I recently wrote a review of Hans Stofer’s show ‘Walk the line’ held in Gallery S O, Brick Lane, London from 19 March – 17 May 2010.
Follow link, Tooling Around, to have a read.
During the last two weeks of January 2010 and as a part of my involvement in the inter-disciplinary project Department 21 at the Royal College of Art I gave out thirty of the same paint-by-number kits to college students in the space and beyond. This was relevant to my historical and theoretical examination of the paint-by-number kit that forms a part of a chapter of my PhD.
My initial hope was optimistic: expecting each student that was a part of the Department 21 project to fill in a kit underestimated how much time the paint-by-number kit took to complete and how much time the students had to spare. The Times Square composition that I chose took at least 8 hours to paint and having talked to many people who gave it a go, is immensely tedious. Thus, in the furore of the Royal College of Art’s schedule where students have to complete multiple projects and are tied up in the intense and demanding activities of their respective departments, only one was completed in the first week, and that was by me. I was hoping to show how easy the kit was, to encourage others to get involved.
It didn’t seem to work. By June 2010, four months later, only two more had trickled to a stage of completion, both after some persistence from myself.
Hearing that Department 21 had secured space in the College’s SHOW TWO I thought that an afternoon workshop would be the perfect way in which to get more kits done, create a hub of activity, whilst at the same time talking a little about the medium and the issue of amateur practice at large.
This is what happened, and alongside a number that came back from students and friends that had kits, another 13 ‘finished’ canvases were added to the collection. Some were half complete, but once the painter had finished to a level they were happy with (or were just completely hacked off with the kit) I considered that kit done, even if only the sky had been painted.
All ages were represented.
During the talk with craft theorist (and my supervisor) Glenn Adamson some participants carried on painting. This provoked Glenn to recall the Benjamin’s Storyteller, where the German Frankfurt school theorist lauds the depth of knowledge assimilation that occurs when one’s mind is relaxed. Perhaps in this case it was the talk that distracted from the monotony and difficulty of the paint-by-number. But that really depends on the practitioner. (see link for image)
Throughout the afternoon I stuck up completed kits on the walls of the College, but sometimes the blue tack didn’t hold and the canvases dropped to the floor. But these kits are resilient and I managed to take a picture of all the completed examples on the day.
Authors, from top left to bottom right.
Stephen Knott, RCA/V&A PhD researcher in modern craft. Completed with the intention to finish in the shortest possible time, whilst still staying completely within the lines. Still took eight hours.
Paul Scattergood, RCA MPhil Communications Arts and Design. Trained as a fine artist, Paul found the kit frustrating. He wanted to hit something as the colours could never achieve the image on the front of the kit due to their poor quality.
Polly Hunter, RCA/V&A History of Design graduate. Diligent and vibrant picture with colours in the wrong places to produce a very pop-art finish. The kit was not complimenting a dissertation Polly was writing at the time and by the end was insisting that I take the kit away from her.
Cat Rossi and Mark, RCA/V&A Phd researcher in modern craft and partner. Attempted to make the banal task more interesting by reversing colours, but quality of paints made this impossible and tedious.
Stephen Knott. Canvas used to show the layering in paint-by-number. Colouring one colour, taking a photo, then painting another colour, then taking another photo like a stop-frame animation.
Knott family. Done by various members of my family during my brother’s surprise birthday party. Enjoyed by some but not all. Taxi painted by my nephew and niece.
Simon Dedman, freelance journalist. All fire with no car.
Public. This was painted by a women whilst listening to talk by Glenn Adamson about Amateurism, de-skilling, and art, craft and design practice. (see image)
Prapat Jiwarangsan, RCA MA student, Ceramics and Glass. Let the tree grow from the concrete.
Adrien Parlange, RCA MA student, Communication Art and Design. Done by the book, but after over an hour only managed to paint a bit of sky and the Coca-Cola advert with impeccable accuracy.
The paint-by-number project is still a work-in-progress, there are several more kits to come in, including one painted in oils! There is a plan in the future to show this research project ‘spin-off’ in its complete form through some means of exhibition/dissemination.
I recently wrote an article for the Journal of Modern Craft and it now has been uploaded to the website.
Follow link: Bodging Milano, to have a read.
As a research student of the RCA there is not the same link to the college as the MA student. I don’t think there should be, as research by definition involves setting up your own schedule and going wherever you want, or doing whatever is relevant to your research. But noticeable, if you spend just a few days in the RCA, is the oddity of the split campus. Fine Art and Sculpture are down just below Battersea Bridge, the rest up in the Jay Mews site, SW7.
Many students go through their courses up at SW7 without the will or chance to go down to the Battersea site, but on 24th February I went down and participated in a series of performance lectures set up by Fay Nicolson and Charles Ogilvie. I repeated a talk that gave as a part of the Dialogues in Design session about ‘amateurism’ in January. (For more information on the other performance lectures follow link – www.theperfectlecture.wordpress.com)
A word on the context. The Sculpture and Fine Art departments are on Howie Street, just behind Foster + Partners and the developments of Albion Riverside, which touts that it is ‘vibrant’ new quarter of London, but looks more like a lot of highly desirable flats where residents are more likely to stay in and look at their river view than ever venture out to the local area.
The locality just south of Battersea Bridge is odd. An almost high street, with a few grocery stores, a Pizza Express and some fancy looking restaurants opposite a rusty fast food chicken outlet. Among the various amenities, housing estates and cash machines that charge between £1.30 – £1.94 for transactions, are the grey slabs of the RCA Sculpture and Fine Art departments.
And Richard Wentworth introduced the performance lectures with a praise of the Fine Art seminar room as one of the few truly open spaces of the college, perfect for student-led initiatives. Open indeed for the well thought out and idiosyncratic lectures on show.
Richard Grayson started with Ghosthouses, an excellent narrative on history, destruction and the ephemerality of traces that corresponded with images projected on two screens. The students followed: a statement on nuclear fallout, performed with a deflating airbag; a spoof of Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies’; a musical and sung number; an examination of lecture spaces; and a Victorian-style lecture on Pythagorus.
There was a division in the presentations between some kind of examination or play of the conventional lecture form, and those that used multiple mediums to present something about their work. The latter style was a lot to take in: I had a Wispa bar and 7Up for lunch which brought on a headache that was not going to get better throughout the afternoon with this sensory bombardment. But that was okay, just, some pieces were more lectures with performances in them, rather than a performance lecture.
Out of the students’ presentations Charles Ogilvie’s lecture on Pythagorus must have been more of a subtle play on the lecture form. I challenge any member of the audience to remember all the facts, figures and hypothesis that were asserted in this headmasterly dissemination of information on Greek knowledge and lunar observations. He asked an assistant by the computer to move the slide on for him, “Next slide please”, like a true authority on a subject and kept on going and going in the same measured tones. I looked around at the audience sitting in their squeaky chairs and thought that it would be great if this lecture went on for hours, like what used to happen in the olden days, slowly wearing down the students in the room and hurting their backs in the process.
The diversions were endless in this talk: “I’ll just explain that to you because it’s quite interesting!”
And the trip down to Battersea, another offshoot of my experience of the college was just that – quite interesting.
Over the course of my time sitting in the Goldsmithing, Silversmithing, Metalwork and Jewellery department of the RCA, I have been involved in two exhibitions that are part of the annual schedule for students.
On both occasions the departmental authorities (Hans Stofer and Michael Rowe) have imposed conditions on the outward appearance of the display that has compelled students to show there work in a context that was determined, which they might not have chosen for themselves.
On the first occasion the overcoat was the system of display on which objects were placed. This was the show in Nijmegen, Holland (see link).
The twine hanging down from a tense wire was the thing on which you had to attach, your hanger, and then the overcoat. All had to conform to this string. Everyone had one string, but within this space each student could do what they wanted. They all responded to the same brief with a dominant object that all had to use as a base, which gave the show a uniformity, within which eclecticism could occur, like a library shelf with complete mix of different books from different publishers, each with individual font, colour and size.
How much further could a curator impose on the artist-makers? How significantly could a curator impose conditions on an artist that would require him/her to forego ego, individuality, in a marketplace where the name is all important? How much is the individual maker willing to give to a curatorial principle?
The second involved putting work inside a MDF box which lit up as you opened the door. In the immediate aftermath of Christmas and the New Year technicians were toying with lamps and MDF boxes in the colder lower level of the Gubelkin galleries to set up the show.
So used to feeling comfortable in presenting my work as a researcher through the normal channels of powerpoint presentations and seminar discussions, standing in front of an object you have made in an exhibition with an audience was curiously disarming. I desired some kind of recognition or appreciation of the piece, and if they there was something that they didn’t understand, that I intended to communicate through the piece I wanted to make them understand. But you’re not privileged to the same freedom to explain something over the course of many minutes.
And if someone turns around and expresses praise for your work, you become all bashful… “Oh no… really…”
The first event of the 2010 was entitled ‘amateurism’ held in Department 21, which co-founder Fabio Franz admitted was itself an experiment in amateurism.
The event was chaired and introduced by Livia Rezende who in edition to introducing whatDialogues in Design was all about, asked all members of the audience what amateurism meant to them in the context of their work. This brought out definitions and issues that were to be re-visited throughout the talks, and in the discussion afterwards.
Stephen Knott started the talks, with a brief history of a definition of modern amateurism which is defined by its heterogeneity. Before the late eighteenth century amateurism was closely associated with aristocratic pursuit of arts based primarily on loving the activity in question. He explained how the commercial provision of arts supplies, combined with the professionalisation of various crafts resulted in a diverse set of definitions, both pejorative and adulatory, used to denote what ‘amateurism’ meant.
In addition he offered some definitions of amateurism based on theoretical research and performed amateurism itself throughout the Powerpoint presentation, deliberately making mistakes, reading directly from a handwritten and scruffy script, and designing slides poorly with gimmicky transitions.
For example, this pixelated image of Marx, was one slide that was deliberately unprofessional. A poor image of limited quality that often individuals giving presentations apologise for. Also, Marx appeared on the slideshow, apparently randomly, and was not referred to in the course of the talk – another example of bad practice in giving a talk. Amateurism was adopted as method as well as subject.
For the second talk Cat Rossi charted how Italian designer Enzo Mari called on amateur self-assembly as a way to democratise design in the 1970s. His design message carried the socio-political content of filling free time with productive activity, a way of resisting the ‘myth’ of free time and harnessing the potential of the everyday maker. The attempt was to encourage amateurs to create products of high quality – design for everyone – rather than just mere knickknacks.
Textile researcher, Emma Shercliff, used her presentation to explain the problems that have arisen over the course of her research on hand stitching, comparing her own practice with that of a group of presumed ‘amatuers’ in evening classes. She described her experiences of attending these evening classes, and how her time there problematised the easy definition of amateur as ‘not’ professional as presumed characteristics of amateurism do not fit the reality. Amateurs are thought to do things in private, not to get paid, and show low levels of skill, but the amateurs Emma came into contact with sometimes had sold their work, demonstrated particular attention to high skill and publicly talked about their work together. Her presentations exposed some of these problems with defining amateurism.
The fourth presentation by Dionea Rocha Watt discussed the ‘de-skilling’ in the practice of contemporary jeweller Lisa Walker. This trained jeweler deliberately appropriated the lack of skill involved with the use of glue in jewellery production. Seen as a distinctly amateur material and used to deceive viewers of the process by which something is made, glue became the material Lisa Walker used to purposefully puruse the randomness and creativity in ‘sloppy’ craft.
The final talk by History of Design, MPhil student Jessica Jenkins concerned post-war East German folkskunst (folk-art) and the interaction between concepts of folk and amateur in this socialist political context. Official sanction permitted a certain degree of unofficial artistic activity in murals and other activities, which contradicts assumptions of art in a more authoritarian state. Jessica showed a number of intriguing photos of unofficial art and raised question as the the manifestation of amateurism in a different geographical and historical context.
The discussion afterwards focused on the problematic definition of the idea of amateurism, with participants from the floor offering their own ideas as to its various manifestations. Some talked of a structure of amateurism, ranging from ‘high’ amateurs that demonstrate skills beyond the professional, and ‘low’ amateurs who merely imitate. Others recalled personal stories of relatives’ hobbies pursued for pure enjoyment, rather than any monetary gain or fame.
Despite multiple suggestions of what amateurism might mean its definitional integrity remained intact: there is a common strand that unites this diverse set of practices. As suggested by Glenn Adamson, a member of the audience, amateurism does not describe an economic or social space, but a more abstract discursive space. It is defined by the fact that an amateur can not operate powerfully in an arena of discourse, so even if amateurs are ‘other’ to professionals, they also cannot occupy the terrain of counter-discourse as this would demonstrate too much conviction in their practice.
Throughout the first two weeks of department 21 perhaps the most collaborative object has been the food and drink that has been shared and consumed. As Neil MacGregor, director of the British Museum mentioned on his radio four programme, The history of the world in 100 objects: ‘Sharing food is one of the most basic ways of binding people together’.
Restricted by the health and safety rules that allow no hot cooking in the space, organisers have been adept and managed to create wonderful salads, couscous dishes, dips, with generous quantities of fresh bread that you can tear into, in almost biblical fashion. Everyone has commented at the two communal dinners on the healthiness of this food that vibrates vivid greens and luscious reds.
Just take a look at this delightful fruit salad.
Fabio (Franz) suggested that if the College wanted further collaboration they should provide some kitchens extra to the canteen. Not only are people working with food in their studies but as soon as food is on offer at the various events, attendance, even from busy schedules of the students, is secured.
Department 21 met the visceral, weighty substance of clay this Friday afternoon. Ceramics and glass students came over with their aprons and overalls, an item of clothing that lies in lowly position in the ‘most popular type of clothing in the RCA’ contest, behind printed T-shirts, colourful shoes, neckerchief-scarves and hoodies.
After a long meeting about the legacy of department 21 on the kind of publication or collaborative project that might emerge from the project and a rushed lunch, I felt keen to take a walk in Hyde Park to clear my head – but the Ceramics workshop was on, and I was glad I returned to the department to participate.
I came in while people were making thumb pots by hand, pushing the pad of the thumb into the clay to make rice bowl shapes. Of course, the ranges of skill already manifest themselves. Maybe some participants who had come from all over the college had some pre-aptitude, and ‘standing-reserve’ of skill with a keen attentiveness to keep the clay nice and wet. I was pretty poor at this task, always sticking my thumb out of the bottom when trying to shape a bowl. Other people’s work was impressive with one woman really getting into the coiling business.
I attempted on three or four occasions to make a pot, but each time I made a hole I screwed up the clay and started again. There was no need to make anything, just move the clay from hand to hand to see what forms emerge, and then you screw it up knowing there was no intention in the thing made, or at least no preciousness that makes you think the drying and wobbly bit of clay beside you is anything other than playful outlet for some tension. Its very therapeutic… as one of the participants I saw in the college later on mentioned. She would have liked to stay she said, but she had ‘work’ to do.
Then we were treated to a demonstration of clay throwing by one of the Ceramic and Glass students after the throwing wheel had been hauled from ceramics workshops. There is no need to eulogise the skills of the thrower and the hypnotic manipulation of clay – we’ve all seen, or (now) know about the scene in Ghost with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore – but it was impressive.
The maker went from basic demonstrations to his own interests in shaping a pot where he cut off the even rounded top of the rotating vessel, leaving a immaculate thin, and randomly cut lip, each pot a different manifestation of this. “Do you like randomness?” he was asked. “Yes”.
Then came the moment of inviting an untrained student to have a go. This prompted memories of the Generation Game and Bruce Forsyth looking over the inept contestants of the game show as they attempted to replicate the feats of an expert (for those not familiar with the programme follow link).
And I can see why the Generation Game lasted for so long, because seeing individuals attempt jobs that are the preserve of experts is funny. Immediately you witness how difficult it is to do the most simple of things. Placing the round ball of clay on the wheel requires force and accuracy, as the beginner merely placed the ball in what seemed like the centre instead of giving it a good hard throw against the spinning plate. The expert does make it look easy – but how many years and failures are behind each movement of the hand.
Then as the beginner wrestled with the lump of clay trying to just do something with it, everyone looked on. Then a huge burst of laughter from the crowd as she got her apron caught up in the spinning device.
We come back to the aprons again. There was some plastic laying about and was cut into makeshift aprons to protect clean, trendy clothing. This hung loose instead of fitting tightly like the ceramicists’ ones and got wrapped up in the wheel. No injury… but a good sense of the speed of the wheel, as the plastic was sandwiched into the clay messily.
In the first few days of any project there is always an anxiety as to the make-up of the end goal. For department 21, after the successful opening, there were questions as to what would result and what to work towards and until the Friday nothing had been collaboratively made. Individuals had started work but not in explicit cohort with others.
The Goldsmithing, Silersmithing, Metalwork and Jewellery department booked in a workshop for the first Friday, organising a brunch in the morning over a show and tell session followed by a workshop, whereby participants would have to make something for a dinner party that would follow in the evening.
I was keen for GSMJ to impose a more authoritarian rule and only allow people to drink their wine in the evening if they had physical proof of something that they made, using a self-made object as an access card.
Despite being a little fascist, there was a reason for this idea. This collaborative space has so far been occupied by people that have brought in their own tools and continue to work on their own projects. Collaborative labour does something different drawing you away from your specialist area of expertise, your tools and knowledge, and you’re forced to think differently. This process is not straightforward and sometimes needs direction, and the use of free wine as a lure to making could provide the bait.
GSMJ’s brief to make something did act as a spur to collaborative labour. Five groups were randomly formed and asked to make things for the evening’s party from 5pm. Groups made textile reel goblets, a do-it-yourself wine dispenser, a bar to put in the middle of the communal table, metal name badges and a ritualistic burning site for wishes written on small bits of paper to be burnt.
Our group worked on making units that would make better use of the large communal table whose middle was never used. There was a large table panel with a hole in the middle on the bannister one floor down which would be the circle from which a barman would serve. I made a crisp dispenser out of the rubbish from that morning’s brunch. Packaging reused as serving dispensers.
The bar area, complete with kitchen roll and serving trolley.
The wine dispenser. From wine bag, to evian bottle to plastic cup. A better way of serving wine, according to one of the makers, for its ability to make sure three people drink together at the same time.
This workshop was the first chance to employ collaborative labour in making something. Making objects and contraptions for a party that is exclusive to students of an art college does not contain any radical polemic and could be accused of being self-indulgent – a coterie of individuals just making their party more creative and fun.
But the lure of a few glasses of wine and crisps was the lure to invite production, and like those who made the chairs in the opening, reminded participants of their abilities to manipulate materials all around them. With the pressure of the college on students to think and re-think work, the chance to respond to a brief more directly and make without the burden of it being ‘your work’ was refreshing.
Department 21 – the interdisciplinary workshop at the Royal College of Art made up from all the other twenty departments. The project involves the utilisation of space freed up by the relocation of the painting studios from the Stephens Building to Battersea. Over the course of 4 weeks, starting on 11th January 2010, the students take over the space to engage in a series of collaborative projects, workshops and discussions, drawing in people from across the college and outside. See department 21 for more info.
I am a research inside this department, and intend to use this space for a few ideas relating to my study. (I’ll blog these down when they happen).
The other interest I have is observing the experience of being involved in a unique college project – an intriguing side dish to the main course of the PhD research and writing.
As soon as the project got the go ahead, one of the first priorities was to organise the space and prepare for the opening. Communication came before content. It was more important to make people aware of the project – where it was, when it was happening and the loose idea of collaborative work – than any specific content. The content would be shaped later.
There was a discussion about what to do for the opening. There were no chairs in the department so it seemed a sensible idea to combine the opening with chair making.
For the rest of this blog I briefly chart the planning and realisation of this event.
Firstly it is important to note the essential role played by Google documents in the preparation of the event, as 30 people had to keep discussing plans despite being in many different places over the Christmas holiday. Perhaps the ease of access and use of Google documents to share information among a diverse set of people is the first building block to collaborative efforts. In the context of the chair-making opening, various participants in 21 mailed each other their ideas on how to make chairs, online videos of artists working with simple materials to make chairs, and other proposals.
Next stage was to organise and collate the materials.
The materials that appear in the photo were found pieces of wood left over from the departure of the painting students before Christmas. Legs and supports for the chair making came from beams that held up the interior partitions and boards were also used and cut to size to act as the seat. The piled up bits of wood were like the Lego bricks for the chair making – just add them together and creativity would ensue. But before the public are invited to attempt chair-making, 21ers organise the space as if it were a manual manifest architecturally. This required the factory like production of multiple same-size lengths of wood and sanded seat panels, so no splinters would dive into would-be makers. Although the opening gave the chance for all to make a chair (and I was to become one of them too), the labour of the kitmakers needs to be acknowledged. Readymades are often constructed like this.
All prepared, with a zingy yellow instruction pamphlet to reiterate the idea that chair-making was on the agenda for the opening, people flooded in.
The result was a number of new chairs – all ready for 21 use.
There were many more people at the opening, than chairs made. An opening is more about beer and crisps than actual production, but the spectacle of brave individuals making in front of an assembled crowd with bottles of Becks pressed to their lips, reenforced the idea that this space is made using the materials that remained from the space’s previous incarnation. A chair made with the assistance of instructions (and the DIY aesthetic in general) softly remind viewers of the centrality of the ‘doing’ part of art.
Sensibly sustainable, use of the materials that made the divisions between the artists’ studios beforehand for chairs, representing the destruction of barriers in favour of openness and collaboration is a neat point with a pleasant ring. But division and barriers exist in open space. Arrangement, where students erect their barriers, where they pull them down and what they put up instead will help define what a collaboration might be and what inter-disciplinary space is.
