Don’t tell me how long to look at art
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Version 0 of 1. One of my most powerful experiences of contemporary art was the first time I got lost inside Mike Nelson’s installation The Coral Reef. This labyrinth of seedy urban corridors and waiting rooms is a frightening and uneasy place, because you lose track of where, and when, you are. You can be cast adrift from time and space on this treacherous reef. And that casting adrift – especially from time – is, for me, the definition of an interesting work of art. From an installation by Nelson to a painting by Thomas Gainsborough, the wonder of art is deeply connected with how it can un-anchor you from time. Instead of rushing to the next deadline or message, you can forget that it is 2014, for a moment, and linger in the other-time, created by art. Or, if that text really is urgent, you can absorb some basic information about a work of art in a few seconds. Clock it and move on. Come back later – or not. This, in a nutshell, is why I love art. It imposes no obligations on our time, but offers a chance to escape into its time. It can therefore be as slight or profound as we want it to be, because everything depends on our engagement. It does not have a beginning, a middle and an end. It is not like books, plays and films – it is inherently open and above all we are free to give it our time as we please. That is art’s unique freedom. But this freedom is being destroyed. More and more artworks define and dictate the time their audience must give them. Too many videos are made like feature films, with a start and finish, and the clear message that you need to watch the whole thing to understand it. Performances too can be like plays, with a defined start and end. This is so wrong – like those weird old photos of 1960s audiences primly watching happenings. The results are congested exhibitions that clog and ruin the fun of art. Two prime examples have been widely criticised this autumn – Mirrorcity at the Hayward and the Turner prize at Tate Britain. In both, a plethora of videos add up to absurdly pedantic demands on the visitor’s time. Instead of choosing to give one work of art a brief look then stay a long time with one that speaks to you, the exhibition as videothon hack out chunks of time and takes control of them. It is torture. Naturally, some people blame video, but video in itself is not the problem. The best video installations – such as those created by Douglas Gordon – make no assumptions about how much time we’ll see them for. They are images that move, and you can come and go. Clearly you don’t need to watch 24 Hour Psycho for 24 hours. Making video art that has a prescribed viewing time is as daft as if Mike Nelson sold timed tickets for his labyrinths or the Royal Academy prescribed how long you can look at Anselm Kiefer. Art is just not like that. Video and performance that have a beginning, a middle and an end belong in the cinema or theatre or on TV, and should be kept well away from art galleries. If it ain’t on a loop, it ain’t art. |