“Art Will Not Disappear Into Nothing; It Will Disappear Into Everything“: The Black Audio Film Collective and Latin America

The development of Latin American cinema in the 1960s was underwritten by a number of key texts that outlined the aesthetic and political direction of individual filmmakers and collectives (Solanas and Getino, 1969; Rocha, 1965; Espinosa, 1969). Although asserting the specificity of Latin American culture, the theoretical foundations of its New Wave influenced oppositional filmmaking way beyond its own regional boundaries. This chapter looks at how movements in British art cinema, especially the Black Audio Film Collective, were inspired and propelled by the theories behind New Latin American cinema. Facilitated by English translations in journals such as Jump Cut in the early ‘80s, Cuban and Argentine cinematic manifestoes provided a radical alternative to the traditional language of film theory available to filmmakers in Europe and works such as Signs of Empire (1983-4); Handsworth Songs (1986) and Seven Songs for Malcolm X (1993) grew out of this trans-continental exchange. The Black Audio Film Collective represented a merging of politics, popular culture, and art that was, at once, oppositional and melodic. Fusing postcolonial discourse with pop music, the avant-garde and re-imaginings of subalternity, the work of ‘The Collective’ provides us with a useful example of how British art cinema has drawn from theoretical foundations formed outside of Europe and the West. As this chapter will argue however, the Black Audio Film Collective’s work can also be read as a reaction to the specificity of British socio-politics of the ‘80s and ‘90s. Its engagement with the aesthetico-political strategies of Latin American cinema, then, undercut what was a solidly British project, rooted in (post)colonial history and emerging ideas of disaporic identity. If the propulsive thrust of The Black Audio Film Collective’s art was shaped by Third Cinema, its images and concerns were self-consciously British.

Relocating the Frame: Object-Oriented (1.) and Locative Art (2.) Environments

The locative project is in a condition of emergence, an embryonic state in which everything is still up for grabs, a zone of consistency yet to emerge. As an emergent practice locative art, like locative media generally, it is simultaneously opening up new ways of engaging in the world and mapping its own domain. (Drew Hemment, 2004) Artists and scientists have always used whatever emerging technologies existed at their particular time throughout history to push the boundaries of their fields of practice. The use of new technologies or the notion of ‘new’ media is neither particularly new nor novel. Humans are adaptive, evolving and will continue to invent and explore technological innovation. This paper asks the following questions: what role does adaptive and/or intelligent art play in the future of public spaces, and how does this intervention alter the relationship between theory and practice? Does locative or installation-based art reach more people, and does ‘intelligent’ or ‘smart’ art have a larger role to play in the beginning of this century? The speakers will discuss their current collaborative prototype and within the presentation demonstrate how software art has the potential to activate public spaces, and therefore contribute to a change in spatial or locative awareness. It is argued that the role and perhaps even the representation of the audience/viewer is left altered through this intervention. 1. A form of electronic imagery created by a collection of mathematically defined lines and/or curves. 2. An experiential form of art which engages the viewer both from within a specific location and in response to their intentional or unintentional input.

The Measure of All Things: Rethinking Humanism through Art (Group Show)

University of Buffalo New York Department of Art Gallery. The ancient philosopher Protagoras is most famous for his claim: “Of all things the measure is Man” and today, Western societies continue to promote anthropocentrism, an approach to the world that assumes humans are the principal species of the planet. We naturalize a scale of worth, in which beings that most resemble our own forms or benefit us are valued over those that do not. The philosophy of humanism has been trumpeted as the hallmark of a civilized society, founded on the unquestioned value of humankind defining not only our economic, political, religious, and social systems, but also our ethical code. However, artists recently have questioned whether humanism has actually lived up to its promises and made the world a better place for humankind. Are we better off privileging humans above all else or could there be other, preferable, ways to value life? With the continued prevalence of violent crimes, even genocide, in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, we see the ways in which the discourse of humanism falters, as groups are targeted through rhetoric reducing them to the subhuman, and therefore disposable. But what if the subhuman, nonhuman, and even the non-animal and material, were reconsidered as objects of worth even if far removed from us?

Encountering the Spectre of Painting

When thinking what paintings are, I am continually brought back to my memory of a short sequence in Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. In the scene, Kim Novak’s Madeleine is seated on a bench in an art gallery. She is apparently transfixed by a painting, Portrait of Carlotta. Alongside James Stewart, we watch her looking intently. Madeleine is pretending to be a ghost. At this stage she does not expect us to believe she is a ghost, but simply to immerse ourselves in the conceit, to delight in the shudder. Madeleine’s back is turned away from us, and as the camera draws near to show that the knot pattern in her hair mirrors the image in the portrait, I imagine Madeleine suppressing a smile. She resolutely shows us her back, though, so her feint is not betrayed. Madeleine’s stillness in this scene makes her appear as an object, a thing in the world, a rock or a pile of logs perhaps. We are not looking at that thing, however, but rather a residual image of something creaturely, a spectre. This after-image is held to the ground both by the gravity suggested by its manifestation and by the fine lie - the camouflage - of pretending to be a ghost. Encountering a painting is like meeting Madeleine. It sits in front of its own picture, gazing at it. Despite being motionless and having its back to us, there is a lurching sensation the painting brings about by pretending to be the ghost of its picture, and, at the same time, never really anticipating your credulity.