Well Done: Tom Varley at Rhubaba
Rhubaba, Leith-based gallery and studios are hosting three artist-led dinners over the winter period. The most recent one was organized by Tom Varley, whose practice explores the arbitrary nature of language. Previously impressed by Varley's "Violins. Violence Silence" shown as part of the New Work Scotland at the Collective last year, I decided to commit 2 Thursday evening hours to a dining experience well off the beaten track. Me and my date arrived just on time to take the last remaining places in a white-washed garage with a high ceiling. A group of altogether around 20 people who most likely did not all know each other were seated at the table adorned with water jugs, plates and cutlery, finger bowls, artisan bread and herb butter. The room also comprised a well sized aquarium containing four twitching lobsters. Right next to it were three different pans resting on hot plates. A chair, a note stand, and a framed display of Yves Klein Blue on the wall completed the picture.
The place had the impeccable air of being designed especially for the occasion. All was ready and in perfect order. Nonetheless, after about twenty minutes wait it seemed that nothing was going to happen. The lobsters kept shifting slightly with their claws banded. We chatted uneasily with a group of young women sat opposite to us. The photographer grinned widely. Finally, the artist sat down by the note stand and commenced a highly abstract talk on the neuroscientific definition of pain.
Meanwhile, two black-clad individuals who seemed to be the assistants of the artist put on full length aprons and proceeded to fish the lobsters out of the aquarium to chop them into pieces. My date had certain doubts as to their level of skill and safety considerations of the whole procedures. My impression was that their actions were rehearsed and rather vigorous, if not outright enthusiastic. They seemed to have a decent idea of what they were doing. One of the lobsters was cooked alive.
Shells cracked, olive oil hissed, and white wine exuded a musky perfume that soon enveloped the whole room. The artist made a key distinction between pain reception on the cellular level and the conscious awareness of it. In philosophy, pain belongs to the domain of sensations known as qualia. Qualia are ineffable and unknowable - it is as impossible to convey one's headache, as it is for anyone to know another person's sensation of the colour blue.
Qualia are a conscious phenomenon, and are processed in the wonderful machinery of our centralized brain. Apparently nobody has a clear idea where exactly consciousness lies in the brain. Somehow it is everywhere all at once, like a resident demon. Now, lobsters do not have a centralized brain, or, by that matter, the part of it that translate pain impulses into nerve sensations. Instead they have bundles of nerves scattered around their whole body. The Shellfish Network say, 'It is possible that a lobster feels pain at any one of these points.'
At this point the artist becomes distinctly uncomfortable. He shuffles in his chair, frowns and name drops animal cruelty. He admits that maybe he is not doing all that well at adopting the persona of a distinguished neuroscience expert. He has troubles finding parts of his script and eventually skips some of it. Meanwhile, steaming platters of lobsters arrive at tables. The audience, seemingly undisturbed, proceeds to tuck in. In attempt to balance curiosity with pescatarian guilt, I eat a mouthful. The springy flesh has a strong bitterness to it. Perhaps this is what fear tastes like.