree with Droitcour with the use of the term proto-net, for me the connotation of “proto” is “first.” or preliminary. Moreover, Apernet is as a term closer to the APERNET system that was the prototype for what we have today.
[10] Of course, San Juan and Havana have been recognized art centers for almost two decades. See Dermis P. León, “Havana, Biennial, Tourism: The Spectacle of Utopia” Art Journal, (Winter 2001): 68-73 and Marimar Benítez, “Neurotic Imperatives: Contemporary Art from Puerto Rico” Art Journal, (Winter 1998): 74-85. I am speaking of a broader history of modern and contemporary art.
[11] Kline notes that he is of Hispanic descent and thus felt comfortable depicting people of color. Josh Kline, interview by author, New York City, New York, August 26, 2014.
[12] Kline, interview by author, New York City, New York, April 23, 2014.
[13] Mike Egan, interview by author, New York City, New York, August 27, 2014.
[14] David Lewis-Williams, The Mind in the Cave: Consciousness and the Origins of Art, (London: Thames & Hudson, 2002).
[15] See http://www.ramikencrucible.com/abscess-rectum-septum-cave/. A full list of artists include Poops + P-Touch, Artemis Baltoyanni, Trisha Baga + Jessie Stead, Phillip Gabriel, km 15.1, Josh Kline, Speck Brown + James Foster, Gavin Kenyon, Catharine Ahearn, Lucas Blalock, Jarrett Gregory, Vera Alemani + Paololuca Barbieri, Manuel Scheiwiller, Schuyler Maehl, and Gelitin.
[16] Kline, interview by author, New York City, New York, August 26, 2014. According to Kline, a full list of items include
1. Screws / French Fries (from McDonalds)
2. Crab (Shell from the Beach) / Raid
3. Skittles / Nerds / Dayquil (liquilLiquid-gels)
4. Butterfinger/ / Marijuana / Butter
5. Sea Urchin (Shell from the Beach) / Knife / Ramen
7. Mozzarella / Pepperoni / Cocktail Umbrellas
8. Sleeping Pills / Chicken McNuggets
9. Plantain Chips / Vinyl Gloves
10. Listerine / Condoms / Dentyne Ice
[17] Kline, interview by author, August 26, 2014.
[18] See http://www.ramikencrucible.com/.
[19] For more on Smithson’s non-sites, monuments and anti-monuments, see Ron Graziani, Robert Smithson and the American Landscape, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 70.
[20] Alejandro Campins, interview by author, Havana, Cuba, April 16, 2014.
[21] See http://www.rodriguez-valdes.com.
[22] Felipe Dulzaides, interview by author, Havana, Cuba, April 14, 2014.
[23] I have chosen to focus on three projects done outside of the United States, but artists working inside of the United States are also attracted to the anarchive. For instance, recent work from Sara Ludy, who collect images from the bowels of Google Image Search or from live web cams, manifests similar tendencies. In a project such as Lowprim, 2014, she archives this decontextualized image detritus. See one page from the series http://lowprim.tumblr.com/page/24.
[24] Peter and Alison Smithson from Richard Hamilton, January 16, 1957 in Richard Hamilton, Collected Words, 1953–1982 (London: Thames and Hudson, 1982), 28.
[25] James Surowiecki, “Epic Fails of the Startup World,” New Yorker (May 19, 2014),
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/05/19/epic-fails-of-the-startup-world, (accessed July 12, 2014).
[26] Christopher L. McGahan, Racing Cyberculture: Minothorian Art and Cultural Politics on the Internet, (New York: Routledge, 2008). Also see Lisa Nakamura, Cybertypes: Race, Ethnicity, and Identity on the Internet, (New York: Routledge, 2002) and Digitizing Race: Visual Cultures of the Internet, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007).
English copy-editing by Suzy Halajian.