I was particularly intrigued by the introduction to the book:
‘This is a book about art and protest and how artists have responded to power by putting their imaginations to the service of political change. It travels through the grand narratives of Modernism, the anti-authoritarianism of Postmodernism and the contradictory chaos of the digital age’ (page 6). Having previously been described as ‘Jeanne d’Arc of Post-Modernism’ by a journalist and never really understanding what that meant - I like the idea of being a martyr of anti-authoritarianism
Having read extensively on the topic of propaganda / protest art and the role of museums and institutions in social change – I found the definitions of “political art” and “activist art” and the location of “protest art” between these two distinct disciplines to be very interesting:
‘Protest art finds its space within political art and activist art. Political art tends to explore political subject matter without involving political action and is often made in direct response to an event. Activist art, on the other hand, is socially involved, seeks public participation and usually operates outside of institutional structures.’ (page 11)
Obviously, no book on protest art would be complete without a reference to the DADA movement; ‘The artists’ ferocious aesthetic was epitomised by their use of collage, a medium so brittle and fractured it was perceived as an anarchistic attack on fine art. Its visual language seemed capable of expressing something disturbing and unpalatable about the world we live in’. (page 29)
An important point in the digital-age of echo-chambers; ‘All too often protest art can find itself preaching to the converted; it needs to find a message that can bridge divides and change people’s minds.’ (page 19)
I found this particularly interesting after a recent discussion with my MA Fine Art cohort about whether art ceased to be art if it achieved social change: ‘The Surrealists were prolific manifesto writers, articulating their demands for utopia in rhetoric so fiery it was as if the cataclysmic collapse of society were imminent. In 1938 Breton collaborated on a manifesto with the exiled Bolshevik leader Leon Trotsky and the Mexican revolutionary muralist Diego Rivera. Their Manifesto: Towards a Free Revolutionary Art argues that ‘true art is unable not to be revolutionary, not to aspire to a complete and radical reconstruction of society’.’ (page 47)
Further on Rivera; ‘Such a conceit gave purchase to the idea that artists who made work of a political nature did so by compromising their artistic integrity. This was something Diego Rivera took umbrage at in his 1932 article ‘The Revolutionary Spirit in Modern Art’ in which he argued that those who favour ‘pure’ art over political art fail to realise that they are just as political by aligning themselves with an idealised elite over the masses’. (page 58)
As part of an art collective who came together around the topic of mental health advocacy, I can really relate to the importance of collective-action and creating a movement to challenge structural injustices; ‘Meanwhile the philosophy of Negritude was inspiring the post-war Pan-African movement. Pan-Africanism is based on the idea that all people of African descent share a common cultural heritage, and that a collective Black consciousness should be fostered to forge the bonds of solidarity necessary to overcome the deep wounds of slavery and colonialism.’ (page 52)
On the topic of colonialism, the book quotes British artist, Ben Enwonwu: ‘It is a common assumption that art has nothing to do with politics. That this human activity is not a biological necessity and therefore, it is an isolated phenomenon which has no political context nor mission… In fact, every true artist is bound by the nature of the traditional artistic style of his country, to express, even unconsciously, the political aspirations of his time.’ (page 57)
‘If imperialist domination has the vital need to practice oppression, national liberation is necessarily an act of culture – Amilcar Cabral’ (page 61)
The question of when protest art becomes propaganda has fascinated me since reading Orwell’s essay ‘All Art is Propaganda’. I was therefore particularly engaged by the idea that art becomes propaganda when it used functionally for promotion (rather than just drawing attention to an injustice); ‘In his 1962 essay ‘Commitment’, the German philosopher Theodor Adorno wrote that it was ‘not the office of art to spotlight alternatives, but to resist by form alone the course of the world which permanently puts a pistol to men’s heads’. Adorno argued that art is innately political, but that it should not be used in a functional manner to propagandise or promote particular policies or ideologies.’ (page 63)
‘Adorno’s view that political art is not a legitimate form of expression was partly born of the philosopher’s experiences during the Second World War and the warped power of the Nazi propaganda machine. He was wary of communities and collectives, believing that to be truly free an artist had to remain autonomous. The cultural theorist Amy Mullin has countered this argument, highlighting that it leaves many artists out in the cold, particularly those from oppressed or marginalised communities who draw on each other for support by working in collectives. Protest art often relies on collaboration to realise its imaginative potential.’ (page 64)
‘Where We At (WWA) helped set the tone for Black feminist art and organising. The consciousness-raising collective – founded in 1971 by Kay Brown, Faith Ringgold and Dindga McCannon , among others – sought to affirm and support Black female artists… The artists believed that if feminism was to succeed, it needed to confront all forms of discrimination, not just sexism – the argument being that your feminism is only as good as the way it treats the most vulnerable in society.’ (page 65)
‘Groys wrote that ‘in fact, total aestheticization means that we see the current status quo as already dead, already abolished’. The resulting Occupy Biennale was a collective endeavour of workshops, printmaking events and symposiums that sought to challenge the traditional structures of the art world. It divided critics, with some describing the DIY style of the biennale as a failure of aesthetics, while others argued that the decision to hold the event inside an art gallery called into question the political relevance of the art institution. How could art have any visible social impact when it was hidden inside a place of established power?’ (page 70)
This anecdote amused me because it reminded me of my “potaintings” which were inspired by a troll comment; ‘The artist Howardena Pindell began incorporating text into her abstract works after an art critic wrote that he would like to have sex under one of her paintings. It was at that point she realised she needed to be clearer about what she was saying.’ (page 75)
‘In Austria, the Aktionists Günter Brus, Otto Mühl, Hermann Nitsch and Rudolf Schwarzkogler expressed their outrage at the hypocrisy of the country’s conservative post-war society in performances so visceral that members of the audience were said to have fainted. Schwarzkogler, the most extreme of the group, portrayed ideas of damaged masculinity by photographing himself seemingly mutilated or wrapped in bandages; in the documentary film Being and Doing (1984) the British performance artist Stuart Brisely recalled the horror of being in the audience of such an Aktionist event. In 1980, he attended a happening by the Polish artist Zbigniew Warpechowski, and described the moment ‘When you saw him hovering with his hand above that nail, you suddenly got this terrible glimpse – you knew exactly what he was going to do. He pushed the nail through his hand…. I had to get up and get out of that room very fast’ (page 100).
This reminded me of Ai Wei Wei who took similar action in response to government surveillance, ‘after 9/11, the Bangladeshi American artist Hasan Elahi was detained at a US airport. On being released he was monitored for months thereafter. Elahi, an artist who is concerned with the nature of interpretation, turned his imposed surveillance against itself by bombarding the authorities with daily updates about his life and activities. In an Orwellian volte-face he sent snapshots of the food he ate, text message updates and emails of his whereabouts. This absurdist act wrestled back control of his own surveillance and also, perhaps, foretold a dystopian future that has since come to pass, in which people voluntarily publish the minutiae of their daily lives, which can be tracked and traced.’ (page 107)
‘artists began to investigate the relationship between the subject, the object and the place where art was exhibited. This became known as ‘institutional critique’ and it spurred artists into questioning the role played by museums and galleries in society and their connections to political power.’ (page 115)
‘In west Germany in 1972, against a backdrop of countercultural avant-garde art and experimental left-ing politics, Joseph Beuys and a group of students occupied the offices of the Düsseldorf Academy of Art. The protest was the culmination of a decade-long dispute between the artist and the academy, which had begun in 1961 when Beuys was appointed its professor of monumental sculpture. On taking up the position Beuys controversially abolished his course’s curriculum and entrance requirements, arguing that the hierarchical structures of the institution needed to be broken down. Everyone had the capacity to be an artist, he said.’ (page 117)
‘Discussions of structural racism and calls for reform do not drive public attention like the toppling of a stature does.’ (page 117)
‘Artists can be compromised by the place in which they choose to exhibit. All museums or cultural institutions follow some form of political agenda, whether they are privately or publicly funded.’ (page 123)
As I have myself deployed the “art of the press stunt”, I enjoyed this section; ‘In 1964, the Canadian philosopher Marshall McLuhan published his theory that meaning varies depending on the mode of communication used to convey it, a concept neatly summed up as ‘the medium is the message’. This gave rise to actions by artists using the press as both the medium and the subject of artworks.’ (page 131)
‘In 1977, the American artists Suzanne Lacy and Leslie Labowitz used the media to publicise their rage and grief at the lack of action used by police towards capturing the serial killers terrorising women in Los Angeles. In a ritualistic performance, nine women dressed in black and one in red stood in mourning outside City Hall in protest at violence against women and the portrayal of women as victims of assault in television, fim and magazines. After each woman spoke, the entire group chanted, ‘In memory of our sisters we fight back!’ In Mourning and in Rage received international media coverage in part because of its performative qualities, but also because it was designed specifically for television. The artists even designed their banners so that its proportions fitted TV screens.’ (page 132)
Sex as protest art; ‘In 2008, on the eve of Dmitry Medvedev’s election to the Russian presidency vacated by Vladamir Putin, the satirical art collective Voina (War) staged Fuck for the Heir Puppy Bear!, in which five couples had sex beside a stuffed bear in the State Museum of Biology in Moscow in protest at government corruption.’ (page 155)
‘The artist Gustav Metzger gained his reputation as a provocateur predominantly for his anti-capitalist gestures against global corporate power… Metzger objected to the art market that sought to manipulate art for profit’ and unsuccessfully proposed an artists strike in protest. (pages 160-161)
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