BOOKS @ VOLUME #274 (16.4.22)
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As Needed, As Possible: Emerging conversations about art, labour and collaboration in Aotearoa edited by Sophie Davis and Simon Gennard {Reviewed by STELLA} As Needed, As Possible is a collection of writing and reflections on and discussions about art, labour and collaboration in Aotearoa. Spearheaded by Enjoy Contemporary Art Space, editors Sophie Davis and Simon Gennard, and invited contributors explore the roles of artist-run spaces, collaboration, community and dialogue between artists and curators to engage readers of this publication in thoughtful writing and ongoing discussion. As often is the case with the best writing, it is questions that lead to the best innovation. Published in conjunction with GLORIA Books, designer Katie Kerr has captured the ‘ready to go’ aesthetic of the print-ready PDF file in a perfectly bound and attractive ‘hand’book retaining the autonomy of the individual pieces while embracing the collective whole — a description that could be used in underpinning the concerns of many of the writers in this publication. As conversations weave through the challenges and rewards of running artist-spaces; balancing, or in the cases of James Tapsell- Kururangi and Zoe Thompson-Moore embracing, the domestic sphere with their art practice; reflecting on the political and economic aspects of art within the wider neoliberal construct; and the role of collaboration for artists, the art sector and the wider community, the reader is aware of a breadth of thinking and research, of reflection, in the small pieces presented in this publication. Written over a number of years, some before the pandemic, others during Lockdown, they are varied in presentation and approach. The email exchange between Sarah Hudson and Zoe Thompson-Moore, artists and mothers of young children, in “The Making of Bread”, is lively and punchy, laced with humour amid the reality of domesticity — when you never have enough time, but ideas spark nevertheless — a bit like a well-made loaf. They discuss bread as the memories it sparks, sustenance which it gives, its necessity, and the words they list to describe it — maintenance, attention, fermentation, transformation etc — are delightfully applicable to the creative process. In his photo essay and reflections, “Gains? Grandmother. Grey Street.” James Tapsell-Kururangi also approaches the domestic as he documents and explores ‘a year of living' as an art project. In the essays “Finding Time to Discuss Nothing” from the Ōtautahi Kōrerotia collective and “Risky Business” a conversation between curators Emma Budgen and Chloe Geoghegan, artist-run spaces are considered from functional and analytical viewpoints providing insight and food for thought. The conversation between Budgen and Geoghegan, reflecting on past and present, their personal experiences in artist-run spaces, alongside political and social constructs (“Funding is never neutral” - EB) and the wider arts sector is particularly engaging in the labour/value/art discussion and the consideration of otherness or the embracing of an ethos of ‘relative autonomy'. In her closing statement, Budgen reveals that the conversation which reads seamlessly has occurred over many months in the moments after everything else, in the ‘gaps’. Another example of the value afforded art practice and conversation. While this necessity to exist in spite of challenges, time constraints, financial risk and the limits of a capitalist system (deftly explored in No nSense by Public Space — so simple, so perfect and so political) can be seen as a positive (it is often a barrier) towards stimulating engaging dialogue and creativity, it is interesting to note the recent acknowledgement of the ‘value’ of art in Ireland’s new Basic Income for artists scheme. A thought-provoking collection of writing for artists and anyone engaged with making space, literally or metaphorically, for art. |
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An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Paris by Georges Perec (translated by Marc Lowenthal) {Reviewed by THOMAS} You’re soaking in it, he thought, not for the first time. Could he quote David Hume, he wondered, and say, All there is is detail and anything else is conjecture, no, he could not quote Hume, at least not accurately, with that particular sequence of words, though of course he could not be certain that Hume did not say or think such a thing. The thought stands though, he thought, or the words that seemed at least to him to convey the thought, not that anyone reading the words would be in a position to judge the distance, if any distance is possible, between the thought and the words he wrote, but this is a whole other story and already he had come unfortunately quite far from that about which he purposed to write, he carefully wrote. All there is is detail, actually, he qualified deliberately, and we use these details to construct the sad narratives of our lives, or happy narratives, why not, though it would be more accurate to say that the narratives choose the details and not the other way round, neurology will back me up on this, he thought, no footnotes forthcoming, the narratives choose the details and not the other way round, he wrote, living and reading are not so different after all, the damage or whatever to the brain is the same whatever other harms may be avoided. Reality is produced by our failure to reach the actual, he wrote, but who he wondered could he pin this quote on. Anybody’s guess. A novel is more or less full of details, if there’s such a thing as more than full, in fact literature is all detail of one sort or another, supposedly all relevant and chosen by the authority, the reader has no business to think that there’s anything more, but also, he thought, no business to think that there isn’t anything more, in any case in the world of detail that we’re soaking in we assume there is more than those morsels of which we are aware, though in fact there may not be and no experiment can relieve us of this possibility, how claustrophobic, but let us assume for the sake of argument, if you want an argument, or for the sake of the opposite of claustrophobia, whatever that is, agoraphobia perhaps, the terrifying infinitude of possibility from which we protect ourselves with stories, to not be overwhelmed, that if we could let down our stories just for a moment we could expose ourselves to other details, unstoried or unstoried-as-yet, which could support quite other stories and all that attaches to those, or whatever. For three days in October in 1974 Georges Perec challenged himself to merely observe whatever passed before him in Saint-Sulpice, recording his observations as fast as he could write, except for when he was ordering coffee or Vichy water or Bourgueil. Observing without presupposing a story gives an equivalence to all details, the ordinary and what Perec calls the infraordinary are full participants in a thoroughly democratic ontology, every detail shines with significance even if it signifies nothing beyond its own existence. Almost it is as hard a discipline to stop a story suggesting itself as it is to suspend the stories we bring, although, I suppose, he thought, any story that suggests itself is in fact a story I have somehow brought with me even if I was unaware that I had it on board, which is interesting, he thought, in itself. No conjectures! Of course Perec cannot write fast enough, time, whatever that is, moves on or whatever it is that it does, the moment is torn away before he can catch much of it, the limits of his capacities affect his ability to observe, he is overwhelmed by his task but not destroyed so not in fact overwhelmed, so many details are suppressed by practicality, there must be some story taking place, the story of the observing I, of the capacities and the limitations that make up Georges Perec perhaps. Why these details and not other details given that we generally assume there to be a limitless amount of details out there, are we to conclude that every attempt at objectivity is autobiography, someone’s story, by necessity, at best. Subjectivity is a product of time, he thought, or produces time, whatever that is, the progression of our attention through a certain set of details, the constraining force that suppresses all but the supporting details, the readable details or at least the ones that we read, in either literature or life, the subjectivity that burdens us with personhood and other what we could call spectres of the temporal. He couldn’t get all the infraordinary down, he wrote, referring to Perec, Perec made an attempt at exhausting a place in Paris but his attempt was doomed to fail, just as it was revealing possibilities which made it a success it failed, due to time, due to the particular set of limitations that passes in this instance for Perec, he couldn’t get more of the infraordinary down without stopping time, without removing himself or at least seeming to, without taking a place, a small place, perhaps of necessity a fictional place but I’m not sure of this, without taking a place and truly exhausting it, stopping time, recording every infraordinary detail and watching them vibrate with the potential for unrealised story, without in other words sitting down and writing, soon after writing this book, his masterwork of detail, Life, A User’s Manual, he wrote. |
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Eating {Two cookbook reviews by STELLA} This is the season to discover new cuisines or expand your baking repertoire. Here are two very very different cookbooks that I have been dipping into this year: Having a themed Japanese birthday for a family member encouraged me to expand on my limited, predominantly sushi-focused, recipes. Maori Murota's Tokyo Cult Recipes was just the right level, expanding my pantry and knowledge of Japanese cooking. I like the 'Cult Recipes' series of cookbooks for their liveliness, not-too-complicated recipes, and interesting cultural outtakes. The bonuses are the street photography and the clear instructions, sometimes illustrated by photographs. A Japanese omelette was a simple joy to make, rolling the thin crepe-like layers around itself, and the photographic instructions made it perfectly comprehensible. There’s detailed information about ingredients, like different types of miso; and recipes for pantry staples, e.g. dashi. The feast meant many bowls of small dishes and all the elements on the go, but it was worth it! On the menu from this cookbook, Edamame, Agedashi-Dofu, Ebi No Kousai Ae (Prawns with Coriander — delicious!) and some pickles. And an occasion isn’t complete without baking — a cake, of course, and a breakfast treat. The Nordic Baking Book is a standard in our household, and I had looked at this and been a bit overwhelmed by its breadth, thinking the recipes were beyond my baking skill. Mistake! The recipes are wonderful, with many variations on a theme, so you can choose a lesser or more complex style to suit your circumstances or, in many cases, your regional preference. Magnus Nilsson’s knowledge of Nordic baking draws on his professional skills as well as his family knowledge. His lively writing and sometimes very amusing opinions make for fine reading. The recipes, so many of them, are well explained and the results excellent. There’s bread, crackers, pancakes and waffles, sweet pastries, kringles, sweets and cakes, to name just a few of the sections! There are recipes from the whole region, including Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Finland and Denmark, highlighting similarities as well as differences in approach and ingredients. Breakfast’s choice was Solbullar (Sun Buns), a moreish wheaty bun filled with vanilla custard cream with sugared coating — straightforward to make, impressive to behold, and easy to eat. The cake, Ambrosiakaka (Glazed Orange Sponge Cake) — light and delicious — was perfect for the occasion. I added a little extra decoration to give it that birthday lift. Other recipes that I enjoyed making and consuming include the many types of waffles and pancakes, especially the delicate sugared pancakes, which are like an upmarket pikelet but light as air and perfect for a weekend breakfast or snack! |
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