Das Platforms

Das Platforms is a great media project that promotes cutting-edge contemporary art and critical engagement with it. It's passionately free to encourage access and to help spread the good word about great art. So it's pretty bloody exciting to have an article about Jason's work published on their online writing platform. Click on the image below to go to the site:

Martin Hodge: concept and execution

Martin’s work has always been popular at Stockroom. It’s bold, it’s architectural, and it’s playful. And for his current exhibition he has again delivered work with a characteristic punch. His large steel screens in particular carry a special potency, a beautiful balance of idea and material. The steps he’s taken along the way to bring the work to its final resolution are thoughtful and executed with precision.

Martin Hodge, Barbie

At a distance we see familiar characters – Barbie, Batman, a lamb. They’re photographic and appear as if they have depth and tone. Not dissimilar to scaled up images from a newspaper print. But at closer inspection they reveal something mind-blowing. The screen is completely black, no grey tones whatsoever, and punctured with hexagons of varying size.

So there’s a few questions this triggers off. Why have these normally tiny little dolls and action figures been blown up to human scale, and what impact does that have? Why are they lasercut into steel, and not, say, printed on paper or painted on canvas? And why have they been manipulated digitally before putting them on the walls?

Martin Hodge, Batman and Lamb

Maybe blowing up to human scale makes you realise the caricature nature of the figures. It amplifies the thin limbs of Barbie, the bulging muscles of Batman. A skinny, 5 foot tall bobble-headed Barbie is hardly an attractive proposition to anyone. She couldn’t possibly stand on those teensy feet. And the classic ‘condom-full-of-walnuts’ physique of Batman would not instil a sense of confidence in anyone relying on him to fight against a villain. He’d barely be able to put his hands together. A 4 year-old would kick him in the codpiece before he had a chance to swing his meaty arms in any direction. Who are these idols? These frail figures of celebration.

This leads on to another slightly haunting element in the imagery - a sense of religious iconography. A lamb and a jesus-christ pose. Sacrificial figures delivered to us as membranes through which shadows are cast on walls. Figures of power, rendered in miniature plastic and resized in steel.

Maybe the lasercut steel is a filter. The images created exist in our minds thanks to the gaps in the screen. We acquire so many of our cultural stories through screens – literal and metaphoric. They are filtered, some parts highlighted, some parts edited out. And what about hexagons? Hexagons in rows look like beehives. Beehives are made up of worker drones and one queen who births all the young. And all the young grow up inside little hexagon rooms.

And maybe, digital manipulation is an extension of the artistic urge itself. Think of early humans picking up a charcoaled branch from the fire and scraping it across a flat rock to make a line. 21^st century artists can capture the light reflecting off objects in a box that converts that light into coded digits of 1s and 0s. There’s all manner of magic that can be conjured up after that. Robots can print out those images by shooting lasers through steel. Imagine that!

Art loves self love

(an article by Kent, occasional course language)

The term art-wanker is finding its way into mainstream references, not least thanks to the musings of MONA founder David Walsh. I'm knee deep in the land of art-wank - it comes with the territory of being a gallery director. Personally, I love it. But it's not to everyone's taste. And whether it's relevant to understanding art is a debate that always rages among artists and art lovers.

According to that old chestnut of a saying, ‘a picture tells a thousand words’, and it’s no coincidence that art provokes an outpouring of words in an effort to describe, translate and communicate what is compelling about it. But it’s fair to say that a lot of contemporary art is so obscure, so confusing and so unappealing on an aesthetic level that the resulting outpouring of words to describe it is equally hard to get a handle on. In the end, much of it just sounds like a bunch of try-hard-intellectuals trying to outdo each other with fancy words and completely impenetrable ramblings. And it’s no surprise that people end up referring to this enterprise as a form of collective masturbation.

Joseph Kosuth, One and Three Chairs

There’s a variety of paradoxical points of view on this. Art has been a topic of great intellectual investigation since Plato and Aristotle were knocking about in togas. It’s amazing to people that artists conjure up their creations, often as if they are compelled beyond reason. So few artists actually make a living from art, you wonder why they spend money on materials and devote time to it without the guarantee of anyone even liking it, let alone getting paid for it. It’s not like they’re making cars, fixing toilets or processing cheques – things we generally ascribe value to because they help the obvious functioning of society. Philosophers are fascinated by this and all the great ones have penned numerous essays on why humans make art.

So, when you get smart-arses like philosophers into the mix, then bang!, you’re going to get long-winded musings with long-winded words and before you know it you’re talking about the dematerialised art object, the expanded field and relational aesthetics. As a result, to be taken seriously as an artist, you’ve gotta get your head around this stuff and after a few years of talking like this it’s easy to forget that no-one else has a fucking clue what you’re banging on about.

But – in defence of that, there’s the argument that sometimes, in order to rip those ideas apart, you’ve gotta speak that language and understand those codes. I won’t necessarily tell my mum that the ‘agency of networked objects facilitates a democratisation of things, including concepts’ but it is something I might tell my supervising professor. 

 Bethan Huws, What's the point of giving you any more artworks when you don't understand the ones you've got?

In the 1960s something happened in the art world to completely change the way art is thought about and made. Actually, it happened during the first world war, but it didn’t have enough of an impact then to really change things until the 60s.

When we think about the materials of art we think of physical things. Paintings generally use canvas, stretched on wooden frames, with powdered pigments of different colours mixed into oil and splashed all over the surface with a brush. A sculpture might be carved into a block of marble with a hammer and chisel. Music might be created by plucking a steel string on a hand-made wooden shape. But in the 1960s it became perfectly acceptable to think of ideas as a material. In art, a thought was equally on par with an actual physical thing. The resulting conceptual art, then, is about ideas, thoughts and concepts (from which it gets its name). You don’t even need to make anything. You can just whisper a phrase into someone’s ear and call it a performance artwork.

To some people this is horrifying. To a lot of people it’s just shit. To others still, it’s fucking genius. And then again we get into masturbatory territory. The people who love it will need to find well-crafted words to support it, to back up what is essentially something incredibly delicate and ephemeral. To justify why a whisper is genius, people end up spouting vast volumes of highly convoluted prose.

 Lawrence Weiner, Dust and Water

On the one hand, this makes sense because there’s a need to try and communicate something so fresh and new that it takes a while to clearly articulate it. Sometimes new words need to be made up to describe the new ideas. Sometimes there’s a desire to draw on theories from science, politics and the humanities, and mash them together to make new ones that will explain what it’s all about. On the other hand, it isolates people who don’t read theories, don’t care about theories and don’t give a shit about explanations. Some people don’t need that, and no art should ever require it. This all comes to the same end – to a lot of people this is just boring shit, and to others it’s fucking genius.

If you’re not fond of the talk, you’ll see a bunch of chin-scratchers stroking each other’s egos in a form of outright wankery. Pure self-love dressed up in 6 syllable words. And you’d be right, in a lot of ways. But you shouldn’t ever let that wankery get in the way of your enjoyment of the art. In the end, it’s you and the art, standing together. You either like it, or you don’t. Read more into it by consulting others’ thoughts if you want. You might find out new and interesting things about the art if you do. You might also find out that it’s total bullshit. Alternatively, you might not even want to read the title of the work or who made it. Any or all of these approaches is equally valid. Art is not a code to be deciphered it’s something to be experienced. And experiences are best felt not described. Ironically, just like a good wank.

Meet Your Maker: Jason Waterhouse

This ‘Meet Your Maker’ will be a bit different because I’ll be interviewing Jason Waterhouse – co-founder (together with partner Magali Gentric) of the whole Stockroom enterprise. I met Jason nearly a year ago now, when I moved to the country from Melbourne, and about 4 months ago I started working with him and Magali. So, rather than an interview, this may end up more like two mates shooting the breeze, and we may well get a different insight than otherwise would be the case. And as a prelude, I should make it clear that Jason and I have this half-joke relationship where I am the waffling, pseudo-academic art-wanker from the city who uses too many long winded bullshit concepts, and Jason is the straight-talking, dirty feral trash-bag who actually knows how to make stuff.

Kent:

So, why installation and not, say, sculpture or drawing?

Jason:

So in 2008 I grew a moustache. At the time I thought that an uber-cool urban cowboy sort of vibe would be a good thing. A number of people found my moustache quite irritating. I am creating an installation, though I prefer to think of it as an intervention as I am not really installing anything, I am working with what exists in the space, modifying and shifting.

My work is pretty much the same as my 2008 facial hair, I'm just growing some bits. I think it’s a pretty good idea, but like my moustache, I wonder whether the punters may find the work (or lack thereof) irritating. Fruitlessly searching the space for some sign of Sculpture or Drawing.

Kent:
Well, you certainly are a shit-stirrer. Why are you trying to mess with the gallery space? I know you went to the cops to ask about shooting it. What's your problem?!

Jason:
It’s true, I did go to the cop shop to politely inquire about the legal ramifications of bringing a shotgun to Stockroom to shoot the north wall of the gallery to create a "drawing" on a wall in the space. It would be a beautiful thing, like a starburst etched into the wall. I have a shooting license, and a shotgun, but they were of the opinion that firing live ammunition in a residential area, inside a shop was a bad idea. Even out of hours.

For this show I also was thinking of knocking out a wall so I can bring a car into the space. Then I was going to rebuild the wall so I could proceed to crash the car back through the wall again. Though I am still keen on this idea, modifying through destructive force, it lacks the subtlety I’m after at this stage. Maybe tomorrow...

Then there was the burnout idea... the crash photos... the hole in the floor... the drawings of destructive forces...

In answer to your question, I think I spend too much time in Stockroom. I keep getting urges to fuck the joint up. Am I using my art as an excuse to justify a bit of teen angst? My 13 year-old daughter would be proud. Imagine Milo when he's 16. [Note from Kent: Milo is Jason and Magali’s 4 year old son – a firecracker of a kid].

Kent:
There's definitely energy at the core of much of your work I think. An almost primal, certainly masculine, compulsion of force.
What do you think about the angle of the 'masculine' in your works? You know, guns, cars, tools ...

Jason:
Well I am a bloke Kent, and I like cars and making stuff. I know the art school graduates have mostly been chicks for several years now. Are we rebelling against the blokes’ world of Australian sculpture of the 20th century? Shit, am I uncool and too Bathurst macho-blokey for today’s arts scene? Should I regrow my moustache? Would that make you happy? I’m going to do a burnout in my 1970's Japanese muscle car.

Kent:
You know, a moustache would make me happy Jason. First one to a handlebar wins!
What's it like pursing your own work as an artist while simultaneously promoting other artists?

Jason:
Distracting

Kent:
You do like to juggle several things at once. You do public commissions, commercial fit-outs and make furniture, amongst other things - how do you see these relating to your art?

Jason:
I do like my projects, it’s true. I have a short attention span and tend to be driven by the idea more than the result. That’s why Stockroom works for me, as I can chop and change according to my interest at the time, and the bonus is this keeps the shop fresh. Also, Stockroom is such a huge project there is always scope for new directions and modifications. I would go nuts in a 'normal' sized shop. There is also that need to make cash so we can pay our bills bit.

As to your question of its relationship to my art - I dunno. You tell me. My practice is my primary focus, but if you check my work (www.jasonwaterhouse.com - shameless self promotion) you will see that it’s not very commercial. I’ve done my time in both hospitality and teaching to fund my art. The next thing was to use my skills in a commercial way I suppose. My art practice is more expensive than crack.

Kent:
Art that chases cash often ends up a little hollow. Cash chases good art because money is a gravitational force attracted to value.
Ok, so let's go here:
Most of the really good artists I know have this compulsion to make. Almost an obsessive need. Do you get frustrated and down if you don't make things?

Jason:
I wish that gravitational statement was true. But it’s not Kent. There is a hell of a lot of truly talented artists out there who are hungry and waiting tables. The sad truth in the collectors’ art world is that money is attracted to perceived status value and collectability, or worse still, those who get around with the right crew. Not good art. How many amazing shows have you been to that haven’t sold well? Where is the magic gravitational money pull?

But to answer your question - if I don’t make shit I go fuckin' mad. Seriously. Massive mood swings, angst, depression, anxiety, you name it. The wonderful life of the artist is a myth. It’s more like being a drug addict. You have to make, but what you make is never good enough so you’re always on the search for the next better idea, the next score. It’s shit and I would not change it for the world. Art is a compulsion for me, not a pastime. The ideation is like a high, after that it’s process. Once the idea exists in real-time I’m gone and moved on.

Kent:
Ah, the old money and art relationship conundrum. This is a discussion that not even a table full of beers and an endless night would resolve. Cash chases many things, not least itself, and quite commonly some pretty god-awful shit. But not all collectors are interested in only acquiring the trendy stuff and not all art shows are put together by the in-crowd with nepotistic intent. Sure, some is. Just like any industry.

So, with all the emotional investment, what do you hope people actually take away from an exhibition of your work?

Jason:
I am generalising, it’s true, and we all know there are many, many exceptions in the art collector world. But I’m afraid there are also plenty of kudos collectors, which shits me, as art is so far removed from its intention when purchases are made by name rather than by passion.

As for my work - lots of the Stockroom regulars would have heard my soap box rants about accessibility of art, and my strong belief that work should communicate to its audience whether it be someone with a PhD in contemporary art or a tradie who has never walked into an ARI (artist-run initiative). Sure, that communication will be at different levels of understanding, but I fear that many practices are isolative and exist for the fellow artist rather than a wider audience. This type of practice is self defeating and unsustainable for all. When the general public sees my show I hope they smile. Anything beyond that is a bonus. As for the art-wankers, they can enter into long discussions about the deeper meanings of the work, exploring the notions the work poses about art space, or gallery, as a platform for ideas bursting forth with unbridled energy. They can contemplate our relationship with the space as artist/viewer and its function. They can talk about hybridisation and metamorphosis, with a bit of gestation thrown in on the side. People will see what they want to see in the end and their opinion is always valid, for once the work is made it’s not mine anymore, it’s the viewers. We as artists only need to offer a hook, the rest is up to the punter. But at the end of the day I prefer the laugh.