Tuesday Reads: Hans Ulrich Obrist
© David Uzochukwu.
“Our entire culture is extremely fragile - the more dependent it becomes on increasingly complex devices, the more susceptible it is to a sudden collapse. In light of this, [...] I have gathered information on an unusual species of art: unrealized projects. [...] Such endeavours in the visual arts - that are planned but not carried out - ordinarily remain unnoticed or little known. But these roads not taken are a reservoir of artistic ideas: [...] each process of actualization is surrounded by a constantly thickening fog of virtual possibilities. Missed opportunities and failed projects also fall in this category.”
To the eyes of many photographers and artists alike, the construction of a project is more about the exclusion of what is not deemed to be relevant, rather than the selection of what is to be included. Each additional picture implies not only the revelation of a new meaning, but also an abandonment of the narrative built until then. Precisely as stated by Ulrich Obrist, “each process of actualisation is surrounded by a constantly thickening fog of virtual possibilities”. However, such analytical eye on the matter can not be expected from the artist herself but only from an external enquirer – no tennis player would objectively discuss the potentially winning shots wasted during her last match, no mother would admit Well, I might have had a better son… but that’s how life goes I guess.
The result is that excluded photographs become ghosts – ghosts that photographers hide from outside eyes, but carry close to their hearts. In a similar fashion, unrealised projects weigh on the future production of all creatives. Being creatures that failed to come to life, they often act as motivating dreams that push the artist towards her best work. However, these dreams can turn into regrets over time, a source of frustration – or worse, obsession – that prevents creative innovation and evolution. After all, as we navigate a world increasingly spammed with stories of success and advertisements encouraging us to unleash our inner potential, we are not inclined to discuss ideas that are (maybe even unconsciously) associated with failure.
Therefore, the choice by an illustrious curator (such as Ulrich Obrist) to investigate specifically these non-projects results in an act of rebellion. A breath of fresh air. Why does it feel so liberating? Most probably because, to the eyes of many photographers and artists alike, the relationship with curators is quite controversial and confusing. And the exploration of unrealised projects by Ulrich Obrist, being an act of lightheartedness and genuine curiosity, gracefully forces creatives to face their ghosts and transforms them into what the artist perceives as successful creation. Moreover, when the curator subsequently finds the means to bring these projects to life, he empowers artists to materialise great ideas. And here is where the curator’s role becomes fundamental. More than anyone else, artists feed off empathy and sense of community: given the nature of their work, doubts and insecurities are extremely detrimental to their sense of purpose.
© Oliver Valsecchi.
Given these premises, the punctum of creative processes seems to lie as much in the curator as in the artist – after all, ideas without actualisation are merely clouds of potential. However, the point made in the book Ways of curating is precisely the opposite: the reader is introduced to the belief that curators should follow artists in their imaginative process rather than aim at gaining creative independency. One might be left wondering: why do curators refuse the aura of creativity society spontaneously assigns them? And Ulrich Obrist, being well aware of the risks linked with blurred boundaries and responsibilities, proposes an answer to this question. Decisively refusing to embody a figure of artist-curator, he doesn’t stop there: his warning addresses the dangers of idealising the role of curators, figures who actually rely on their marginality in order to stay fluid and flexible. In Ulrich Obrist’s words:
“There is, currently, a certain resonance between the idea of curating and the contemporary idea of the creative self, floating freely through the world making aesthetic choices of where to go and what to eat, wear and do. The current vogue for the idea of curating stems from a feature of modern life that is impossible to ignore: the proliferation, and reproduction of ideas, raw data, processed information, images, disciplinary knowledge and material products that we are witnessing today. [...] The result, arguably, has been a shift in the ratio of importance between making new objects and choosing from what is already there. This contemporary resonance, however, risks producing a kind of bubble in the value attached to the idea of curating, and has to be resisted.”
Thus, by focusing on unrealised projects, curatorship assumes the flavour of a sort of medical cure for artists. It becomes a net of support for creative, a means to shape their most ambitious projects. It becomes the hand to a brain, the brush to a painter and the microphone to a singer. It boldly brings out what, until then, only existed within.
