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Curators Austrian (Andraes Reiter
Raabe)
Belgian (Jan Hoet)
Canadian (Kitty Scott)
Chinese (Huang Du)
Danish (Dorthe Abildgaard &
Marianne Krogh Jensen)
French (coordinated by
Jean-Pierre Dumont)
Italian (Jen Budney &
Roberto Pinto) Japanese
(Itaru Hirano)
Norwegian (Bo Krister Wallström
& Jørn Mortensen)
Philippine (Patrick Flores)
Swiss (Pierre-André Lienhard)
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Scattered
around the central exhibition Signs of Life,
Juliana Engberg's inaugural Melbourne International
Biennial featured a series of eleven national pavilions.
For a month, artists from Switzerland, Japan, Norway,
Denmark, France, Austria, Philippines, China, Canada,
Italy, and Belgium occupied Melbourne's public and
commercial contemporary art spaces, under the
organisational light of Bala Starr. Mirroring the Nordic
mood of 'Signs of Life', whether by chance, design, or
otherwise, the emphasis was on the Northern Hemisphere -
and the further North the better. This was a
European-style biennial only slightly marked by its
location in the Asia-Pacific, and the absence of South
American and African artists throughout meant that it
could not, nor ever did, claim representative status. None
of the participating national curators sought to
represent national identity directly. In fact, many went
out of their way to avoid such labelling. Such was the
case with Denmark, whose selected artists reside in
London, and whose Ikea-like 'Info Zone' at the Ian Potter
Museum of Art was a simulated display of an art,
technology and urban life practice in London using a
local version of their highly theorised Info Centre
Website. The deconstruction of national representation as
a Biennial concept was to be expected. Commodities and
culture are in motion as never before and national
populations are increasingly mixtures of cultures,
ethnicities and races, each with varying
commitments to the government in their adoptive
territory.
Philippine artist Gerardo Tan explored the ongoing
exchange of cultures in The Golden Cargo Trading
Company Import/Export. Everyday household objects,
like egg beaters, disposable cameras, toys, and other
more exotic ephemera, as well as photographs of them,
were pinned in perfect order from floor to ceiling around
the walls. In addition to the sheer beauty of the
delicate, colourful arrangements, the surfeit of objects
commented both on the global circulation of mass produced
pop cultural artefacts and the Philippine diaspora.
Reciprocation was built into the exhibition in the form
of an oblique invitation to the visitor to donate local
objects, suggesting that within the anonymity of kitsch
lies personal histories and collective longings.
Artists are especially mobile, and contemporary art is
a floating world currency. For the present generation of
artists, it has become exceptionally important to orient
art practice internationally. Often, contemporary artists
turn to global popular culture for an international
language of common references. Thus the three young
Vancouver artists in "Universal Pictures" at
the Canadian pavilion, hosted by the Australian
Centre for Contemporary Art, dealt in the centrifugal
force of North America's popular imaginary. Geoffrey
Farmer's strange mixture of classic Australian films (Picnic
at Hanging Rock, Gallipoli, etc.) and Poltergeist
- inspired by an image of the ACCA building - also
included an outdoor pet cemetery (an inspired case of
what has been called the "glocal" condition).
Ron Terada's conceptual jeopardy game show paintings
questioned the interpretive element of guesswork in
painting, and Myfanwy Macleod's larger than life
inflatable mascot entertained our mute infantilisation.
The contrast could hardly have been greater with the
more traditionally universal concerns of established
Japanese artist Leiko Ikemura at Sutton gallery. Here, a
trail of poetic text wrapped around first black and then
yellow walls helped construct an atmosphere for the
contemplation of recognisably precious art objects:
beautiful glazed terracotta sculptures (on chipboard
tables) of hollow female torsos. Re-expressed in blurred
colour oil paintings, this figure attempted to engage
more than the contingencies of most fashionable
contemporary art. The catalogue informs us this work
contained "absolutely no trace of . . . Japaneseness",
but rather more classically seeks to uncover "the
essence of life beyond discursive thought".
Ironically, as the show was alone with this sensibility,
it assumed a national stereotype in spite of itself.
A Velcro aesthetic appeared in work from two
prosperous European nations. At Tolarno Gallery, the
Swiss artist Sidney Stucki painted white diagrammatic
loops on matt black walls, and synchronised a
speedy techno beat with three red and yellow circular
flashes of light, shifting from right to left. Combined
with an occasional low frequency boom, the experience of
this "sonic visualisation" was either
alienating or fascinating, but certainly not psychedelic.
Rather it was a rationalisation, presenting the
electronic beats of Euro-trance on the same plane of
consistency as visual perception. At 200 Gertrude Street,
Norwegian Knut Åsdam transformed the front section of
the gallery into an "audio-room installation".
A dark tunnelled maze lead to a nightclub-like space of
black vinyl booths and headphones with trickling voices.
With the distinctive glass face of the gallery tinted
deep black, sexual undercurrents were enhanced by the
pleasure of seeing out to the street without being seen.
A sense of bodily confusion, doubled for habitualised
locality, forms part of Åsdam's subjective spatial
project. His second work, Psychasthenia, comprised
a twin strobe video projection of the liquid-like
reflective windows of a modernist office building.
Extensive documentation of UKS, the Norwegian young
artists' association Åsdam belongs to, included a half
hour video selection of such work as Mattias Härenstam Everyday
Life in the Postutopian Welfare Society II (1999) - a
menacing evening urban stroll cum computer game .
As is the case generally in contemporary art today,
photomedia was prevalent. Stranger Knocking, at
the Centre for Contemporary Photography, featured seven
Italian artists dealing with the theme of estrangement or
the condition of being a foreigner. Italy is in the
unusual situation of having been a net exporter of its
citizens for most of its short history as a nation state.
Perhaps the most politically grounded pavilion, the
photo-based work included large oil/digital canvasses of
Yassar Arafat, a social documentary style video on
Romanian gypsies, and self-reflexive hand-held video
pieces. The more formally interesting work was less
obviously political: Mauricio Lupini's large Gurskyesque
colour photographs of office habitats and Roberto
Marossi's stylish and enigmatic portraits of contemporary
figures imitating the poses of religious icons. An
off-site video installation at Platform - in a train
station underpass - was aptly located within one of
Melbourne's most ethnically diverse settings.
At the French pavilion, again at the Potter, a strange
placeless modernity pervaded Valérie Jouve's large
colour photographic portraits of ordinary figures in
generic urban landscapes. A vision of an office building
on a motorway at twilight is a classic concrete non-place
and a voyeur's delight (pot plants, peopled cubicles,
etc.). However, a series of smaller portraits of office
workers outside for a smoke seemed a patronising
projection, and a John Cage quote running along the wall
served only to confuse the issue. Downstairs, in
the Belgian Pavilion, Dirk Braeckman's dark grey
photographs portrayed seductive intimate private spaces
(chairs, a naked woman on a bed, a large Sony TV, etc.).
Jan Van Imschoot's reconstructed paintings of eighteenth
century militarised horror and Sven 't Jolle's dystopian
working class Global Village were almost
alienating in their Europeanness.
Gallery Gabrielle Pizzi presented the Chinese artist
Li Yongbin, a video installation in which a double
silhouette of a bald man slowly moved about a large
gridded window-like display. The sound of his breathing,
pumped into the gallery space, evoked an ominous
fictional presence. Breath was also monitored at Robert
Lindsay Gallery. In this Austrian pavilion, loud grunts
turned Anne Schneider's intimate video self- portrait of
a desperate struggle to invert a doll's head into a kind
of sinister ritual. Torture likewise structures Elke
Krystufek's self-scrutinising paintings and Marilyn
Monroe collages, examining celebrity and the distinctions
between the public and private actions of the body. The
self-reflexive almost narcissistic nature of her work is
made explicit through diary entries and the documentation
of her working process (the camera in the mirror).
Finally, a set of works by the established Viennese
artist Franz West included a metal couch originally made
for Joseph Kosuth's show at the London Freud museum. This
offered an unconscious link to Cornelia Parker's slide
projections, at Anna Schwartz Gallery, of a magnified
feather and fibres drawn from Freud's couch.
The collaborating country projects existed in a
slightly underdeveloped relationship to the big
attraction: the tightly curated 'Signs of Life', with its
humanist visions of life and death, political themes of
the environment, migration, sexuality, and its formal
preferences for models and video art. If 'Signs of Life'
suggested homogeneity to some, the pavilions were
illustrative of both the diversity and shared concerns of
contemporary art around the world today. It amounted to a
satisfying side order for Melbourne art audiences as well
as a promising start to more dynamic pavilion exchanges
within future Melbourne International Biennials.
Daniel Palmer
1999
© The artists and
Courtesy of MIB &
the artists..
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