Narrative Fragments
Spring has brought warm as well as cold weather to Manhattan and with the change in air there has been a change in attitude toward digital media. The presentation of digital works ebbs and flows, it is present, then conspicuously absent from the commercial galleries that dot Manhattan. This Spring there have been numerous exhibitions that have invited viewers to sit and look and listen to communications from multiple screens. The awkwardness of walking into the middle of a single screen projection is compounded when entering a space that presents many. Rather than dwell on the pros and cons of scheduled time and a cinema-like setting in a gallery (for example in Eve Sussman's curated film series at Winkleman Gallery (March 27-May 2)), it is the nature of the fragmented narrative that is ripe for discussion. It is curious to note that almost all of the multi-screen works on view are political in nature, i.e. content driven works which begs the questions: Why fragment the narrative across multiple screens if there is meaning to be gleaned from the viewing of the work? and How can a fragmented narrative embellish content?
When imagery is split across multiple screens there is a fracturing that occurs. The advent of two three or more simultaneous projections becomes a distraction for the viewer as they often do not know where to look, when. Amongst the many multi-screen works on view in New York museums and galleries This Spring included: Barbara Kruger "The Globe Shrinks" at Mary Boone Gallery (March 27 - May 1); Adrian Paci "Gestures" at Peter Blum Chelsea (April 2 - May 15); Michelle Dizon "Civil Society" at Cue Art Foundation (March 23 - May 12); Amar Kanwar at Marian Goodman Gallery (March 16 - April 24); "Ouroboros: The History of the World" at Ise Cultural Foundation (March 9 - April 23) and William Kentridge "Five Themes" at MOMA (Feb 24 - May 17). What ties these shows together is the fact that in all the presentations, multiple projections fill a room, requiring viewers to think about how the fragments coalesce as a whole.
Barbara Kruger is a master at choreographing the sequence of projections that fill a given space. For her installation "The Globe Shrinks" she "engages with the kindness and brutality of the everyday, the collision of declaration and doubt, the duet of pictures and words, the resonance of direct address, and the unspoken in every conversation" (Boone gallery press release) through the sequencing of floor to ceiling projections that encircle the darkened space. Viewers can sit on the benches positioned in the center and sides of the gallery but must then turn their heads or bodies to take all the screens during the twelve minute loop. Within the projections, actors speak to the audience and to each other matter of factly, describing real-life situations where they acted badly. Intermittendly textual fragments fill the walls. The larger than life sized talking heads relate carefully scripted scenarios. A head occupies one wall, then moves to another creating a conversation across the space. Sometimes its a monologue other times a dialogue, others a recreation of an event, nevertheless, the experience is one of bombardment, of being talked at and through. Kruger syncopates the fragments with the utmost care, allowing the dark moments in between to resonate. In Kruger's signature style the in betweens are filled with phrases including "Blame it; Buy it; Kiss it; Fear it; Believe it; Love it; Blind it; Temp it; Share it" flash on the walls, guiding the interpretation of the work. As always there is a societal critique embedded in the presentation. The work is nasty, yet realistic. Kruger's installation is purposely fragmentary. She understands the attention span of her audience and creates a looping sequence that can be entered and exited at any point. There is no beginning, middle or end. The floor to ceiling projections engulf the viewer and immerse them in the narrative. The audience is not merely watching but is being assaulted by the projections and the texts. This strategy, often employed by Kruger is consistent with her desire to bombard the viewer.
How a narrative can be read across numerous screens becomes something of a challenge. With simultaneus projections one often does not know how to look or in what order to watch the videos. When watching the eight screens in Amar Kanwar's "The Lightning Testimonies" it is necessary to moving from seat to seat around the room in order to take in all the screens. Once can watch one video for a period time, or through its sequence, then move to anther, but more often than not, one's eyes drifted from one screen to another. In works like this trying to engage with the content of the narrative(s) requires finding a point of entry, without one it is impossible to fully grasp the project's integrity. Sometimes this is the point, but in a work like "The Lightning Testimonies" the combination of fragments are meant to give meaning to the whole. "The Lightning Testimonies" is a haunting work that relates the experiences of female victims of sexual violence. Kanwar collected these woman's stories during his travels through India and Bangladesh weaving them into factual accounts as well as into poetic meditations. The work is about the memories of the traumas, and the power of the will to move on, but not to forget. The work addresses the question: How can one come to terms with such brutality and how can one visualise it? When the works was first shown in Documenta 12 it was at once praised and criticized, less for the subject matter than the commitment required from the viewer. Presented in a small claustrophobic space requiring more than 32 minutes of viewing time, the fragmented presentation of what was for the most part a documentary left many viewers frustrated because they wanted to glean the meaning rather than indulge in the aesthetics. In Kanwar's new work at Marian Goodman Gallery he further fragments his narrative creating an installation that plays across 19 small screens. The required hours of viewing becomes less the point than taking in what becomes a moving collage. The display that holds the works takes precedent over the content. In an installation of moving images, especially in one presented as a montage, it is never assumed that the viewer will actually watch all the videos from beginning to end. If this is the case, then what is the artists intention and when is enough, enough to understand the work. In Kanwar's "The Torn First Pages" it is virtually impossible to see the entire work from beginning to end, so one relies on the textual description. While the installation is stunning, does it do service to the content of the work?
In an exhibition such as Adrian Paci's "Gesture" The multi-screen project is an element within the larger context of the exhibition. Although "Last Gestures" can stand alone it is informed by the other works on view. "Last Gestures—a rear projected 4-channel video installation—shows four different scenes of the Albanian wedding ritual in which the bride spends the last moments with her own family before she leaves to start her new life. Unaccustomed to the presence of a video camera, the family positions themselves as if for photograph, allowing the camera to capture some unintentionally tender and awkward moments." (Gallery press release) The intimacy of the silent piece allows one to recreate the scene in their mind's eye, thinking about the past, present and future life of the family. If shot as a single channel work the simultaneity of the gestures and expressions would be lost. Ths work, because of its short duration can be seen again and again and on multiple viewings the nuances of the moment shine through. There is a difference between standing and glancing at the screens and the commitment made when sitting. Each of the four screens is suspended from the ceiling and illuminated by a rear screen projection. The viewer's body does not interfere with the projections upon close examination making the installation something akin to a moving painting. The four screens work in concert with each other, presenting a slightly different point of view or a shifted moment of a particular event observed in realtime but presented in slow motion.
Although Michelle Dizon's triptych "Civil Society" loops indefinitely, it has a beginning, middle and end. The elegantly choreographed piece flows between the three screens allowing the action to unfold individually as well as collectively. "Civil Society" is a meditation on urban violence, using text and images that depict the global crisis. Beginning with the LA Rodney king beatings in 1992 and moving to the unrest in Paris in 2005, Dizon creates a work that speaks about displacement and loss drawing from both documentary and experimental film traditions. The use of the triptych allows her to not only show three scenarios at once, but also to take advantage of the larger wide screen format. The pacing and use of projected texts guides the journey of unrest. The use of voice over directs the narrative, but it is the beauty in Dizon's imagery that while depicting images of violence carefully avoids the trap of aestheticizing it. "Civil Society" is a powerful work, one that resonates beyond its three screens embedding itself in memory. What sets Dizon's three screen work apart is that it is meant to be watched as a whole. The single bench positioned in front of the screens and the films eighteen minute duration ask the viewer to commit to its duration rather than floating in and out of fragments.
In addition to seeing multi-screen works in galleries, the Museum of Modern art was full of projected imagery. Was it coincidental that Joan Jonas had an exhibition at MOMA, Location One and Yvonne Lambert simultaneously; and that her work was on view at MOMA concurrent with William Kentridge and Marina Abramovic? Jonas creates installations that combine numerous projections, monitors, objects and drawings that surround viewers and immerse them in her world. The duration of the works vary and often when viewing her installations it becomes about taking in multiple fragments that hopefully become a whole when digesting the experience. Kentridge creates single channel as well as multi-channel works that become immersive environments. In his MOMA exhibition audiences could see the works chronologically and trace how the ideas evolved to become installations that encompass multiple projections. In works like "7 Fragments for Georges Melies" the action unfolds across seven screens. How to view the installation becomes a question. Is it necessary to watch each projection all the way through or is it enough content gleaned when wandering from one to another? Because Kentridge's visual are so seductive, it is easy to get lost in his installations.
Art viewing that requires a time commitment is often rebuked by audiences who are used to taking in a wall full of painting a few seconds at a time. Installation/video artists who fragment their works perhaps are referencing the traditional mode of presentation where one looks are multiple works a bit at a time, but more likely they are pushing the boundaries of the form. More often than not, when greeted by a darkened space a viewer will choose not to engage with the works, siting it would require too much time and they'd rather get the DVD later and watch it at home. Perhaps this excuse could work for single channel pieces but never for an installation. Looking at multi-channel multi-media work isnothing like taking in a show of paintings.Today most boundaries have already been pushed to their limits, so the display of multi-screen works is not about how to seduce a viewer, but rather about how to display provocative and intelligent content in a way that maximizes its effects. That this takes time is given. In an era that embraces the new, it is curious that the taking in of a video installation is not celebrated. Most art audiences are experienced viewers, yet they are often amongst the laziest. The commitment to the new, is a commitment of time. The investment more often than not is rewarding. The challenge is in the reconstruction, albeit in the minds eye and the making sense of the disparate fragments that brighten a room.
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